All she had left to wear was the maroon sundress. Cobie cocked her head at it like it was an animal that might be playing dead. Well, at least it was feminine. When she got off the ship she wanted to look nice, in a skirt or a pretty ruffled blouse. Wear perfume, and have somebody give her flowers and compliments. Be somebody she couldn’t be on board. Finally she shucked out of her coveralls, only realizing how bad they smelled when they were lying around her ankles and the stink came up. She padded toward the shower, turning sideways to butt-rub the other girls milling around the Mustang Ranch.
Today was the first day she’d get to go ashore, and all at once she was excited. Palma had been fun, but Bahrain was exotic. Ina, who’d gotten to go yesterday, had come back with glowing reports. She showered and got ready, pulling the dress over her head, and then padded back to the mirror in the head. She spent time on her face. Doing the things you didn’t do down in the hole. When she came out, one of the gay girls gave a whistle.
“Some dress!”
“Where you goin’ in that, homegirl? Them A-rab men going to be steppin’ on they tongues.”
She grinned and brushed out her hair. Feeling like she was in high school again and it was prom night. She was a mother, for godsake. Old enough to know better.
They’d gotten the new generator in and tested it and it didn’t work. It was putting out some kind of irregularity in the sine wave, and for a while they were afraid they’d have to pull it out and do the job all over again. Which was a downer. They’d already spent two days working practically around the clock. But then Mick and Chief Bendt had figured it out. One of the cable connections for the computer controls was partially melted and had gotten plugged in backward. As soon as they replugged it, it smoothed out, but then the ship had to get under way because of the storm. She’d gone up to the main deck and cracked one of the doors, just to see it, so she could write home about it.
To Kaitlyn … her mom said she listened to every word, and asked her questions about the places the navy had sent her mom to, to keep them all safe. So she tried to see everything with a child’s eyes, remember details she could write down later. The sand on the deck, fine, powdery tan, pale, pale, beige. Like … powdered sugar with a pinch of cinnamon. The ship was going up and down, she couldn’t see much, just the tan air and the surface of the water. The shore was a pale washed outline. She could see building shapes and a low hill like a camel’s hump and that was all.
She smoothed her dress, wishing her little girl could see her now. Would she think her mother was beautiful?
Someone punched her from behind, and she turned. Ina, in white shorts and a Hard Rock Café T-shirt. “Ready, luv?”
She bleated in horror. “Ina, not
“They’ll have to live with me lush white thighs, love. All I have to wear. Lourdes is up on deck. Coming, then?”
When she came out who should she come face to face with but old Bendt. Who stopped dead, gaping at her. “What’s wrong, Chief?” she said, stopping, too, wondering whether she’d got her liberty section wrong.
“That’s right, Chief.”
“Jeez, I didn’t recognize — You sure as fuck don’t look like no gas turbine tech.”
It was probably his way of paying her a compliment, or as near as he could come. Going down the boat ladder, she thought of at least six things she could have said back. Smart, clever things. But a mysterious feminine smile had probably been as good a response as any.
The sun was blazing out of a clear sky but the ride was still bouncy. The breeze felt good. By noon it would be like a blowtorch, but this early it felt intensely real after the artificial environment of the ship. Spray flew into their faces, salty and cool, and they squealed like fourteen-year-olds. She felt like a fourteen-year-old, all of a sudden. Free from the ship, from the gray walls, from all the men around her, sealing her in like an audience. It was like a day off from school.
Lourdes had on a peasant skirt with little flashing mirrors sewn into it, and a white ruffled blouse, and a red-and-white embroidered kerchief around her head. She looked very Mexican. They were quite a trio, Cobie thought. Totally mismatched, but what the hell.
Fishing boats growled past as they maneuvered for the landing. A long line, rumbling past one after the other. One went by very close, smoke drifting from a slablike stern where a wash of wake bubbled. The upswept bow was extended by carved wood. Long poles were strapped fore and aft above a little white-painted pilothouse all the way aft. It looked like something from
