***Thanks for checking out my new story! This one is going to have longer chapters and, since it's kind of the busy time of the school year, I probably won't be updating as often as I did last time. I'll do what I can, though. I really like the idea I have for this, and I hope you guys do, too! For those that didn't read my last story, it's not super important that you do, but there might be some backwards references that you don't get. It's called Where i'm Not Wanted if you want to check that one out first. Of course, I own none of this. Kjiersten is said KeyEARsten in case that is confusing. I wanted a Norwegian-y spelling!***
Sig Hansen hated children, but something about the little tyke squirming away from Edgar was melting even his heart. This kid, this little 5 year-old thing he was watching run around his deck…that was really something. Almost made him want one of his own. Almost. He had no idea that, in just a few months, he'd get the news that he would, in fact, have one of his own to deal with. That was news for another day.
Today? Today was just about watching that little thing have fun on deck. They were supposed to be getting the Northwestern ready for cod fishing, but there was no doubt that absolutely no work was getting done. Edgar was too busy tormenting the poor tyke, Sig was too busy watching and trying not to make those damn cooing noises come out of his mouth, and Norman was too busy making sure his kid didn't get killed.
Edgar picked the kid up, and Norman let out a sharp reprimanded that had the youngest Hansen immediately putting the poor young thing down. Sig watched Norm pick up his daughter, carefully brushing off her child-sized Northwestern hoodie. Edgar must have gotten hydraulic fluid on it, and Hanna would not be happy about that. Norman and Hanna couldn't boast that they had a neat child by any stretch of the imagination, and something about having a child that found every speck of dirt on the planet made Hanna particularly pissy about any messes she had to clean that weren't her own child's fault.
He was about to pick up the hailer and tease his brothers about how much work they'd done when his sat phone rang. Really? Sig sighed, always sad to miss an opportunity to rag on his little brothers, and picked it up.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Sig? Sig, it's Paula. Is Norm around?"
"Yeah, he's just on the deck. Gimme a sec, I'll get him." Sig nodded even though his wife couldn't see and began to reach for the hailer.
"NO!" Her sharp cry made Sig freeze, and he could sense now that something was wrong. She didn't sound right. It was a sat phone, sure, but it didn't distort voices that badly. "No," she repeated. "I can't tell him this myself. It's…Sig…there…"
"Take your time." She was crying. Paula hadn't cried since their wedding day. Actually, she had cried when they put their dog down, too, but that had been years ago. She hadn't even cried when he accidentally slammed the car door on her arm two years ago, and that had done some nasty damage. Yet again, he looked out at the deck, where Norm's kid was sitting in the middle of the sorting table, arms crossed and bottom lip sticking out. Someone was in time out, it seemed. Norm and Edgar were finally able to get some work done.
"No, I'm…Sig, it's Hanna. There's been an accident."
His heart sank as he watched Norman bend down to explain why the time out was necessary. That little brother of his. He was a damn good dad.
"How bad is it?"
"Oh, babe…she…"
"Paula, please. How. Bad?" Sig sank his head into his hand and massaged his forehead, not able to look at his brothers, feeling like he was somehow keeping something from them.
"Sig, she didn't make it. She's gone."
"Dad, Dad, Daddy, you give that to me. You fucking give that to me right now!" Kjiersten Hansen pointed menacingly, watching as her father studied the bouquet of daisies like they were foreign objects.
"Watch your language, Tyke. Haven't you ever heard it's bad luck to swear in front of your family?" Sig shook his head, watching Norman look from the flowers to his daughter and back down.
"I've heard that it's bad luck for my dad to handle any kind of flower because he always ruins the bouquets I pick out. Now, seriously," she stuck her hand out and snapped twice, "hand over the goods."
"I like them," Norm insisted. "I might keep one."
"If you take a flower out of that bouquet, I swear to God above, I will tell Grandma. Now, really, Dad, please pass over the flowers before any living thing gets destroyed."
"I think once you cut the flowers, they're not alive anymore, Tyke," Edgar pointed out, earning himself the famous Hansen glare. He secretly loved when his niece narrowed her ocean blue eyes, lowered her eyebrows and set her bottom jaw in the same way he and his brothers did, and it kind of made him laugh when that glare was aimed at him. It was intimidating, sure, but still funny. This was his niece, for Christ's sake. He'd changed her diapers and bandaged her boo-boos. He'd taught her how to chop bait and throw a hook and down a shot. Hell, he'd probably taught her that very glare. Lord knew Norman didn't use it all that much. No, Norm was more the strong and silent type, preferring to let your own guilty conscious wear away at you until you went insane.
"Dad. The flowers. Seriously. You know the drill." Norman sighed and handed the bouquet over, acting like he was making a huge concession by doing so.
Because, yes, he did know the drill. She had a different bouquet every year, always a variety of daisies that she had chosen from who-knows-what flower store, and he would get the bill in a few weeks and pay without complaint. Every year, she had a new black dress that made him realize his little girl wasn't so little anymore. His brothers drove them because, every year, his truck was broken and something she was doing kept him from fixing it. He ruined the flowers, normally by popping a few heads off or dropping the arrangement and spreading them all over the ground, as an annual tradition. So far, she was fighting to keep the last one from happening. Everything else had gone according to plan.
Kjiersten hadn't gotten any taller since last year, but she looked older. It was only a year, but every year out on the Bering took about five off the lifespan. And she had never really been a kid, anyway. She was only 24, but it was easy to forget sometimes. Of course, she'd always be his little girl. Even if she was 5'8", 140 pounds, and could easily beat the shit out of any guy she met. She could, too; her uncles made sure of that.
She had the thin, dusty blonde hair of a Hansen, and had grown it down to mid-back, preferring to keep it long despite the job hazards. It was almost always down, and she never did much to it. It was pretty straight naturally, but it had enough of a wave to it to be interesting. She was fit, too, from working on the boat. It had been a battle, but Kjiersten had insisted on working on the Northwestern at 18. Norm hadn't wanted her to go, and he still had his concerns, but she was one of the best damn crabbers Dutch Harbor had ever seen. Or so Sig claimed. It's not like he was biased or anything.
She swore and drank and smoked, but that was the life of a Hansen. She drank coffee like it was her lifeblood, was never uncomfortable around even the crudest of fishermen's sexual jokes, and loved her Northwestern jacket more than anything else she owned. She still lived with her dad, but was so much like her uncles that it was scary at times.
"Dad, are you gonna stand there all day, or is your lazy ass gonna start moving? These boots," she shook one leg to emphasize her knee-high black leather boots, "were made for walkin'. Let's go."
Norm chuckled to himself and trailed along behind his daughter as she blazed her own trail. Every year, without fail, they took the same path. It couldn't be a typical path, either. No, that wasn't the Hansen way. Kjiersten made the brothers bob and weave and carefully avoid headstones that she breezed by with no problem, as if she had the whole layout of the cemetery memorized.
They stopped in front of a slightly weathered stone, where Kjiersten was already bent down. Like every year, she put the flowers at the base of the stone and rested her hand over the engraving.
"Hey, Momma. How you doing?"
Edgar and Sig stepped back as Norm stepped forward, just like they did every year. Norm bent down next to his daughter, which was getting harder and harder for him with each passing year. He put his hand over hers so his fingers just brushed the stone, muttering something that Edgar and Sig could never make out. They would stay like that for a while, telling her everything that had happened that year. All the highlights, the major events. That day, they'd tell her that Kjiersten finally broke up with that boyfriend of hers, that Norm had backed his truck into her jeep and had made them both temporarily undrivable, that Phil had passed away, that Sig's daughter broke off her engagement a few months ago, that they put their dog down, everything. Everything that had made them laugh until their stomachs hurt, cry, punch the wall, or squeal in excitement, they passed on. And, for the record, Kjiersten did most of the squealing.
"Can you believe it's been 19 years already?" Edgar muttered. "It feels like yesterday sometimes."
"I know," Sig mumbled, running a hand through his hair as Kjiersten playfully smacked her dad with her free hand. "Just look at that kid of theirs. All grown up. I don't know how he did it without her."
"I don't know how he did a lot of things without her," Edgar agreed. They settled into a comfortable silence, their thoughts drifting in different directions.
Finally, Kjiersten stood up and brushed her skirt off. Norman tried to push himself off of the headstone for momentum, but his hand slipped and landed right on the bouquet. Kjiersten let out a yelp and grabbed his shoulders to pull him up.
"Fuckin-a, Dad! We were right there! Right fucking there. SO CLOSE!"
"Hey!" Norm held his hands up defensively. "I'm an old man. Be glad I didn't break a hip in my fall."
"I should just put you in a home now," she shook her head and looked at her mother's headstone. "You see this? He can't be doing this stuff anymore. He's ancient, Momma. He needs help. I can't do this by myself, and those good-for-nothing uncles won't do a damn thing."
"How the hell did we get dragged into this? Just cuz Norm can't stand up doesn't mean anything!" Sig insisted.
"Yeah, and if Norm's going to a home, Sig needs one, too!" Edgar earned himself a shot in the ribs for that.
"Alright, alright," Norm held his hands up. "If you three are done, can we get dinner now? I'm starving."
"God, yes, please!" Kjiersten agreed. "I haven't eaten since breakfast." She scurried to follow her uncles but, like every year, Norman hung back with his wife. He watched as Kjiersten caught up to his brothers and hopped up on Edgars back, completely ignoring that she was in a skirt. Edgar didn't complain, just laughed and grabbed her legs to adjust her so he was most comfortable while carrying her piggy-back to the car. That girl could get whatever she wanted out of whoever she wanted without fail. That wasn't the Hansen in her. That was 100% Hanna.
"Look at her go, Hanna. That girl of ours…she's really something special. You'd be proud of her. She's just like you." Kjiersten laughed at something Sig said and ruffled Edgar's hair. "I miss you, babe. Happy Mother's Day."