7. Levi

Chapter seven

Levi

M orning comes with the promise of calm seas and productive dives. With a nod to the crew, I pilot the Island Dreamer out of the marina, the engine's thrum in my ears a familiar tune. The rhythmic hum is reassuring, a steady backdrop to my thoughts.

I catch a glimpse of Maya on the deck, already immersed in her research, her brow furrowed in concentration. The sight of her so dedicated and passionate strikes a chord within me. It's one of the things I've always admired about her.

"Morning, Maya. Already hard at work, I see." I stretch my hand toward her with a cup of coffee.

She looks up, a small smile playing on her lips. "Morning, Levi. There's just so much data to go through. Every piece is crucial."

I nod, leaning against the railing. "You've always had that drive. It's one of the things I admire about you."

She blushes slightly, returning her gaze to her notes. "Thanks. This project means a lot to me. These turtles… they need someone to fight for them."

"And you're the best person for the job," I say sincerely. "I believe in what you're doing here, Maya. We're going to figure this out."

She glances at me, her eyes softening. "It means a lot to have you on board, Levi. I know we've had our differences, but this… it feels right, working together."

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. "Yeah, it does. Just like old times, huh?"

She chuckles softly. "Almost."

***

Without warning, the trouble starts subtly, a strange cough in the Island Dreamer's engine, a slight shudder through the deck. I press the throttle, but the response is sluggish, hesitant. My heart sinks a bit, but I try to remain calm. Boats are temperamental creatures; a little hiccup doesn't necessarily spell disaster.

I kill the engine, masked concern as I open the hatch to peer below. Maya's at my side in an instant, her presence a mix of comfort and concern. Her proximity brings back a flood of memories, but I push them aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"Everything okay?" she asks, a flicker of worry crossing her features.

"Just a hiccup," I lie, even as my gut says otherwise. The smell of burnt wiring is never a good sign on a boat. I try to keep my tone light, not wanting to alarm her.

Her brow furrows deeper. "Levi, you sure? That smell..."

I exhale, feeling the weight of the situation. "You're right. It's not just a hiccup. We might need some serious repairs."

Maya bites her lip, glancing toward the crew. "What do you need me to do?"

"Can you find Hank and ask him to come help me?"

"Of course," she says, nodding.

Moments later, Hank appears from below, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"What's up, Levi?" Hank asks, wiping his hands on a rag.

"We've got a problem with the engine," I explain, gesturing for him to look. "It's not responding right, and there's a burnt wiring smell."

Hank peers into the hatch, his face grim. "That's not good. We're dead in the water without fixing this."

"Exactly. I've radioed for parts and assistance, but we need to anchor near that small island over there," I say, pointing to a nearby uninhabited island. "Help me get us secure."

"Sure thing," Hank agrees, already moving to gather the necessary equipment. Maya returns to my side, her earlier worry now etched into her features.

"What's the plan?" she asks, glancing between Hank and me.

"We'll anchor near that island, so we don't drift," I explain. "We're stuck here until the part arrives."

Maya nods, understanding the gravity of the situation.

We set the anchor, and there's a silent understanding between us. We've been in tight spots before, and we'll handle this one too.

The truth is clear: we're not going anywhere without repairs.

"How long do you think it will take for the parts to arrive?" she asks, trying to mask her concern.

"Could be a few hours, or maybe not until morning," I admit, glancing at the horizon. "It depends on how quickly they can get here."

She sighs softly. "Looks like we're stuck for now."

Yeah," I say.

We work together in silence, Maya passing tools as I attempt temporary fixes. Her presence is both a help and a haunting reminder of what once was. Each brush of her hand against mine, each shared glance, pulls me back to memories I thought I'd buried.

As we wait for a response on the radio, ours is a partnership bound by circumstance. There's a new understanding, a silent agreement to make the best of the situation. Maya's practical; she starts organizing dive logs and samples, making the most of the forced downtime. I admire her focus but feel the weight of the setting sun as a reminder of our isolation.

Knowing the parts probably won't arrive until morning, there's an unspoken decision to bed down aboard.

"It appears we will be spending the night onboard, so we'll need to make some sleeping arrangements. Maya and Lori can take my cabin, and the guys will need to share the sleeping areas in the main part of the cabin where tables turn into beds.. We'll be a little cramped, but I'm sure we can tough it out for a night." I say with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.

I feel Maya's hesitance, mirroring my own. We resign ourselves to a night on board with the ocean's lull a reminder that we're at the mercy of more than just weather and waves.

As the late afternoon sky turns to shades of pink and orange, I propose a campfire on the nearby shore. "Just to cook dinner," I say, but it feels like an olive branch.

***

The gathered driftwood crackles as flames take hold and take the chill from the night air. The simple act of setting up camp together feels domestic, a word I never thought I'd associate with Maya again.

Dinner is a collaborative effort. We have to make do with what we have onboard and what we can scavenge from the island. Hank had brought his fishing gear and managed to catch a couple of decent-sized fish earlier in the day. The rest of us gathered some wild herbs and edible plants, a task that felt like a mini adventure on its own.

"Looks like we're having grilled fish tonight," Hank announced, holding up his catch with a proud grin.

"Nice work, Hank," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Maya, can you help me with prepping these?"

"Sure thing," she replied, rolling up her sleeves.

We work together, cleaning and seasoning the fish. The scent of fresh herbs mingled with the saltiness of the sea air. Maya's concentration as she expertly handled the fish reminded me of how meticulous she was with everything she did.

"Remember the last time we cooked fish together?" she asked, a nostalgic smile playing on her lips.

"How could I forget?" I chuckled. "You nearly set the house on fire."

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Hey, it was an accident! And we still had a great meal."

As the fish sizzled over the open flame, Lori and Jim set out the makeshift table using a large driftwood plank supported by rocks. They arranged the remaining provisions—crackers, a few cans of beans, and some dried fruits.

"Not exactly a gourmet meal, but it'll do," Jim said, eyeing the spread.

"Better than nothing," Lori chimed in. "And it's nice to have a change of scenery for dinner."

Once the fish was cooked to perfection, we all gathered around the table. The flavors were simple but satisfying, the freshness of the catch complemented by the wild herbs. We ate with our hands, passing around the cans of beans and crackers, sharing stories and laughs as the sun dipped below the horizon.

After dinner, as the crew starts to relax, I decide we need something to lift our spirits. "How about a game?" I suggest catching everyone's attention.

Maya raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What kind of game?"

"Ever heard of 'Two Truths and a Lie'?" I ask with a grin. "It's simple. Each person tells three statements about themselves—two truths and one lie. The rest of us have to guess which one is the lie."

The crew murmurs in agreement, and soon we're all sitting in a circle around the fire.

"I'll go first," I volunteer. "Let's see... I once swam with a great white shark, I have a tattoo, and I can speak fluent French."

Maya's eyes twinkle with curiosity. "The shark is the lie."

I shake my head, grinning. "Nope, I did swim with a great white. The lie is the tattoo."

The crew laughs, and we move on to the next person. The game goes around the circle, each person revealing unexpected facts and cleverly hidden lies. It's a good way to break the tension and bring us closer.

When it's Maya's turn, she thinks for a moment before speaking. "Okay... I once ate a whole pizza by myself, I broke my arm climbing a tree, and I can juggle."

I lean forward, studying her. "You can't juggle."

She laughs. "You're right. I can't juggle to save my life."

The game continues, the laughter and playful teasing creating a sense of camaraderie. As the night deepens and the fire burns lower, I notice Maya shivering slightly.

I stand up, grabbing a blanket from our supplies. "Here," I say, draping it over her shoulders. "You look cold."

"Thanks," she murmurs, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of us.

The crew starts to disperse, heading back to the boat one by one. Soon, it's just Maya and me by the fire, the flames casting dancing shadows on her face.

"Tonight was fun," she says softly. "I needed that."

"Yeah, me too," I agree, my voice equally soft. The crackling of the fire fills the silence between us.

We sit quietly for a while, the silence comfortable. Finally, I speak, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've missed this, you know. Not just the work, but... us."

She looks at me, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "Me too, Levi."

For a moment, it feels like we're the only two people in the world. The past and all its complications fade away, leaving just the two of us, here and now.