Tiger's Voyage (18 page)

I smiled and reread the poem a few times. Maybe it was a sign. I’d told Phet I was like the moon. Maybe the universe was trying to tell me that I belonged with Ren. It was an accurate comparison. The moon and the sea were destined to affect one another but were never able to touch. I sighed and saw it was past dawn. I put on my swimsuit, shorts, and a T-shirt, skipped breakfast, and ran to meet Wes at the pool.

I was the first student there. He was busy setting out diving equipment.

“Good morning. Need some help?” I asked.

“Hey!” He smiled. “Good morning, yourself. Thanks for asking but I’m all done. Are you ready for your first lesson?”

“Yes. Did you lose your accent overnight?”

“Nah. It comes in handy when I’m trying to put overprotective fathers or jealous boyfriends at ease. It’s also gotten me a lot of dates and better grades in college. Unfortunately, you have both overprotective
and
jealous boyfriends. I’m surprised they haven’t killed each other.”

I laughed. “Believe me, they’ve tried, and now you’ve given them someone new to focus their angst on, I’m afraid.”

Wes shrugged and grinned, revealing a cute dimple in his right cheek. “That’s okay. Keeps things interesting. In fact, here comes trouble. Stand back and watch the show.” He turned to Ren and Kishan. “Well, good mornin’, fellers. Looks like Kelsey wins the award for early riser. And doesn’t she look purtier than a pat of butter meltin’ all over a stack of griddle cakes?”

Ren ignored Wes and leaned over to kiss my cheek. “Did you eat?”

“No. No time.”

He opened his bag. “Brought you an apple.” Ren winked and sat down on the other side of Kishan.

“Alrighty now. Let’s get started, shall we? First things, first. There are two barriers that prevent humans from diving. The first is we don’t have gills. And if you ever do find a man with gills you can fry me up, call me a catfish, and serve me with hushpuppies. The second problem is that water puts a great amount of pressure on your chest and lungs and would eventually cause your lungs to collapse. Sure as shootin’, they’d pop like a smoked sausage left too long on the barbeque.”

As he got down to business, his accent gradually dropped off.

“Without your gear, your lungs wouldn’t have the power to inflate even if you had a way to get air, so your tank provides not only oxygen but also measures the psi, or pounds per square inch of pressure, and equalizes it so your lungs will work.
SCUBA
is an acronym for selfcontained underwater breathing apparatus. We’re going to be working with both open-circuit sets and rebreathers.”

Mr. Kadam walked in and took a seat. Wes nodded and continued. “As I was saying, Mr. Kadam felt you should learn to use both as he is as yet undetermined which one will suit your diving purposes. We’ll start with the open-circuit and work our way to the rebreather.

“In our training today, we’ll learn the name and functions of all the diving equipment. We’ll start with the easy ones first.” He began passing different pieces of equipment around so we could examine them. “Booties, underwater compass, depth gauge, dive knife, and
BCD
, or buoyancy control device. You wear it like a jacket. I’ll show you how to use it later. Right now I want you to focus on the names and the uses for things.”

Wes winked at me, and I giggled. Kishan snapped the depth gauge in half, and Ren squeezed the compass too hard. The glass popped and cracked, and the compass fell apart.

“Sorry,” they both mumbled tightly while I glared.

They didn’t sound apologetic, but Wes just let it roll right off his back.

“No problem. They belong to you anyway.” He went on, “We’ve got fins or flippers, a hood for cold-water diving, and a slate. There are two types, one with common fish pictures you can point to, and the other is blank with a special pencil. They’re normally attached to the
BCD
, and which one is the
BCD
, Kishan?”

“The jacket.”

“And what does it stand for, Ren?”

“Buoyancy control device.”

“Good. We’ve got about five more to go. This is your primary regulator that provides your oxygen. This is the octopus or alternate air source—it’s your backup second-stage regulator. If your primary fails, or if you need to share air, you use this. It’s usually a neon color, and you’ll find it on your right side between your chin and rib cage. We’ve got a snorkel for breathing if you’re swimming on the surface, an
SPG
, or submersible pressure gauge, to tell you how much air is in your tank, and then there’s the cylinder, which is your air tank. Most contain about twelve liters of oxygen.”

“How long does that last?” I asked.

“It depends. Nervous, inexperienced divers can use twice as much air as experienced ones. Smaller framed people use less than larger.” He quickly glanced at Kishan and Ren. “And the deeper you go, the more air you use. The average is about an hour dive at sixty feet. More experienced divers could stay under as long as two hours.”

As I nodded in response, Kishan handed me a bottle of water. I smiled at him, mouthed, “Thanks,” and opened the bottle.

“The other two things you need to learn about are the weight system and the wet suit. Wet suits keep you warm underwater. We’ll be doing some dives with the wet suit and some without.”

“Is the wet suit, uh … bite resistant?” I smiled shakily at Mr. Kadam, who smiled back.

“The wet suit does protect your skin from cuts and scrapes though it still can be torn. So in answer to your question, no, it’s not bite resistant unless the fish are very small.”

I grimaced while Kishan added, “She’s afraid of sharks.”

“Shark attacks on divers are not unheard of but are also not as common as people might think. I’ve been on dives and fed sharks, and I thought it was exhilarating. We might see some sharks, but I doubt they’ll bother us or give us any trouble. We can spend some extra time drilling on what to do if you are attacked by a shark, if you like.”

“That would be a good idea. Thanks,” I added.

“The other thing we’re going to be working on today is the weight system. Most people need weights to help them sink into the water. We’ll be practicing today with both weight belts and integrated weights.”

Wes went over every piece of equipment in detail and then asked us all to get into the deep end of the pool. Mr. Kadam and I were first in. I cleared the water out of my eyes just in time to see Ren, Kishan, and Wes peel off their shirts.
Sheesh, it’s like being at a
GQ
beach photo shoot.
I could easily picture Jennifer hyperventilating at the sight. I snorted.
She’d likely faint and drown if she was in my position.
I was already used to seeing muscular bronzed chests, but even I had a hard time paying attention. If I ever intended to walk down the beach with any of them, I’d have to warn them to prepare for swooning girls falling at their feet.
Hmm, good thing we’re taking
CPR
later.

Wes had us practice using different weights and getting a feel for how they pulled us down. The biggest one was too heavy for me. I couldn’t resurface carrying it, so I left it on the bottom for Kishan to retrieve. When Wes was satisfied, he had us all swim laps for the next half hour. He said we’d reconvene in the afternoon in the media room to get certified in first aid and
CPR
.

I was starving by the time we had lunch and ate a huge sandwich. Then I showered, changed, and met our group in the media room. I’d taken first aid and
CPR
classes before, but this was all new to Ren and Kishan. They both listened attentively and learned quickly. I partnered with Mr. Kadam to keep peace between the brothers. He wrapped a sling around my arm, and I practiced the Heimlich maneuver on him.

Ren wasn’t happy having to sit so far away, but he’d spent most of the day near me, and the effect it was having on him showed. I asked during a break how he was doing. He just smiled and said, “Headache.” I moved even farther away at that point, although Wes kept trying to get me back into the circle.

Ren left after class and either skipped dinner or ate in his room. Kishan purposefully sat next to me, leaving no option for Wes except to take the seat across from us.

Wes and I chatted again, but it didn’t annoy Kishan as much as it had before. Instead, Kishan seemed surprisingly content to sit and listen to our conversation.

Wes mentioned that the thing he missed most about Texas was the barbeque. “There just isn’t anything in this world like slow-cooked beef brisket and pulled pork with slaw and beans. That’s my little version of heaven. I’m sure the angels would all have sticky fingers and sweet, spicy sauce on their cherubic faces if they were able to sample it.”

I laughed. “I feel that way about cheeseburgers.”

“It’s been, oh, about three years since I’ve had a good barbeque. Three long years of rice and curry.”

“I’m not much of a curry fan myself. Maybe we can ask the chef to arrange something special for you.”

“Why, aren’t you just about as sweet as syrup on a sundae? I sure would appreciate that, ma’am.” He winked. “How’d you like ta stroll the deck of this fine ship with me and watch the sunset? I need a purty girl to put her arm around me and steady this wandering cowboy as he finds his sea legs.”

I raised an eyebrow and affected a Southern accent. “Why, I think you’re a-pullin’ my leg there, Texas. You’ve had your sea legs a lot longer than I have.”

Wes rubbed the stubble on his face. “You might be right at that. Well then, how about you taggin’ along to keep me warm?”

“It’s about eighty degrees.”

“Shoot, you’re a smart one, you are. Then how ’bout I jes say that a feller can get pretty lonesome by hisself in a strange country, and he’d like to keep comp’ny with you fer a while longer.”

Wes offered his arm with a charming grin. I was just about to take it when Kishan stood up between us and stared Wes down.

“If Kelsey wants to stroll the deck,
I
will take her. Why don’t you … mosey back to your buckhouse?”

“That’s
bunk
house.” Wes grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “And tellin’ a man to git lost and makin’ him do it are two entirely different propositions.”

“I’m happy to
tell
you and would be even happier to
make
you. Your choice.”

“Kishan, cut it out. I’ll walk with you tomorrow night. Wes is our guest, and he won’t be here very long. You’re not planning to make any fresh moves are you?” I asked Wes.

“No, ma’am. I consider myself a perfect Southern gentleman. I ain’t never laid a finger on a gal that didn’t want me to, not that any of them ever turned me down before.” He grinned mischievously.

That statement made Kishan glower even more fiercely.

“There, you see, Kishan? Wes will be a perfect gentleman, and you know darn well that I’m fully capable of protecting myself.” I raised my eyebrows, so he’d get my meaning. I turned to Wes and said, “I’d love to see the sunset with you.”

Wes gave me a brilliant dimpled smile and held out his elbow. I took his arm, shooting a meaningful glance at Kishan over my shoulder as we turned the corner. We walked to the railing at the front of the boat and I sighed.

“Those two sure are keeping you hopping,” Wes said.

“You have no idea. Have you met the captain yet? Would you like to?”

“Maybe later. I’d rather enjoy the sunset with a pretty girl first.”

I smiled, sat on the deck, and rested my arms on the railing, letting my feet dangle over the side. Putting my chin on my arms, I looked out at the beautiful Arabian Sea.
The ocean is so beautiful … and dangerous,
I thought.
Just like tigers.

He soon joined me. “How long are you planning on juggling those two?”

“I don’t know.” I flashed a smile. “You’re incredibly astute for a dumb hick, you know.”

“Hick I am, but dumb I ain’t,” he said with a dimpled smile. “But seriously, you look about as trapped as a piglet at a baby-back-ribs cook-off. Wanna talk about it?”

“They fought over a girl a long time ago, and she died accidentally. They both blamed each other until they finally got over that. They’ve come to terms and forgiven each other.”

“And now they’re doing it again … but with you.”

“Yes.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“I love both of them. I don’t want to hurt either one. Ren has always been the one I wanted, but there’s a good chance we can’t be together.”

“Why not?”

“It’s, umm … complicated. Our relationship has been bumpy. Kishan adds another major bump.”

“There never was a horse that couldn’t be rode; never was a cowboy who couldn’t be throwed.”

I laughed. “What does that mean?”

“It’s cowboy wisdom. It means that there’s no such thing as an insurmountable object. If you want to, for lack of a better term, ‘ride that horse,’ you do it. You might get thrown, but at least you’ve tried. It’s worth the bruised posterior if that’s what you want. And if you let that opportunity pass you by, you’ll always wonder ‘what if.’”

“Right, but what if I can’t fit the pieces of our relationship back together? What if there are too many parts broken or even lost?”

Wes considered for a moment. “My momma always said, ‘You can’t tell how good a man or a watermelon is ’til it gets thumped.’ If he’s not willing to help you find the pieces or rediscover the lost ones, then he’s not worth keeping.”

“Being willing and being capable are different things.”

“Not even the most willing mule with the biggest heart will ever win the Kentucky Derby, honey. Sometimes we don’t get a choice. We want something out of our reach, and no amount of wishing will make it happen. If he’s not capable of being the man you need, then you need to move on. Find a strapping stallion, such as myself, for example.” He laughed but stopped when he saw I wasn’t. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you droopier than a corsage the morning after the prom.”

I laughed and wiped away a tear.

He sighed. “When the girl
loves
the mule, he wins her heart, even if he can’t win the Derby,” the charming Texan remarked.