Not Nothing

The sky overhead was almost black, but the blue of the day still colored the horizon. I grabbed the next trap on the deck of our lobster boat. Eight more traps to fix tonight. October already, and way behind our catch for the year.

“I gotta get these done. Pop wants ’em back in the water tomorrow,” I said. “You need to keep it steady.”

Meg stood next to me, holding the work light. “How long’s it going to take?”

I looked at her, but I couldn’t see her face behind the light. “Till it’s done.”

She let out a single laugh.

“And keep it down.” I nodded in the direction of the cabin, where Pop was resting.

“You said we could talk and …”

“Then talk.”

The hole in this one was almost as big as a dinner plate.

“Can’t your dad do that? I drove fifty miles here so we could be together.”

I rummaged through the gear on the deck and found the net needle. I’d have to weave in a patch. “His fingers can’t do it anymore. Arthritis.”

“So, he gets to lie in the cabin, and I get nothing.”

The herring smell caught my breath. The bait stuck to the trap was ripe tonight. “The meds make him queasy.”

She swung the light back. “But you said we’d have time.”

I trimmed the hole square with my knife and cut a piece of netting to fit, then, using some nylon twine and the needle, began weaving the new mesh into the open loops.

“When?” she asked.

My arms were suddenly heavy with the day, and I rested them on my thighs. “I don’t know. Tomorrow.”

She laughed again.

I’d miscounted; the patch was one mesh too big. It had to be trimmed.

“Snips.”

A cold gust came off the water, and the light moved again, this time to the toolbox. The tools rattled and shifted as she rooted out the snips. I looked to the cabin, but Pop didn’t move.

“Here.” She tapped my shoulder with the snips.

The light back, I fit the patch into the hole and trimmed the top edge. There. Perfect fit. Weaving again.

“You love me?”

I sighed. “Stretch out the twine so it doesn’t tangle.”

The patch had to be woven into more than a dozen other loops. The day’s warmth still clung to the boat, yet the damp netting stiffened my fingers.

“Ethan?”

“I do.”

“Then?”

I tried to look at her, squinting into the light. “I said I do.”

I opened and closed my hand a few times, then shook it out.

“You said you wanted more than this.” Her voice was flat but still provoking.

“I can’t just walk away.” My back was cramping from leaning over the trap. Not even halfway done on this one.

“The light! Keep it still.” I shook my head. “I never said I wanted more than this.”

“Well, I’m asking now. Do you want more or not?” She stepped toward me and reached out, running her fingers through my hair.

Her scent. Cedar, woods, only for a moment. I closed my eyes, wanting it to stay.

“How’s it coming?” Pop’s voice. Couldn’t see him.

Meg swore under her breath.

“I’ll be a while,” I said. “How’s the nap?”

“Mmm. Heading to the house. Should we keep dinner for you?”

I looked at my stitching. Nice. Almost more beautiful with the patch.

Meg pulled her hand away, stepping back. “Keep it for him.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “Remember, strong and tidy wins the day.”

The boat rocked as he climbed out onto the dock. His footsteps padded away down the wooden planks.

“He didn’t hear us,” I said. “He doesn’t hear like he used to.”

I ran my fingers over the wrapping. Smooth. “Keep it still.”

“I’m getting tired. How much longer?”

I sat up with a start. “Just go.”

“No. I want to be here.”

“Yeah, right. Prop the light on the gunwale there.”

The light was unmoving. And the lapping again. The tide.

“Is this what it would be like? The two of us? Here?” she asked.

A few more meshes finished.

“Ethan?”

“Don’t make it so complicated …”

Another gust off the bay. Then only the lapping.

I held my breath.

Then pulled the salt air into my lungs. Setting the needle down, I tried to flex my fingers. “You think I’d be different … when we’re together? You want me different.”

“You said you wanted something different!” She dropped the light on the deck, and the beam blared against the transom.

“Yeah. You!” I stood up, dropping the needle. “You’re different.”

Her form was just a few feet away, but the details seemed distant, all gray.

“You think by doing nothing, you don’t have to choose.”

I could almost make out her eyes, but I imagined them. Blue. Hungry.

“I always said you’d do good … when we was in school. You’re smart.” I reached out to touch her hair, but she pushed my hand down.

Her phone chimed in her pocket, and she turned away.

“I’m stopping for tonight,” I said. “Let’s go do something.”

The waves lapping, the boat moving.

Her back to me, only a few feet away. Her form still gray.

But unyielding.

“I don’t want this, Ethan.”

She picked up the light and turned it off.

“You’re right. You got something. A condo. A career at the Forest Service. Not nothing.”

“Take it,” she said as she passed me the light.

The boat rocked. Her footsteps tapped a few steps, then her phone glowed on, and she continued down the dock into the darkness.

I sat down. Waves still slapped the sides, and a lone gull cried in the dark on the water. Just a single cry.

Still air now, but the herring.

I turned on the light and looked at the patch. Strong. Tidy. Seven more traps.