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ANGELA
One by one,we make our way from bright green buoy to buoy, and Archie and Carter haul up the lobster pots. They’re made of wire and look a lot like baskets. Archie explains that his buoy colors have been bright green for decades, and that he used to make the traps himself with rope and wooden needles.
“Times have changed, though,” he says. “Everyone uses wire traps. And I’m glad for it. Got too much arthritis now to be wasting my time mending traps.”
He pulls the buoy up out of the water, tosses it to Carter, and together they pull up the rope that is attached to a string of pots. The pots have a few lobsters, and I can tell Archie’s pleased with the catch. It’s less than he’ll get in the summer, but something is better than nothing. After emptying each pot he rebates them with fish, and sinks them to the bottom of the ocean once more.
“Can I try?” I ask him, after we reach the next buoy.
“Sure,” he says. “My Agnes used to come with me all the time. She was more interested in sunning herself on the boat than she was in hauling pots, but she leant me a hand at times.”
I’m startled by this freely given nugget from Archie. It would seem Agnes was his wife. And now she’s gone. I resist the urge torub my chest, right over my aching heart. I don’t want Archie to notice and think I’m pitying him.
“She sounds like she understood what was important in life,” I tell him with a smile. “Relaxing.”
Archie snorts in laughter in response and even smiles back at me a bit.
Carter gives me the gloves he was wearing, and Archie explains what I need to do. It’s simple, really, but it leaves my arm muscles warm and I’m glad that Archie helps me with the first one we pull up. I do the next one on my own, and when I start pulling the rope, and haul the first pot onto the boat, I squeal with joy. The pot itself is empty save for a few fish we toss back into the water, but I don’t even care.
I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. And I’m not even thinking about Harborview and getting back for work, or everything happening with me and Carter. I’m just here, in this moment, bonding with a curmudgeonly fisherman, and enjoying the time on the water.
The rest of the afternoon passes quickly, and we must check about seventy or so pots. The lobsters we catch sit in a big bucket on the deck of the boat, with bands restraining their claws.
Carter and I start digging into our muffins and protein bars ravenously, but Archie produces three homemade sandwiches from a cooler and shares them with us.
“I figured you kids wouldn’t come prepared,” he explains. “And after your stint in the woods, you can’t afford to miss any meals.”
“Thank you,” Carter mumbles, mouth already full.
Archie may seem grumpy at first but he clearly has a heart of gold. Agnes was lucky to have him.
Afterwards, Archie charts a course towards the northern cliffs, and he and Carter trade more stories about bird watching. It doesn’t take long to reach the puffin nesting grounds, andArchie cuts the motor when we’re about a hundred feet from the cliffs.
I look out at the scene before me and immediately know I have to paint it. I’ll make the time—screw work. This is beautiful. The cliffs are gray and rocky, and covered in bright green moss in places. They slope down to a spit of sandy beach, and at the top are crowned by a copse of deep emerald pine trees. The water around us is a bright dark blue, and I almost feel like I’m sitting inside of a jewelry box, surrounded by glittering beauty.
And then all of a sudden, I spot them. There, dotted along the cliffs, are puffins. And they are so,somuch cuter in person. They are round, and their beaks are bright orange against the gray of the rocks, and a few of them are taking flight, heading right towards the boat.
“Carter,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says back, and then passes me his binoculars.
The birds don’t come that close to us, but instead land in the water. I watch as they paddle around, and then, one of them dives under.
“They’re hunting for fish,” Carter explains. “They can basically swim underwater.”
I watch the surface of the ocean, hoping to see the bird pop up again. I don’t see it come back up, so I take the binoculars and give them to Carter. But then, the puffin emerges from the sea right next to our boat.
I hold my breath as it paddles away from us, beak full of fish. It spreads its wings, and takes off, its little orange feet kicking behind it.
“Wow.” I don’t know what else to say. I’ve never been so close to something so wild and beautiful.
“I know,” Carter says. “I know.”
He grins down at me, and I can’t help but smile back. His hazel eyes are twinkling, and crinkling at the corners. Under hisstare, my insides start to fizz and pop with excitement and I feel a blush rise to my cheeks.
My hair is whipping around my face in the wind, and he carefully brushes the loose strands behind my ears, his hands warm against my face despite the chill out on the water. This man…I’m helpless to resist his pull. I’m falling straight into him and I’m not sure how to stop it.
Inside my heart, alarm bells start going off, a thousand all at once, each shrill and loud. Inside my mind, a person screams fire in a full theater and my face is on every single person who runs out.
