the transom looking down into the depths. Her gold hair fell forward, hiding her face. Seeing her brought some sense back to Mikey.
He breathed deeply.
Okay.
He eased up beside Alison with the knife and looked down into the water. It was so beautiful, so radiant, a blue of unparalleled brilliance. It wasn’t just color. It was an almost physical feeling, deep and bewildering. Silvery rays beamed up from the unknowable world below.
Alison stepped back.
Mikey sat on the transom and swung his feet over the stern. They just touched the water. It was warm.
He pulled his T-shirt off and tossed it onto the deck.
“What about the sharks?” Alison said. “Like the ones we saw? I mean . . .”
Mikey shrugged, looking into the water.
“You don’t have to go. You can say no.”
“I have to go.”
“Why?”
Mikey thought.
Why?
“It’s my job. And Bill. He wouldn’t ask me to do anything he thought was dangerous.”
Alison started to say more, but stopped.
Behind her, Ernie noisily dug two beers out of the cooler. Mikey looked back. Ernie tossed one of the beers in to Cal.
Cal caught it and sat with it unopened, watching Mikey.
Alison touched Mikey’s arm.
He turned back, but didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He didn’t want her to see his fear. But he was thankful that she’d touched him, so thankful. It was as if he’d suddenly been surrounded by a soft blanket. He wasn’t afraid of the ocean, no, it wasn’t that. It was that he had to go
alone
that terrified him. With no one to watch his back or his feet, and that’s where the fear was, behind and below him. He could almost feel the gaping monster jaws opening, coming up on him, sucking him down, pulling him in. He didn’t want her to see his fear.
But Alison had touched him.
He turned toward her.
Her eyes were flooded with worry.
Something Mikey didn’t understand passed between them. He noticed that he was gripping the knife so hard his fingers were cramping. He opened his palm, then closed it again around the hard rubber handle.
Then he slipped overboard.
The ocean rushed into his ears, his nose, the warm watery pressure of a billion miles of sea pressing in on every inch of his body. For a moment he heard nothing. But the sounds came quickly, the eerie clicking and snapping of deep water.
It was clear and clean, but the salt stung his eyes. Everything was a blur. He wished he had the face mask, but the old rubber strap had rotted. He spun around, checking for shapes, for moving shadows.
But there was only the soft, empty blueness.
The thought of his feet dangling like edible tentacles made his skin crawl. He pulled his knees to his chest.
Then came up for air. Breathed.
Went back down.
The prop was jammed with a bulge of line around the driveshaft. It would take some time to cut it all away. He’d have to work fast.
Mikey hacked at the bunched line crosswise, pulling it away bit by bit. He sliced his thumb and jerked his hand back. It wasn’t a big cut, but it was a bloody one. Brownish streamers wafted away.
He glanced around, all the way around. But he had to finish the job.
He hacked at the line as blood drifted off his thumb, a small watery haze a shark could smell a mile away. He went up for air only when his lungs screamed for it.
Bill was peering over the edge. Mikey could see his and Alison’s wobbly shapes when he looked up from below the surface.
Mikey came up, gasping.
“How’s it look?” Bill said.
Mikey breathed greedily, his lungs burning. “There’s . . . a lot of it . . . give me five minutes.”
“Take as much time as you need.”
Mikey filled his lungs and went under.
He knew Bill didn’t want him to take as much time as he needed, but he’d allow it if it was necessary. That was one of the great things about Bill. He was fair. So Mikey worked even harder, slicing and slicing.
Watching for movement in the corner of his eye. For dark shadows.
He stopped. There! Did he see something?
He spun
He breathed deeply.
Okay.
He eased up beside Alison with the knife and looked down into the water. It was so beautiful, so radiant, a blue of unparalleled brilliance. It wasn’t just color. It was an almost physical feeling, deep and bewildering. Silvery rays beamed up from the unknowable world below.
Alison stepped back.
Mikey sat on the transom and swung his feet over the stern. They just touched the water. It was warm.
He pulled his T-shirt off and tossed it onto the deck.
“What about the sharks?” Alison said. “Like the ones we saw? I mean . . .”
Mikey shrugged, looking into the water.
“You don’t have to go. You can say no.”
“I have to go.”
“Why?”
Mikey thought.
Why?
“It’s my job. And Bill. He wouldn’t ask me to do anything he thought was dangerous.”
Alison started to say more, but stopped.
Behind her, Ernie noisily dug two beers out of the cooler. Mikey looked back. Ernie tossed one of the beers in to Cal.
Cal caught it and sat with it unopened, watching Mikey.
Alison touched Mikey’s arm.
He turned back, but didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He didn’t want her to see his fear. But he was thankful that she’d touched him, so thankful. It was as if he’d suddenly been surrounded by a soft blanket. He wasn’t afraid of the ocean, no, it wasn’t that. It was that he had to go
alone
that terrified him. With no one to watch his back or his feet, and that’s where the fear was, behind and below him. He could almost feel the gaping monster jaws opening, coming up on him, sucking him down, pulling him in. He didn’t want her to see his fear.
But Alison had touched him.
He turned toward her.
Her eyes were flooded with worry.
Something Mikey didn’t understand passed between them. He noticed that he was gripping the knife so hard his fingers were cramping. He opened his palm, then closed it again around the hard rubber handle.
Then he slipped overboard.
The ocean rushed into his ears, his nose, the warm watery pressure of a billion miles of sea pressing in on every inch of his body. For a moment he heard nothing. But the sounds came quickly, the eerie clicking and snapping of deep water.
It was clear and clean, but the salt stung his eyes. Everything was a blur. He wished he had the face mask, but the old rubber strap had rotted. He spun around, checking for shapes, for moving shadows.
But there was only the soft, empty blueness.
The thought of his feet dangling like edible tentacles made his skin crawl. He pulled his knees to his chest.
Then came up for air. Breathed.
Went back down.
The prop was jammed with a bulge of line around the driveshaft. It would take some time to cut it all away. He’d have to work fast.
Mikey hacked at the bunched line crosswise, pulling it away bit by bit. He sliced his thumb and jerked his hand back. It wasn’t a big cut, but it was a bloody one. Brownish streamers wafted away.
He glanced around, all the way around. But he had to finish the job.
He hacked at the line as blood drifted off his thumb, a small watery haze a shark could smell a mile away. He went up for air only when his lungs screamed for it.
Bill was peering over the edge. Mikey could see his and Alison’s wobbly shapes when he looked up from below the surface.
Mikey came up, gasping.
“How’s it look?” Bill said.
Mikey breathed greedily, his lungs burning. “There’s . . . a lot of it . . . give me five minutes.”
“Take as much time as you need.”
Mikey filled his lungs and went under.
He knew Bill didn’t want him to take as much time as he needed, but he’d allow it if it was necessary. That was one of the great things about Bill. He was fair. So Mikey worked even harder, slicing and slicing.
Watching for movement in the corner of his eye. For dark shadows.
He stopped. There! Did he see something?
He spun
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