The broken bits of charcoal rattled around in the empty paint can as she dropped it beside her legs, sunglasses falling down the bridge of her nose. Letting them teeter there, Margot stood up underneath the umbrella that cut a hole through the table. She stubbed out her cigarette in the plastic surrounding it. Thinking she was intoxicated, Margot kissed the sloppy honey from her fingers. He was still holding the golden bear in his hands, the lid open and she drizzled the nectar into her mouth. It dripped into her palms, until she drank from them, their rough texture mixing with perfection to the sweet taste.

"Summer lovin' something something gone so fast?" Seb placed his hand behind her neck, index finger rubbing the top of her spinal cord, as they watched their feet shyly, the deck hot underneath. Puffing on his joint, he wrapped his hands around hers, piled on top of her knobby knees. Their fingers welded together with the sticky mess that they were.

"If you say so." Her black hair was piled up so that her grass green eyes could watch him widely. The quick breeze whipped their shirts against their backs, hunched over the dog lying on his back in the tall grass. His feet quivered as the sun warmed his thick black fur. "Superstitions or not, you're still leaving on Friday?" The question went unanswered as their heads tipped back to be licked by the cloudless sky. Smoke curling out his nose, Margot dismissed the question with a long drink from her slippery beer bottle. She let the condensation work the honey off her hands, the combination bringing a sly smile to her face.

She ruined their hold, to stroke the knot on her collarbone, remembrance of how once she would have been out there with him, on the ship named for her implausible eyes themselves. Cooking the meals or reading in her bunk, feeling insulted for not being a man. And one building sized wave could bring her down to the level of a wife, being left at home to pine and speculate if he was really coming home this time. Her first season alone on the shores would be the last that she would stay.

"I probably shouldn't say this, but..." her avowal was cut off by Sebastian's shake of his head, and a yap from the dog as he chased his tail around in circles for some incurable itch. "I think I'll head inside." The superstitions were calling her name, chasing her down as she dropped her empty bottle, left it to roll down the deck stridently, as Margot stomped inside, the receiver of a drunk hug from Audrey.

"Girl how are you going." It was a statement, as she stopped herself, Margot twitching away from the comfort of familiarity that things around her were bringing. The hot pavement was littered with sand grains, the beach only yards away. She crashed through them. Sticky air met her happily, as she flung herself to a stop, breathing quickly from the dash until she was shoved to meet the soft beach with her face.

Sand nestled in her hair; she lay in the hot sun with a long face, as Sebastian sat beside her, fingers dancing quickly upon themselves, crying for another smoke. He relented, helping Margot to her feet, laughing at the sadness of the state they were in. Superstition meets Everything Will Be Okay, say goodbye to Things Don't Work Like That, he's going away for three months, he'll be seeing your father everyday while you watch the water that takes them away, but you never go in it. You never even acknowledge it because you can't be with them. And isn't that a good thing Ms. Something Is Going To Go Wrong, It Really Is.

"You're thinking it," he cautioned. "And if you're thinking it, then it's going to happen. So watch the ocean. It'll tell you to not worry." This was not true, and Margot hated him for trying to pass that shit by her as she tilted her head back once more, focusing on the moving blue, like the conveyor belts in grocery stores. It wasn't really moving, but no one could tell her that it wasn't. She fell back, watching as Sebastian turned his head towards her and closed his eyes, he could always feel peace when she couldn't, he said it was only from his meditations and she had scoffed when he first said it. There was no meditating on a crabbing ship, she told him but he proved her wrong.

It wasn't going to happen again, not as the sky was falling and the lights dimming on the ceiling to the Earth, a plunder of the sun to be bathed in the water below. The lighthouse could be seen down the beach, a tall beacon of loosing, yet hope. It would guide them off, and back again. Once a week he'll call but every single day she'll hold on to the phone.

The tips of her hair danced in the wind, twirling around each other, sand hitting her face hard, but the sting was enjoyable, it made Margot alive when the only feeling in her chest was dread. Sebastian buried her feet with the warm sand, packing it together tightly, leaving her toes wiggling free.

"Kiss me goodnight, deckhand," she called to him slowly and rough, not moving from her drunken position, letting him cower over her, making her wait too long, until she kissed him first. Their lips moved together like bodies rubbing against each other in a mist, they enjoyed it until he broke away and Margot slowly showed her eyes to the world.

Removing her feet from where they lay, the haphazardly made cavern fell upon itself, just a pile of sand like the rest of the beach, and she climbed the dooms, leaving him to watch the sunset by himself. The beach was not calm, it would not be for three months and some odd number of left over days, and then the ship would rest here, at this beach for the rest of the year. Safety, she stumbled over this nuisance of a thing, walking pigeon-toed down the dock, her father sat staring at their shared houseboat, glass of wine in one hand and a mint cookie in the other. His far off gaze was glassy, a normal part of his ritual before heading off to sea. She passed him, to jump onto the small boat, heading into her solace.

His emotional strain was starting, his confusion, brows furrowed as Margot watched him through the port window by the kitchen. The last one to go to sleep, keeping the crew in line when they get on him for not doing any of the physical work. Does he sleep at all? She couldn't answer any of these questions at home; the knowledge of anything wouldnt help.

Duffel bag packed, cardboard boxes stuffed to the brim with his coffee, vitamins, toothpaste. Sinking down into the couch, she felt the boat move as her father boarded, the door opening slowly, as he carefully set his glass in the sink, ignoring Margot as he padded through their home, the television in his bedroom clicked on and the light flooded to light up, and she bit down on her small bottom lip, out of proportion with the rest of her face. Father's features, mother's eyes, it didn't matter, they were splattered from each, an easel to paint something that would never be completed. She didn't look finished. Because she knew more than anyone would let on, never herself.

Knowing that there was nothing that could be said, the man of few words shut the door to his bedroom, leaving Margot in the middle of the couch, her hands between her knees, forehead dipped so that her chin touched her chest, eyes opening and closing to their own destination. There was almost no light coming from the dock, only the reflection of the lighthouse beam from the water to shadow every object in the room. Margot was used to fantastic amounts of darkness, the ship had lost power many times before, including her last time aboard, as she had toppled from her bunk to crack her collarbone on the edge of a cabinet.

He was angry at himself for ever thinking the idea was a good one, he was angry that he couldn't see her happy face any longer, angry at everyone but the real person who had caused the problem. He still loved the ocean more than any plausible thing on the map, Margot would even bet all the dollars in her possession that she came second best. Not to the ocean, but the ship. The ship could not be counted as a thing, he had once lectured her before, as they sat eating dripping ice cream cones on the pier, watching the beautiful swells that crashed upon the shore with a sound that she used to love. Now there was sickness in her stomach as she could remember it.

He had let her drive the ship at sixteen years of age, his hands over hers as they watched the endless stretch of salt water, following the course of the pots, and she could spend all day watching him do his calculations, they never fought upon the calamity of his office, no one was allowed inside. Locked from the inside a knock on the door would earn you forty straight hours of pulling pots and sorting crabs. It was her own niche that he had yanked her from.

She still could feel his tears in the air from when he pulled her from the cabinet, arms bleeding and hardly able to lift her head, his face was strained as the crew pulled all the ice packs and gauze they could find, falling in and out of conscious life, he was checking on her every hour, no change, the hurt never could go away, she was drinking alcohol to stiff the pain. It hadn't faded until they were on shore, he left the crew to unload and take the money, she was taken to the nearest hospital in a neck brace, she was carried home, she was put to sleep for days, and finally she was to never set foot on his precious boat ever again.

There was no confusion between the two, the deformation on her neck made him take his eyes away from her more than five times a day, the blame could not be on anyone but himself, not even the real culprit. Embracing her with two hands, the ocean had brought her down once, as a nave little child, she had been knocked from her birdlike perch on the pier, the quiet in her ears whizzing by until the splash of the water and her lungs were tortured, they suffered the worst, and she still pushed them, her confusion out weighing the need for air until Margot had been pulled to life, her father's hands quivering as he laid her on the beach, they both were sobbing, the division between the human who needed the water to survive, or to provide for himself and his daughter, and the other who would tolerate it to be near her only relative.

These two people could not be the same, they could not know what was real and what was false, the first would smile and the other would grimace in some inconsolable pain, but their sides would be touching, they knew the meaning of time better than anyone else, the time of water, the decision of to push through a storm or to give in and head back, do they risk dead crabs for more, do they push their crew to the limit until accidents could occur or back down and then pound themselves for it in the morning?

Do they leave everyone at home when they need to be anywhere else, driven to sadness and curling up on the couch with a red blanket, in the dark, in a bathing suit, sunscreen already applied. She'll wash it off and go to work and stare at the beach. And then the darkness will come to the rescue.