Blurb:
Erik Hash, owner of a shark diving company in South Africa, loses everything in one night--his business, his partner, and his desire to live. The victim of a violent hate crime, he leaves South Africa and takes a job aboard a private yacht to escape.
When his partner reappears after three years, he wonders if there is something left for them to rebuild. But the ocean isn't ready to let go of him quite yet.
Excerpt:
The boat pitched
from side to side as the deckhands struggled to lower the rattling cage against
the hull. The sky was a cloudless indigo blue, and the stars were beginning to
blink out in rings as sunrise pushed past the horizon. The air was unseasonably
warm, which lowered the chances of this being a productive trip, but I wasn't
going to complain. I loved summers in the Cape.
The waters of
Van Dyks Bay were generally erratic, consistent in their inconsistency, and
there were days I wanted to ignore the weather and wave report and just chance
it, setting sail for Dyer Island without planning for what to expect. But this
was our boat, our company, and we had a reputation that ensured us a steady
stream of tourists.
"Oy! Hash!
We need help securing the lines out here, hey?"
Abraham's voice
called to me from the stern, where he and two of the deckhands pulled at ropes
used to fasten the cage to the side of the boat. The waves were too strong for
divers to climb in just yet, but the wind was slowly dying and soon the pitch
of the boat would turn to a slow, hypnotic roll. I left the tiny wheelhouse and
helped them tie off lines, relishing the salt spray that hit each time the boat
bottomed out on a wave.
We struggled to
secure the cage, and Abraham switched to Afrikaans as we worked. It was my
second language, but the mother tongue for most of our crew, and when things
became tense, as they did now, the tourists wouldn't understand one word we said
to each other. The cage finally settled into the grooves worn into the hull
from countless trips, and we fastened it tightly. Behind us, the divers talked
nervously with each other, surveying the bay with suspicion, fear, excitement,
or a mix of all three. They were already clad in thick wetsuits, masks hung
around their necks or gripped tightly in fists. Abraham tugged at the ropes,
checking them before turning to me and nodding.
"Let's give
it another ten," I replied to the question he hadn't asked. "I'd like
it to be a bit calmer."
I stopped to
chat up the group of divers on my way to the wheelhouse. We had ten on board
today, a full charter. As usual, it was a mix of nationalities and ages: six
women and four men on an escorted tour of South Africa. The women today were
especially flirtatious, and like any smart captain looking to see his business
grow, I took the time to talk with each of them before moving on. Kerry liked
to tease me I enjoyed this part of my job a little too much.
I wore my usual
blue and silver board shorts hung low on my hips, with feet and chest bare. I
leant down to speak intimately to the women, my smile flashing, my laugh
genuine. My blond hair, just a touch on the long side, fell into my eyes and
one of the ladies looked as if she wanted to push it back. I never discouraged
it if they tried. I gave my excuses, begging off with the list of duties I had
to complete. I pointed at Abraham and told them my boss made me work too hard.
Abraham grinned and shook his head; he'd seen this too many times. Yet he still
laughed, because both of us knew who the boss really was even though at
twenty-seven, I didn't look old enough to have my own company.
More importantly
Abraham knew I wasn't interested in any of them. No matter how free, easy, or
beautiful they were. I had a gorgeous man, my partner in every sense of the
word, waiting for me back at our shop.
Nothing about me
proclaimed my sexuality; I'd never been loud about being gay. Most days, it was
the least of what defined me. But I'd never hidden it either. For some, my
choice to live with my sexual orientation as secondary, like every straight
person had the pleasure of doing, was unsettling. So they made assumptions when
it would've been easier to ask. But for most, especially the tourists, I was
little more than eye candy. Someone pleasant-looking to flirt with when away
from home.
The nervous
anticipation of the divers relaxed as the winds died and the waves settled the
boat into a gentle sway. The sun crested over the mountains to the east,
chasing the rest of the stars away. Abraham gave his standard greeting and
instructions before the first divers dropped into the cage. The energy of the
tourists was palpable, pulling smiles from the tired crew.
We'd all been up
for hours already, prepping the boat and supplies, and performing equipment
checks. This moment―when Abraham, with a twitch of his lips, asked the
inevitable question, "Who wants to go first?"―was my second favourite
part of the workday. Nervous laughter skittered between the tourists, and
Dominick, our videographer, circled them, capturing their reactions for a
personalised DVD we would sell to them after the trip. Today, it was an
American who stepped forwards, a goofy grin plastered across his face. He
immediately put the rest of the tourists at ease as he joked about who would
get his wife if he didn't make it out.
I leant against
the helm and pulled out my cell. A green light blinked at the corner and I
flipped it open to read the text.
Howzit?
I chuckled.
Three years after his arrival in South Africa and Kerry still hadn't mastered
the basic slang. He'd attempted it enough times that I knew he was asking how
the charter was going, but the actual meaning of what he'd asked was "how
are you?"
Lekker was my one-word reply: Excellent.
We both spent so much time dealing with tourists that we usually had to curb
the use of slang. But when it was just the two of us, jokes about the
differences between his Irish English and my South African English were common.
I heard gasps
and a scattering of loud curses and knew the first great white had been
sighted. I peeked out of the wheelhouse to where the deckhands were tossing a
fish head into the water. They dragged it back to the boat, drawing the shark
closer to the cage. My cell pinged.
I can't drag my ass out of bed.
He was lying.
I'd heard his footsteps on the wood floors, walking from the bedroom into the
shower, as I'd left early this morning. He would be in the shop now, hunched
over his desk, coffee cup in hand, his black hair most likely dishevelled from
running his fingers through it while he reconciled the monthly accounts. His
work today wouldn't be complicated, he was too organised for that, but it would
be tedious and that drove Kerry mad. He needed to be constantly entertained,
and I favoured the days I spent discovering new ways to keep him occupied and
interested.
It's right where I want it, hey? I texted back.
The tourist
group was all smiles now, enthralled with the gigantic beast cutting lazily
through the water around them. Selling the DVDs was going to be easy today.
Abraham and the deckhands had the divers taken care of, the water had calmed to
a leisurely roll, and the heat from the sun was tempered by a gentle breeze
from the south. Newborn seal pups barked from the island off our bow. It was
the birth of these young that had attracted the great whites back to Dyer
Island and Van Dyks Bay despite the warmer waters, driving larger tourist
groups our way to the point where we'd added a second boat and hoped to receive
government approval for a third next year.
If you don't want your books to balance this month,
Erik Hash was his
response.
He was using my
full name. Not a good sign. I typed back
Frustrated already?
He replied
before I could look up I'd rather be on
the boat.
I let out a low
whistle. If he wanted to be on the boat more than in the shop, that meant he
was more than frustrated. Kerry hated the sharks as much as I loved them. I'd
met him three years ago when he'd walked onto my uncle's boat with his sister,
Kelle, in tow, and I knew then I would do anything to have him. It took me one
day to get him into my bed, but almost a year before I knew he loved me as much
as I loved him. Kerry and Kelle were only supposed to stay in the Cape for a
week, and then move on to Durban, over to Johannesburg, and eventually into Botswana.
After our first night together, Kerry decided not to leave Van Dyks Bay and
Kelle reluctantly stayed on.
Worry lines
creased my forehead as I tried to formulate a response. Kerry had been more
distant than usual the last couple of days. I didn't expect him to be overtly
emotional anytime; it just wasn't him. He was reserved, calm, and introverted,
the opposite of me, but lately he'd been more withdrawn than usual. I knew he
was joking when he said he would rather be on the boat, but I read the underlying
annoyance in that statement and I doubted it had anything to do with
reconciling the finances. Kerry was working through something and I couldn't
shake the feeling that it was bigger than he was letting on.
A collective
gasp came from outside the wheelhouse and I grinned, an old joy filling me with
each satisfied shriek that erupted from the deck, pulling my thoughts away from
Kerry. I felt the boat pitch as the thundering footsteps of the divers followed
the shark from aft to stern. It was rare I made a trip out near Dyer Island
without spotting one of the apex predators, but my excitement never waned, and
my admiration for their ancient power and beauty never faltered. I was seven
years old again each time I connected with the black eyes of these stunning
creatures.
What was I doing
sequestering myself in the wheelhouse? There was nothing I could do for Kerry
until the charter was done. We were on the sharks. I threw my cell into my
hoodie hung by the door, and stepped out onto the deck. There were two divers
in the cage, three standing where it was anchored next to the boat, and two on
the bow. Feet shuffled above my head on the second level of the boat where the
rest of the divers were chatting happily as they clicked off pictures.
Abraham sidled up
next to me, put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed affectionately. His
bone-white teeth stood out against the deep blackness of his skin and a jovial
smile told me it was a good sighting. The silver streaks he'd developed in his
hair over the last two years made him even more handsome.
"How
big?"
"Almost four
metres," Abraham said, pointing at the shark on the aft side.
"There's a three metre juvenile creeping around as well."
We made our way
behind the cage, where a deckhand tossed chum into the water, bribing the
sharks to stay with our boat. There were two other companies doing the same
bait and view routine with their own tourists so we had to keep the sharks
occupied or risk losing them to one of the boats that sat a respectable
distance away. I peered into the water as I saw the large shadow draw closer. I
slid my polarised glasses over my eyes to block out the glare of sun on the
waves and felt my breath hitch when the larger one came into view.
The sides of the
shark were scarred from the number of mating seasons it had been through, the
twisted patchwork of white a testament to its age. It cut gracefully through
the water past the cage, ignoring the divers in the cage that were pushing as
far back against the metal as possible, and yet it was obvious the shark was
aware of everything happening around it. It had decided we weren't a threat
long before it showed up alongside the boat. These creatures were cunning,
intelligent, and ancient. I knew the black of their eyes almost as well as the
green of Kerry's.
The deckhand
pulling the fish yanked it closer to the cage and the water surged as the
juvenile crashed towards the floating fish head. The divers next to the cage
jumped back with a cry of surprise, while the deckhands, Abraham, and I laughed
until we were nearly crying. We'd seen the shadow underneath the water as the
smaller one moved in. I put my arms around the shoulders of two of the divers
at the side of the boat. The petite wife of the American man pulled me closer.
Her wetsuit was soaked since she'd just exited the cage.
"You see
that bro over there with the video camera?" I pointed them towards
Dominick so he could get a good shot of their faces after the surprise.
"He's much more dangerous than the juvenile softie out there."
Dominick winked,
and they twittered and blushed.
"See, I
told you. Sharks are incredibly evolved predators, but you shouldn't fear them.
They are shy, deliberate hunters and will rarely attack except when hunting.
They will never attack the cage. Dom, on the other hand, you need to watch
those teeth."
Before I could
slip my arms from around their shoulders, the American woman looked at me in
amazement. Her teeth chattered. "I don't know whether to be frightened or
amazed. You really love them don't you? The sharks?"
"I do.
There is more to be amazed of than frightened of. Listen to Abraham. He'll sell
you."
I excused myself
and left my co-captain to do his work. While my brain was filled with all kinds
of arcane and useless trivia about sharks and their appearances on TV and in
movies, Abraham had been a part of my uncle's research crew for years and could
answer the important questions about shark biology and habits. Turning this
part over to him was also carefully choreographed after our years of working
together. I had a tendency to spout off about the evil that was TV's Shark Week
if given half a chance. Okay, any chance. But it also gave me time to do what I
really loved to do, which was watch the sharks.
I sat in the
stern with the deckhands and cut up chum. It was the perfect vantage point to
watch the juvenile great white stay a deferential distance from the larger
shark, which only circled back once the divers had calmed down and a fresh
bucket of blood was dumped into the water. I watched the shark until I felt an
itch to check on Kerry.
Back in the
wheelhouse, I pulled out my cell and texted Okay?
I stared at the
phone, waiting for a reply. I could picture him trying to think how to respond,
of typing something and then erasing it. I closed my eyes and paid attention to
the rolling of the waves beneath the boat, letting them rock me. The sun
pouring through the wheelhouse window on to my shoulders and face, warm salt
air filtering in through the open windows, and the rhythmic sound of the waves
against the hull helped calm my worry over Kerry. I don't know how long I stood
there, mesmerised and half asleep, before my cell pinged again.
Just need more coffee. And your ass back in bed.
Only a couple
more hours and I would be happy to oblige him on the second part. Because
getting off the boat and coming home to Kerry, even after three years, was
still my favourite part of the day.
Title: An Immovable Solitude
Author Name: S.A. McAuley
Release Date: October 27, 2012
Purchase Link: https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/coming-soon-c-2/products_id/1222/?zenid=99e5fe7440d968f865bbc78bfe93c3c7
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Bio: Sam sleeps little, reads a lot. Happiest in a foreign country.
Twitchy when not mentally in motion. Send her a picture and a song and she’s
bound to write a story about it. And yes, that’s an invitation.
