Thom doesn’t return, and after a while I assume he’s been detained by a tourist or given a task. I step inside, to the lounge, where small groups of passengers gather around tables drinking coffee; a few sit alone in chairs, reading or gazing out the view windows. My roommate, Amy, is setting up the afternoon slide show. As a full-time employee of the tour company, Amy travels from Antarctica to Alaska, from Mexico to the Galápagos, and she’s often with the Cormorant during the entire Antarctic season, late November through early February. This is her fifth year in Antarctica, and we always bunk together when we can.
“What’re you showing later?” I ask.
“Just some footage from the ROV,” she says.
The ship’s remotely operated vehicle reaches depths of up to a thousand feet, far deeper than Amy herself can dive—and her video of the ocean floor is alive with colorful and intricate corals, ghostly icefish, pale sea sponges, graceful brittle stars.
“Any footage of the yeti crab yet?” The existence of a blind, hairy Antarctic yeti crab is a new discovery, first seen in the Southern Ocean just a few years ago, and I’m always teasing Amy because it drives her crazy that she hasn’t captured it on film yet. Last season, Keller helped me Photoshop images of the elusive crab into places on board the Cormorant—on a table in the dining room, next to a glass of beer in the lounge—and throughout the voyage we’d e-mail them to Amy, writing, Did you see the yeti crab?
“Piss off,” Amy says cheerfully as she taps at her laptop’s keyboard. She leans over to attach the laptop to the projector, then accidentally tangles the cord around her arm and pulls the projector off the table. She catches it just before it hits the floor.
Amy is small, with a soft, pale beauty, as if she herself had emerged from the unblemished depths of the sea, and when she puts on a dry suit and scuba gear and descends into the water, she disappears below the surface seamlessly, as if she belongs there. When she’s not under the water or on board a cruise vessel, she writes picture books for kids.
A blast of cold air comes through the lounge, and I turn to see Kate and Richard Archer walk in. I let my eyes linger on them, curious. Kate’s hair is windblown, curling into ringlets from the moist air outside, and her skin is flushed with cold. She stands close to Richard; he’s more than a head taller, with wheat-colored hair and a thin build. As they walk toward a table, I realize from his slower gait that he’s at least ten years older than she is. After they sit down, he looks at Kate, then reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Her round face breaks into a smile as the curl bounces loose, back into her face, and then she leans forward and gives him a kiss.
“So where’s Keller?”
I turn back to Amy and shrug.
“I thought he’d be here,” she says.
“So did I.”
“So what happened?”
“Wish I knew.”
Amy is looking over my shoulder. “Well, there’s Glenn,” she says. “Ask him.”
Glenn is talking to the bartender, and I walk over, standing a bit behind him until they finish.
“Hey, Glenn,” I say as he turns around. “Do you have a second?”
Glenn looks at me, waiting. He has a smooth, unblemished face partially hidden by a perfectly trimmed goatee. His physical youthfulness is belied by a consistently somber expression and dark, serious eyes. I try to remember the last time I saw him smile, and I can’t.
“I wanted to ask you about Keller.”
“What about him?”
“Why isn’t he on board?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
I feel my face redden. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
“Deb, I’m not sure I should be talking about this. It’s technically a human resources issue.”
“Really?” I say. “You’re going to hide behind human resources?”
Glenn sighs. “You remember that last voyage,” he says. “It shouldn’t come as any surprise that Keller is no longer welcome on this ship.”
I shouldn’t be surprised—but I am. While I knew Keller had pushed Glenn’s limits, neither of them had given me any indication that Keller wouldn’t be here when the season began.
“Why didn’t you talk to me?” I say. “I would have vouched for him. Kept an eye on him.”
“This isn’t child care, Deb. And clearly he didn’t want you to know.” I sense that Glenn is censoring a snide remark. “He came to see me in Seattle. He lobbied hard to come back, I’ll give him that.”
I’d nearly forgotten about Keller’s quick trip from Eugene to Seattle. About a job, he’d said. But he’d never mentioned Glenn.
“I did consider it,” Glenn continues, “for the sake of the APP and the fact that he’s a good worker. But I can’t take any more drama.”
“He was only telling the truth.”
“People come on this trip to be entertained,” Glenn says, “not accused.”
“They also come to be educated. What about awareness? Isn’t that part of it?”
“You know as well as I do that you can’t raise awareness if you don’t have any passengers,” Glenn says. “And those who do come here—well, they deserve better.”
“It was that one guy who started it,” I say. “I remember—”
“That passenger,” Glenn interrupts, “demanded a full refund, or he threatened to sue. I can’t afford to employ Keller. Simple as that.”
I try to process what this means.
“So I take it he didn’t tell you where he is now?” Glenn says.
I look at him, waiting.
“He’s on the Australis.”