10
Jack
You can tell Mr. Morgan really isn’t here for the fishing because days like today are great for it, especially if he wants to try something closer to shore. The rain keeps the waves down, which will help his seasickness.
But by nine o’clock, there’s still no sign of anyone on the dock. Even Harper has stayed inside. I clean out my coffee pot on theHawk, make sure all the hatches and lockers are closed, and I’m about to pull my hood up when motion catches my eye.
David is walking toward me, hunched in his puffy parka, hands stuffed into the pockets.
“Is that really the only coat you brought with you?” I ask.
He huffs a single laugh. “They said I was leaving for Alaska in twenty-four hours. I forgot it’s not winter here all the time.”
“Really?”
“I mean, I’ve never been up here. I guess I thought—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I meant is that really how your job works? They say ‘we’re leaving in twenty-four hours’ and you pack a bag?”
He glances down at me, brow furrowing like he doesn’t understand the question, before he finally shrugs and says, “Rich people. You know how they are. They tell us to jump, and we say how high.”
I laugh. “Yeah, fair enough. My brother-in-law comes and goes whenever he wants, even though it’s a hassle for my sister and their son. No consideration. Thinks he’s the most important person in the world.”
“Right.” David clenches his jaw and I make a mental note to stop talking about Graham. He doesn’t deserve the airtime anyway, and David doesn’t want to hear about my family’s problems. “So are we going fishing or what?”
“Oh.” I glance toward the hotel. I didn’t get any specific marching orders from Harper this morning. No one’s been by with trays of sandwiches or gourmet snacks. “What about your boss?”
“He gave me the day off. He’s staying in bed to mope about embarrassing himself in front of the staff yesterday, so I’m free to do what I like.” He steps down onto the boat, and really, who am I to argue with him? He may not betheVIP, but he’s still a guest, and if he wants to go out for a few hours, I can’t really tell him no. But I must make a face or something, because he laughs and asks, “What?”
“Not knocking your day off or anything, but that proves my point. He buys the whole lodge out because he’s pissed at his husband and then doesn’t use any of the amenities, even though there’s a whole staff waiting to do things for him.”
David laughs again, but he doesn’t sound as amused this time. “I guess you’re right.”
I still probably shouldn’t be talking down his boss though. Inevitably, it’ll get back to Harper and I’ll have hell to pay. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Where are you going?” he asks when I put a hand on a piling and step up to the dock.
“Just going to get a few supplies. Sit tight.”
He doesn’t say anything else as I hurry off to the hotel to stock up. Bait from the fridge in the recreation supply room. A dry pair of socks from my room—then a second pair because I didn’t notice what kind of shoes David was wearing, but I can almost guarantee they’ll be soaked through by the time we head home. A loaf of bread and some smoked salmon—I try to ask for deli meat but the cook looks insulted at the very idea—from the kitchen. I stop in the recreation office to let Luis know we’re heading out, but there’s no one around.
The drizzle has started again as I head down to the boat. David’s gone inside to stay dry, but he re-emerges when I approach. He’s traded the parka for one of the Wild Eagle slickers again, and he makes no complaints as I hand down the bucket of gooey bait. He helps me shove off from the dock and settles onto one of the benches in the cabin as I turn us out toward the open ocean.
The water’s a bit choppy as we head out, so I stick closer to shore. David doesn’t seem to mind though.
“You don’t get seasick?” I ask.
“Nah. Iron constitution.” He wraps his knuckles against his stomach. He’s taken off the slicker, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him without a coat on. He’s wearing a long-sleeved Henley that hugs his shoulders and broad chest, and the material stretches nicely as he touches it.
I pull us farther away from land, pushing the engine to keep us on top of most of the chop. David leans into the thrust, tipping his head back, and I have to swallow to clear my suddenly dry throat.
During staff orientation, they let me take the boat out for a day to scope out potential spots to bring guests. Of course Harper had a checklist of things to look for. Great fishing grounds, obviously, but also things like “views of the mountains,” which is pretty much everywhere here, and “a beach fit for a picnic,” which turned out to be easier said than done since the shorelines here are often marshy, and “good places to see wildlife,” like I’m some kind of moose or bear whisperer that can conjure them up on a whim because someone like Mr. Morgan has had enough of fishing and wants to see what else Alaska has to offer.
But while I was exploring, I found a bay that pretty much had all three, along with some decent fishing. It was farther out than my checklist said I was supposed to go with guests, and it was past dark by the time I got back to the lodge, which earned me a lecture about guest safety and sticking to the schedule because apparently when there were actually guests to ferry around, my delay would have forced chef Marc-André to recook his caviar soufflé after the first one had fallen before anyone was ready to eat it. I may have said something about people not coming here for his damn soufflé, which earned me an extended conversation the next morning about making sure guests had a “cohesive” Wild Eagle experience.
But today it’s me and David. If I go faster than I normally would, he doesn’t seem to notice, and what Harper doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did before,” David says at one point, pitching his voice over the engines.
