A few minutes later, Admiral Byrd raises his head and wiggles forward. Keller moves aside to make room as Byrd clumsily eases his body off my lap and hops down from the rock, as slowly and patiently as he arrived. He wades into the water, as if to gauge the temperature, then dives under.
I turn to Keller. He’s watching me, smiling, squinting a little as the sun breaks through. He’s still holding my glove and hands it to me. I take it, my hand cold and dirty from the penguin’s feathers. I get to my feet, turning to take in the vistas from another angle.
“I like it here. No room for landings. Just us and Admiral Byrd.”
“And about a thousand other gentoos.”
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I say. “I didn’t know you’d been over here.”
“I’m not holding out.” He looks at me. “I just wanted to surprise you. Me being here at all—it’s only possible because of you. I wanted, for once, to show you something you haven’t seen yet.”
I hold his gaze, remembering the first time we kissed, as we observed the Adélies; remembering how he’d followed me day in and day out, his curiosity about the birds insatiable. “So you’re my teacher now.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and settle in there, the way Admiral Byrd had settled in to me. We stand like that a long time, the wind rippling through our hair, against our jackets. I let go first, and I look out at the water, where Admiral Byrd had disappeared a few minutes earlier. When I turn to Keller, he nods toward the Zodiac and says, “We better be getting back.”
I’m standing close to him, and we’re so very alone, and I try not to think ahead, to when we won’t be. When we’re apart, I feel a tension run through me, an elastic band stretched too thin, but when we’re together, Keller calms me, much the way this landscape does; there’s a stillness about him, a quiet peace, that I haven’t been able to keep with me when we part. I wish we could stay here, just the two of us, with the penguins, build our own rocky nest and somehow survive.
Keller is looking at me as if he knows what I’m thinking, but he doesn’t move; neither of us do, for a long couple of minutes. Then he steps away. “Come on,” he says. “It’s getting late.”
I don’t want to leave, and, as if sensing this, Keller stands by, waiting as I take one long, last look around. Finally we begin walking back to the beach. We climb into the Zodiac, and as I sit down on its rubbery edge and he fires up the engine, I say, “I’m glad I met you.”
He smiles at me, then turns away, his eyes focused ahead, as we speed away from the island.
TWO DAYS BEFORE SHIPWRECK
Prospect Point
(66°01'S, 65°21'W)
I’m halfway through my jog on the treadmill, at a lower intensity than usual, thinking only of when I can get back to the business center to call Keller. When I’d stopped by earlier, the phone was in use, and so here I am, waiting. I’ve already gone back once, and the same man was still talking—a business call, from the sound of it.
The walls of the ship’s fitness center are all glass, and my eyes fix on an iceberg in the distance as the potential conversation plays over and over in my mind.
I’m pregnant. Or, I should say, we’re pregnant. Isn’t that what couples always say?
The joy in his voice. I can’t believe it.
Do you really think we can make it work?
We can make anything work. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?
I forgot to have Susan check during the last ultrasound.
Laughter. Sorry. I almost forgot where we are.
As if we could ever forget where we are.
I tire more quickly than usual. I lay my hand against my abdomen and think of the baby’s heartbeat, whether it’s picked up as mine has. I set my pace to cooldown mode and check my watch—another fifteen minutes has passed, and I hope that passenger is off the phone by now.
It isn’t until I step off the treadmill that I notice Kate Archer, stretched faceup on a yoga mat, her dark hair fanned out around her head. It looks as though she’s asleep, and I’m startled when she opens her round, plum-brown eyes and looks right at me.
“I’ve been reading this book Richard bought,” she says, as if we’re already in the middle of a conversation. “About Shackleton. Did you know he was in his early forties, just about Richard’s age, during that expedition? The famous one?”
“Mmm.” I hold the treadmill for support as I stretch my legs. I glance over my shoulder, where I can see the passageway that leads to the business center.
“It makes you think about stuff,” she says. “Like how little I’ve done in life, when I really think about it.”
“We can’t all be Shackleton,” I say. “Besides, he was pretty damn lucky. If things hadn’t gone his way, he wouldn’t be remembered the same way, trust me.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” She sits up, pulling her legs to her chest.