I stop and turn around. “Come with me, Keller. If you stay here . . .”
He comes close, puts a cool hand on my cheek. “It’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s just a few months.”
“Six months,” I remind him.
“That’s nothing, in Antarctic time,” he insists.
It’s forever, but I don’t tell him that. I’m still holding my duffel, which is heavy, and I feel the painful stretching of muscles in my arm as I stand there, waiting for Keller to change his mind, knowing he won’t. When he reaches for my bag, I let him take it. We don’t talk as I get weighed with my bags, have my passport checked. We share a brief wisp of a kiss, nothing more. Keller waits on the ice as I board the bus, as it rumbles toward the airfield on its massive tires.
As I watch Keller through the bus’s small windows, I think of the look on his face when he’d watched the Adélies that day on the ice, the first time he kissed me. I remember telling him that the Adélies will sometimes mate for life, but they are loyal first and foremost to their nesting sites—and now it seems that Keller and I are no different, loyal first and always to the continent.
At McMurdo in the depth of winter, people come together for many reasons—loneliness and boredom even more than attraction and compatibility—and I wonder if Keller will emerge from the dark with another woman in his life, just as at the end of each winter, an Adélie will return to its nest, but if its partner doesn’t show, it will choose a new one and move on.
FIVE DAYS BEFORE SHIPWRECK
Aitcho Islands, South Shetland Islands
(62°24'S, 59°47'W)
It’s early in the morning when I go up to the ship’s “business center,” a tiny space with a short row of computer terminals and a satellite phone. On the Cormorant, the emphasis is on seeing the sights, not on staying connected, but there’s just enough here for the die-hard workaholics to plug in if they need to. From what I’ve heard about the Australis, all the passengers’ and crew’s quarters have in-room phones, so it should be easy enough to reach Keller.
After an operator connects me, I listen to the ringing of the phone—a strange sound to hear as I look out at nothing but sea and ice. I’ve never had to reach anyone from the Southern Hemisphere before—everyone back home knows when I’m away and when to expect me back—and this need to connect fills me with an unfamiliar anxiety, as though I’ve learned a new language and am fumbling to find the right words. As the ringing continues, I wonder: Do these in-room phones have voice mail? And if so, what will I say?
After another moment of static, I hear his voice—clear and familiar.
“Keller, it’s me.”
“Deb?” He sounds concerned. “What’s the matter? Are you all right?”
“You’re asking me what’s the matter?” The worry, the skip in my heart upon hearing his voice, unexpectedly translates to anger, and I can’t mask my irritation.
He sighs but says nothing.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought Glenn might change his—”
“I know, I talked to Glenn,” I interrupted.
“I was hoping to see you in Ushuaia, but we set off earlier, and since then it’s been so busy I haven’t had a moment to think. I’ve been trying to figure out how to contact you.”
“Why the Australis? That ship is a bull in a china shop. You know that.”
“I needed a job; they needed extra crew. And it gets me closer to you.”
I picture his face, in an expression of the innocent, misguided hope that we might actually see each other, and this softens me a bit. “But what are you planning to do, jump ship and steal a Zodiac? I want to see you, too, but how in the world is that going to happen?”
“I’m still working on that part. We’re in the same hemisphere, at least.”
“I just wish you’d told me,” I say. “Back in Eugene. Maybe we both should’ve stayed home.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. You need to be here, just like I do. I’ll patch things up with Glenn eventually. I actually think he would’ve taken me back, if he hadn’t been able to find anyone.”
“Thom. He found Thom.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you just keep your mouth shut?” I’m thinking back to last season, the moment that got him on Glenn’s blacklist—our shipboard lecture, the defiant passenger, Keller’s short temper—and I wish I could go back and seize the mic from Keller’s hands.
“Like you wouldn’t have said the same things?” he says.
“But I didn’t. That’s the difference.”
“Well, I can’t do anything about it now. I’m here. That’s what matters.”
“Why does it matter so much if we can’t be together?”
“You’ll see.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’ll know when I see you.”