Santa Cruz Island: four-foot swells, small ocean. Sam got suited up for another long day of picking urchin. Usually, he found it hard to get going on cold mornings like this. But with Eve as his tender, the hours flew by. Teaching her things made him see his daily routine in a new way. She made him feel giddy and slightly off-kilter.
After three bags, Eve waved him in. “Something’s wrong with the popper. Come up.”
Sam hauled himself up on deck and took off his gear and wetsuit. He put on a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt and went to take a look.
“I think the output’s a little off.” said Eve.
Sam tinkered with the crusty old air compressor. Just as he shut his toolbox, he heard a squeal and looked up.
Eve stood by the wheelhouse, holding a long- handled bristle brush in front of her like a gun. “It came out of nowhere,” she said, her eyes wide. “What do I do?”
In the doorway sat a baby sea lion. Sleek and brown and no bigger than a beagle, it wove back and forth, staring at Eve with its wide dark eyes as though it were playing a game.
She looked so adorably perplexed Sam laughed. “What do you do? You don’t have to do anything.”
“But…these things…do they bite?”
“Sure. If you’re a fish.”
The sea lion took a tentative slide forward and Eve danced up and down as though the deck were on fire.
“Don’t make jokes! What if it has a disease or something?”
“This little guy?” Sam sat down next to the hold and took out his phone. He snapped a couple of pictures. The sea lion posed for him. “I think we’re safe.”
“Safe?”
“Here,” he said to her. “Come sit with me. Don’t be scared.”
Eve put the brush down and gingerly tiptoed over to Sam. She got down on her knees next to him.
The sea lion straightened up and moved forward on its front flippers. Without any hesitation, it waddled toward Sam, put its nose on his knee, and sniffed him.
“It’s a sea lion pup,” he said. “Not a seal. You can tell from the ear flaps.”
“Why isn’t it afraid of us?” whispered Eve. “Probably too young to know to be afraid.” The sea
lion closed his eyes and rubbed its cheek on Sam’s knee. “He looks sleepy. I think he’s just looking for a safe place to rest and get warm.”
“I suppose he’s kind of cute,” said Eve, looking down at the sea lion. Her face got a little wistful.
“Kind of cute?” Sam rubbed the sea lion’s chin with the back of his knuckle. He leaned toward the furry brown face. “You’re one of the cutest creatures the Pacific Ocean has to offer and Eve Ono thinks you’re only ‘kind of cute.’ Sorry, dude. You might have to ask someone else to prom.”
The sea lion shook itself like a dog and blinked at her. “He says he thinks you’re kind of cute,’ too,” said Sam. “Especially in those waders.”
Eve cracked a grin at last. She petted the sea lion’s head with a tentative finger. “Tell him to work on his approach and he might have a chance.”
“Really? What should he do?”
She looked at Sam. “Well, his confidence—I like that a lot. But he needs to know that I don’t like surprises so much. Sometimes I get scared easily. Really
easily. It’s embarrassing. But I’m getting better, if he’s willing to overlook that.”
Their thighs were pressed together as they sat in the narrow space next to the hold. The touch was too intimate for Sam. The way that Eve was looking at him churned up inappropriate yearnings in his gut.
Sam stood up. The sea lion yawped in surprise. “I’m going to finish up with the compressor. Let’s
eat lunch when I’m done. What do you say?”
Eve paused. “Yeah, that’s fine. But what about him?” The sea lion had climbed on top of her and was nuzzling her hand with his head.
Sam cleared his throat and turned back toward the compressor. “I guess we’ll see what he decides.”
****
Ryan O’Brien—what Eve named the sea lion— hung around for an hour, napping and getting petted, until he humped over the stern with a splash. He swam away like a little brown dart and she was sorry to see him go.
After an early lunch, Sam crossed over to Talcott Shoals off Santa Rosa Island. The noonday sky was bright. As Eve prepared the harvesting bags, Sam suited up and chattered to her about this particular spot. “The current is strong here. I’ll have to grab onto the anchor line and use it to get to the bottom,” he said, zipping up. “And visibility is really bad today. Maybe ten feet, if I’m lucky.”
“Why?” asked Eve.
“Sand,” he said. “The sea floor here is sandy, not reef. It makes the water cloudy. But I’ve gotten lucky in the past. That’s why I come back.” He rolled backward over the deck into the water.
After an hour of diving, Eve had loaded two more bags on the deck and Sam was asking for one more. She hurled it to him and he disappeared once again.
Another boat was in the area. About a mile away, she caught sight of the Frances, a black-and-tan thirty- two-footer, leaving its spot and heading back to channel sitting low in the water. This meant a full deck of urchins. Eve went into the wheelhouse to write down the Frances’ coordinates in case Sam wanted to scope that spot out next time.
When she was finished, Eve went back to check the compressor motor again.
Halfway there, something seized in her chest.
Oh, no. She fell to her knees on the deck.
Her heart began pounding faster and faster in her chest. She put her hands on the deck to steady herself, but for some reason she couldn’t regulate her breathing. Concentrating hard, she closed her eyes, trying to push the anxiety away. But she broke out into a sweat as her lungs struggled for air.
Everything—the gulls, the wind, and the waves breaking on the shore—went silent around her and her vision blurred. She heard a deep rumble—the sound of a black wave, approaching fast.
I’m going to pass out.