Thom arrives in a second Zodiac with more tourists and our ship’s historian, an older British guy named Nigel Dawson. As if sensing my mood, Thom asks Nigel to begin a tour, then hands me a shovel and offers to ferry the tourists back and forth as I get to work. I walk down the beach, away from our landing spot, and start to dig. The water under the rocky sand is hot-tub temperature, and one of the highlights for our passengers is taking a dip in Antarctica, even though our reservoir will be large enough for only three or four bodies at a time.
The sand is wet and heavy; it’s like shoveling deep snow, and I pause to catch my breath. The water pooling in the shallow basin is somewhere around 110 degrees, and though we won’t dig more than two feet deep, my arms are already beginning to ache. When Thom returns to the beach and offers to trade places, I don’t hesitate to hand over the shovel.
As I walk along the shoreline, taking advantage of a few moments to myself, I notice that couple, Kate and Richard. They’re standing several yards away, near one of the abandoned oil containers, and it looks as though they’re arguing again. Then Kate stalks off toward the water, and Richard turns and heads the opposite way. I study them as I would a pair of birds—not because I’ve never seen an unhappy couple on a cruise but because I assume they’re continuing the same conversation as before, about starting a family. Penguins cannot successfully raise a chick alone; they need each other, or the chick will perish. With humans, child rearing is infinitely more complex and yet still so black and white. There’s no such thing as compromise, as having half a child—it’s all or nothing.
Turning back toward the bay, I glimpse the round black back of a penguin as it swims by, revealing its white belly when it streaks out of the water. I keep my eyes on it as it porpoises along, and I don’t notice that Kate is next to me until she speaks.
“So there are no penguins on this island?” she asks.
I turn toward her. “Not right here. There’s a big chinstrap colony on Baily Head, over on the eastern side.”
“It’s probably for the best,” she says with a sheepish smile. “I assume Thom told you.”
“Told me what?”
“During the tour the other day, I wandered off,” she says. “I sat down near the beach, and a penguin came up to me. It seemed really friendly, so—I reached out to pet it.”
I shake my head. “You could’ve gotten a nasty bite.”
“I know. Thom read me the riot act.”
“Maybe you should stick with the group next time.”
“I know,” she says, then adds, “It just felt so nice to get away.”
“Get away? You don’t get any farther away than here.”
“I meant, from all the people,” she says. “It’s ironic—you’re down here in the middle of nowhere, but you’re still surrounded by people.”
“That’s the nature of a cruise.”
“How do you deal with it?” she asks.
“I drink,” I say, only half-joking. Keller and I always used to share a drink at the end of a long day, but without him here I haven’t had a drop. Then it hits me, as it keeps hitting me—I can’t drink. I’m pregnant.
Kate smiles. “That seems to be Richard’s solution, too, these days. At home, he usually doesn’t drink at all. It’s fun to see him get tipsy. Loosen up a bit.”
“That’s what vacation’s for, right?” I say.
“I guess.”
I look at her. “Aren’t you having a good time?”
“Sure I am,” she says. “We both are. It’s just—it would be nice to have a little space sometimes.”
“Any particular reason?” Normally, I wouldn’t engage her like this, but she clearly wants to talk. And I’m curious about how a couple deals with the fact that one person wants a baby and the other doesn’t.
“We’re so fortunate, it’s embarrassing to even hear myself complain. My husband sold his business, and now that he’s retired, he wants to start a family. Simple, right?”
“Not necessarily,” I say.
“I’m not sure he should’ve retired so young,” Kate continues. “He’s a workaholic, which isn’t really so bad—I admire his work ethic, all that he’s accomplished. But when it came to getting away, taking a break, I always had to drag him out of the office. And now he faces a lifetime vacation. I’ve never seen him so restless.”
“Why’d he retire if he likes to work?”
“It’s more like he can’t stand still,” she says. “The ink had hardly dried on the deal before he signed up for rock climbing, surfing lessons—all these things I don’t have time for, since I’m still working. So he says, ‘I know what we can do together. Let’s make a baby.’ ”
“Is that what you want, too?”
“I just wish I had more time,” she says. “I would never tell him this, but part of me wishes his business hadn’t sold. He worked so hard for it—we both did—but I have a feeling it all happened too soon. That we’re just not ready.”
“What do you do for work?”
She waves her hand as if to brush off a pesky gnat. “Oh, I’m in marketing. For a beverage company in San Diego. They make organic kombucha, juices with chia, stuff like that.”