by Beth Orsoff
Joe nodded as if he’d heard that too. Then he closed his eyes again and let me get to work.
I read sixty-eight e-mails that afternoon, but I only responded to one.
Blake,
You’ll never guess what I’m doing—tagging walruses in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. I don’t know why you never received the script. I’ll e-mail it to you as soon as I can.
Love,
Syd
It wasn’t a total lie. I really didn’t know why Hillary had left without at least sending me a draft. But Blake wasn’t interested in details. That was my job.
The plan had been for us to go tagging again after dinner, but the fog was so thick Captain Roberts advised against it. We were all glad when Ethan acquiesced without a fight. I figured we could use the time to work on the script, but he refused.
"Why not?" I asked, as I followed him down the stairwell. "You have something better to do?"
"Yes," he said, without turning around.
"What?"
He stopped abruptly and I almost crashed into him. "Sydney, I need a night off. Go watch a movie or something."
"We have movies?"
"In the lounge," he said, jogging down the last flight of steps. "I’m sure if you just wag your little finger at Will he’d be happy to show you."
My little finger wasn’t necessary. When I walked into the lounge, Joe was already sifting through the ship’s DVD collection. By the time Will and I returned with the popcorn, he’d already inserted Terminator into the DVD player and cued it up.
Patti knitted her way through the movie, and Joe was snoring before the credits rolled, so Will and I watched Terminator 2 without them. He would’ve made it a triple feature but it was after midnight by the time Linda Hamilton lowered Arnold into the bubbling liquid steel and I knew I had to get up early the next morning.
I tiptoed into the cabin so as not to wake Ethan and was surprised to discover I was alone. I took advantage of the privacy to turn on the lights and undress in the tiny room instead of the even tinier bathroom. Yet although I was exhausted, I couldn’t sleep.
I’d stretched the blackout curtain across the cabin’s small porthole, but a narrow band of light still managed to escape through the side. I got up once to pull it closer to the edge, then a second time to tape it to the wall so absolutely no sunlight could leak through, but it didn’t matter. My body knew there was daylight on the other side of the window and stubbornly refused to fall asleep.
Two hours later I was still awake, still exhausted, and seriously angry. It was two-thirty in the morning, and Ethan hadn’t yet returned. I couldn’t believe after all the shit he’d given me for staying out the night before, he hadn’t even bothered to leave me a note.
At a quarter to three I pulled a sweatshirt on over my pajamas and went out to look for him, but the only person I could find was Mac. He was on the bridge, sitting in the captain’s chair with his feet up on the console and a paperback in his hands. It must’ve been really engrossing because he jumped when I walked in.
"You haven’t seen Ethan, have you?"
"Isn’t that him out on deck?" he said, nodding at the front window.
I squeezed in next to him. Even with the fog rolling in, I could see the outline of the dinghies secured on the deck, and over the side of one of them was someone’s dangling feet. "I can’t believe him. He bitches at me for sleeping in the lounge and then—"
"You slept in the lounge?"
"I dozed off reading," I lied, waving his question away. "And he sleeps outside and that’s okay?"
"I don’t think he’s sleeping."
"Then what’s he doing?" Obviously he was lying down.
Mac smiled. "Tell him I won’t rat him out, but next time I expect him to share."
Chapter 39
Mac lent me his jacket so I didn’t have to go back to the cabin for mine. When I reached Ethan he was flat on his back, one arm shielding his eyes from the midnight sun, the other cradling a bottle of whiskey.
"If spending the night in the lounge is some sort of shipboard violation, then surely sleeping in the dinghies must be too."
He slid his arm to his forehead and peered up at me through glassy eyes. "I’m not sleeping."
"You’re drinking, and I know that’s not allowed."
"You gonna turn me in?" he asked, with a slight slur to his words. I’d seen Ethan drink alcohol every day since I’d met him, but this was the first time I’d actually seen him drunk.
"No, but Mac said next time he expects you to share."
Ethan smiled and saluted the bridge with the bottle. "And my other secret? You gonna keep that one too?"
"What other secret?"
The smile faded. "Don’t play dumb, Sydney. I know you talked to Patti."
I should’ve guessed she’d tell him. It was obvious where her loyalties lay. "You mean Marcus?" He actually winced when I said the name. "No, I won’t say anything."
"Thank you," he said without looking at me. Then he leaned back against the boat’s hard rubber bottom and shielded his eyes from the midnight sun.
"But if you want to talk—"
"I don’t!"
"All right, you don’t need to get angry. Although next time you’re planning on spending the night out on deck, I’d appreciate it if you left me a note."
He peeked up at me, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Did you miss me?"
"No! I was worried about you, that’s all. The same way you were worried about me," I added, lest he think otherwise.
"So you came searching for me in the middle of the night?"
"Don’t flatter yourself, I was already awake. This round-the-clock daylight is screwing with my head." It was actually lighter out now, at three o’clock in the morning, than it had been at three this afternoon.
He offered up the bottle. "Then have a drink."
"I don’t like whiskey."
"Then drink it quick."
It wasn’t a bad idea, at least to someone desperate for sleep. I grabbed the bottle and unscrewed the cap. It even smelled horrible, but I took a sip anyway. I immediately felt the burn down my throat. "Yuck! How do you drink this stuff?" I asked, as I handed him back the bottle.
"You get used to it," he said, and took another swallow before he capped it.
"Yeah, but why would you want to?" I kept sucking cold air into my mouth to dampen the medicinal taste, but nothing helped. A few minutes later the alcohol hit my bloodstream and I felt my mind go fuzzy and my body relax. I sat on the edge of the dinghy and stared down at Ethan, who was sporting that sly grin again.
"That’s why I drink it," he said, pointing the bottle at me.
"Why?"
"The smile on your face."
"I’m not smiling," I said, then squeezed my lips together into what I hoped was a frown.
"Then you haven’t drank enough," he replied, and held the bottle out to me
I almost declined. I was already feeling groggy. But the thought of a few hours of blissful sleep was too tempting to resist. I grabbed the whiskey and swallowed another mouthful as fast as I could. It burned just as much the second time, but the aftertaste wasn’t quite as bad. The first swallow must’ve killed off all my taste buds before it scorched the back of my throat. I handed him back the bottle, then checked my watch and stood up.
"Where are you going?"
"To bed. If I fall asleep in the next ten minutes, I can get three solid hours in before the alarm goes off."
"But you haven’t even seen the stars yet."
I looked up at the bright white sky. "Ethan, there are no stars."
"That’s because you have no imagination."
"I think I’ve proven I have imagination. Or have you forgotten my duel to the death with young Jake Skywalker?"
The grin widened. "No, I haven’t forgotten. C’mere," he said and patted the space next to him at the bottom of the dinghy.
I looked at my watch again. "How long is this going to take? Because I�
�m down to nine minutes and I need to save a few to get back to the cabin and brush my teeth."
"Not long."
I stepped into the dinghy and shivered as I lay down next to him. "How can it be colder in here than out on the deck?"
"Because you’re lying down. More surface area."
"But I’m still the same size."
"Trust me, if you lay down on the deck it’d feel even colder than this." Then he set the bottle next to him and reached for my hands. "Christ, Sydney, do you have any blood in your fingers?" He wasn’t wearing gloves either, but somehow his hands managed to retain their warmth.
When my fingers no longer felt like icicles I pulled my hands from his and stuffed them in the pockets of Mac’s jacket. "So where are all these stars you promised me?" The second shot was already making me sleepy.
"Look up," he said, and I followed his finger to a point almost directly overhead. "That’s Polaris, the North Star."
"It’s not as bright as I remember," I replied, pretending I saw it too.
"A common misconception. Contrary to what you may have heard, Polaris is not the brightest star in the sky. In fact, there are forty-seven stars brighter than Polaris. People just think it’s the brightest because it’s important. It’s hubris really."
"Well, there’s a topic you know all about."
He smiled at me then continued. "Now trace the handle into the bowl of the Little Dipper."
I closed my eyes and tried to remember the last time I visited a planetarium. It was back when I still lived in Michigan, so it had to be at least sixteen years. "I see it," I said, and yawned in his face.
"Now go back to Polaris and follow it down to the Big Dipper."
I rolled over onto my side without thinking, but as soon as my face touched the slimy boat bottom, I bolted upright.
"What’s wrong?"
"It’s wet," I said, wiping the moisture from my cheek with the sleeve of Mac’s jacket.
"It’s just condensation."
"Condensation that smells like stinky feet."
"Christ, you’re a pain in the ass," he grumbled, but stretched his arm out next to him and motioned for me to lie down.
I nestled my head between his elbow and wrist, but I was still close enough to breathe in his scent—a combination of deodorant, whiskey, and briny ocean air. Not an unpleasant aroma, especially compared to the bottom of the boat.
"You still cold?" he asked, when I sandwiched my hands between my legs.
"A little."
He inched closer until my upper body rested against the side of his chest. I don’t know how he managed it in thirty-degree weather, but the man radiated heat.
I closed my eyes again and was just drifting off when he asked, "Can you see the Big Dipper?"
"Uh-huh," I said, as the imaginary night sky faded to starless black.
* * *
"I hate to break up this lovely scene, but I really need my coat back."
I opened my eyes and turned toward the voice, but even that slight movement was enough to set off a pounding in my head. "What?" I croaked, as I looked up into Mac’s sunburned face.
"My jacket," he repeated, and blew hot breath onto his chapped hands. "I’m freezing my balls off here. Pardon my French."
I forced myself to sit up. The boat was listing from side to side, and judging from the white caps I spied through the guard rail, this wasn’t a result of the whiskey.
"What time is it?" Ethan asked, and sat up too.
"Six-thirty," Mac said, as he reached for the jacket I held out to him. "Captain’s on the bridge, so you might want to get rid of that."
Ethan nodded and stuffed the nearly empty bottle inside his coat before he zipped it shut.
I headed down to the cabin, while Ethan went up to the bridge. I opened my eyes once when I heard him enter our room, but immediately fell back asleep. I remember him trying to rouse me for breakfast, but I refused. The ship was rocking and rolling now, and I was already contemplating a visit to the toilet head first.
I was still heaving my guts up when Ethan returned.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, as I stumbled past him on my way back to the bunk. He was sitting at the desk with his feet propped up looking well fed and refreshed.
"How do you think?" He’d opened the blackout curtain, and the tiny room was flooded with never-ending daylight, so I pulled the scratchy wool blanket over my head.
"You need to get dressed. Patti and Joe already left, and Mac’s waiting for us in the dinghy."
I pushed my blanket down to my chin. "You’re kidding, right?" I wasn’t going anywhere, and definitely not out to sea.
He stood up and smiled benevolently. Then grabbed the corner of my covers and yanked them down to my knees.
"What the fuck!"
He held out a glass of water and a tiny white pill. "Take this. It’ll make you feel better."
"Drop dead!" Then I pulled the covers back over my head.
After a thirty second tug of war, the blanket was bunched at my knees again and Ethan was shoving the medicine in my face.
"Have you invented a magic hangover pill or are you just trying to poison me?"
"You’re not hung over, you’re seasick."
"I don’t get seasick," I said, as I forced down another wave of nausea, although at this point, I didn’t think I had anything left to throw up.
"Well, nobody gets this hung over from two sips of whiskey. You’re either seasick or you’re pregnant."
I was momentarily seized with panic until I realized it wasn’t possible. I’d gotten my period before I’d left L.A. But my reaction hadn’t escaped Ethan’s eagle eyes.
He pulled the water and pill away from me. "You’re pregnant?"
"Of course not!" I reached for the pill and washed it down with the entire glass of water in one long gulp. Ten seconds later I ran into the bathroom and threw it all up.
"You’ll feel better if you go out on deck," Ethan said, as he stood behind me.
I lay down on the cool linoleum floor and looked up at him. "Why can’t you just let me die in peace?"
Chapter 40
Ethan wrapped my jacket around my shoulders, shoved a plastic bag into my hands, and literally dragged me outside. I admit that sitting on the cold steel floor at the back of the boat with my eyes pinned on the horizon made my stomach slightly less queasy. Well enough at least to swallow another seasickness pill. Half an hour later I was actually able to stand up and walk around.
A can of ginger ale, a shower, and two slices of dry toast later, I was ready to join Ethan and Mac in the dinghy. Ethan was the first to spot the herd. They were a few hundred yards ahead of us on the only large chunk of ice anywhere in the vicinity. It must’ve been a thick slab to support the weight of fifty-plus walruses.
"Why are they always lying on top of each other like that?" I asked Ethan, as he peered through the binoculars.
"It might be for protection or it might be for warmth. We’re not really sure. All we know is it’s instinctual. Even when they have room to spread out, they don’t."
Mac slowed the engine as we approached, then shut it so the noise wouldn’t scare them off.
"I don’t think I can shoot from this far away." My aim had improved, but not that much.
"You’re not going to," Ethan said. "They’ll float closer with the tide."
Since it looked like it might be a while, I pulled out Jill’s video camera and started shooting. Most of the herd was hauled out on the ice, but two walruses were treading water at the edge. The larger of the two was hugging the smaller one in its giant flippers and nuzzling its face.
Ethan watched over my shoulder as I zoomed in. "A cow and her calf," he said. "I doubt the pup’s more than three months old."
"Is that why he has no tusks?"
"He has them, you just can’t see them yet. Assuming he’s a he. He could be a she."
All the walruses had long, thick whiskers that looked like bushy cowboy mustaches, but the
y were more pronounced on the calf. I suspected it was because their heads were so much smaller than the adults’ and they had no visible tusks to distract attention away.
"Are all the moms that affectionate?" I asked.
"Yes, walruses are very tactile. They have poor eyesight, so they memorize each other’s features by touch."
I kept recording as the cow pulled herself up onto the ice. The calf tried to follow, but he was having a tough time with no tusks to hold himself in place. Every time he’d get the top half of his body out of the water, he’d lose his grip on the ice and slide back down. It was funny to watch, but sad at the same time. He was trying so hard, it made me want to dive in and give him a push up from below.
"The cows and calves are practically inseparable for the first three months," Ethan continued as we watched the calf finally haul itself onto the ice. "But eventually she needs to eat. That’s when she’ll leave the calf in the protection of the herd while she forages for food."
"Protection from what?"
"Polar bears mostly. They target the calves because they’re weaker and have smaller tusks."
I thought back to yesterday’s bloody attack and shuddered. Hopefully we’d be spared that scene today. "When do the calves start feeding themselves?" The one I’d been watching was now greedily sucking at its mother’s teat.
"Around two years," Ethan said. "That’s why you’ll never see a calf alone. They’re always either with their mothers or with the herd waiting for her to return."
I kept recording until the ice pad floated closer and Ethan unpacked the crossbows. After he loaded both our arrows, I followed him to the bow.
"You ready?" he asked, as we both knelt down to check our sights.
"I will be when you tell me which one I’m supposed to be aiming at."
"The one you’ve been watching for the last ten minutes. The cow with the calf."
"You want me to shoot the mom?"
"Well, I don’t want you to shoot the calf."