Chapter 19
Annie and Walker work on Polaris almost every evening after that.
Even when he’s out late fishing on Galene, she finds herself there, alone, unable to resist chipping away at repairs, making imaginary packing lists, charting courses
that might never exist.
It’s near the end of the week when Evan appears in the doorway.
Annie’s at the top of the ladder working on the trim. For possibly the first time in her life, she doesn’t immediately recognize
him—-wearing those logging coveralls with the Hale Timber insignia covering the area between his shoulder blades.
But it’s him: the familiar moves of his body, in the way he takes off his hat and runs his hand through his dark curls. His
usual close-cropped sides are growing out. He looks up at her with a small smile, the dimple in his high left cheek, his dark
eyelashes.
“Fixing up a sailboat?” he asks.
“You’re here.” Her voice is firm.
He has both hands and one foot already on the ladder. “Permission to board?”
Annie nods. He climbs up and over the lifelines, into the cockpit. The hatch is open, exposing the heart of the engine.
“You think you can fix that?” He points inside.
“I’ve been poring over old repair manuals.”
“And?”
She pauses. “Where have you been?”
“God, I’ve missed you.”
Those words should make her feel happy. They do not. She has to look away from him.
“My dad’s been on a tear,” he continues. “But I needed to see you. I’m towing the log booms tomorrow.”
“Booms?”
“We don’t have enough gas for the trucks.”
“On your own?” She looks back at him. “That’s way too dangerous to do by yourself, and weather reporting’s still down.”
“I’ll watch the barometer gauges like a hawk.”
Annie frowns. “Did you check the tug seams for leaks?”
“Took it out in rougher water last night. Seams were good.”
“You were back in town last night and you didn’t come see me?”
He grimaces.
She shakes her head. “So do you have a manual deck pump or just the hydraulic?”
“I wanted to see you,” he says.
“God, Evan.” She gazes upward.
“We were working so late. I couldn’t get away.”
“Manual or hydraulic?” Her eyebrows arch. “Your pumps.”
“I’ve got a manual, too.”
“Extra diesel?”
Evan picks up a stray screw. “Jerry cans.”
“Oil’s fine?”
“Do you want to write me a checklist?” He looks up again, meeting her eyes.
“There’s no one to deckhand for you?”
Evan shakes his head. “They’ve got enough to do here. Plus . . . none of those loggers has any experience on the water. I’d
be babysitting them.”
“You’ll be awake for two days straight.”
“It’s a short run, Annie. There and back in under a week.”
Annie nearly offers to go with him. She opens her mouth to say it, but nothing comes out as she tries to envision herself
on the tug. Leaving Walker and his hum behind. She prefers Evan to stay here where she can see him. She doesn’t want him up
at camp, or on the tug, awake for god knows how many hours.
She wants him to erase the distance he’s made between them.
“I’ll be okay, Annie.”
“Why have you stayed away?”
He sits on the cockpit bench. “I don’t know if my dad’s thinking straight. He won’t stop.”
“He’s not the only thing that matters, Ev.”
“Of course he isn’t.”
“I wasn’t with my parents—-because I was with you.”
He takes a big breath.
“Tell me I made the right choice,” she says.
He encloses the screw in his palm. “Mom always said, look after the things we love.”
“What about me?” she says. It sounds squeaky and selfish and childish even, but she still doesn’t understand. A tear falls
down her cheek.
He reaches up to brush it away. “I keep thinking . . . everyone in town is depending on Hale Timber. Maybe I can change things.”
“What things?” She focuses on the taut tendons of his fingers, veins spreading like branches.
“What we do to the trees . . . how this town can survive.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how yet. But I can’t abandon
all of this.”
She sits down heavily beside him. “What if there’s weather—-”
“If there’s weather I’ll tuck into a bay and wait it out.” He takes her hands. His are cool and dry. “I want there to be something on the other side of this for us. I can’t have us squatting in cabins that have no running water and no power. Living off the crabs Henry catches.”
“It’s not going to be this way forever.”
“And we’ll, what, live in a relocation camp?” Evan says. “My dad might not survive if the company goes under.”
“We’ll figure things out. Like we always have—-”
“Annie.” He slips his hand around the back of her neck. His brown eyes pour into hers and flashes of the Evan she’s always
known come to the surface: from when they were little, sharing the aft berth on Amphitrite, when they sat on the bow, arms spread like eagles, soaring between sky and sea, their cheeks windburnt. Back then, he never
let her wander the deck without a life jacket.
“You haven’t been here, Evan,” she says.
“Let me say this—-”
“I needed you here,” she interrupts. “I need you here.”
“I love you, Annie.”
Her breath escapes to somewhere she cannot reach.
“You know I’ve always loved you,” he continues.
Annie is startled to feel Walker’s quiet thrumming suddenly arrive in her abdomen, increasing in volume as Evan speaks.
“And I know you love me, too.”
Of course she does. But then blood starts to pound in her ears. A sudden vision of underwater, a thousand bubbles racing toward
the surface.
“Annie?” Evan’s voice is coming from far away, but she isn’t here with him. She’s deep in the sea.
“Say something, Annie.”
She shakes her head, and she’s back here. Evan’s face is so close it feels claustrophobic.
“I need a minute,” she says, standing up.
He releases her and moves back on the bench. “It’s always been us. Me and you. Don’t you feel it?”
“Of course I do.”
“Haven’t you always?”
“Always,” she whispers.
“But?”
“I’m so angry at you. I’ve lost everything, Evan! Don’t you see that? Or you haven’t seen it because you haven’t seen me?”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s been weeks.” Her tone is clipped.
“But that has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
“You left me here.” The words feel like a punch in her own gut. She’s pushing Evan away.
“That wasn’t what I wanted—-” Evan starts.
“But you did it anyway.”
He looks at her, a longing in his eyes.
“I need some space,” she hears herself saying.
He blinks. He does not breathe for a few moments, until he stands and climbs over the lifelines and descends the ladder.
Something feels cracked, but Annie’s not ready to mend it. “Wait.”
“What is it, Annie?” he says quietly from the base of the ladder, staring resolutely at the ground.
Her voice catches. Walker is standing in the doorway of the warehouse, wearing his work gloves and a blue T-shirt and shorts.
He’s looking across at Evan. How long has he been there?
“Be careful tomorrow,” Annie manages to finish. “I can’t have anything happen to you.”
“I will.” Evan turns and notices Walker. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but reconsiders. Giving Walker
a curt nod, he grabs his hat off the hook and heads out without another word.