Oyster River

Laurel grew short of breath, as well. She couldn't suck anymore, but she kept licking Michelle's pussy as it got wetter and the taste grew sharper.

Michelle began to groan and raised her ass off the bed. Laurel could feel her thighs quivering and then, with a moan that was nearly a scream, she dropped back down.

Laurel kissed her on the clit a half dozen times, and Michelle continued to spasm. She kissed her labia and her lower belly and the spasm subsided to shivers. She crawled forward, kissing Michelle's breasts and those beautiful shoulders, and finally her lips.

"You came that time," she murmured.

Michelle sighed. "I surely did."

Laurel giggled. "Wait until I get more practice."

"I am fucking exhausted," Michelle said, yawning.

"Well yeah, you worked all day, drove down here, went dancing, then had sex with some hot chick."

"Yeah I was doing alright until that last part. That's what wore me out."

They took turns going to the bathroom and cleaning up, then crawled under the covers together and laid on their sides facing each other. After sharing only a few kisses, Michelle fell asleep. Laurel lay awake for a while, though. She thought back over the evening's events and felt an almost giddy elation, but beneath it, there were still an ache in her heart that she needed to tend.

****

Michelle woke up to the sound of a murmuring voice. She raised her head and saw Laurel sitting in a chair by the window, wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe. How much stuff did this chick pack, she thought.

Laurel was talking to someone on the phone. Michelle thought that she should probably get up and go into the bathroom to give her some privacy, but she was still sleepy, and besides, if Laurel was worried about being overheard, she could have left the room herself.

"Do me a favor, okay?" Laura was saying to someone, "Put mom on the speakerphone."

Michelle cleared her throat. She wanted Laurel to know that she was awake and listening. Laurel looked over her shoulder at her and gave her a little wave, then turned her head to the window again.

"No, mom, I'm fine" she said, "I've never felt better in my life."

After a pause she said, "There's something I need to tell you. Something I should've told you before but I didn't understand it myself...Yes, Dad it does have something to do with the divorce...No I wasn't cheating on Ed, why would you say that?"

There was another long pause.

"No, stop. Let me just tell you...I didn't just come to Maine to get away for a while. I came here to see somebody. And no, Dad, not someone I was with when I was married...No it isn't too soon. If anything I waited too long... Let me just say it..."

Michelle rose from the bed and went to stand behind her, putting her hands on her shoulders. Laurel looked up at her. She smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes.

"Mom, Dad, I have suspected for a long time and now I understand and I'm certain. I am a lesbian."

Michelle could hear raised voices on the other end of the line. Laurel lowered the phone for a minute, closed her eyes and shook her head, then raised the phone back to her ear.

"No... She is someone I met when we summered here and I've thought about her ever since... No Daddy, I did not become a lesbian for her. I've always been a lesbian. I hid it from you. I hid it from Ed. Most of all I hid it from myself."

There was more cross talk from the other end and for a few minutes Laurel just listened. When she spoke again she said, "I know it's a lot for you to deal with and yes, I know you love me. I love you. It will be okay... All right. Of course we'll talk more... I love you, too. Bye-bye."

She dropped the phone on the table and held her head in her hands. Michelle wrapped her arms around her shoulders and laid her head on top of hers. "That took some courage," she said.

Laurel shook her head. "No, if I had courage, I would have gone home and told them face to face. If I had courage I would have told them ten years ago."

"So, how do you feel?"

"A little numb."

"Maybe a little hung over, too."

"A little bit."

"Are you going to be all right?"

"My whole world changed this weekend. So yeah, it's a lot to deal with, but I'll be fine." She smiled. "I'll be more than fine. But when we get back to Port Harmony I'm going to want a little bit of alone time, okay? I'm not going to run away."

"I believe you."

"Now, didn't you claim that some place in this town makes the world's greatest doughnuts."

"The Holy Donut, over on Exchange Street."

"Well let's go get some and then go home."

***

Michelle brought up the trap, hoisted it over the rail and opened it. There were three bugs in it, one clearly undersized, the others good, about a pound and a half each. Without thinking, she dropped all three into the hold.

Damn, she thought, when she realized her mistake, get your head in the game. It had been two days since she had spoken to Laurel. She wondered how much time she'd need to deal with her emotions about coming out to her parents. Not much more, she hoped. She was surprised how much she missed her.

She grabbed a bait bag, dropped it in the trap, unhooked the line from the hauler and shoved the trap overboard. She turned to take the wheel and felt a tug on her foot. She looked down and was swept with a wave of fear when he saw a loop of the trap line wound around her boot.

As the coils of rope uncurled and disappeared over the rail, she lifted her foot to remove the rope, but it snapped taut as the trap sank. Michelle lost her balance, and fell backwards. Her leg was lifted into the air. She twisted as the rope pulled her up and over the side, managing to grab hold of the top of the rail with her left hand. But that turned her sideways, so that her right hand was away from the boat. Before she could turn herself, she felt searing pain as her hand was pulled away from the rail.

She managed to take in one gasping breath just before she hit the water.

"I'm sorry, Pop," she thought as she sank beneath the waves.

She tried kicking her legs but the right was immobilized. Her descent stopped at a depth of about ten feet. It was dark below her and around her but she could see dim light above. She grasped the trap line, despite the pain in her left hand, but when she pulled, all she did what cause the buoy to bob on the surface. Her thoughts raced. She remembered when she was a girl and her father punished her for raising her foot with a trap on deck. She thought of him now, what would he do without her?

Then she thought of Laurel and felt terrible remorse. Only now, in the last moments of her life, did she realize that she had run from Laurel as much as Laurel had run from her. She'd had her phone number, she knew where she went to school. You fell in love with her, she thought, but you were too afraid to change your life, and you let her go. And now you've lost a second chance.

Her chest burned, her head was pounding, her eyes stung from the salt water. I don't want to die, she thought, I want to live and be with her.

She kicked her free foot at her tangled boot. She knew she had only seconds left before her lungs would give out. She stopped moving, hung motionless in the water, and concentrated on hooking the toe of her left boot against the heel of the right. She pushed with all that was left of her fading strength, and then felt herself float free.

She knew she was rising in the water but the darkness still surrounded her. She realized she was losing consciousness and struggled to stay alert. The light grew brighter, but suddenly a dark shape loomed above her and she felt a shock of pain in her right shoulder. Her head broke above the surface. She inhaled sharply, but bobbed below the water and swallowed a mouthful. She rose again, coughing and sputtering.

The lobster buoy floated just a few feet in front of her and she realized that the the ache in her shoulder had been caused by striking it as she rose to the surface. She swam over to it, and hugged it with her left arm. She looked at her hand. The ring finger was bent at an unnatural angle. The nail had been torn from her middle finger.

She looked over her shoulder and saw Carol Anne gently rocking on the waves, no more than fifty feet away. She imagined her father standing on the deck, beckoning her. A small voice reminded her that he could not stand anymore, but she took strength from imagining that he was there with her. She took several deep breaths, tried to calm herself, then let go of the buoy and swam toward the safety of the boat.

She had trouble moving her right arm, but she was a strong swimmer and made it to the boat with little trouble. The rail was just out of her reach, but as the boat rocked with the waves, it dipped down toward her. She timed herself, and managed to grab a cleat with her left hand, but the pain was so intense that she let go. She waited until the next swell tipped the boat, and tried again, gripping the cleat and clenching her teeth against the pain.

She tried to pull herself up, but realized she could not do it with one injured hand. When she lifted her right arm, she nearly blacked out, and knew that if she did, she would drown.

She ignored the throbbing agony in her left hand and kept her grip on the cleat. She raised her legs until she was floating parallel to the hull. When Carole Anne dipped low again, she twisted at the waist and kicked up her right leg. She felt herself falling back, but her heel hooked the rail.

She closed her eyes and rested for a few deep breaths, then planted her booted left foot against the hull, concentrated her effort on her legs and, when the side of the boat rose, rose with it. For a few seconds that seemed much longer, she clung against the side of the boat, above the waterline. She knew that if her heel lost hold, if her boot slipped, if her hand came free, she would fall back into the water and would not have the strength to try again.

Just as the boat dropped again, her knee slipped over the top of the rail. I can do this, she thought, but she could not get the leverage to pull herself over the top. There was only one way to do it. As slowly as she could, she reached out with her right arm until the pain became so unbearable that she could not breathe, but she managed to drop it on the inside of the rail. Her fingers searched blindly for a handhold. She had nearly given up hope when they touched metal. It was the leg of the trap hauler.

"Help me, Pop," she muttered, imagining when she grabbed it that it was his hand she was squeezing. She took a few sharp, hissing breaths and pulled herself over the rail. The pain in her shoulder was so great that she began to vomit and the world disappeared into a red haze. She fell hard on to the deck and lost consciousness.

She slowly became aware of feeling cold. She opened her eyes, and had to shield them from the bright sunlight, but she continued to shiver.

From the sun's position in the sky, she could tell that not much time had passed.

Still enough daylight to finish the string, she thought, but immediately realized how ridiculous that notion was. Her right arm was hanging uselessly, her left hand was throbbing with pain. When she tried to put weight on her feet, she realized she had probably sprained her right ankle when she pulled herself over the rail.

She sat back down and pulled off her remaining boot. She stared at it for a minute, then tossed it over the side. "Go be with your partner," she muttered.

She struggled to get to her knees. Her cell phone was laying on the deck. She was glad that it had not gone into the water with her. She picked it up, then, using the hauler for leverage, got to her feet.

She could walk if she did not put her full weight on her injured leg, so she hobbled to the wheelhouse, sat on the stool and revved the engine.

Turning the boat toward port, she tried to make sense of all she needed to do. She obviously required medical attention, but what about the half full hold of lobsters? How would she unload them? Would someone at Dean's help her? Would someone there drive her to the hospital in Brunswick?

She thought she should call her father first, tell him what happened, get his advice. As least I am too old for him to take his belt to my ass, she thought.

She raised her phone to call him, dreading the conversation. When she went to dial it, she saw that she had a missed call. She had not memorized Laurel's number, but she recognized the Boston area code, who else could it be?

She hesitated a second, then returned the call. Laura picked up on the first ring.

"Hi," she said, "I'm really glad you called back, I..."

Michelle interrupted her, surprised to hear how weak her own voice sounded. "Laurel, I need help," she rasped.

"What's wrong?" Laurel asked, her voice rising in alarm.

"I'm out on the boat. I got injured. I'm coming back into port..."

"How bad are you hurt?"

"Just banged up I think, but I need to get checked out. And I need to get my catch unloaded so we don't lose it..."

"Okay, how long will it take you to get back?"

"About a half hour."

"Okay, I'll be there before you will. What else can I do?"

"I don't know. I just...I guess I just need you to be there."

"You can count on me, Michelle."

"I believe you."

****

Laurel stood with the Dean brothers and watched Carol Anne glide to the wharf. Stan jumped to the deck as soon as it was close enough and tossed the rope to his brother, who quickly wound it around a dock cleat.

She drew in her breath when she saw Michelle. Her shoulders were slumped, her hair hung limply in her face. When their eyes met, Laurel felt almost as if she could feel her pain.

The Deans helped Michelle step up on to the wharf.

"We'll weigh out your catch," Stan told her, "You just go to the hospital and be seen to. You can leave the boat here for now."

"You ain't going to charge me a docking fee, are you?" Michelle muttered.

"Jeezum crow, you sure are your daddy's girl. No, we ain't gonna charge you to dock, and we'll give you a fair count on your catch, too, if that's the next question."

"I know you will."

As they walked her toward Laurel's car, Butchie asked her, "Where's your shoes, Michelle?"

"The bottom of the ocean."

"Jeezum crow. You didn't go over, did you?"

Michelle nodded. "I went over."

"I thought you just got clipped by a trap or something."

They helped her into the passenger seat of Laurel's car. Laurel went around and got behind the wheel.

"Can you give me directions to the hospital?" she asked. "Or I can set the GPS."

"I can guide you," Michelle said, "I'm alert, just hurting."

She didn't say any more until they had driven out of town. "Thanks for coming for me," she finally muttered.

"Of course I came for you," Laurel said. "So you want to tell me what happened?"

"Got the line wrapped around my foot when I was putting down the trap."

"Why did you move your foot? I remember you told me you never do, that it's the number one rule."

"I guess I had my mind on something else."

They rode a mile in silence.

"You had your mind on us," Laurel said.

"Don't be thinking this is your fault."

Another mile passed in silence.

"By the way, when I called you, it was because I had news."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh. I got a job."

"I thought you had a job?"

"Now I have a different one. I'm the new office manager at Maine Coast Realty."

"Wait...you got a job here?"

"Yeah, I'm going to live here now."

Michelle's phone rang. She dug it from her pocket and looked at the screen. "It's my father," she said.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Pop yelled so loudly into the phone that Laurel could hear every word. "Are you alright, Michelle? Butchie Dean said you went over the side."

"I did, Pop. Got the line wrapped around my boot."

"Ain't I told you a million times don't move your foot with a trap on deck?"

"You did, Pop."

"Didn't I give you a good licking for that once?"

"Yes, you did, Pop."

"But you raised your foot... God damn it, Michelle..."

Even Laurel could tell that he was breaking down.

"Pop... Pop... it's okay. I'm a little banged up but I'll be all right."

"Butchie said your girlfriend is takin' you to get checked out."

Michelle glanced over at Laurel, who looked away as if she suddenly needed to check her side mirror.

"Yeah, Pop," Michelle said, "My girlfriend is taking me to Brunswick."

"Alright," he said, "I'll make sure we got something warm for your belly when you get home. You're gonna need it after being in the water."

"Alright. Love you, Pop."

"Love you, too."

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Laurel asked when Michelle hung up.

"No, but I'm going to be hearing about this for years to come."

"He's your dad, that's what dad's do."

Michelle laid her head back and closed her eyes. Laurel didn't know if she was sleeping or not. but she did not disturb her the rest of the way to Brunswick. She wanted nothing more than to reach across the gap between them and take Michelle's injured hand. Two words played in her head, over and over again. "My girlfriend."

Michelle was taken straight into the emergency room at Midcoast Hospital, while Laurel paced in the waiting area.

Within a half an hour, Michelle came out, her arm in a sling, her finger in a splint and her ankle wrapped in a cloth brace.

Laurel jumped out of her seat and rushed to her. "What did they say?" she asked.

"Well," Michelle said, "I bruised up my shoulder pretty bad and then when I pulled myself on to the boat I popped it out of the socket."

"Oh my god, that sounds awful."

Michelle shrugged. "They popped it back in." She held up her left hand "Got to wear this thing for a while, till the bone sets."

"What about your ankle?"

"Just a sprain. He said keep off it as much as I can and take ibuprofen."

"I'll go get the car and bring it to the door," Laurel said.

"I can walk."

"No, I don't think you..."

"Don't baby me," Michelle said," You're going to learn that's one thing I won't tolerate."

"Okay, tough girl."

Michelle was still feeling chilled inside, so on their way out of Brunswick they went through the Dunkin' Donuts drive-through for hot coffee. They drove back to Port Harmony in the golden glow of a late summer evening, not speaking much for the first few minutes.

After a while, Michelle looked at Laurel. "What's that grin on your face about?"

Laurel pursed her lips together for a moment, then blurted, "Your dad called me your girlfriend."

"He surely did."

"Then you repeated it."

"That's true."

"I never had a girlfriend before," Laurel said, sounding almost giddy.

"Good, I can teach you from scratch."

"We still have a lot to talk about."

"That's true, but we don't have to talk about it now."

Laurel drove up to the house as the last light was fading. Pop sat in his wheelchair, just inside the door, waiting for them.

"I hope you aren't going to yell at me," Michelle said.

"Not tonight," he replied. "You must be Laurie," he said, looking up at her.

She did not correct him. "Hi, nice to meet you," she said.

"Thank you for helping my girl."

"I'm glad I could be there for her."

"Well come on and get some food," he said, rolling backwards towards the kitchen.

"Something smells really good," Laurel said, as they followed him.

"What's all this?" Michelle asked, looking down at the table.

"Bub Boylston brought by a pot of oyster stew, that's what you're smelling. Mrs. Perkins brought a fresh loaf of homemade sourdough bread and Ida Mayfield stopped by with that plate of cookies."

"So, everybody in town already knows my dumb ass went overboard," Michelle mumbled.

"I've never had oyster stew," Laurel said.

"Well, sit down," Pop said, "I'll get you a bowl."