Free Surface Tension by Christine Kling

enclosed head in a corner, while in the center sat the single 220-horsepower CAT D342 six-cylinder diesel that powered the tug. In spite of the engine room insulation, sleeping on the little aluminum shelf over the engine was nearly impossible due to the heat and noise when under way. But tonight, I knew I’d feel far safer sleeping there than in the mess that was my cottage. I reactivated the alarm system and fell into the bunk without bothering to undress. I wasn’t awake long enough to realize how uncomfortable I was.

VI

    Abaco’s barking blended right in with my dream. I was running, running hard and scared in total darkness. I was barefoot, struggling to run in sand, then mud, deep thick muck that sucked at my feet. The darkness was so complete I couldn’t even see my body, but I knew something was back there, getting closer. I opened my mouth to try to scream for help, but no sound came out. My voice was gone. As I started to crawl up to the surface, out of my dream, the first thing I became aware of was a distant muffled voice calling, “Hello, hello, is anybody home?”
    I opened one eye and blazing sunlight assaulted my retina. Gradually, my eyes began to make out shapes in the glare. This wasn’t my cottage. There was no bare aluminum ceiling in my cottage. When I saw the instruments and the helm, I remembered where I was and why I was there. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head.
    Abaco stopped barking briefly, growled a low throaty rumble, and scratched at the wheelhouse door. She wanted to get out and protect her territory.
    “Hello? Miss Sullivan?”
    Whoever it was didn’t seem to want to go away. Apparently I had no choice but to get up and deal with him, whoever he was. It was beastly hot in the closed wheelhouse, as the sun had been up for quite a while, beating on and heating up the aluminum superstructure. I disentangled my legs from the damp, knotted sheet and stood up. My mouth tasted like bilge water from too much beer the night before, and I knew I smelled even worse. Through the wheelhouse window I could see a man standing at my cottage, pounding on the door. It was unusual for anyone to come back here. It required entering private property through a closed gate. He was wearing what looked like a very expensive suit and fancy tasseled loafers. He exuded power and confidence. In the hand that wasn’t beating on the door, he held a briefcase.
    “Persistent fellow,” I said aloud. When I attempted to comb my fingers through my hair, the strands seemed hopelessly tangled. Giving up, I slid my fingers under Abaco’s collar, unlocked the wheelhouse door and slid it open. The dog barked, and the man spun around at the sound, a startled expression on his face. When he saw me struggling to hold on to the dog, a fleeting expression of distaste passed over his face. I guessed I looked about as bad as I felt.
    I leaned down. “Abaco, stay.” She sat down obediently, surprising the hell out of me.
    “Miss Sullivan?”
    “Yeah, that’s me. Sorry about my appearance.” I gave another futile swipe at my hair. “Things were a bit of a mess last night, and I slept on the boat.” For some reason I could not define, I found myself not wanting him to know just what the inside of my cottage actually looked like at that moment. “I guess I kinda slept in.” I slid the wheelhouse door closed. “What time is it, anyway?”
    He raised his wrist and glanced at his watch. It looked expensive. “It’s nearly nine-thirty. I apologize for waking you.” He walked across the grass and extended his hand to me. “My name is Hamilton Burns, and I would like to talk to you if you have a few minutes. It’s about the Top Ten .”
    He had my attention then. I stepped onto the seawall and shook his hand.
    “Seychelle Sullivan, but I guess you know that already.”
    He nodded.
    “Look, it’s so hot inside, why don’t we just sit over here?” I led him over to the picnic table in the shade of a big live