Love In Deep Blue: Chapter 1

In spite of everything, Eva would always love Peter Edward-Smith.

How couldn’t she? When your entire world was a town like Triton- distant from the rest of civilization and almost completely surrounded by Atlantic water- it’s hard not to chase the only ray of sunshine. More so when born into a servant’s caste and with lungs that could barely hold the often-frigid air.

Peter often said the same wonderful things of Eva. The daughter of his family’s maid and nearly his age, no other kid he knew indulged in his adventures like she did. Adventures only made possible by the imagination she’d paint them with. Peter’s mother- Tabitha- all but obsessed over his safety even before her husband’s sudden demise. Hence why the only seaside Peter usually could venture into- and not too far- remained on his family’s beachside estate.

“You make it seem like the whole world, though,” Peter once said with a smile that turned Eva’s face into a boiled tomato.

And really, no better memory held such sweet emotions than Peter’s eleventh birthday party, specifically on his manor’s back gardens.

They were both absolutely miserable, of course.

Peter found himself besieged party guests that he found difficult to smile around. For example, Marcia Karcher- the mayor’s daughter- had an overbearing kindness. Very much like an overzealous actor killing the illusion by trying too hard. After all, with him the richest boy in town and her the most prestigious girl, how could society not squish them together?

Example number two– Ralph Bessner. Or at least, that’s what Peter thought that’s what the boy’s name was. He barely knew the whiney brat outside of being the son of a one of Tabitha’s friends. That and how he just arrived on spring vacation from a boarding school that- judging by the way his mother stared at him and gestured sharply- he had to promote to Peter.

Not that Eva faired better. Even if the wind wasn’t still brisk enough to make her cough, other kids constantly asked her to get them refreshments or to throw garbage way. At one point, she realized that she obliged them automatically, much to her disgust.

Did she look like the maid’s daughter? Was that it? She looked down at her dress; a flowery number that reminded her of tacky wallpaper, had lace that remained off-white despite her mother’s best washing efforts, and fit her as well as a trash bag. A glance at her make-up didn’t inspire any more hope; Eva had seen more subtle colors on circus clowns. Her shoes made her heart sink; too shiny and too plastic-looking to even be considered ironically stylish.

On the subject of shoes, Marcia’s own- a pair of leather slippers made in Italy- had a slice of cake land on when a coughing fit took hold of Eva.

Marcia shot up from the garden bench, a princess’s indignation already on her face and in her fists balled up when she screeched “You ruined my shoes!”

Eva’s apology came out lost in a flurry of coughs that made Marcia recoil, her face twisted in disgust.

“Eyuh, now you’re coughing on me?!”

Eva shook her head, her eyes going watery; she hoped only from the coughing.

But even through fish bowl vision, she recognized Peter’s figure at Marcia’s feet, wiping up her shoes.

“Eva didn’t mean it, Marcia,” he said. “She’s been walking around getting you guys cake the whole party. Of course she’d be worn out.”

Eva felt Peter wrap an arm around her. Her vision cleared just in time to see his smile, which seemed to calm her overactive lungs.

“Feeling better, Eva?” he asked.

Her face going hot, she smiled bashfully and nodded.

Marcia cleared her throat quietly, now well-aware of the un-ladylike outburst that had erupted from her. She muttered something that sounded like a little half-apology and excused herself past her fellow young elite. Across the garden, her father mirrored this with the adults.

Peter allowed some pride in his smile at first, until Eva saw it wane. He started towards the beach.

“Peter, where are you going?” Tabitha called from across the party, already working on a fluster fit.

Peter spun around on his heel, walking backwards in the sand as he said “Going for a swim.”

Eva only hesitated for a bit before lifting up her dress and jogging after him, catching Tabitha scold Eva’s mother like some sort of conversational whipping girl. The other kids decided that maintaining the party itself took precedence over the reason for it.

That suited Eva just fine. She knew Peter’s destination, and shared his desire that it remain their secret place.

The cave itself wasn’t too secret. Its large opening stuck out in the cliffside like hole in the wall. In fact, one could easily see it from the manor’s back area. But with the land belonging to the Edward-Smith family and the only path usually ankle-deep in sea water, Peter and Eva were the only ones who really ventured out here.

By the time Eva made it to the cave, Peter was at its mouth, skipping rocks. Catching her reflection in the sea, she tried washing the make-up off with ocean water, only succeeding in making her face look like a painting caught in the rain.

She only needed to hear Peter walking over her to know that he hand a handkerchief waiting for her. She rubbed the make-up off her face as she followed him to the cave’s entrance, peering inside it.

The cave itself reached deep into the cliffside, ending in a spacious chamber that would’ve been empty, if not for the candles Peter and Eva had put on the stalagmites. Some of the stalagmites- Eva believed courtesy of her healthy imagination- appeared almost female-shaped if you looked at them just right.

This was one of the theaters for the adventures Eva used to weave for Peter. The hideout of pirates that had stolen an ancient Egyptian mummy from a ship. The den of a sea serpent that actually assaulted the beaches in desperation to find a vet to help its sick child. The tomb of the siren queen, whose vengeful spirit haunted the town unless Peter and Eva returned her bottled song to her.

Nowadays, they mostly just sat and stared at the vast blue horizon, dreaming of the life waiting for them beyond it.

If they could ever reach it, of course.

A stone Peter skipped carried his frustration in its jumps. “I don’t wanna go to that boarding school.” He glanced back to the party. “God, if I came back looking like that kid….Looked like he didn’t even have a soul…”

Sitting on the ground by Peter, Eva started taking off her shoes and muttered in agreement.

Peter tossed a stone in his hand in thought before he finally decided. “We’ve gotta get outta this town, Eva.” He skipped the rock, following its trail with his eyes and hoping it would go all the way the Europe. When it sank, Peter’s heart followed suit. He shook his head. “What if I’m brainwashed or something by then?”

Eva started coughing, hunching over to keep herself from rocking back from the sheer force.

She didn’t need to worry. Peter immediately sat down and wrapped an arm around her. She didn’t realize how cold she was until she felt his warmth.

“I’m sorry,” she said after her lungs calmed. “For back there.”

Peter shook his head. “That was an accident. And Marcia was being…well, her.”

Eva looked back at the party, the prospect of returning to it almost as appealing as venturing into a viper’s nest.

“I wanna leave too,” Eva found herself saying.

Without speaking, they knew that they daydreamed about the same thing. Sailing across impossibly blue oceans to faraway islands where nobody cared about their lots in society.

But as Peter and Eva looked onto the horizon, the more they realized how impossible such a dream might be. Peter’s blood was too blue and Eva’s lungs too fragile for a seafaring life…

But even then, a few people humored the idea.

One of these people walked onto a neighboring beach separated by a length of water and rocks, a basket of fruit in hand. The man- tall, rough, and facial hair always flirting with five o’clock- began throwing the fruit into the ocean, watching the current carry it out into the distance.

Captain Emil Harper. He did this ritual before any real deep voyage, technically still on the Edwards-Smith property and allowed only thanks to Peter begging his mom.

In exchange for some sailor trivia, of course.

“Three fast beeps, three slow, three fast,” Harper called out as he watched an apple bobble away. “What’s that mean in Morse?”

Peter only needed a second to think. “SOS.”

“Which actually stands for?”

“Either ‘Save Our Ship’ or ‘Save Our Souls.’”

“What’s a klick?”

Peter allowed a cocky grin. “Short for ‘kilometer,’ which NATO agreed to used after WWII. Mostly for military. Gimme a hard one.”

Harper paused…then turned at the two kids, smiling with a sweet sort of knowing. “True or false– the captain of a ship can marry two people when on international waters.”

Eva’s face immediately flushed, Peter also fidgeting.

They faced each other, and things couldn’t be any more obvious.

Peter smiled a sprite’s smile, the world’s worth of confidence in his eyes when he said “We’re gonna get outta here, Eva.”

Eva looked at the left corner of his mouth; it always arched up a little when he lied. But not this smile; one hundred percent honest. Bright enough to light up the deepest darkest depth of the ocean.

Peter smiled that same bright, true smile sixteen years later, aged twenty-seven and fastening a life jacked around Eva as panic swirled around them. He bunched up her wedding dress for her as he guided her to the lifeboats.

Captain Harper’s prophecy did come true about the at-sea wedding; he just didn’t foresee a storm manifesting out of nowhere and causing some rocks to tear into the ship.

“I’ll be right there,” Peter said, somehow calm in spite of the chaos.

Eva wasn’t having it though, even as she got into the lifeboat. “No, you need to get in here too! There’s no reason…!”

Peter looked over his shoulder. “Harper’s still down there. I can’t just leave him.”

Eva tried to protest, but a coughing fit overtook her. Peter looked her in the eye and smiled.

“I need you to keep an eye on mom. You know how she is. I’ll be right back.” Peter kissed Eva deeply, not breaking eye contact with her even as the boat began to lower. Just before she couldn’t see the deck anymore, Peter vanished into the chaos of men trying to corral more passengers into the life boats.

Eva sat next to Tabitha, who gripped the girl’s arm so hard that Eva’s hands started going white. Every ten seconds she asked “Where is he?,” Eva mentally echoing this as she watched the other life boats lower in the water. Every time a boat got close to her, she’d tear through its passengers with her eyes, hoping to see Peter.

Which is hope she ended up seeing something else in the water just beneath the boats.

Seaweed, it looked like. A massive pile of it that stretched at least the whole length of a life boat, reflecting gold-green against the lantern lights. It floated still a short distance away, Eva transfixed by its glisten and sway.

Then an explosion rattled below deck of the ship, the vessel now sinking faster. Tabitha screamed Peter’s name. The seaweed pile dove deeper underwater, vanishing into the darkness. Eva turned her attention back to the sinking ship, a million prayers slipping from her per second.

The last life boat began lowering, despite the protest of a man aboard it.

Eva willed it to be Peter, still trying to save poor Captain Harper or some other soul trapped below deck.

But, somewhere in her worn heart, she already knew what to expect.

Sure enough, it was Captain Harper that was protesting the lowering.

Eva frantically dug through the boat’s occupants for any sign of Peter.

That smile.

Those eyes.

That warmth.

But no.

Peter Edwards-Smith died a hero that night, the ocean he so loved not even allowing a body for Eva to mourn over.