Project Maigo(68)

He vaulted back to the main deck with a spring in his step and the wine bottle in his hand, declaring, “Vino for the voman,” like he was a vampire. It was a long running joke between them. His widow’s peak came to a point at his forehead, making him look like an adult Eddie Munster. Although Eddie was technically a werewolf, Michael argued that his mother was a vampire, so he was at least partly vampire, hence the accent.

Deb sat on the deck, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. When they’d left, she believed they were going to a movie. That the dinner would be Burger King. She’d teased him for his more formal attire, joked that he was looking for love. She had been right but didn’t fully understand at the time. She did now, that was for sure. She glanced in his direction as he returned, but shifted her gaze back to the setting sun, a slice of orange peeking up from the horizon behind the shoreline.

He stopped beside her to admire the view. He’d rarely seen the Chesapeake Bay waters so serene. The whole scene was perfect, straight out of a movie. The boat rental company might have ripped him off, but God had his back and was supplying the perfect backdrop.

When Deb didn’t look at him, he went to work on the cork, popping it loudly with a victorious whoop. While Deb remained fixed on the view, he filled the glasses, double in his to compensate for his growing nervousness. Deb was uneasy. He knew her better than anyone, and she was distant, hardly present.

“Did you have a good day?” he asked.

She shrugged. Such a question might normally generate a half hour’s worth of co-worker gossip.

Michael glanced down at the steak he’d cooked. Mushrooms and onions covered the meat. Potatoes and green beans on the side. Her favorite meal. She hadn’t touched it. Had let the food go cold. He saw it as a symbol, and he knew how this was going to end.

They were right, he thought. I’m in the friend-zone. Always have been.

The realization came like a sucker punch. Fifteen years of strong feelings and hope for the future were crushed without Deb even speaking a word. It was like a break up. A betrayal. How could she not know? How could she not feel similarly?

He sat down, a scowl on his face, and cut into his chilled steak. He stabbed a mushroom and ate it. The food was perfection. He looked at the view again. Stars twinkled in the now dark purple sky. Wasn’t this the stuff that women dreamed about?

The next piece of steak was juicy and full of resolve. “Fuck you, Deb.”

The three words got the first real reaction out of her since they stepped on board the yacht. She turned slowly in his direction. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, taking another angry mouthful. “Fuck. You.”

This time she whirled around on him. “No, fuck you! How dare you put me in this position? You knew, Michael. You knew the whole time. And now this? You wine and dine me, and what? You think we’re going to shack up? That we’re going to somehow fall in love? That I’m going to suddenly not be a lesbian?”

Michael choked, gagged and spit the wad of half-chewed steak onto his plate. “What? You’re...” Michael’s mind spun in circles. A lesbian? Holy shit, he thought, the ‘girlfriends’ she told me about weren’t just friends that were girls!

His anger deflated. His shoulders sagged. “Dammit. I’ve wasted fifteen years of my life on you.”

“Wasted?” She got angry again. “Wasted!” She raised a fist and punched the table. The loud bang rose through Michael’s body like a wave of energy. When it continued well past the impact, he realized the feeling was physical, not emotional. The coastline tilted at an odd angle. His stomach lurched, reminding him of a roller-coaster ride.

The table slid into Deb, covering her in two plates of food and two glasses of wine. Her chair tipped back and spilled her to the deck. Michael fell forward, landing atop the table. He could see the ocean below him—far below—as he looked over the yacht’s side. We’re tipping, he thought, picturing a tidal wave beneath them. His scream was drowned out by the sound of rushing water, like a waterfall.

Before he could understand the source of the roaring water, the yacht reached the bay, slamming back down. Water rushed up over the side, knocking Michael back, filling his mouth. He coughed and crawled aimlessly across the deck, as the buoyant craft bobbed upright once again, throwing him down.

As water fell over him like a hard rain, Michael rolled over, expecting to see a wave crashing down toward him. The water was there, white and frothing, falling all around, but where he expected a wall of water was something else. The rough, black surface rose from the bay, shedding water like a second skin.