Page 3 of The Wild Beneath

Aiden never loved medicine. As a kid, he drove his rusty fishing dinghy long before he could drive a car. He woke in the early morning, threw off the lines, and motored down the channel, a fishing rod in hand. What he loves most is the sea, this rugged Pacific Northwest coast: the rhythmic lap of waves, euphoria of endless sky, swirling patterns of tides. It disentangles him. He doesn’t need to be anything he’s not.

He met Mara at the hospital four years ago. She was strange; everyone noticed it. A bit feral. Hardly talked. But to Aiden she was heart-stopping—­skin so pale it was ghost-like, and stone-grey eyes. A line was drawn. The before and after meeting Mara. It wasn’t long before they bought this boat and painted the nameAmphitritein gold cursive on the transom.

She’d always wanted to live on a sailboat, which was just one of the many unusual things about her. She liked to swim in the middle of the night. In the ebony water, she wrapped her legs around him, fused their bodies together, kissed his open mouth. She always stayed in the water the longest. She tracked the cyclic phases of the moon, mapped constellations in a spiral notebook on the charting table.

Ruth did not approve. “It’s impractical,” she said to Aiden while replenishing the Band-Aids and syringes in the clinic’s back hallway. “Living on a boat after all you’ve studied for, Aiden. Think of everything you’ll be throwing away.” She forced an overstocked drawer closed.

As the son of a single mother, even at thirty-four years old, Aiden still leans toward doing what Ruth expects.

Mara finishes gutting the fish and slices it into neat fillets for the grill. She goes below to scrub the cutting board and wash her hands. Even so pregnant, she moves as if she’s hovering two inches off the deck, swimming through air. Where does she get this ease? Wherever it is, the more time he spends with her, the more it rubs off on him.

Back up on deck, light radiates from her skin. She puts her warm palms on his face and kisses him again.

“Trust me,” she says.

And he does. His shoulders descend. It feels like he’s loved her longer than the years they’ve been together; illogically, it feels like he’s always known her. The light fades into a burning sunset. The night unfolds with constellations that Mara cannot stop watching.

A month later, Mara paces below deck with each contraction. Aiden keeps watch, up and down, up and down the companionway. Thankfully, there’s no wind. The sea lies pancake flat. His face is a facade of calm.

He uses his portable Doppler ultrasound and listens to thetap-tap-tap of the fetal heartbeat. Mara doesn’t want the Doppler. She tries to shoo him away, but he persists, a divot of concern crossing his forehead.

Mara wants to swim as she labours.

“We’re in the middle of the Pacific, Mara.” Aiden keeps his voice level.

“People give birth in the water all the time,” she hums.

He puts his palm on her belly. “It’s freezing.”

There’s no stopping her. Soon enough she’s floating on her back, in less pain. The contractions are easier. On the swim ladder, Aiden stands and holds the Doppler out to her stomach as she floats. The tap-tap-tap stays strong. He watches the heart rate. She watches the moon.

“It’s time.” Mara wipes her upper lip and pushes her hair from her eyes.

“Come back on board.” Aiden reaches a hand toward her. “I won’t be able to see what I’m doing.”

She shakes her head.

The divot in his forehead deepens as he considers what to do next. Mara will not relent; he knows this of her. He takes off his boots, his pants, throws them into the cockpit, and grabs a life jacket and a rope. After securing a line between himself and the transom handhold, he slides into the bite of cold salt water.

“Jesus,” he breathes.

Mara’s gaze is unfocused.

“You have to come closer, Mara.” He grips her arm and pulls her to the ladder, so she can slide herself onto the middle step. “Hook your arms through the handholds.”

She does.

He’ll have to float in front of her, somehow, as she pushes. He swears under his breath. This is the last place he ever expected to be delivering a baby, let alone his own. With her left calf under his right armpit, and the rope holding them both, he suspends himself between Mara’s legs.

“It’s time to push.” She barely whispers it.

Aiden can’t see anything beneath the dark surface; he’ll have to help her by feeling alone. He balances with his feet spread on the lowest rung of the ladder and his hands between her legs. In the glow of the boat’s running lights, her face is contorted and red.

“Breathe,” he says.

Mara jams her right foot into his shoulder and pushes. He prays the rope holds them while she writhes against the ladder.

“You’re doing it,” he says.