*FLASHBACK* Edgar Earns His Bunk
Edgar Earns His Bunk
The Bering Sea had gone soft for once. No wind. No ice. Just a slow, rolling swell.
Edgar was seventeen now, two seasons older, three seasons tougher, and ten seasons more tired. He’d worked through storms, cut bait until his fingers went numb, and lugged gear so heavy it nearly tore his shoulders out.
And still, every night, he climbed down into the engine room and slept beside the machinery. On that metal shelf with that same thin, fraying blanket.
Tonight, he was crouched near the fuel filters, hands black with grease, when he heard boots on the stairs.
Norman.
He stopped halfway down, leaning on the rail, watching Edgar work the way older brothers do, proud, but pretending not to be.
“You planning to sleep down here forever?”
Edgar grunted, still tightening a bolt.
“Doesn’t bother me.”
Edgar kept working.
“What do you want?”
Norman tossed him a clean rag.
“Dad said to bring you topside.”
Edgar paused mid-wipe. Slowly looked up.
“…Why?”
Norman didn’t answer. Just jerked his head upward. Edgar followed him up the stairs, heart tapping like loose gear against steel.
The galley was warm. Sig sat at the table with a mug of coffee, watching Edgar with that quiet, knowing expression of his. Sverre stood, arms crossed, face unreadable. Edgar stopped in the doorway.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Sverre didn’t speak for a long moment.
“You finished your work fast today.”
Edgar blinked. “Yeah. I… tried.”
“Not just today. Every day.”
Norman settled on the bench behind Sig. Sig raised his eyebrows at Edgar, a tiny, wordless just listen.
“You don’t cut corners. You don’t complain. You don’t slow this boat down. You’ve earned something.”
Edgar swallowed, confused. “Earned what?”
Sverre walked into one of the cabins and reached down to pull aside the curtain to one of the lower bunks. A clean pillow. A folded navy blanket.
Edgar stared.
“…That’s mine?”
“If you want it.”
Edgar looked at the bunk, then at his father, then at Sig and Norman, both watching him with quiet pride.
His voice cracked before he could stop it.
“I…I’ve never had one.” Sig smiled into his coffee.
“You sure as hell earned it.”
Norman nodded.Sverre cleared his throat.
“You’re not green anymore, kid. You’re crew. Act like it. Sleep like it.”
Edgar looked down at his hands, scarred, calloused, burned, grown.
Then he reached out and touched the bunk like he needed to make sure it was real.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Sverre didn’t smile. But something in his face softened.
“Get some rest. ”
Edgar shook his head. “I’m not finished draining the bilge yet”
Sverre nodded approvingly.
Edgar turned and climbed back down into the engine room to finish what he had started. Sig and Norman gave each other a look of disbelief.
