by Beth Orsoff
"If it’s still in Fairbanks then we can have it here by tomorrow morning."
"And if it’s not in Fairbanks?"
"Then it’ll take a little longer. Just leave me your contact number, and we’ll deliver it to your hotel as soon as it arrives."
And therein lay the problem. I didn’t have a hotel. We were leaving Barrow that night.
"Maybe we could wait until morning?" I suggested, as I followed Ethan outside the terminal.
"Nope."
I knew arguing that I needed my belongings was a dead end, so I tried to think of something that might persuade him. "Wouldn’t it be safer to set sail in daylight?"
"Look around, Sydney," he said, as we crossed the empty gravel road to the park across the street, "it is daylight."
"Yeah, now," I said, ignoring the sun hanging high in the sky even though it was eight o’clock at night. "But not for long."
Ethan stopped walking and turned around. "It won’t get dark here for another four weeks." My mouth hanging open must’ve clued him into my surprise. "Surely you’ve heard of the midnight sun?"
"I always thought it was an expression."
"An expression for what?"
"I don’t know. A short night?" Definitely not none at all.
Ethan shook his head then kept walking to a brown marble structure slightly larger than a phone booth. "It’s a monument to Will Rogers and Wiley Post," he said, bending down to read the plaque underneath the bronze globe with the old-fashioned propeller plane clinging to the side. "They died in a plane crash fifteen miles south of here back in 1935."
"Fascinating. Now do you want to tell me what I’m supposed to do without clean underwear or a toothbrush for the next week?"
I pushed harder for spending the night in Barrow, but Ethan steadfastly refused. "We’re already a day behind schedule, I’m not making it two."
"Why? Are the walruses expecting you?"
"Sydney, it’s costing us ten thousand dollars a day to lease the boat and equipment. That may not be a lot in your world, but I assure you it’s a lot in mine."
No, that was a lot in my world too. Although that still didn’t mean I was willing to wear the same dirty underwear for seven days.
Ethan hailed a cab with a whistle that would’ve made a New Yorker proud, and told the driver we wanted to go to the Arctic Science Research Center.
"Is that the Arctic Ocean?" I asked our driver as I stared out at the dark water washing up onto the beach.
"No, that’s the Chukchi Sea," he said, then pointed straight ahead where the road curved to the right. "Over there’s the Beaufort Sea. Point Barrow’s where the two meet."
They looked exactly the same to me.
The driver stopped in front of a surprisingly modern building—all glass and steel, with the ubiquitous blue and gray trim. Blue and gray were very big colors in Barrow. Maybe it had something to do with blending into the environment, which presumably wasn’t brown if you visited during the rest of the year.
I followed Ethan up the steps and into the quiet lobby, where we waited for our local coordinator.
"John Majors," the portly man with dark skin set off by a full head of white hair said as he offered Ethan his hand. After Ethan introduced himself, John Majors turned to me. "I know you’re not Duncan Foster."
"Sydney Green," Ethan told him as I shook his hand. "Duncan couldn’t make it."
"I hope he’s all right," John Majors said, seeming genuinely concerned. "I know he was looking forward to this."
"He’ll survive," Ethan said, and changed the subject.
John Majors tried to chat us up about Wilde Island and our trip, but Ethan cut him off. "We need your assistance with a couple of items, and then we’ll be out of your hair. First, radio the Centaurian and let them know we’re ready to be picked up, then—"
"We’re not ready to be picked up. Ethan, I have no clothes."
John Majors looked from me to Ethan, who responded with a sigh. "The airline lost her luggage. Is there someplace close by where she can buy a few things while we’re waiting?"
"We have a convenience store on campus," he said, "but it sounds like what you really need is the AC."
"What’s the AC?" I asked.
"Alaska Company store," John Majors replied. "They have everything."
It’s true, the AC store did have everything. Although they weren’t cheap. Twelve hundred dollars later I owned an assortment of shirts, pants, and underwear, new running shoes, a pair of rubber boots that actually fit me, and since I had the credit card out anyway, I treated myself to a new fleece-lined Gore-Tex jacket with a hideaway hood, and a matching hat, scarf, and gloves. One more stroll down the aisles for a duffel bag to store it all in, and some basic toiletries, and I headed to the check-out.
"Can you afford all this stuff?" Ethan asked, as the cashier rang me up.
I shrugged. Surely the airline would pay for some of it. The rest, well . . . "Let’s hope this documentary’s a big success."
When we returned to the research center, John Majors was waiting for us in the lobby. He led us outside to his four by four and drove us out to the beach. "The Centaurian’s anchored a few miles offshore," he said, "and the dinghy’s on its way."
Five minutes later Ethan and I said goodbye to John Majors as we climbed into a twelve foot boat with rubber pontoons on each side. The pilot introduced himself as "Seaman Ariak, but you can call me George."
I told him my name and those were the last words anyone spoke until the massive steel ship came into view.
Chapter 31
As I climbed the ship’s ladder and peered over the top, I spotted three people clustered next to a second dinghy stored on the deck. Once Ethan joined me, the lone woman in the group, tall and tan with a short blond bob, who looked much closer to Ethan’s age than to mine, ran forward and threw her arms around his neck. "It’s been too long."
"Hi, Patti," he said, returning the hug.
It was odd to meet someone who seemed genuinely happy to see Ethan.
"Where’s Duncan?" she asked, giving me the once-over.
"He dislocated his shoulder, so Sydney’s filling in. Sydney Green, meet Patti Kline Sullivan."
"Welcome, Sydney," she said, extending her hand. "Have you been working with Ethan long?" I detected a slight southern accent, but I couldn’t place it.
"No, I’ve only been at Wilde Island for a week."
"Really?" She looked to Ethan, but when he gave no hint that an explanation would be forthcoming, she turned her attention back to me. "Well, Ethan and I are old friends, so if there’s anything you want to know about him, just ask."
"Patti," Ethan said, a warning tone in his voice, "Sydney’s here because she’s working on a documentary for the Save the Walrus Foundation."
"Joe, weren’t you just telling me something about that?" She turned to the man standing behind her who’d been silently watching us the whole time.
"Joe Sullivan," he said and extended his freckled hand. He wore large plastic framed glasses that accentuated his eyes and highlighted the gray in his beard and mustache.
"My husband," Patti added in case I had any doubt.
Joe Sullivan wasn’t quite as enthusiastic to see Ethan as his wife had been, but they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.
We probably would’ve stood outside longer enjoying the mild weather and the late evening sun, but George and the other man on the deck, who introduced himself as "First Mate Tim Macintosh, but everyone calls me Mac," asked us to go inside. "Seaman Roberts will show you your quarters," Mac added, then nodded in lieu of a salute.
Patti led us across the deck to a three-story metal structure with a wall of windows stretching across the top. We followed her in and up two flights of steps to an open area with an L-shaped couch built into the wall and a coffee table bolted to the floor. A TV hung from the ceiling at the opposite corner of the room, with a built-in desk and cabinets underneath.
As soon as we entered, the man
on the couch, who looked barely eighteen, jumped up and stood at attention.
"Welcome aboard, I’m Seaman Roberts," he said, shaking Ethan’s hand and then mine. "If you come with me, I’ll show you to your quarters and give you a tour of the ship."
"We’ll wait here," Patti said, as Ethan and I followed Seaman Roberts back to the stairs.
"Can I take your bag for you, ma’am?" he asked.
I wanted to tell him I was a ‘miss’ not a ‘ma’am,’ but I just handed him my duffel and said, "Please call me Sydney."
"My name’s Will," he said, as he tossed the bag over his slim shoulder, and we followed his buzz cut down two flights of steps.
The hallway was so narrow we had no choice but to walk single file with Will out front, me in the middle, and Ethan in the rear. Will stopped halfway to the end and pushed open a door to a room twice the size of my walk-in closet back home. I would never have guessed a space so small could hold so much furniture. The built-in bunk beds took up most of the outside wall, and across from them was a long, narrow desk. On the short wall was a sink with a cabinet underneath and a mirror above it next to a closed door.
Will dropped my duffel on the floor, then had to step over it to reach the bathroom. "The head’s in here," he said, motioning inside. "You share it with the other cabin, so make sure you always lock both doors." Then he squeezed past Ethan and me to get to the opposite end of the room, which contained two tall cabinets. "You can put your clothes in here," he said, opening the one on the right, "and there’s room on top for your bag. We ask that you secure all your belongings to prevent any accidents."
I assumed this room was mine and tossed my briefcase and purse on the lower bunk. Ethan surprised me by dumping his knapsack on the upper one.
"I’m sorry," I said, reaching for my bags. "I thought this was my room."
"It is," Will said, "it’s for both of you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the rest of the ship."
"You mean we’re both supposed to sleep here?"
Will glanced from me to Ethan, unsure what to do next. "The scientists always share quarters. Only the captain has his own room."
"Sorry," I said, backing toward the door, "but that’s not going to work for me." Just the thought of sharing this six-foot by eight-foot box with Ethan had my heart pounding in my chest. Then I remembered the rest of my anti-anxiety pills were packed in my lost suitcase and my claustrophobia really kicked into overdrive.
"It’s fine," Ethan said, pushing Will out of the room. "Give us a minute."
As soon as Ethan closed the door I started hyperventilating. "No way, Ethan," I said, as I paced the three feet of floor space open to me.
"Calm down," he said, then made the mistake of touching me.
I screamed and shoved him away. I felt like I was drowning and instead of throwing me a life preserver, he was pushing me deeper under water.
"Okay, Sydney," he said in a soothing tone, as he took a step back with his hands up. "I’ll leave. But I think you’ll feel a lot better if you sit down. Can you do that for me?"
I nodded and leaned on the edge of the desk. My vision was starting to blur, but I could still make out the furniture. Ethan kicked the chair out into the middle of the room and said, "Sit down and place your head between your knees."
I followed his instructions and after a few minutes, the dizziness and pounding in my chest subsided, and I lifted my head. My eyes veered past him to the closed door, but I forced myself to keep breathing as slowly as I could. "Ethan, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here."
"Of course you can," he said.
"No, you don’t understand. I can’t. Really."
He knelt down in front of me and gently put his hands on my knees, increasing his pressure until my feet were flat on the floor. "Do you feel that?"
I nodded as I sensed the slight vibration under me.
"We’re moving," he said in a low, soft voice.
Instantly my heart started pounding again, and I couldn’t catch my breath.
"No! Sydney, listen to me. Sydney, are you listening?"
I wanted to tell him that I was, but I couldn’t speak as the room dissolved in a blur. I felt Ethan force my head back down between my knees, and rub my shoulders and the back of my neck. He kept whispering "just breathe" until I felt like I could again and I lifted my head.
"See." He smiled. "You’re fine."
Before I could protest he grabbed my hand, pulled me upright, and opened the door. "We’re ready now," he said to Will, who’d apparently been standing outside listening the whole time.
We followed Will down another flight of steps and he pointed out the trash compactor and the engine room, then we followed Will back upstairs to the galley, and another two flights to the top deck, which Will referred to as the bridge. It was much smaller than I would’ve thought necessary to pilot a hundred-foot ship, but it did have several of those cool computer monitors with the rotating green lines you always see in the movies, and a giant wood steering wheel.
Captain Roberts introduced himself, and before I could ask (the family resemblance was obvious), he said, "Seaman Roberts is my son, and he’s also our cook, so if you don’t like the food, he’s the person to complain to. Did he tell you about the plumbing?"
"Yes, Dad," Will said testily, then noticed his father’s expression. "I mean Captain."
"Good," Captain Roberts said, before turning his attention back to me and Ethan. "The data from the reconnaissance flight should be here soon. In the morning we can check the weather and plot out our course for the day."
Ethan thanked him, and Will brought us down one flight and back to the lounge where Patti and Joe were still waiting.
"Are you hungry?" Will asked.
"No," Ethan said, "we ate on the plane." Normally a $5 snack box wouldn’t suffice, but I’d eaten a giant plate of nachos at the airport food court earlier in the day.
"Okay," Will said, "breakfast’s at seven," then he wished us all good night.
"I’ve been thinking," Patti said, before I’d even sat down, "when we’d made the sleeping arrangements, we thought Ethan was bringing Duncan. If you’d be more comfortable sharing a room with me, Joe can switch with you."
"That won’t be necessary," Ethan said, but Patti turned to me for confirmation.
"I’m fine." Ethan was far from the ideal roommate, but he already knew about my claustrophobia, so he seemed like the better choice.
"Okay," she said, "if you change your mind let me know." Then she turned to her husband. "Ready for bed?"
He nodded and stood up.
"You can go first," Ethan said when we were alone again. "To the cabin I mean."
"We’re sleeping in shifts?" That would make it easier.
"No, I meant you should get undressed and settle in."
I hadn’t even thought about the practical aspects of us sharing a room. I was still trying to figure out how I was going to breathe with the door closed. "That’s okay," I said, staring out the window that ran the length of one wall. The sun was obscured by the clouds, but it was still as bright out now as it had been when we’d arrived. "I’m not tired."
"Don’t let the daylight fool you. It’s almost midnight."
"I know." I turned to him and smiled. "You go first. I’ll be down soon."
He looked at me skeptically, but left anyway. As soon as he was gone, I lay down on the couch. I’d lied. We’d been traveling for sixteen hours straight, and I was exhausted. I just didn’t think I could go back to that tiny room without having another panic attack.
I hadn’t realized the windows had no curtains or blinds until I tried to sleep. At first I faced the cushions, then switched to my stomach, before finally pulling off my sweater and using it to cover my eyes. Nothing worked. Eventually I moved to the floor where I wedged myself between the couch and the table. It wasn’t the most comfortable spot, but it was the darkest one in the room.
I don’t know how long I slept before the ship’s alarm sta
rtled me awake.
Chapter 32
It took me a few seconds to figure out where I was, and even after I did, I still managed to bang my head on the bottom of the coffee table as I stood up. I ran to the staircase and caught Will as he was rushing up to the bridge.
"There you are," he said, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. "We thought we were going to have to call the Coast Guard."
"Why? What happened? Did we hit an iceberg?"
He smiled up at me between pants. "No, we thought you fell overboard. Stay here," he said, squeezing past me. "I want to tell my dad, I mean the captain, I found you." Then he sprinted up the last flight of steps.
I stood with my hands over my ears and waited until the blaring stopped before I headed downstairs to my cabin. It was already twenty minutes to seven, but I figured if I hurried I’d still have enough time for a shower before breakfast.
"Where the hell have you been?" Ethan asked, as I pushed open the door.
"Good morning to you too."
"Sydney, this isn’t a joke. That alarm was for you. We’ve been looking all over for you."
"I was in the lounge."
"No," Ethan said, and shook his head. "Will looked there."
"Ethan, I swear to you, I spent the whole night in the lounge."
"You slept there?"
"Yeah," I said through a yawn as I lay down on my bunk. It was even stiffer than the couch, but more comfortable than the floor. "Why? Is that a problem?"
"Yes, that’s a problem. Why didn’t you tell me?"
It never occurred to me to tell him and I don’t know why he assumed that I would, but I was too tired to argue with him. "I’m sorry. If I knew it was such a big deal I would’ve told you. But honestly, Ethan, we’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Where could I possibly have gone?"
"Sometimes people leave the boat, Sydney. Voluntarily or otherwise."
"Ethan, I’m claustrophobic, not suicidal. Now would you mind if we continued this argument later? I’d really like to shower before breakfast."
He just shook his head and walked out, slamming the cabin door behind him, which I interpreted as a yes.