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Twenty-Five

Huck

Today I vow to keep my cool. I can’t have any more of those moments when Stella is so close to me that I can make out the unique shape of every pinpricked freckle on her face and count every fleck of gold in her eyes.

Because I know that if I’m near her again, like I was in the galley, I might not be able to stop myself from cupping her cheek or leaning in to kiss her.

Or worse, I might start confessing everything, letting the words I’ve been holding in since the moment I walked away from that beach in Iceland flow like lava from my mouth, searing away any chance I have at making this trip work. So far, I’m doing a decent job.

She hasn’t read the book yet, I can tell.

I don’t let my gaze linger on her when she steps on deck in a blue metallic bikini that by some trick of nature manages to pull every last atom of oxygen from my lungs.

I don’t do anything embarrassing with the scuba equipment.

I manage to not trip over my fins as I follow her to the water.

She shows me the full-face masks we’ll be using, which means that I don’t have to manage a regulator and can breathe out of my mouth or my nose. It’s all going so well at first.

I say at first, because it turns out that I am claustrophobic.

I never realized this about myself since my uniquely embarrassing form of claustrophobia apparently only manifests underwater with a mask over my face that is for some inexplicable reason filling with water.

The entire hour-long trip over to Dry Tortugas I’d been anticipating a morning passed at Stella’s side, leisurely frolicking in crystal-clear waters, repairing what I’d broken while millions of fish passed by.

I was envisioning peace. The quiet sound of my own breathing.

Weightlessness. But no. What I get is panic and water in my mouth.

I start off okay on the surface. The mask covering my face is weird and feels awkward, but I’m fine.

I get the hang of the buoyancy compensator and after giving Stella the okay sign, we start to descend.

That’s where it all goes to shit. The noise underwater is loud, and then my ears hurt and I’m trying to clear them when, out of nowhere, water starts to fill my mask.

I wish I could say that I stay calm and composed and manage to clear the mask and get it back on like Stella had me practice several times.

Instead, I thrash around like a fucking octopus on coke and manage to get a mouthful of water and a view of my imminent demise.

My heart is racing. And all I can think is that I deserve this.

This is what I get…death by freak-out while Sebastian the Crab and a bunch of snorkeling tourists watch.

Well, we can’t all be heroes. This is just like me.

“Huck, what’s happening?” Stella’s voice comes through the built-in comms system.

I want to answer her, but I can’t. I don’t know what to do.

Then I look up, and even through stinging eyes, I can see Stella’s right there with me.

Her hand squeezes mine and I stop writhing.

She maintains eye contact as she shuts the ambient breathing valve I’d forgotten to close and helps me clear the water out of my mask.

“Slow down your breathing. You’re okay,” she says.

“Follow me, nice and even.” She’s still holding my hand, but with the other, she sets the pace for me to regulate my breathing with her free hand moving in a leisurely up and down motion.

My body can’t help but obey this woman, totally unfazed and in charge.

When I’m calm, she signals for us to surface.

I almost don’t want to go back up there to face her after this.

I’m humiliated, humbled. I thought I’d be good at diving.

Like with the research and learning how to do all the jobs on the boat, I want to be useful on this trip.

I want to be useful to her. But I’m not.

Of course I’m not. I’m no good to anyone. We bob at the surface, and I sputter.

“You okay?” she asks me.

I nod, but I’m honestly still too shaken up to speak. Part of it is the fear about what happened underwater, the other piece is that harsh voice being back again when I’ve tried so hard to shut it up. We start to swim toward the beach.

“Look, it’s alright, Huck. Anybody can panic under the water. Let’s just take a breather and then you can try again.”

I shake my head. “I think I have ocean claustrophobia. A severe and incurable case.”

“I freaked out the first time I dived, if it helps,” she tells me, as we reach the sand.

“I was going along fine, and then I got snagged on something. I had plenty of air left in my tanks, but I flailed around until I was even more caught up and I was fully convinced that I wasn’t going to make it.

Luckily Teddy was with me and used his dive knife to cut me free.

I’d gotten tangled in a discarded fishing line; it was barely visible. ”

“Okay, but that’s legitimate. I basically sabotaged my own breathing apparatus and drowned myself trying to pop my ears.”

“Look, Huck, I’m trying very hard not to laugh at you, and you’re not cooperating.”

“You think this is funny?” I want to be mad at this, maybe mad at her, but that would just be my stupid pride, and must be that it’s taken the day off because somehow, I already feel lighter and better.

“Go ahead and have your laugh at my expense. Enjoy my mortification.” I pick up a handful of wet sand and let it slip through my fingers.

“I think I deserve to get a little enjoyment out of your very suave scuba moment. Given everything that’s transpired between us. Don’t you?”

Her hair is slicked back and her freckles are taunting me. I only nod. It’s all I can muster. She squints at me in the strong sunlight. “I was pretty humiliated when I woke up alone in Iceland,” she says. I almost miss this; her voice is so subdued compared to normal.

I deflate like the buoyancy compensator that I’d barely used.

“I’m beyond sorry for that,” I say. There’s so much more that I want to tell her, but I can’t.

I don’t even know how to begin, what words to use, how to show her just how sorry I am.

I have no right to be forgiven. At first, I’d hoped that I hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t caused her anywhere near the level of pain that I’d inflicted on myself.

But now it’s clear to me—from the way she’s holding herself, her arms wrapped around her torso, the way she won’t look at me anymore—I did hurt her.

Maybe we’re the same in that way; that morning on the beach had damaged us both, but she’s stronger than me, better, more resilient.

She pulls in a deep breath, her shoulders lift.

“Let’s move on and put the past behind us.”

I nod. “Yeah. I can do that.” I’m not sure I can.

“Good. Step one, time for you to get back in the water.”

I shake my head in protest. “I’m good here, thanks. I’ll just be a dedicated deck hand.”

“You want to hunt for treasure at sea, you’ve got to learn how to scuba dive. There is no alternative here. You won’t know what it’s like down below if you let fear trap you up there. Now let’s review so we don’t have a repeat of the bad experience.”

I follow her back into the water while she goes over the procedure again.

“This time you’re going to remember to close that ABV, okay, so that you don’t get any water inside of it.

Let me see your mask?” She turns it over and points to a wedge shape.

“This is your equalizing block. I want you to test it and make sure that when you push up on the regulator, it blocks off your nose so that you can do the Valsalva maneuver to clear your ears easily. Basically, it is taking the place of pinching your nose like you would in a regular mask while you blow out. You can also try swallowing instead. Do it a little earlier, before the pressure starts to build up. Both of those work pretty well for me. It takes a bit of practice, but the most important thing is to take your time and clear your ears often. And if it doesn’t work or you have a problem, just stay calm and call out to me on your comms system.

That last part is super important when we’re diving for targets.

We want to be able to let each other know if we see something.

It’s easy once you get into it. Don’t sell yourself short and give up.

I promise, I’ll stay right next to you the entire time. ”

This last bit feels too generous. That’s why, even though every fiber of my rational being is screaming at me that I am a land creature, meant to breathe atmospheric oxygen, and that the ocean clearly agrees since it seems to have it out for me based on the panic and the prior jellyfish stings that still smart on my skin and it’s only a matter of time until Zoe’s prediction comes to fruition and I end up snapped up by a shark for upsetting the balance of the universe, I pull my stupid mask on and follow Stella into the waves.

It’s not because I’m afraid of failure. I’ve already failed.

My dad made sure I knew that right up until his last breath.

It’s not because I never give up. I have proven myself to be a quitter, just ask anyone who read the last Casablanca book.

And it definitely isn’t because I’m brave.

I’m terrified right now. This scuba thing terrifies me.

Stella terrifies me. My unresolved feelings terrify me.

But I don’t want to disappoint her, not now, not again.

My Eustachian tubes open easily now that I know how to block my nose with the mask. I get used to the sound of my breathing and the weird underwater noises that surround me, and Stella and I keep talking to each other.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Honestly? I think I’m okay.”

“See, I knew you could do it. You’re doing great. Let’s head north along the moat.”

When we reach a comfortable depth, I forget all about my freak-out.

I’m too taken by the sights—schools of bright tropical fish, coral plastering the aged stone walls, completely calm water so clear that I can make out a fish ahead of us that I hope is actually a fish and not a shark.

It’s beautiful here. I start translating it all into a scene for the new book in my mind.

Stella moves through the water, so efficiently, so naturally, that I can’t help but study her like she’s a new species of underwater mammal, precious and rare.

“Look to your right, Huck. Isn’t that gorgeous?” She points to a cobalt-colored fish. “It’s a blue tang. My favorite.”

They’re my favorite now too, and I add them to the list of things that I can’t think about without bruising my heart a little further.

After that, she draws my attention to different sights—an octopus hiding, a spotted fish called a red hind, and a tarpon that I’d thought for a second was a shark when I first saw it.

Time bends, turning in on itself—and after what feels like only a few moments, it’s time to head up.

We take it slow, stopping periodically to make sure I control my ascent, even though we didn’t go deep enough to require a real stop.

I recall Stella’s first experience of the terror of being caught up and think that must be why she’s such a stickler for safety, and why she didn’t want Ted to teach me.

The more I learn about Stella, the more I respect and admire her.

And the more I regret the choice I made to walk away.