Ryan Lockwood - Below

Sturman didn’t need much prodding to join her. When she commented that she just wished they could have a beer, he muttered that he kept some medicinal booze on the boat. Seeing her face light up, he went below and came back with a mostly full plastic bottle of light rum, along with two clear plastic glasses.

“I’ve even got limes.” He smiled and sat down across from her in the flying bridge.

Val smiled back. It occurred to her that he hadn’t taken a drink in the five days they’d been out. “Christ, Sturman. You have anything to mix it with? Or a chaser, at least?”

“I thought you were a sailor, Doc. Drink like one.”

As Sturman poured the drinks, Val moved to the console and turned on the radio. “So you’ve gotta tell me something, cowboy. How does a guy like you end up in Southern California on a boat?”

“Oh. You mean this?” Sturman touched the brim of his hat. “I’m originally from Colorado. Grew up on a ranch. Worked it with my dad and brother, hunting, fishing, riding.”

“And…?” She said it lightly.

“I liked it well enough. But ever since I was a kid, I dreamed about the ocean. Read the books, watched the shows, you know? Moby-Dick, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Jacques Cousteau… even Flipper reruns . ”

She smiled. “Who doesn’t love Flipper ?”

“There was something more exciting about the distant ocean than the mountains around the ranch. First time I actually saw it was when I joined the Navy. Here, look at this.” Sturman set his cup down and pulled up his sleeve to expose the hammerhead shark tattoo on his left shoulder. “Got it as an ensign. Was on the damage control team, USS Eisenhower .”

“Nice. My turn, cowboy.”

Val stood and turned away from him, lifting the back of her shirt to expose the small of her back, and over one hip the top half of her own tattoo—a small blue octopus. “Spring break, Cancún. My sophomore year in college.”

“I can’t see it so well. Maybe if you pulled your shorts down a bit lower…”

She pulled her shirt back down and smiled. “Sorry, cowboy.”

Sturman continued adding rum to their cups as the sun melted into the sea. They talked mostly about her career path, but she managed to coax out a few of the Navy stories Joe had mentioned. He shut the boat down a few miles off Gull Harbor to let them drift lightly on the ocean and enjoy the calm evening.

She curled up on a padded bench in the flying bridge and pulled the rubber band out of her ponytail, shaking her hair loose. Sturman sat across from her, his legs outstretched and feet crossed on the seat next to her. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You never told me about your ring.”

“Beg your pardon?” He opened one eye and frowned.

“Your ring.” She pointed at the weathered gold band on his left hand. “You said you were married before?”

He sat up, moving his feet down to the floor. “Yeah. Once. A long time ago.”

“So why do you still wear the ring?”

“I don’t know.” Sturman gulped the remaining rum in his cup and reached for the bottle.

“I’m sorry. I know you said you don’t like to talk about it. We can talk about something else.”

Sturman sighed. “No. It’s all right. I haven’t talked about it in years.” He looked at the last color of the setting sun. “She died four years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Tell me about her.”

Sturman sipped at the rum and was silent for a while. “Maria. I named the boat after her. She was Joe’s sister.”

“Joe Montoya?” Val leaned toward him.

Sturman nodded. “We met through him, after he and I finished our time in the Navy.” He smiled. “Montoya came after me when he found out we’d been dating behind his back.”

Sturman remained quiet for a minute. The last color left the western sky. “She died before I really knew how much I should have appreciated her.” He emptied his cup and poured some more.

“What happened?”

“Car accident. One day she drove to work. That was it. She never came home.” He was silent again. “It was Joe who called me. A tractor-trailer hit her Toyota.” He swallowed hard.

“It must have been very hard for you, Will.” She placed a hand on his knee. “How long were you married?”

“Six years. They were good years. We hadn’t quite gotten around to having kids. It wasn’t perfect, and we fought sometimes. But I realize how good it really was when I look back.” He forced a smile. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you call me by my first name.”

Val set her cup down and moved slowly toward him. She gently slid a leg up onto the seat next to him, then the other, straddling him. His eyes never left hers. In them she saw longing, and pain.

She lifted his cowboy hat off and, cupping his jaw in her hands, she bent down and kissed him. As she pressed his warm lips against her own, he suddenly reached out and pulled her waist deep into his chest. Easing down onto his lap, she felt him growing hard against her. He kissed her back with a furious intensity.

Without warning, he pushed her forcefully off his lap and stood up, staggering.

She was breathing heavily, and her skin felt flushed. “I’m sorry, Will. I didn’t mean to…”

“I can’t do this.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the rails.

“I understand. But at some point you’ve got to let her go.” As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t.

Sturman turned away, toward the fading light rippling on the ocean. “I’m going swimming.”

He shed his shirt, stepped to the edge of the bridge, and dived off. He didn’t come up for a long time.

“We can still keep trying.”

Val stood on the dock, looking down at Sturman. He remained in the stern of his boat. His arms were crossed, his face unreadable. It was just after dawn on a summer Saturday. The marina harbor was beginning to bustle with activity.

“To find the shoal, I mean. Not to—”

“I know what you mean.”

“Just because the government has its own plans doesn’t mean we can’t keep doing our own thing. Come on, Will. You don’t strike me as a man who cares what the hell other people want him to do, anyway.” She smiled at him. He didn’t smile back.

She still sensed the same anger in him, but something had changed in him—his eyes were distant. He wasn’t looking at her, but through her. He turned away from her to scratch his dog’s ears. She knew he was struggling with what to say.

“I think we should just let Montoya and the others handle this,” he finally said. “It’s their responsibility.”

She hadn’t wanted to leave the boat, but Sturman had made up his mind at first light and headed straight across the channel for the coast. He had dumped her and her gear at the crowded dock in Newport Beach, the closest major harbor on the mainland. The halogen lights, now off in the morning sun, remained attached to his boat, because both realized they were too bulky to simply leave on the dock with her.

“Are you sure? You won’t reconsider? I mean, what are you planning to do now?”

“I figured I’d take a few days off. Head back over to Catalina, maybe visit a few other Channel Islands while I’m in the neighborhood.”

“And after that?”

Sturman looked up at her. He spoke in a low voice. “Why you askin’ so many questions? What does it matter to you?”

“Don’t act that way. Look, I know last night was uncomfortable, but we can—”

“I know what you’re doing. You’re wasting your time.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit look, Sturman. You’re not going to stare me down like I’m some goddamn ensign in the Navy. I thought we were doing all right. I’m sorry for what I said.” She paused, then shook her head. “You know what? I’m not sorry. You need to get over it, and get on with your life. Stop wallowing in grief and drowning your sorrows in alcohol. If you did, you might find that there are people who care about you, you big slob.”