Caught in the Net (15 page)

“Me too, son.  I just pray your sister doesn’t
frighten her away,” Dr. Quimby added, concerned.

“We all know that any woman who enters into this
family has to be strong.  Samantha is the measuring rod.”

“Good luck, Michael.  You have your work cut out for
you,” Scott sighed.

Sam called Jen early the next morning to invite her
over for dinner and family game night.  Jen sounded unsure.

“You don’t think it’s too soon?  I mean, I don’t want
to intrude.”

“Okay, let’s get this out on the table.  You’re gonna
have to meet them eventually, so what better way to do it then to see how badly
they cheat?”

“Cheat?”  Jen started laughing.

“They are terrible.  And really sore losers too.  Come
on, you’ll have fun.  It’s us girls and Rich against Michael and the old
folks.  Losers make dinner.”

“And what are you playing?”

“Dunno.  It’s luck of the draw.  Just hope it’s not
trivial pursuit, we’ll get slammed.  They make up their own questions,” Sam
giggled.

“Okay, I’ll come.  What time do you want me?”

“About 3:00.  Do you want me to come pick you up? 
I’ll steal Mike’s Jag or Daddy’s Lexus.”

“That’s okay, I have a car.  I need your address.”

The two girls talked a while longer before hanging
up.  Grinning, Sam skipped over to Michael’s room where he was on his bed
reading.  “Whatcha doing?”

“Nothing important.  What’s up?”  He put his book
down. 

She plopped next to him.  “I just talked to Jen. 
She’ll be here at 3:00.”

“I was going to call her.”

“Well, I beat you to it.  I informed her that you guys
cheat, too.”

“Nothing like a good first impression.  Did you get
your room cleaned?”

She rolled her eyes.  Every Saturday morning since she
could remember, was when she had to clean her bedroom.  Unlike her brother, it
was an effort.  “No.  I don't wanna.”

“Too bad.  Go do it before Dad comes up.  You know
what will happen if it’s not finished.  Go on.”

“Help me.”

“No.  It won’t take you that long.  When you’re done,
we’ll go do something.”

“Okay,” she sighed.  This was also the same
conversation the two had nearly every week since she was little.  Failure to
clean her quarters resulted in being grounded for the weekend, and Sam loathed
being confined to the house.  She opted to clean.  It took her a few minutes to
toss clothes in the hamper and make her bed.  Her bathroom was a disaster with
her make-up and potions all around; and, with a grumble, she quickly
straightened everything up.  She already knew that her drawers and closets
would be looked at and had only tried one time to hide her mess.  Sam
complained under her breath; it was like going through a military locker
inspection every weekend.  It took her a good hour to finish and, still
grumbling, she returned to Michael’s room.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Yeah.  I hate cleaning.  How come you’re so neat?”

“Always been that way.  Let me take a look then we can
go out,” he said, swinging his long legs off the bed and leading her into her
room.  Tsking, he pointed to her closet where she had tossed her shoes.  Making
a face, she put them away neatly.  He changed a light bulb for her in the
bathroom, because she couldn’t reach without climbing.  “You need to do your
laundry today.  Throw it in the wash and we’ll leave.  You know it would be so
easy for you if you just cleaned up after yourself.  You do it at work.”

“I told you.  I hate cleaning.  When I get married, my
husband better like doing it, because I will refuse.”

“Good luck with that.  Okay, let’s go down to the
beach.  The tide’s low.”

She raced happily in front of him, camera in hand. 
She loved tide pooling and taking pictures of the creatures they discovered. 
It never got old. 

“Good morning, children.  Going down to the beach?”
Dr. Quimby asked, looking up from the lounger on the deck where he read his
paper and sipped coffee.

“Morning, Daddy.  You're up early.”  She kissed him. 
“Jen will be here about 3:00.  You know, I just realized that this is a set
up.  Rich and Jen are guests; which means if we lose, I’m the only one
cooking!  That’s not fair.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes, okay?” he teased. 
“Is your room clean?”

“Yes.  Michael already ragged on me about it.  We’ll
be back in a little while.”

“All right, have fun.  And put on sun screen.”

* * * * *

The sun was warm with the marine layer already burning
off and the two carefully picked their way over the rocks and talked quietly. 
Michael admitted feeling restless, missing being on board ship where he was
always actively doing something.

“Do you think Daddy is deliberately interfering with
assignments?  We haven’t done much since we got home.”

“I think that’s part of it.  I think the other is that
things are quiet right now.  I guess that’s a good thing.  When the weather
worsens, we’ll probably be busier.  You like lab work, though.”

“I also like collecting.  I really want to challenge
the canyon.  I’m kind of scared, though.”

“You should be protected, but I wouldn’t take the
chance.  Dad has fits with you at 300 feet.  He’d have a heart attack if he
found you going to 600.”

“I know.  I already give him enough to worry about. 
Hey look… A moray!  It's stuck in the pool and it's gonna fry in the sun."

“Stay away from that thing.  They are… Shit, Sam!  Are
you okay?” he asked as she yanked her hand back and saw blood.

He grabbed her hand, squeezing to clean it out. 
“Let’s get you home.  Dad needs to sew this up.”

“NO!  That hurts.  Stupid eel.  I hope someone eats
you.”  She glared at the wriggling fish as it swam into open water, “You're
welcome!”

“I'm sure this hurts much more than a little needle. 
Put pressure on it,” he ordered, leading her back up to the house.  “You would
do anything to keep from having to cook tonight, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t tease me.  I don’t like needles and you know
it,” she whimpered, blood dripping down her arm and through her fingers as she
pressed on the gash.  Michael opened the back doors and called for his father.

“I’m right here… what happened this time?” he asked
calmly, pulling Sam's hand away from the wide gash.

“Moray in a pool got her.”

“Okay, let’s clean this up.  Mike, go into my trunk
and get my bag, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Quimby brought the girl to the kitchen sink and
started washing the wounds with soap, ignoring her complaints.  When satisfied,
he dried her hand and took a good look.

“Well?” Michael asked, sitting on a bar stool.

“Several punctures and a deep slice.  Sorry, kiddo,
but this needs to be closed up.”

“NO!”

“Told you so,” Michael added.

“Shh, you won’t feel anything.  I have some lidocaine
I’ll numb you with.  Sit down and stay still.”

“I hate needles!”

“Then don’t watch.  I’m just squirting into the
wounds.  This will sting then go numb.  There you go,” he said softly, used to
the protests of his accident-prone daughter. 

Scott walked in, scowling.  “What's all this whining
about?  Who did she beat up?”

“A moray.  How’s that?  Can you feel anything?”

“Pressure.  I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Accidents happen, especially with you.  Okay, all
done.  That wasn't bad, was it?”

“No, sir.”

He kissed her hand before wrapping it.  Michael
laughed.  “Do you kiss the crews’ boo-boos too?”

“Shut up, Michael.  We didn’t ask for your comments,”
his sister snapped.

“Don’t talk to your brother like that.  He didn't do
anything.  Apologize,” her father ordered sternly.

“Sorry,” she muttered, massaging her sore hand. 

Her father patted her thigh.  “You need to keep it dry
for a week.  It will be a good time to test if you need complete submergence or
if you can balance by simple soaking.  I’ll need to get you some antibiotics
too, those morays have filthy mouths.”

“I hate medicine.”

“Yes, we all know what a wonderful and cooperative
patient you are,” he responded patiently. 

Scott smoothed her hair from her face.  “Can I get you
anything, baby girl?”

“A new brother.  This one’s a butthead.”

“What did I do?” Michael demanded.

“You didn’t stop me from trying to rescue that stupid
eel.  This is your fault.”

“Of course it is.  It's always my fault in one way or
another.  I’m going upstairs and changing.  Jen will be here in a couple of
hours.”

“I’ll make some lunch.  Honey, do you need some help
getting cleaned up?  You have blood all over you and you are covered with
sand,” Dr. Quimby said, wiping some blood off her arm.

“If I need help, there is a butthead across the hall
that I can call.  Are you making grilled cheese sandwiches?”

“Do you want grilled cheese?”  He acknowledged her
nod, “Okay, then that’s what I’ll make.  When is Rich coming over?”

“He’ll be here anytime.  Let him deal with her,”
Michael grumbled over the butthead remark. 

Scott shook his head.  “I don’t think Rich is ready to
handle the world’s worse patient just yet.  I like the boy and want him to hang
around a little longer.”

“You’re a butthead too, Uncle Scott.”

“Ah, but one who loves you very, very much.  Come
here.”

“Put me down!  I can walk!” she shrieked as he caught
her in his arms and began carrying her upstairs. 

Dr. Quimby laughed as he put away his supplies. 
“Scott used to do that to your mom all the time.  He loved carrying her, mainly
to hear her scream at him.”

“But Mom couldn’t turn around and flip him over her
shoulder.  He better watch out, she’s been practicing escape moves.”

“Hurt your hand?” Scott asked, dropping the girl on
her bed after she unsuccessfully tried to escape.  It was bleeding again,
through the dressings. 

She nodded, pouting.  “I need more practice.  This
really hurts, Scott.  Feel me better.”

“I’ll get you something.  Let’s get you cleaned up
first.  You’re a mess,” he said, running the tub for her.  He returned to the
room, seeing her sitting with her eyes closed.  “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to swirl myself.  If I can raise my
endorphins, this won’t hurt so badly.”

“Get in the tub and practice in there.  Arms up,” he
said, pulling off her shirt.  He silently undressed her then helped her into
the bath, putting a towel on the edge for her throbbing hand.  She settled into
the bubbles, fighting the sharp pain.  Scott kneeled on the floor to wash the
blood and sand off her.  His eyes suddenly glazed with tears.

“Uncle Scott?  Are you all right?  It’s not that bad.”

“I’m sorry, baby.  I’m having a tough time.”

“Why?  I always get hurt.”

“Did Dad ever tell you what happened with Mom?”

“No.  I’ve never asked either.  It always seemed to be
taboo.”

“She got bit by a stupid tick.  We had no idea.  It
happened so fast that by the time we figured it out, it was too late.  A tick. 
Something so insignificant caused so much hurt.”

“Moray’s aren’t poisonous.  I’ll be fine.”

“I know.  It just brought the memory to the surface. 
And here I am, giving you a bubble bath like you were three.  You’re too old
for this.  I’m sorry.”  He started to stand, looking embarrassed. 

“Uncle Scott?  Before you go, will you scrub my back? 
And wash my hair?  You do it best.”

Scott smiled, happily kneeling to oblige.  He toweled
her dry and helped her dress before combing out and blow-drying her hair.  “I’m
so jealous,” he admitted, gently brushing her long tresses as she sat between
his legs.

“Why?”

“One day I won’t be able to take care of you anymore
and will be replaced by someone else.  Probably Rich.”

“You’ll always be able to take care of me.  Besides,
you are the only one I don't give a hard time to.  You know I won’t let Rich or
anyone else stop you.  Uncle Scott?  I love you,” she said, kissing his rough
cheek.

“You’ll always be my baby girl.  I love you, too,” he
said, hugging her sweetly.  He turned his head towards the door.  “Sounds like
Rich is here.  Another bull in the china shop.”

“If that’s a nice way of saying I announce my
presence, thank you,” Rich said, entering the room.  He returned Scott’s hug
and kneeled next to Sam, gently picking up her hand.  “I heard you lost the
fight with a moray.  How is it?” he asked, gently kissing her fingertips.

“I’ll live.  Are you going, Uncle Scott?  You don’t
have to.”

“You’re in good hands for the time being.  He can
finish getting you dressed,” Scott smiled, kissing the top of her head before
leaving.

“Dressed?”

“He always makes me wear shoes.  I’m going barefoot. 
It used to drive him crazy when I was little.  He would fight to get my shoes on
and within minutes, they were off again.  He never could figure out how I
managed to untie the knots.”