Sea Haven 01 - Water Bound

moving.”
    “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
    Rikki nodded. It was easier than arguing. “You have fun at the wedding and say hello for me.” It was so much easier being social through the others.
    They were all well liked and had shops or offices in Sea Haven—all were a big part of the community. Rikki was always on the outside fringe and was accepted more because she was part of the farm than for herself. The residents of Sea Haven had accepted the women of Rikki’s makeshift family when they’d moved here just a few short years earlier, all trying to recover from various losses.
    She forced a smile because Blythe had been the one to give her a place to call home. “I really am fine.”
    23

    Blythe nodded and handed her the empty coffee cup. “You’d better be, Rikki. I would be lost if something happened to you. You’re important to me
    —to all of us.”
    Rikki didn’t know how to respond. She was embarrassed and uncomfortable with real emotion, and Blythe always managed to evoke real emotion, the heart-wrenching kind better left alone. Rikki felt too much when she let herself feel, and not enough when she didn’t. She pushed out of her chair and watched Blythe walk away. Rikki was angry with herself for not asking Blythe why she was out running so early in the morning—why she couldn’t sleep.
    Blythe, of all the women, was an enigma. Rikki was an observer, and she noticed how Blythe brought peace to all of them, as if she took a little bit of their burdens onto herself.
    Rikki sighed and threw the rest of her coffee out onto the ground. Sugar in coffee. What was up with that? She glanced up at the clear sky and tried to concentrate on that, to think of her sea, the great expanse of water, all blues and grays and greens. Soothing colors. Even when she was at her stormiest and most unpredictable, the ocean brought her calm.
    She went back into her house, leaving the screen door closed but the back door wide open so she wouldn’t feel closed in. She quickly polished the cupboards where Blythe had touched them, leaving undetectable prints, washed the coffee mugs and carefully rinsed off the sink around the coffeepot.
    Rikki hummed slightly as she packed a lunch. She needed a high-calorie meal, lots of protein and sugar. Peanut butter sandwiches, two with bananas, even though there was an old saying that bananas were bad luck, and a handful of peanut butter cups and two bags of Reese’s Pieces would keep her going. Her job was aggressive and hard work, but she loved it and reveled in it, especially the solitary aspects of being underneath the water in an entirely different environment—one where she thrived.
    Extra water was essential, and she readied a cold gallon while she prepared and ate a large breakfast—peanut butter over toast. She might not like sugar in her coffee, but she wasn’t stupid enough to dive without taking in sufficient calories to sustain her body functions in the cold waters.
    She ate, toast in hand—she didn’t actually use her dishes. Her sisters had given her the most beautiful set with seashells and starfish surrounding each plate. She carefully washed the entire set on Thursdays and her wonderful set of pots and pans on Fridays—and she always had them displayed so she could look at them while she ate her sandwich.
    24

    She’d washed and bleached her wet suit the night before, and made certain that her gear was in repair. Rikki repaired all her own equipment religiously, waiting for that one moment when all her senses would tell her there’d be a calm and she could go diving. Her gear was always ready and stowed at all times, so the moment she knew she could make a dive, she was ready.
    Her boat and truck were always kept in pristine condition. She allowed no one except the women in her family to step onto her boat—and that was rare. No one but Rikki touched the engine. Ever. Or her baby, the Honda-driven Atlas Copco air compressor. She knew her life depended on good air.
    She used three filters to remove carbon monoxide, which had killed two well-known locals a few years earlier.
    She knew the tides by heart thanks to the Northern California Tidelog, her bible. Although she’d committed the book to memory, she read it for fun daily, a compulsion she couldn’t stop. Today she had minimal tide ebb and flow with hopefully no current, optimum working conditions where she wanted to dive.
    Despite Blythe’s concerns, Rikki really did consider safety