Beta- StacyO72- She battled through a multitude of problems with her laptop last night to get this chapter ready and she did it on Benedryl.
Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N First, the HUGE NEWS: Tangled Up In The Mainline was nominated for
a fic of the week at The Lemonade Stand! Thanks to Sunflower Fanfiction for
the nomination. Voting has ended. The story was trading places between five and
six with another fic so I'm not sure if it will make the final cut. Regardless, the exposure has been
fantastic. Welcome and thank you to all
the new readers who have found this little story! Teasers were a complete fail this week so my
apologies. I had trouble with this
chapter but I think we are back on track.
It was a little hard getting into BPOV again plus I was pretty much a
useless pile of goo once DiorRob was unleashed.
I might not survive once the actual video is released. There is "Flagrant use of Rob's tongue"
according to Mtv's blurb about it. **Runs around fangirling like Mrs. Newton
and Jessica**
Ch. 11 Anticipation
We spotted the ocean at the head of the trail
Where are we going, so far away?
Somebody told me this is the place
Where every thing's better and every thing's safe- Walk on the Ocean, Toad The Wet Sprocket
Mondays: no one likes Mondays but this one was especially odious. The sky was a lugubrious grey. Overnight, rain had pounded the island while heavy winds shook the telephone lines outside my window, causing them to screech like a banshee's wail. I had slept fitfully and woke twenty minutes late. Subsequently, I was twenty minutes late to work. Let's face it, on an island so small that bicycles and mopeds make up over eighty percent of the transportation, you really can't use traffic as an excuse for being late. The same goes for the line at the coffee shop or any reason other than your own ineptitude. Luckily, Mr. Newton was usually pretty easy-going about such things. The rain was still coming down in sheets so I drove my truck the short distance from my house to Newton's. The deluge was the remnant of Tropical Storm Somebody which had traveled up the coast from where it landed in the Carolinas. Despite the miserable weather here, I was secretly glad that the storm had not gone offshore and caught a certain longline boat in its path. I parked in front of the "Company Vehicles Only" sign and ran into the plant yet still managed to get soaked in less than ten seconds.
I had no sooner removed my rain jacket when I noticed that crab cop, Officer Cox, and his new partner, Officer Small, were back in our plant again. Ugh, I really couldn't stand that guy. Beyond the imperious attitude, there was something about him that was just skeevy. I knew there was no way the ferry was running today so they must have come over last night before the storm rolled in. I groaned. With only two wholesale fish companies on the island, they would be up our asses all day until the weather cleared and they could return to the mainland. I could see they were standing with Mike and Harry Clearwater, who owned the dragger F/V New Moon. Harry's daughter Leah was a year behind me in school. She had the fortune, or misfortune depending on your outlook, of being the only girl in a class of six students. His son Seth and the other members of his crew were standing just inside the plant, next to the overhead door, which was up, as always when fish was offloaded. The plastic strip curtains covering the opening flapped loudly against the door frame as the wind tossed them back and forth. I could just make out the faint beep of a forklift echoing outside on the bulkhead.
Totes of fluke sat before our state of the art electronic floor scale. Last week's landings had put the fluke quota at almost ninety percent and now all the plants and boats in the state were being closely watched to make sure the quota wasn't exceeded. If regular cops paid as close attention to crime, drug dealing would be eliminated. The Fisheries Department treated Fluke as though it was a more valuable contraband than coke or heroin. Fishing for it would probably be closed by Wednesday and would stay closed until the beginning of October. It was just as well. This type of close scrutiny did nothing but aggravate us all. Mike caught my eye and signaled me to join them. Despite being inside, the air was so filled with moisture this close to the ocean that it felt as though I was walking through Jell-O. The concrete walls and floor did nothing to alleviate the damp conditions. Puddles of water, dark from fish fluids, covered a few uneven spots on the floor. I pulled my Newton's Fish thermal lined hooded sweatshirt tight around my body as I approached the group.
"Hey Bella, Officer Cox was looking for our exemption allowing us to sell fluke in 100 lb boxes instead of the normal sixty. Do you know where that is?"
I nod politely, mumble something and retreat to the office to get it. I know that frigging ass Cox is already aware of the fact that we have a packing exemption because I showed it to him when he was here last week. We are allowed an exemption because we export fluke sometimes and one hundred pounds was the preferred weight for overseas customers since they would convert to kilos. Locally, the fluke had to be sold in sixty lb. totes or boxes, which is the domestic industry standard size. This makes it easier for the cops to catch violators since they can quickly estimate the weight of the total catch based on the number of boxes. The constant checking and re-checking of licenses and permits is done with the hope that we will forget to renew one of our many documents and they can catch us in a potentially costly mistake. Fines for violations mean more money in their department's coffers.
While I am giving Cox the information, Officer Small just stands there, gawks at us, and tries to avoid touching anything. I'm tempted to accidentally splash her with the dirty puddle water, but I'm just not that mean. It takes another forty minutes to get the cops completely satisfied and out of the building. I'm sure they will be back later, although with the entire day boat fleet plus most of the offshore draggers in port due to the storm, they will be busy. I grab a cup of coffee in the galley and finally sit down at my desk. Mr. Newton has already been to the post office to get our mail from the P.O. box. There is no mail delivery on the island. I'm grateful he went because I really don't want to go back out into the pouring rain. I sort through the stack and take care of a few other tasks before I realize it is almost eleven a.m. and I haven't checked email. I open the program and start to scroll through, expecting the usual Monday morning assortment of Fisheries department updates and Export program news. When I get to the bottom of the list, I feel my heart quicken. I have an email from the Vampress. My finger hovers above the mouse. It's just the tally from Doc. He had told me he would email me half way through the trip. I click and begin to quickly skim through the tally. I notice the numbers are good. If they can repeat it for the last half of the trip, it should be profitable for everyone.
I let my eyes linger on the words for a second before I scroll down to the bottom of the page. I am hoping that maybe if I take long enough, what I'm wishing for will be there.
It is.
Bella,
Hey, this is TED. Carlisle can't get the email working so he asked me to do it for him. Actually that's not quite true. I mean, it's true that he can't get the email working but I volunteered to send it. I wanted to get the chance to talk, even if we are 400 miles apart. I hope you are o.k. with what happened on the dock. That's not quite true either. I hope you wanted that to happen as much as I did and I wanted it a lot. Do you remember the last thing I said to you? Could you please not mention that to anyone? I know you're probably confused by the way I've been acting. It's just that I know getting involved with someone like me isn't in your best interests. I tried to do the right thing but I'm selfish and I'm tired of trying to stay away from you. Damn, this is becoming one of those letters where every sentence starts with I. See, I am selfish. Carlisle said if we keep catching, we should have about four more sets before we can start steaming back to port. Do you think you might like to have dinner with me then? We'll only be in port for a few days and I'd like to spend as much of that time with you as I can. Your friend Rose is doing a great job on board. She has been helping us with the catch when she isn't sticking needles in sharks. I think Carlisle would hire her if he could get her to quit her observer job. Carlisle is looking at the weather charts right now and it sounds like you'll be getting a storm in a few days. I hope it's not too bad on that tiny island of yours.
Be Safe,
TED
I read it twice, then once more. The email was sent on Friday night. I notice the coordinates immediately. I can't help but turn to the map of the Northwest Atlantic taped to the wall near my desk. It has grids for longitude and latitude as well as depth measures and various markings for obstructions. Block Island is surrounded by objects like "Unexploded Ordinance 1981". Most people have no clue how many bombs and torpedoes are sitting on the ocean bottom just off the East Coast. Fishermen take heed of the charts because dragging those things up could kill you. If it doesn't, then there's a good chance you'll have to abandon ship and watch the Coast Guard blow up your boat to get rid of the things. A few years ago, a New Bedford clam boat dragged up mustard gas canisters from World War I. That caused a huge havoc. The crew had to be quarantined, the catch of over 500,000 lbs. of clams destroyed, and the boat decontaminated. Before I can stop myself I've taken a push-pin and marked the spot where N 39° 27' 0" Longitude: W 72° 12' 0". They are fishing in Hudson's Canyon, a popular spot for commercial boats. Since it's been almost three full days, I know they probably aren't in the same spot but I'm also sure they aren't more than 100 nautical miles from where they had been when the email was transmitted. I trace an imaginary line from the push-pin back to where Block Island is on the map. His email is as confusing as he is.
I close my eyes and recall the best kiss of my life. My stomach flips and my nerves tingle as I remember the feel of his hands holding my face as his lips pressed against mine. I trace my bottom lip with a single finger. Yes. Yes, I most definitely wanted it to happen as much as he did. I smile to myself as I turn back to the computer, read the email yet again and attempt to reply. There were definitely some strange things about that boy. The last words he had said on the dock were "Edward. My name is Edward." Yet now he was asking me to not mention it and that point seemed emphasized by the way he used uppercase to write TED not once but twice. Instinctively, I knew he was hiding from something or someone, despite his insistence that he just wanted to give fishing a try. Something was off. He had repeatedly said he wasn't good for me and that I should stay away from him yet from everything I could see, he was an average Midwestern college student from a middle class family. O.k., he also happened to look like a Greek god but that wasn't reason to suspect he was a dangerous character. Of course, my panties might disagree. I shift in my seat and focus on the email.
Hi TED,
Thanks for the tally. It looks like the trip is going to be a good one. I'm glad Rose is proving to be an asset on board. I doubt she would ever leave her current job, but I know she would be flattered by Doc's offer. He was right about the weather. We're in the middle of a tropical depression right now. It should be gone later today, and other than being wet and miserable, we're all fine. So, it sounds like you should be back here in about ten days? I believe I should be free for dinner then. Actually, that's not true, I know I'll be free. I also know that you aren't being selfish if I want the same thing. Then it's just the two of us pursuing what we want and yes, I wanted that as much as you did. As for your request, I think I understand what you're asking me TED, but I deserve to know why. We can talk about it more when we aren't four hundred miles apart. I hope that will be soon.
Take Care,
Bella
I look over the email, satisfied with the way I've mirrored my response to his original, and press send.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"So when will the Vampress be in?"
Alice is sitting across from me at picking at her organic free-range grilled chicken salad or whatever it's called when the food supposedly lived a happy life before it arrived on your dinner plate. Between our schedules, this is the first chance we've had to get together in weeks. It's a warm breezy Saturday and we're having lunch outside on the deck of a restaurant up in New Harbor, which is slightly less crowded than Old Harbor since the only ferry that docks here is the small one from Montauk. All the other boats in the marina are privately owned.
I finish the bite of fish taco I was eating and reply "By the end of next week; I heard from them twice so far and it looks like they've got two more sets to go plus it will take a couple of days to steam back."
"I don't know why you guys still use that archaic term. It always makes me laugh."
"Well, I guess it's better than saying they're going to diesel." I take a long sip of my ice water. I really wanted a margarita like Alice's but I know how expensive drinks are on the island and I really need to save every penny or I won't have enough money to go back to school this semester.
"Did you hear anything about Rose?"
"Actually, Ted said she's been doing so well that Carlisle wants her to join the crew."
Alice laughs loudly. "Yeah, like that will ever happen. Of course, it would be so ironic- the girl who hates fishermen becomes one."
"She doesn't hate fishermen, she just doesn't want to get involved with one. Can you blame her?" I add, knowing that Alice witnessed the same clusterfuck with Royce that I did.
"You know I don't blame her but at the same time, I don't think it's fair for her to lump every deckhand together just because she met one jackass. I mean, fishermen aren't necessarily cheaters any more or less than say, lawyers or doctors are."
"But you have to admit, fishing as a profession makes it easier to get away with it. It was over a year and Rose never suspected."
"She was also seventeen for most of the time they dated. She was naïve, we all were. Hell, Big Jim and Miranda were acting like bunnies and we didn't know until I came home sick from school." Alice shudders at the memory.
"Where are they today?" I ask, surprised that Miranda has closed the shop early on Saturday during tourist season.
"They're checking on the farm. It's almost harvest time. Big Jim seems to think he can win the competition this year" Alice rolls her eyes when she mentions the island's favorite secret contest.
I laugh. "What do you expect from a bunch of hippie children and sea pirates? Wasn't your mom born at Woodstock or something?"
"She was a toddler. Did you know her middle names is Rights? Miranda Rights Brandon, I guess she was born right after it became a law. My grandparents are so weird." She sighs. "You're only laughing because the party isn't at your house. If you had to clean up afterwards, you'd hate it too. The house smells like skunk for days. Why doesn't your dad stop it? I know he knows about it."
"Because Mary Alice Sunshine, if he stops it, he can't win and besides, what's he going to do? He'd have to arrest half the town council. It's harmless."
Alice wrinkles her nose at my use of her full name. "You're helping me clean up this year, then you'll see how harmless it is." She pauses and I can tell there is something on her mind.
"What?"
"Jasper. He's in recovery." She pushes the last of her salad around on her plate.
I'm not sure where she's going with this. "O.k., you know a lot of fishermen have drug and alcohol problems."
She nods. "He said it's been three years. He seems really committed to it." She fidgets with her napkin as she speaks.
"Alice, that's great but I don't see how it matters. I thought you weren't interested in him for more than sex?" I watch her body language closely.
"I thought so too. The day we were at Mansion Beach, you took off with your hottie. Rose was busy with that guy Emmett, first yelling at him to apologize to you and then trying to act like she didn't like all the attention he was giving her."
Alice and I share a look. We both know how much Rose likes being the center of attention, especially male attention. She continues. "Rose really didn't notice that Jasper and I were spending so much time together. We hung out all afternoon, just talking. He's really cool, very zen when Emmett isn't pushing his buttons. I know you saw us flirting at the Wolf that night. We went back to his room at the Mallory after…."
She trails off.
"And had hot sex all night?" I fill in the blank. Miranda raised Alice to be very open about sex and she usually is so reticent about the details. It's the exact opposite of the don't ask/don't tell policy Charlie and I still adhere to.
"Intense, it was really intense. I mean, yeah, he is just as hot as I imagined; that ass…"
"O.k. work with the guy, don't need to know." I interrupt.
She giggles. "I was just going to say he is as good-looking with his clothes off as he is with them on. I know you aren't into that look but the ink over the hard muscles: yum."
I smile, happy that she is so happy. "You're going for round two when the boat docks?"
She sighs contentedly. "Definitely." She finishes the last of the margarita, slurping loudly from her straw, not caring about the unladylike noise. "And what about you and this Ted guy? Any fucking going on?"
"Alice!" I hiss as I look around but there is no one sitting close by. "Lower your voice! I don't want the whole island knowing my business."
"What? You were gone for over two hours! It could have happened." She shrugs her shoulders, completely nonplussed by my reaction.
"Well, it didn't. Nothing happened that day. He did kiss me the next morning on the dock. It was…" I pause, pushing my plate away. "It was..." I struggle to find a way to describe it without using fuck or hot. I fail. "It was the most fucking amazing hot kiss of my life."
Alice squeals. "I knew it! I knew you would get it on with him! It was so obvious, the body language the two of you have."
I knit my brows in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"At the Wolf, at the beach, you're always leaning in towards each other when you talk and he looks at you like he's picturing you naked."
"He does not and of course we lean in, he's got to be almost a foot taller than I am!" I'm sort of offended. Alice just accused Ted of Rhett Butlering me. O.k. he had once, but it wasn't like it happened all the time like it does with Doc and every female he sees.
"He totally does! Look at your face, you're all red. Don't worry about the height differential. There are plenty of positions that will accommodate for the differences, trust me. Do you want to borrow my mom's copy of the Kamasutra?"
The waitress comes over just at that moment to hand us our bill. Thankfully, if she did hear Alice she has the decency to pretend she didn't.
"Alice!" I bury my head in my arms and mumble. "Please keep your voice down. In fact, please don't talk about it at all. If we get to that point, I'm sure we'll be just fine."
Alice huffs in exasperation. "O.k. whatever. I'm just trying to help you get laid. So, is this just about sex or are we both completely abandoning Rose's pact?"
"I'm not sure. Physically, he's perfect, but it's more than that. He's not like any fisherman I've ever met. Ted is an enigma. There's something about him that's mysterious and dark and as much as I should just focus on my own life right now, I can't stop thinking about him." I tell her what I know about his background and his career hopes. We finish paying and walk back to our bikes, hugging as though we won't see each other again in a few hours.
Several more days pass with the usual flurry of work and more work. It's becoming increasingly apparent that I won't be able to afford to room and board, even if I do manage to scrape enough together to cover tuition. Mike Newton, of all people, gives me some advice about taking classes online. Apparently, he is half way to getting his degree. I make a note to check into it soon. There's another email from Ted. It's brief but it even so, it gives me butterflies.
Bella,
We just finished the last set. The catch was pretty good, despite the mainline parting and us losing several miles of gear. Carlisle wasn't too happy about the gear but the good news (for us) is that we'll need to order replacements so it looks like we'll be in port for at least a week. I plan on spending all my time hanging around some fish house office. I hope you're o.k. with that. We should be in sometime on Thursday evening. I still plan on taking you to dinner. Maybe you could get the night off work?
Thinking of you,
TED
I'm grateful that Carlisle didn't think to tell Edward to ask me to order the supplies and there's no way I'm going to suggest it. I quickly reply. I tell him that I can probably go into work late, rather than take the whole night off. The truth is, Billy would give me the time, but I just can't afford to lose the money. Also, the thought of having an entire night free to spend with him both excites and terrifies me. My brain keeps sending out warning signals about this guy. He is hiding something. I can't believe that he's done anything wrong. There is something innately good about him despite his sometime callous attitude.
I am still mulling over these thoughts Wednesday morning when I get to work. I open the door of the office and a distinct musty odor of fish overwhelms my senses. Without going any further, I already realize that one of the gillnetters is here with a catch of monkfish. No other fish carries that musky almost sour fishy scent. I'll need to shower as soon as I get home tonight because that aroma will permeate every layer of clothing I'm wearing. I try to keep busy and not think about the fact that the Vampress is due into port in just over twenty-four hours. After filing the bi-weekly catch report with the state and federal fisheries offices, I head over to the post office to get the mail. I get a few odd looks from the tourists there and I know it's the monk stench. The locals are used to people smelling like fish and they all recognize me anyway. I deposit the checks from yesterday at the bank and I grasp that I must really smell because even Mrs. Stanley isn't her usual talkative self.
It's unusually muggy, despite the sea breeze, and a fine sheen of sweat covers my skin. My hair feels huge, like 1980's big, thanks to the humidity. I throw it up in a clip I always keep in my bag. I bike my way back to the plant, the mail and deposit slip in my backpack.
I'm no sooner through the glass door to my office when I feel hands grasp my shoulders and whirl me around. I panicked for just a minute until I focus on the green eyes and bronze –brown hair I know, even as my eyes take in the unfamiliar beard covering his face. I raise my hand to touch it. The beard is surprisingly soft as I run my fingers along his jaw.
I want to ask him what he is doing here, it's one among a thousand other questions going through my mind, but his lips cover mine and all conscious thought leaves me.
My backpack slips to the floor, making a dull thud that seems miles away. His arms enclose my waist as he lifts me up to his height, our mouths never parting. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his body, pressing him closer as our mouths open to each other. "Soft, warm, wet, more," are the only thoughts in my mind as his tongue glides across my bottom lip urging my lips to part further. I am barely aware of the concrete wall hard at my back, the feeling of his silken hair as I run my fingers through it, or the God awful smell of fish, as the rest of the world again falls away and our tongues twine together.
We finally part, our breathing hard, our foreheads still touching.
I catch my breath enough to whisper one word, "Edward."
A/N Find me on twitter shelly_duran (2 underscores) The clam boat story is real. Yes, you can google it. I didn't really need to, I knew the captain. In fact, his brother was the proud owner of the Pog Mo Thoin shirt that inspired Edward's wardrobe choice. Thank you for all the reviews last week! I'm looking forward to reading more. For those who think I need more readers: I am your h00r, pimp me. ;-)
