He adjusted course and aimed for the middle of the bay. His net dragged the water and the equipment creaked with rust and age. Holding his course he ranked the net and the mechanism whined while it drew the net up into the boat.

He risked a look back and started when he saw what was in the net. His fingers tangled in the weaving, dragging it over the side and dropping it quickly into his boat. With quick fingers he pulled the net apart. In a moment he grabbed under the prone figure's arms and dragged her back toward the cabin.

With a kick be stopped the motor on the boat, floating it in the tides of the bay, and returned to the woman's side. Her eyes were closed, no detectable breathing, and her clothing clinging to her body. He put his ear to her mouth and then her chest but could hear nothing.

Breathing out a moment he looked to his radio but then placed one hand over the other, interlacing his fingers. He pressed just below her ribcage, counting the compressions under his breath, and stopped when he reached the number he remembered from the fringes of his Red Cross training so long ago. He tipped her head back, lining it up as best he could and breathed into her mouth. Taking another breath he tried again, repeating the process for another few breaths before compressing her chest.

On the second go-round she gasped for air, coughing water into his mouth. He backed away, coughing for himself while she wretched the water from her lungs. Gathering his breath, he turned back to her while she hyperventilated.

"Hey, that's not going to do you any good." He soothed, taking her shoulders, but she twisted out of his grip. "It's alright."

She crawled to the other side of the boat, holding tightly there with her blonde hair in scraggly strings about her face. The wideness in her eyes and the rise and fall of her chest had him raising his hands in surrender. Slowly her breathing eased and he stood.

He pointed to his radio, "I'm going to radio for help. Just to make sure you've got some A&E when we-"

"No!" She shook her head in a fury, sending her blonde hair flying. "Nobody can know I'm here."

"What?" He reached for the radio but she sprang forward, ripping it from his grip. "Hey! Don't break it."

"Don't call anyone."

He worked his jaw back and forth a moment before nodding. "Alright, I won't call anyone. But what if you're hurt?"

"I'm fine," She sank into the corner of the cabin. "Just don't tell anyone."

"Okay." He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "Do you have somewhere to be? Somewhere you want to go?"

"Just where no one will see me." She huddled, shivering in the corner."

"Okay," He nodded his head, more to himself than to anyone else when he kept repeating the motion. "Okay, okay… somewhere no one… okay."

He turned his motor back on, steering the boat back toward land. Risking a moment away from the wheel he checked his machinery, turning everything off and pulling it back into the boat, and returned to the cabin. With a glance down he noted her blue-tinged skin and grabbed a blanket to throw over her. She wrapped herself in it, teeth still chattering.

"What's your name then?" He smiled at her, "You've got one of those right?"

"Yes." Her teeth clacked, her jaw straining to hold itself closed in an attempt to stop her convulsions.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?"

"Anna."

"Anna?" He shrugged, "That's a lovely name. I thought about naming my daughter something like that."

"You've a daughter?" She sucked air through her teeth, her shivering slowing.

"Yes. Ondine."

"You named her after the spirit of the waters?"

"Technically it means 'little wave' because-"

"Because the spirit of the waters was Undine," She nodded, "I know. I studied Latin in school."

"Did you?" She nodded. "I studied history but it didn't do me any goo. I just took up my father's boat and his occupation."

"And your father's name?" He raised en eyebrow, "You haven't shared your name with me."

"Oh," He laughed a bit, steering the boat carefully into a little inlet. "It's John."

"Good name."

"My mother thought so." He aimed the boat to a dock and sopped the motor. "Come on."

"No one'll see me here?"

"No one." John assured her, working his way out of the cabin and jumping onto the dock to drag the boat by its ropes to kiss the wood. He tied it in place and pulled the knots tight. Offering his hand to her, he stood on the dock. "Come on then. You can't be there all day."

"Can't I?" She moved slowly from the cabin, her head darting from side to side as if worried someone might jump out from one of the bushes.

"Come on. I promise it's safe."

Anna took his hand and climbed over the side of the boat. She held the blanket tightly to herself as she followed him up the dock to a small house. John pushed the door open, coughing at the dust, and waved his hand through the air.

"It's not the best place but it's someplace. For now, anyway." John turned to her. "You'll be safe here and no one'll know you're here."

"You're sure?" She tiptoed into the room, her bare feet silent on the wood.

"It's my mother's house and she passed a few months ago. Now it's mine and no one comes here."

"Except you?" She turned to him and John smiled.

He reached out a hand but she recoiled slightly. With a cough he nodded, "Except me. I promise everything'll be alright."

Anna took a breath and continued her inspection of the small house. John started, something in his pocket vibrating. He grabbed into his coveralls, digging for his phone, and grunted when he saw the name on it.

"I've got to go."

"What?" Her face paled, "You can't leave."

"I've got to go. My daughter's got… a thing." John typed a quick response. "I'll be back tonight when I finish. I promise."

"When?"

John checked a clock, "Probably around eight or something. I'll bring food for later but for now I've got to go."

"Alright."

John stopped at the door, grinding his teeth before walking back to the downcast Anna. He risked a hand on her shoulder and she shuddered but did not pull away. "I promise, I'll be back."

He jogged down the dock, untying the boat, and drove it back to the main docks in the harbor. His knots made him squirm but so did the abhorrent screech of his cab door when he climbed into his truck. It trundled along the narrows roads, belching smoke every few meters, but he reached the line of the trailer-like houses at the edge of the water.

Slamming the door he hurried through the warren to one of them, sighing when a woman holding a cigarette between her fingers stood at the gate there. She flicked the ash off it before taking a deep drag. "You're late."

"I know."

"Was it that shit car of yours again?"

"No," John went to move past her but she stood in his way. "I've got to take Ondine to her appointment Vera."

"I thought you said you remembered."

"I did. I told you in the text I got held up." John opened the gate and smiled when a little girl pushed her wheelchair out the door toward him. "Ready?"

"You're late."

"I know. Dad's sorry."

"You always are." She beamed up at him, "Ready to go?"

"Yes." He took the handles on her chair, pushing her back through the warren with Vera right behind him.

"You need to see the doctor about where she is on the list."

"I know that."

"He's only there 'til five."

"I know."

"Then be n bloody time next time." John risked a look back to see where Vera stabbed her middle finger toward the sky after him. She scoffed, dragging on her fag before going back toward her house.

"She's upset because it meant she and Dick couldn't go on their date." Ondine craned her head back to see John as he stopped them next to his truck.

John paused, opening the door. "She doesn't call him 'Dick' does she?"

"Only when she wants it." Ondine held her arms up and John lifted her into the seat.

He pointed a finger at her, "That's not ladylike."

"I know. But they don't care if I can hear them and it keeps me up at night."

"Then I guess we'll have a talk with Mum when we get back." John closed the door, lifting the wheelchair into the back of the truck before climbing into the front seat again. "That's if she'll talk to me."

They drove to hospital and reversed the process of loading Ondine into the car so John could push her chair toward one of the exam rooms. As they passed it, John spotted the doctor walking out of another room. He showed Ondine a single finger and jogged to the doctor.

"Doctor Clarkson?" The man turned and John lowered his voice. "I know you're busy."

"I'm actually on my way to a surgery."

"It's a quick question." John gathered his breath, "What news do we have about her transplant?"

"Nothing definitive." Doctor Clarkson turned but stopped, grunting through his nose. "We've not got word because there's no word to be had. Not enough transplants available for all the people who need them and too many people who need them."

"Where's she fall on the list?"

"Too far down." John closed his eyes and felt Doctor Clarkson's hand on his shoulder. "For now, Mr. Bates. For the moment the dialysis is working and her body's strong enough for it. When there's news of a match I'll let you know."

John took a deep breath, nodding while trying to keep his emotions under control. "Thank you Doctor, for your kindness."

"I wish there was more I could do, truly I do Mr. Bates." Doctor Clarkson nodded at him before disappearing down the corridor.

John returned to Ondine and started pushing her down the hall again. Her fingers played on the handles of the chair. They were silent for some time before Ondine spoke.

"How far down the list am I?"

"Not too far," John tried to shake it off, settling her in the exam room and helping her onto the table.

"You're a shite liar Dad."

John laughed, hanging his head, "I am, aren't I?"

"It's a good thing." She settled back on the table, "It means that I know when you're telling me the truth."

John went to respond but the door opened and the nurse entered. "Hello Ondine. How've you been?"

"About the same. Still aching in all the wrong places and my chair's acting up." Ondine shrugged, shifting the paper on the table, and the nurse laughed with her.

"Did you bring a book?"

"No. Dad was late and I forgot."

"Oh well, I guess Dad's going to have to spend some time talking to you then." She looked over her shoulder at him, "How you been Mr. Bates?"

"Not bad Sybil. You?"

"About the same." She hooked the leads to Ondine, slipping the needles in and flicking the switch on the machine. "Tom's got himself a job as a journalist now days and that means he's away in Dublin twice a week."

"That's hard on you." John stroked a finger through Ondine's hair. "How Sybbie holding up with it?"

"She goes with him every other time. She likes a car ride and it's only the M6 most of the way." Sybil finished and smiled at Ondine. "There you are. How's that feel?"

"Like every other time."

"Good. Then I didn't ruin it." Sybil put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"Thank you Sybil." John waited for the door to close before turning to Ondine. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." She adjusted slightly, peeking at the sight of her blood running through the tubes to the machine and back out. "Will you tell me a story?"

"You haven't asked me to tell you a story in years."

"Does that mean you don't want to?" Ondine pouted and John smiled at her.

"You're too precocious and cunning for your own good."

"I now all your weaknesses." Ondine nodded at him. "Go on then."

"Well," John took a deep breath, leaning himself over to rest his chin on his arms on the tabletop. "What if I told you about a fisherman who went out trawling?"

"And did what?"

"He put his net into the water and it pulled something up."

"What?"

"A woman. There was a woman in his net."

"A woman?" Ondine tipped her head toward him. "What's he picking up a woman for?"

"He didn't know. He just wanted to go fishing."

"What was the woman?"

"Just a woman." John scowled, "What else would she be?"

"She could be a selkie."

"A what?"

"A selkie."

John shook his head, "What's a selkie?"