There Galapagos My Heart

by Philip William Stover

  It’s Mr. Biddle.

  “Yes, sir,” I say, wondering what else he can want. I spent last night in my hotel room working on the files he needed.

  “I know you’re on vacation. I hate to bother you,” he says, but I can tell it’s more perfunctory than authentic. “It’s just that you’re going to be taking on a lot more responsibility when you get back, and I’m afraid the work doesn’t really take a vacation.”

  “What can I do for you?” I say politely but without enthusiasm.

  Mr. Biddle explains that there is another crisis, but his explanation doesn’t actually sound like a crisis at all. It just sounds like business as usual. I say “Yes” and “I see” a lot, but I’m really just focused on the view of the sparkling water.

  At the end of the conversation, he says he will send me all the materials I need to review, edit, and assign. From his description, it sounds like a few days of work.

  “Do you think maybe Janet or Sharika might be able to do this?”

  “No,” Mr. Biddle says firmly.

  There is an awkward silence. Did I step too far?

  “Look, Michael,” he says with a persuasive edge in his voice. “When I gave you this promotion, I could have given it to Janet or Sharika, but I didn’t. I gave it to you because I know how hard you work and that you are dedicated to getting the task done, no matter the circumstances.”

  Suddenly I remember last Thanksgiving, when I had to leave Penny’s house minutes before the meal was served because Mr. Biddle needed an account reviewed, or how I had to reschedule Benton’s birthday dinner twice because a deadline kept moving.

  Now the clouds shift, and the sunlight shimmers on the waves, creating floating diamonds of air, light, and water.

  “Yes, Mr. Biddle. I’ll work on this and have it ready,” I say, hang up, and start to download the documents so I can transfer them to my laptop later. I put my phone in my pocket and stare back out at the sea. From a distance the waves seem gentle and nonthreatening, but when I look down, I see them crashing against the ship with a relentless and magnificent force.

  Chapter 11

  I stand in front of the door to “our” room and see Princess Suite on a brass plate. The humor is not lost on me, and neither is the reflection. I look past the letters and let my hazel eyes stare back at me. I push back my hair behind my ears and blow my sandy bangs out of my eyes. I hope my delay in boarding has given Benton enough time to drop off his stuff and head up to the bar and out of my way, but just in case he is in the room, I want to make sure I look my best. Chances of him being there are slim since I’m sure he is trying to squeeze out the last few moments of Wi-Fi connectivity and send a fresh selfie to the new young thing he must be dating.

  I tap my key card, turn the handle to open the door, and there is Benton. Completely 100 percent naked in all his magnificent glory.

  “Michael!” he says, but he doesn’t grab the towel off the bed immediately. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. In fact, it’s nothing I haven’t touched, tickled, or tapped before, but it has been a while. Ugh. Why does he have to be so incredibly sexy? His perfectly muscled biceps have defined peaks even when he isn’t flexing. Fresh from the shower, moisture still glistens on his chest hair and the trail of dark fur that leads right down to his thick, massive cock.

  Benton takes his time wrapping the towel around his trim waist. I notice he makes sure it is as low on his hips as possible so the muscles on each side of his groin are on full display. Nice work, B.

  Maybe he even planned this, but why would he when he has some boy back in the UK doing the admiring now? He adjusts the towel over his waist with mock concern.

  “The least you could do is knock,” he says, using his most refined accent.

  “Knock? Oh, of course. What was I thinking? Who doesn’t knock before they enter their own room?” The suite is so tiny that when I walk by him, I have to actually brush his body. I feel my back against his chest, and it is electric. Not that I’d let him know. “Maybe we should set up some rules if we are going to survive the next few days together.”

  “Fine,” he says.

  “Fine,” I say.

  He just stands there. He doesn’t go put on a shirt or a pair of pants. He just stands there in a towel looking like he is the fluffer on a porn shoot.

  “Well,” I say. “Let’s start with rule numero uno. Clothes must be worn in the main cabin area.” I gesture around the room as if I am a flight attendant showing the emergency exits. This makes Benton laugh a tiny bit. I could always make Benton laugh. Even when we were in one of our heated arguments, I could often find something funny to say that would take the heat down a few levels.

  “You never minded my naked body before,” he says.

  “That was before,” I say and grab the robe I see on the hook on the bathroom door. I hand it to him and turn my back, giving him the privacy to remove the towel and put on the robe.

  A dulcet melody of three bells plays over the loudspeaker in the room. “Welcome aboard. I’m Captain Alvarez, and on behalf of the crew, I would like to welcome you to the San Isabella III. Please find the life preserver located under the bed in your cabin and proceed to the deck for a brief safety orientation.”

  I turn back around to get my life preserver for the drill and see that Benton has put on his life preserver over his robe.

  “You can’t go out like that,” I tell him.

  “Trying to get me undressed again, Michael? It won’t work. This time.”

  “I would be perfectly happy to see you covered in burlap from head to toe for the rest of the trip,” I tell him.

  “Oh, is burlap what you’re into these days? Kinky.” He gives me that smile that defies any stereotypes about Brits and their teeth.

  “Very funny,” I say. I walk out the door.

  Into these days? His little joke rings in my ear. As if I’ve been covered in a thick shag carpet of wall-to-wall men. Hardly. Since Benton left I have hooked up with a grand total of two guys. I met a guy on an app who gave me a blowjob so bad it was like he thought he was eating an ear of corn. Then a friend of a friend set me up with a handsy optometrist who was relocating from Petaluma. Little does Benton know what I’m into these days is an unhealthy dose of self-doubt and overwork.

  Chapter 12

  After the safety drill, Benton and I manage to unpack in shifts. When I’m done taking all the prime drawers and closet space, I find him at the open-air bar drinking his trademark Pimm’s Cup. I simply give him a nod from the other side of the deck to acknowledge the suite is free.

  The other passengers are getting to know each other over cocktail hour, but I’m not ready for human contact. I order a whiskey sour and find a quiet spot away from everyone where I can observe the magnificent view.

  The sun has just begun to set over the ocean, and the port town gets smaller in the distance with each passing second. The buildings on the hill twinkle as lights come on in a random order. I take a deep breath, and the clean salt air gives my lungs a gentle scrub.

  “Here, I brought you another one.” Penny hands me another whiskey sour despite the one in my hand.

  “Thank you.” I put both drinks down on the end table.

  “Phew,” she says. “You’re talking to me.”

  “I shouldn’t be,” I tell her. “How could you do this to me, Penny?”

  “Mike, you know my loyalty is to you, a hundred percent, but Benton is not really a bad guy. You two just…”

  “He left me,” I remind her.

  “Your relationship ended,” she says with her maternal tone. “No relationship is that one-sided. It’s not the same thing your father did to your mother. Benton didn’t just leave. He didn’t suddenly vanish like Peter. Your dad walked out without so much as a goodbye.”

  Well, it sure feels the same.

  I stare out at the ocean. The sun has set, and the water, land, and sky appear to be almost the same dark shade of black-blue.

  Is Penny right? F
or the past year I’ve been blaming Benton for the demise of our relationship, but maybe I’m as much to blame.

  “When you and Benton were together and in sync, you were great. I know the room situation isn’t ideal, but why not try to make the best of it?” She gives me a gentle smile.

  “Fine,” I say, not wanting to give her any more stress.

  “That’s my dollface. Now let me get the evening started so I can get back to my cabin and take off this damn girdle.”

  She goes to the bar and grabs a glass and spoon and starts clinking them together. The passengers quickly hush.

  “Hi, everyone. Weren’t the canapés spectacular?” she asks with great enthusiasm.

  Everyone nods and “ooohs” with glee. I tasted some of the ceviche, and the briny flavors perfectly matched the glorious views of water and sky.

  “Tonight we have a special treat after dinner. Our wildlife expert, Benton Aldridge, will give us an overview of the species we will encounter during our trip, so please join him in the lounge for this riveting discussion when you finish your meals.”

  Everyone moves down to the dining room, but I linger behind with Penny, waiting for everyone to exit. “I can just sneak out after dinner, right? I don’t have to go to Benton’s talk, do I?” I ask her.

  “Of course you do,” she says, and I follow her to the dining room and make sure I pick a table as far away from Benton as possible.

  Chapter 13

  The lounge on the San Isabella III is swanky, even for this luxury ship. Leather club chairs and rich navy brocade drapes accent the large space. Benton is busy setting up at the front of the room, so I look for a seat as far in the back as I can. So far I’ve been an expert at avoiding sitting anywhere near him. I spot the perfect seat behind a pillar when I notice Fred wildly waving at me from the front of the room.

  “Hey, Mike,” he shouts. “We saved you a seat up here.” He points to a leather chair in the front row a few feet from the podium.

  I am about to beg off when Penny whispers, “Part of your job is to keep the passengers hap-hap-happy.” Message received.

  “Thanks, Fred,” I say with as much authenticity as I can muster and walk to the front. I look back longingly at the perfect seat in the last row near the exit.

  “How’s your room? You all settled in?” Fred asks.

  I don’t tell him I walked in on my gorgeous ex-boyfriend in the nude and that I’m having such a hard time getting the image out of my head that I have avoided every oyster at the raw bar for fear of having an erection throughout the entire cruise. Instead I say, “Oh, it’s fine. Such a beautiful ship.”

  “Isn’t she, though?” Rita adds. “Just gorgeous.”

  The lights dim, and Penny introduces Benton and his long list of credentials in wildlife research and preservation. The crowd applauds politely, and Benton takes the microphone.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. How do you do?” Benton begins. His accent is in high-tea-with-the-Queen mode. It’s so deliciously British one can understand every choice Meghan Markle ever made. “We are going to see extraordinary animals during this trip, some of the rarest in the world. Some species can only be seen here on these islands. It is a remarkable opportunity,” he says and turns his eyes to me, “and I am thrilled to be sharing it with you.”

  His eyes pierce me, and I don’t look away. I let him look right at me. I know he is being the cocky flirt he’s always been, and I’m not going to let it send electricity up and down my spine…except that it does.

  Benton explains the unique ecosphere created in the Galapagos Islands and how this allowed Darwin to develop his theory of evolution. Benton shows slides of some of the animals we will see, explains how each one is connected to the islands and provides a valuable service to the ecosphere.

  His ability to make somewhat dense scientific material exciting is trademark Benton. I’ve spent so much time being hurt by his leaving that I forgot about his magical ability to do this, how he can create an energy.

  Hearing his lecture reminds me of how happy and excited I would be when he came home from the zoo with some new story about a polar bear playing with his favorite toy or an antelope that just recovered from an injury. He would speak with such awe and excitement that it was contagious.

  I look around the room, and everyone is enraptured by him, me included.

  Benton shows a slide of a small gray bird with black-and-white spotted feathers down the front and a gray beak. “This little fellow,” he says as if he is introducing his favorite nephew, “is known as one of Darwin’s finches. It’s one of the species that will only be found here on the Galapagos. Keep a lookout when we are on our hikes. There are actually fifteen different species of these birds, with different beaks. They are named after Darwin because he wrote that studying these finches gave him his eureka moment. He determined that the different beaks evolved over thousands of years.”

  The next slide shows fifteen different beak styles. Some are rounded and short, and others are longer, with more of a point. Observing the world as a wildlife expert is not so different from observing the world as artist. Both look for patterns and shapes and then interpret the meaning of those observations. Scientists turn that into a theory of evolution. Artists turn that into a painting or sculpture.

  “Now I have saved my very favorite animal for last,” Benton says with a dramatic pause. “Are you ready?” The group applauds enthusiastically. Fred actually shouts out, “Yes!” Only Benton could have a crowd in such a frenzy after fifteen different beak slides.

  The next image appears on the screen. “Ladies and gentlemen, the frigate bird.”

  An almost all-black bird with a wingspan that could cover a compact car flashes on the screen. The animal is tall and sleek, with glistening black feathers that fan out from his wings to make a wide tail, a smattering of white feathers across the neck and belly, and the most enormous Valentine’s Day–red pouch under the beak. It looks like the bird is swallowing a balloon.

  “The frigate bird has an enormous wingspan, often over seven feet, and the largest ratio of wingspan to body mass of any known species. But look at the pouch. Only the males have this feature, and it is used to attract a mate. Who could resist such a lovely pouch as the one on this big guy?”

  I guess we are not so different from animals. I stare down at Benton’s groin. Even when he is fully clothed, there is no doubt he has a substantial pouch.

  “While the pouch is impressive, what I love about this bird is what it has taught me about being a human.” Benton’s tone changes from scientific lecturer to storyteller. “These birds need to be in their element, the sky, in order to really live. Despite being on this archipelago, they can’t take off from water, and they are known for being rather clumsy on dry land. They often trip and fall over themselves. In fact, they sometimes need to get a running start downhill just to get airborne. But once they are in the air, they soar. They can fly for days, even weeks at a time without ever coming down.”

  I imagine that beautiful bird in the sky just flying and flying, not worrying about checking his email, returning a call, or meeting a deadline. It must be a wonderful life.

  “This bird has taught me that we all need to be in our element in order to thrive.” Benton looks directly at me. “If you were meant to be in the ocean, then swim with the current, but if you were meant to be in the sky, then you should fly with the wind.”

  His eyes pierce mine. It’s intense, and I don’t want the connection to stop. I want him to keep looking at me, keep looking in me, seeing me. The magic is so strong I can’t move, can’t look away from him. But then he breaks his gaze and looks about the room again.

  “Thank you ever so much for your attention this evening,” Benton concludes while the breath I didn’t realize I was holding slowly seeps out of my chest.

  The passengers applaud loudly like they just watched a private Beyoncé concert. Benton gathers his materials. I sit staring at him, thinking about how he lo
oked at me as if he really saw me. It was like this when we were together. There was this intensity that was unspoken, powerful, and very right. When he was looking at me, explaining the importance of being in one’s element, I could feel that connection again. I could feel that magic.

  I quickly avert my eyes from Benton and spot Penny. I can tell she has been watching me watch Benton. She gives me a knowing smile because, well, she knows. She knows what I’ve been afraid to admit. I’m still in love with Benton.

  Chapter 14

  “You are not in love with Benton, you are not in love with Benton,” I repeat to myself as I tear out of the lounge to our shared cabin.

  I tap my key card to enter the room and close the door quickly behind me.

  No, no, no.

  I make a list in my head of all the reasons I cannot feel this way. Benton lives in another country. Benton has a hot Instagram boyfriend who is probably some muscle bunny with acrobatic sexual abilities. (Okay, this is unverified but very likely.) But the big reason is that, wait for it, Benton does not love me. He walked out. Left. He didn’t just move across town. He wanted to get away from me so much he left the entire country. He didn’t even move to Mexico or Canada, which you could easily reach by car. He went to another continent!

  I step into the bathroom and brush my teeth, floss, and wash my face like I’m in a race. I step out of my clothes and open a drawer to grab something modest to sleep in. I accidentally open a drawer Benton has used and see his old sleeveless workout shirt with the San Diego Padres logo across the front. I remember the way his shirt smelled fresh from the laundry, a mix of his masculine musk and soft powder-scented fabric softener.

  I stare at the shirt for a moment, and then in one swift move, I pick it up and hold it to my nose. I breathe in Benton, and the smell is exactly as I remember it.