Inside Flap:

When Los Angeles publicist Sydney Green convinces her boss to let her produce a documentary for the Save the Walrus Foundation, the only one Sydney Green is interested in saving is herself.  The walruses are merely a means to improving her career and her love life, and not necessarily in that order.  Sydney would’ve killed the project the second she learned she’d be the one having to spend a month in rural Alaska if it had been for any other client.  But for rising star and sometimes boyfriend Blake McKinley, no sacrifice is ever too great.

Then a funny thing happens on the way to the Arctic.  A gregarious walrus pup, a cantankerous scientist, an Australian sex goddess, a Star Wars obsessed six-year-old, and friends and nemeses both past and present rock Sydney Green’s well-ordered world.  Soon Sydney is forced to choose between doing what’s easy and doing what’s right.

HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE THE WALRUS

A Novel

by

BETH ORSOFF

Copyright © Beth Orsoff, 2010

Cover design by Julie Ortolon.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, or stored in a database or retrieval system, using any means or method now known or hereafter devised, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Other Books by Beth Orsoff:

Honeymoon for One

Romantically Challenged

For Steve, My One and Only

Prologue

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when the direction of my life first changed.   The displacement of idealism with cynicism doesn’t happen in an instant.  It’s more of a slow, steady, insidious assault.  First you start worrying about finding the right prom dress instead of helping the hungry and homeless, then you take the job with the Fortune 500 company instead of the non-profit group because you have eighty thousand dollars in student loans to repay, and from there it’s just a hop, skip, and a jump to destroying the ozone layer and supporting fascists.

But I can pinpoint the exact moment when I decided to change it back.

Chapter 1

The wind picked up, and the sky turned gray as our skiff approached the small green island partially shrouded in fog.  The right side sloped gradually toward the steely blue chop of Bristol Bay, while the left side ended abruptly in a steep, jagged cliff.

As the distance closed, I caught my first glimpse of wildlife—pink and brown blobs strewn across the beach.

"Should I get my binoculars?" I asked.

"Don’t bother," Captain Bailey, cloaked from head to toe in orange rubber, shouted over the roar of the boat’s engine.  "You’ll have plenty of chances on the island."

Then the wind shifted, and I was struck by a stench so overpowering—think rotting garbage on a hot summer day—I felt the bile rise up in my throat.  I swallowed hard and forced it down.

"Oh my God," I said, trying not to breathe.  "What’s that smell?"

Captain Bailey smiled as he watched me coil my scarf around my nose and mouth, allowing the chill wind to whip my hair across my face.

"Doesn’t it bother you?" I asked, my voice muffled by layers of faux cashmere.

He shrugged.  "You get used to it."

I doubted that.

As we began to close in on the island I was able to distinguish the edges of the blobs  littering the shore.  The pointy white tusks provided a sharp contrast to otherwise shapeless bodies.  Packed side by side and on top of one another like a giant can of two-thousand-pound sardines were hundreds and hundreds of walruses.

I stayed quiet, opening my mouth only to breathe, while Captain Bailey maneuvered the skiff inside the rocky cove.  I waited until he cut the engine to ask, "Excuse me, but—"

"Shhhh!" Captain Bailey turned and glared at me.  "Keep your voice down."

"Why?" I whispered.

He nodded toward the walruses as he guided the anchor over the side of the boat, the metal chain silently slipping through his fingers before dropping into the sea.  "So we don’t disturb them."

I turned back to the walruses.  They were rolling on top of one another, grunting and bellowing and barking so loud I could’ve screamed at the top of my lungs and they still would’ve drowned me out.  But I didn’t argue.  I’d been in Alaska for less than twenty-four hours, and I’d already learned it was better just to do what the locals tell you than attempt to get them to explain.  We may not be the friendliest people in the lower forty-eight, but they could be downright nasty up here in the forty-ninth state.  Yet there was still one question I had to ask.

"Okay, but—"

Captain Bailey glared at me again and brought one orange-gloved finger to his lips.

"Sorry," I whispered, "but how am I supposed to get to shore?"  He’d anchored us at least forty feet from the beach.  It’s not like I could swim there in my long wool coat.

"You got boots, don’t you?" he asked, nodding to my luggage stacked end to end along the boat’s perimeter.

I did.  Although I can’t say that I understood how my new suede "Alaska Boots" with lace-up calves and fur trim were going to help me get past forty feet of churning water and a bunch of smelly walruses with extremely sharp tusks, but I shoved my feet into them anyway.

Captain Bailey was busy tinkering with his instruments when I spotted the lone figure  hurrying down the open metal staircase clinging to the side of the cliff.

"Who’s that?" I asked, pointing toward the island.

But Captain Bailey just stared open-mouthed at my feet.  "What the hell are those supposed to be?"

I followed his gaze downward.  "My boots."

"And how do you expect to get across the water in those things?" he asked, hands on his hips and shaking his head.

I put my hands on my hips too, but my five-four frame wasn’t nearly as intimidating as his six-plus feet of solid muscle, even if I was dressed in all black and he looked like a giant orange popsicle.  "What the hell do you think I’ve been trying to ask you for the last ten minutes?"

He mumbled something I couldn’t hear (and probably didn’t want to) as he stomped across the aluminum deck to a small metal box mounted at the other end.  "Put these on," he said, as he tossed me a pair of knee-high galoshes.

They were hideous, but at least they were black and matched my outfit.  And since they were four sizes too big for me, I had no trouble slipping them on over my own boots with plenty of room to spare.

While Captain Bailey and I had been arguing, the lone figure had cleared the stairs and was now expertly navigating the wet rocks.  The woman in the navy rain jacket and matching puckered pants stopped at the end of a group of boulders that jutted out into the water, forming a natural jetty.  "You must be Sydney," she called.

With her legs apart and her hands cinched at her waist, she looked like a female Jack LaLanne about to launch into an energetic set of jumping jacks.  "Yes, I’m Sydney Green."

"Jill Landers," she replied.  "Welcome to Wilde Island."

Chapter 2

Rather than ask any more questions, which Captain Bailey probably wouldn’t have answered anyway, I decided it would be easier to follow his lead.  When he walked to the back of the boat, I walked to the back of the boat.  When he lifted one leg over the side and stepped down into the rippling water, I did too.  The only difference was, I immediately regretted it.

The waves never rose above the lip of my too-big galoshes, but I could still feel the frigid ocean enveloping my feet and calves through both pairs of boots.  A chill shot through my body, and I immediately started shivering.

"Be careful," Captain Bailey said, grabbing my arm to hold me steady so I could lift my other leg in too.  "The rocks are slippery."

No kidding.  I made it several feet without tumbling in, but only because I held fast to the back of his jacket.  After a few steps, he grew tired of my iron grip and determined it was easier to carry me the rest of the way.   But he tempered this act of chivalry with a diatribe about outsiders (that would be me) who come to Alaska and expect everyone to wait on them instead of learning to fend for themselves.

After Captain Bailey dumped me on the rocks, he went back for my luggage.  More cursing ensued during the three round-trips, but that only increased my admiration of him.  Anyone who could slog through frigid water, over slippery ground, holding my not-light luggage over his head while using the F-word in combinations even I’d never heard before deserved my respect.  The chivalry, such as it was, ended when he made it clear that he wasn’t a porter and I’d be carrying my own suitcases up to the top of the cliff.  He did, however, lend me his galoshes for the rest of my stay.

"Sydney, you did read the refuge’s guidelines, didn’t you?" Jill Landers asked, as she grabbed two of my bags.

"Of course," I said, as I shouldered my duffel, briefcase, and purse.  I always read the directions, I just don’t always follow them.

Neither of us spoke as I carefully replicated Jill’s footsteps across the slick boulder jetty and the slightly less treacherous pebbled beach.  Jill didn’t stop until we reached the metal staircase, the only spot that wasn’t overrun with walruses.

"You can leave them here for now," she whispered, as she set down my suitcases at the foot of the steps.  "I’ll send a couple of volunteers down later to help you carry them up."

"Are you sure it’s safe?" I live in one of the nicer neighborhoods of Los Angeles, but I still wouldn’t leave my luggage sitting outside my apartment unattended.  Not if I expected it to be there when I got back.

"Unless you’ve got a bucket of clams in here," she said, hoisting the duffel from my shoulder and laying it across the two larger bags, "they’ll be fine.  The walruses aren’t interested in stealing your stuff."

"I wasn’t really worried about the walruses."  A bunch of them stared at us as we crunched past them, but they seemed to lose interest once we reached the steps.

"Sydney, there are only eight people on this island, and that’s including you.  Your bags are safe."

I smiled at her, then took my purse and briefcase with me anyway.

Navigating the wet terrain was much easier without luggage, but my heart was still pounding when we reached the top of the fourth flight of steps.  I stopped to catch my breath, and was rewarded with an unobstructed view of the steely blue waters of Bristol Bay.  It was beautiful in a scary-movie, calm-before-the-storm kind of way, as opposed to a south Pacific, I-think-I’ll-go-grab-my-bikini-and-catch-some-rays kind of way.

"You must get some amazing sunsets here."  Admittedly a lame attempt to ingratiate myself to her.  But my usual tactic of asking the other person lots of questions so they could just talk about themselves, which was practically fail-safe in Los Angeles, was having the opposite effect in Alaska.  Jill Landers didn’t seem quite as annoyed with me as Captain Bailey had been, but she’d only known me ten minutes.

"Sometimes," she said, glancing up at the darkening sky.  "We should go."

Five seconds later the first drop of freezing-cold rain landed on my cheek.  I popped open my fold-up umbrella as I followed Jill onto a wood plank trail.  "I think there’s enough room for both of us."  But she just shook her head before she pulled up her hood.

"This is one of the projects we’re working on this summer," Jill said, as we passed a section where the wood was warped and buckling.  "We’re going to replace all these rotted areas and extend the trail through the rest of the island."

I hoped she realized I wasn’t part of that "we."  While technically I had volunteered at the Wilde Island Walrus Refuge for the next month, the reality was that I still had my own job to do.  The Save the Walrus Foundation understood that.  Hopefully Jill would too.

We walked the slippery trail in silence until a small pitched-roof cabin came into view.  "That’s us," Jill said, veering off the path for the first time.

I tried to follow but was forced to stop after only one step.  I felt like I’d stepped out onto a balloon deflating under the weight of me, slowly sinking me down into a lake of icy water and soggy green grass.  I sucked in my breath from the shock of cold enveloping my left foot and would’ve fallen face first if Jill hadn’t turned around and grabbed me.

"It’s tundra," she said, holding onto my arm until I regained my balance.  "It takes a little getting used to."

I nodded again, too stunned to speak, and placed my right foot into the muck.

It was less than a hundred feet from the trail to the cabin, but it felt much longer.  Probably because I had to reach down after every step and yank my too-large boot from the mud.

"What size shoe do you wear?" Jill asked, patiently waiting for me to catch up.

"Seven," I said, transferring my briefcase to my other shoulder, trying to rebalance my weight.  I only succeeded in pitching to the left with every step instead of to the right.

"I have an old pair of eights in the cabin.  They should be okay if you wear an extra pair of socks."

Jill pushed open the front door, revealing what was essentially one large room with windows on three sides and a long, narrow loft stretching across the top.  The front section contained an open L-shaped living room/dining room area, and a galley kitchen behind one of the few interior walls.  The back section might have been a bedroom at one time, but was currently being used as an office.

I followed Jill’s lead and hung my coat on one of the wooden pegs next to the door, then added my umbrella and Captain Bailey’s galoshes to the jumble of shoes and boots underneath.

"Do you want some coffee?" she asked, heading toward the kitchen.

At the moment I had more pressing needs.  The boat trip from the mainland was over two hours and my bladder felt like it was about to burst.  "Could you point me in the direction of the bathroom first?"

"Out the door and to the left," she said.

"Excuse me?"

Jill crossed back to me and opened the front door.  "You can’t miss it," she said, pointing out to the left.

I stuck my head out the door and spotted the tiny wood shack.  Actually, I’d noticed it on the way to the cabin but had assumed it was a storage shed.  "You’re joking, right?"

"Haven’t you ever seen an outhouse before?"

"In movies.  But I don’t know anyone who’s ever actually used one!"

Jill smirked.  "Then this trip will be even more educational for you than you thought."

"Doesn’t it—" the list was endless, so I chose the least offensive adjective "—smell?"

"I think you’ll find it better aerated than most public restrooms but if there’s a problem, there’s some air freshener behind the coffee can."

"You keep coffee in there too?"  Yuck!

"It’s for the toilet paper, Sydney, to keep it dry."  I could hear the irritation rising in her voice.  "Any more questions?"

Lots, the most important being when was the next boat back to the mainland and could I possibly hold it that long?  But I knew that wasn’t possible so I smiled and said, "I guess I should put my boots back on."

"Your coat too.  It’s really starting to come down out there."

I know what you must be thinking because I was thinking it too.  Why on earth would someone like me, someone who would rather hold her pee for hours than urinate outdoors, someone who thinks the cement bike path that runs through the Hollywood Hills offers a complete wilderness experience, volunteer to spend a month on a remote island off the coast of Alaska?

Because I didn’t have a choice.

Okay, that’s not exactly true.  I did have a choice.  I could’ve refused, but that would’ve meant forfeiting my career, my self respect, and my relationship with the man of my dreams.  At the time Alaska seemed like the better alternative.

Chapter 3

After my first outhouse experience (draftier than your average gas station/quickee-mart bathroom, but significantly cleaner), I returned to the cabin to find half the island’s inhabitants—all four of them—gathered around the dining room table.

"Sydney, I’d like you to meet my son, Jake," Jill said, her hand resting on the shoulder of a small boy.  He was a miniature version of his mother, except his light brown hair was straight instead of curly, and freckles dotted his nose and cheeks.  He stopped chugging his chocolate milk long enough to smile, showing off a missing front tooth, before downing the rest of the glass.

"And two more of our volunteers," Jill continued, glancing over at the men.  Sean Peterson—tall, blond, and ruddy—looked like he’d stepped out of a J. Crew catalog.  Tony Marino—dark-haired and a head shorter—seemed more approachable.  That might’ve been because he resembled my hairdresser in L.A.

After the introductions and the obligatory "where are you from?" (they’d both arrived from Juneau the week before), the conversation stalled.  Jill eventually broke the awkward silence.  "Where’s Brie and Duncan?  I thought they’d be back by now."

"Haven’t seen them in hours," Sean said.  "Do you want us to go look for them?"

"If you wouldn’t mind," she replied.

"Can I go too?" Jake asked, rushing to Sean’s side.

"No, honey, you need to stay here with me," Jill said, reaching for Jake’s now-empty chocolate-streaked glass.

"Why?" he whined.

"Because Sean and Tony have things to do."

"They like it when I help them," Jake replied.

Jill looked to the two men for approval before she nodded. "Okay, but don’t be gone too long.  I’m making hot dogs for lunch."

"Yummy." Jake waved goodbye to me before following Sean and Tony out the door.

Jill poured two cups of coffee from the vintage percolator sitting on the stove, and led us into the office.

The only wall without a window was covered almost entirely with maps—one of the world, one of Alaska, and a smaller hand-drawn image of a place I didn’t recognize.  The rest of the room was taken up with two scarred desks, a cinderblock and plywood bookcase, and an assortment of mismatched metal file cabinets.

"This is us," she said, pointing to the sketch similar in shape to a bunch of grapes but with a long, pointy tip.  "The solid line is the current trail, and the dotted line is where we’re extending it."

"Shouldn’t I go back for my luggage?"  It was too soon after the outhouse discussion to have the "I didn’t come here to build a trail" conversation.

"We should probably figure out where you’re going to sleep first. I assume you want one of the tents," she said as she sat down at the desk with the outdated computer and motioned for me to have a seat at the other.

"I’d rather have one of the cabins if that’s okay."  I would’ve thought by this point she would’ve figured out I wasn’t a tent sort of girl.

I assumed from the way she was chomping her lower lip that wasn’t the answer she was hoping for.  "The thing is, I’ve already given Brie half the loft.  Although I suppose if you’re set on sleeping here, I can convince her to share."

"No, I mean the other cabins.  The ones for the campers."  Was that not obvious?

"Sydney, there are no other cabins.  The campers sleep in tents.  You really should’ve read the guidelines before you came."

"I did read them.  It said all volunteers had to bring their own sleeping bag and pillow, but it never said anything about a tent."  I would’ve remembered that, and possibly reconsidered.  My first and only experience with tents, a forced camping trip with my father when I was eight years old, ended after one night when I discovered we were sharing our lodging with a family of giant, hairy spiders.

"Because we provide them for the volunteers," Jill said.  "And you’re welcome to sleep here in the cabin if you want, it’s just that you’ll have more privacy in one of the tents."

Jill led me upstairs to the loft so I could decide.  It was eight feet wide by fifteen feet long, and someone had hung a sheet down the center.

"Jake and I are sleeping over there," Jill told me, pointing to the slightly larger area to the left of the ladder.  "And Brie’s got this side."

The floor was barely visible under the sleeping bag, scattered books, and piles of discarded clothes.  If we pushed the laundry into the corner, I might be able to squeeze in a bed for myself, although I wouldn’t be able to roll over without bumping into someone.  But I forced my mouth into a smile before I turned back to Jill.  "So tell me about the tents."

They weren’t as bad as I thought, at least the way Jill described them.  Windproof, waterproof, and standing on elevated platforms.  "How high up would you say they are?"  I hadn’t seen any spiders since I’d arrived, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there, just waiting for the opportunity to strike.

"High enough to keep you dry when the ground floods."

That was a plus.  "And how big would you say they are?"

She gave me a once over glance.  "I think you’ll fit."

"I know, but I like to spread out."  I also liked breathing, which was sometimes problematic for me in small, confined spaces.

"It sleeps four," she said, an edge creeping into her voice.  "Is that big enough?"

I smiled sweetly, hoping to defuse her budding anger.

"I’ll take you down to the campground after lunch," she continued, "and you can decide for yourself."

Jill was showing me how to use the VHF radio when the cabin door whooshed open and a noisy group shuffled in.  I followed her into the front room where Jake, Sean, Tony, and two newcomers, a man and a woman who appeared to be about my age, were peeling off their wet jackets.

I greeted the three I knew before turning to the woman openly staring at me.  "Hi, I’m Sydney."

The stocky blond ignored my outstretched hand.  "Sydney Green?" she asked incredulously.

Her husky voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place her pink-cheeked face.  "I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to help me out here."

"It’s Brie Gardner," she said, "but I used to go by Gabby."

"Gabby Gardner!"  Once she told me her name I knew exactly who she was, but without it I never would’ve made the connection.

"It’s Brie now," she said coolly.  "And what I want to know is how a girl who almost flunked biology ends up volunteering at a walrus refuge?"

"You two know each other?" asked the still unidentified man in a charming Irish brogue.

"We used to," Brie aka Gabby said.

"We were lab partners," I added, but they all turned to Brie for an explanation.

"Sydney and I went to junior high school together back in Michigan," she told them as she pulled off her boots, "Before she moved away."

"It must be fifteen years," I said, still shaking my head.  Her face was the same, otherwise she’d morphed into a completely different person.  She was even taller now, but her gangly frame had filled out to the point where she was bordering on overweight, and her formerly long straight hair was now short and spiky.  Brie and I had never really been friends (she was a jock and I hung around with the artsy clique), but when Mr. Torrey assigned us as lab partners, we bonded over paramecium and our shared hatred of Matt Kalavettes, the most obnoxious kid in our class.

"Sixteen," she corrected me.

"And you two haven’t seen each other since?" the Irishman asked.

"No," Brie and I answered simultaneously.

"What are the odds?" Tony said, turning to Sean, who, from the way they were constantly touching each other, appeared to be more than just friends.

"A million to one," Sean said, shaking his head.

At least.

Chapter 4

When all the wet boots and jackets had been discarded, the group of us followed Jill into the kitchen.  With so many people in such a small space my heart instantly began to race.  Before the panic could overtake me I stepped back into the dining room.  The Irishman followed.

"Duncan Foster," he said, holding out his hand.  He had shaggy hair and a bad goatee, yet there was something appealing about him.  Probably the accent.  Not that I was looking.  Really.  No mere mortal could compare to Blake McKinley.

"Sydney Green," I said, shaking his.

"I think it’s amazing that on an island of eight people, you could run into someone you know."

Beyond amazing.  It was borderline freaky.

Brie tossed him a can of Coke from the fridge, then appeared at his side.  Even barefoot she was taller than everyone on the island except Sean.  "Sorry, did you want one?" Brie asked, cracking hers open.

"No, I’m fine."  Less liquid consumption meant fewer trips to the outhouse.

Brie took a sip and turned her attention back to me.  "So you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here."

I looked to Jill first, who nodded, so I told her the truth.  "I’m here to shoot a documentary about the walruses."

"Wow, you’re a cameraman?  I never would’ve guessed that."

Brie always did take everything literally.  "No, I’m just the producer.  Someone else is doing the actual shooting."

"A producer, huh.  I always thought you’d end up a lawyer."

"A lawyer?  Why on earth would you’ve thought that?"  I never considered myself particularly argumentative, although I could think of one colleague who would probably disagree.

"Because you never shut up."

I smiled at the memory.  I’d logged a lot of hours in detention for talking in class.  "I’m not really a producer either.  I’m actually a publicist."

"A publicist?"  Duncan said.  "As in Hollywood celebrities?"

"Yeah, that’s me.  Sydney Green, publicist to the stars."

I waited until the downpour let up before I broached the subject of my luggage again.  I assumed my suitcases were water resistant, but they weren’t waterproof.

"You’re probably right," Jill said, and turned to the three men lounging on the faded threadbare sofa.  "Would you mind helping Sydney with her bags?  We left them on the beach."

Jake looked up from the rug, where he was surrounded by a sprawl of Legos.  "I can help too."

Duncan was the first to stand.  "No need, mate," he said, mussing Jake’s hair, "we’ve got it covered."

Brie, who had ensconced herself in the living room’s sole recliner, snapped upright.  "Duncan, you promised to help me with lunch."

"I’ll help," Jill said, crossing into the kitchen.  "If they all go then they’ll be able to make it in one trip."

Brie turned to me.  "How many bags did you bring?"

For some reason I felt the need to defend myself.  Perhaps it was her accusatory tone.  "Winter clothes take up a lot of space."

After we’d retrieved my luggage and the seven of us were seated around the heavy wood table Jill had instructed me to set for eight, I realized we were still missing one.  "Shouldn’t we wait for your dad?" I asked Jake as he bit into his hot dog.

"No," he said, with his mouth full.  "He lives in Fairbanks with his girlfriend."

"Oh."  I bit down on a potato chip before I could say something stupid again.

"We’re divorced," Jill explained, and nodded at the empty place setting.  "That’s for Ethan.  I thought he was joining us."

"Who’s Ethan?" It seemed like a safe question, but from the number of groans it elicited, clearly not.

"He’s my boss," Duncan replied.

"Just yours?"  It was obvious the four of them knew each other.  I thought they might be colleagues.

"God, yes" Brie said, between bites.

"And none of you like him?"  I turned from Brie to Sean to Tony, happy to have finally found a topic of conversation everyone seemed interested in.  This bunch didn’t see many movies or watch much TV, and they definitely had limited interest in celebrity gossip.

Sean nodded, still chewing, while Tony said, "Can’t stand him."

"No one can," Brie added.

"I like him," Jake said.

"That’s because you don’t know any better," Brie replied.

"Brie!"

"I’m sorry, Jill," she said, as she reached across the table for the mustard, "but you know it’s true."

Jill sighed, but Brie was not so easily rebuffed.  According to Brie, Ethan was an arrogant jerk who, although admittedly a good scientist, wasn’t half as good as he thought he was.  At this last point, Duncan objected.

"Brie, the man wrote the book on aquatic mammals."  Duncan turned to me.  "Literally wrote the textbook."

Brie rolled her eyes.  "Just because he wrote the textbook doesn’t mean he’s not a raving egomaniac with a God complex to boot."

Sean and Tony laughed, and even Jill smiled at that one.

"Mommy, what’s an egomaniac?"

Before Jill could formulate an age-appropriate response, Brie said, "Duncan, tell her about the—"

The cabin door banged open, and the conversation ceased.  We all turned and watched as the tall, thin man cloaked in rain-splattered black nylon shut the door behind him and approached the table.  He stopped behind Duncan’s chair and pushed back his hood, revealing a three-day beard and close cropped dark hair sprinkled with gray.  "Thanks for waiting."

Duncan sat up straighter in his chair.  "Ethan, we were just wondering when you were going to show up."

"No, we—"

"Jake!"  I remembered that tone from childhood, and Jill’s voice had the same effect on her son that my own mother’s had had on me.  Jake’s eyes pleaded, but he kept his mouth shut.

"And here I am," Ethan said, ignoring the palpable tension in the room.  He leaned over  Duncan’s shoulder, indifferent to the water that dripped from the jacket he hadn’t bothered to remove onto Duncan’s flannel shirt, and sighed.  "Have you learned nothing from me?"

While Duncan stammered, Ethan turned in my direction.  "Some day I’m going to break him of this awful habit of putting ketchup on everything, but in the meantime . . . ."  He reached across Duncan’s plate and grabbed my half-eaten hot dog topped only with mustard. "Do you mind?"

Before I had time to even think about an answer, he bit into it, which he followed with a second huge bite, leaving nothing behind but the heel of the bun, which he tossed back onto my plate.  Then he swallowed hard, rubbed his hands together to dislodge the crumbs, and extended a clean one to me.  "Ethan Eckert.  And you would be?"

"Sydney Green," I said, too stunned to do anything but reciprocate.

"You don’t have any brothers, do you."  It wasn’t a question.

"No, how did—"

"The name.  Obviously your father wanted a son."

Chapter 5

Now it was my turn to stammer.

"It’s just his sense of humor," Duncan said, assuaging my bruised ego.  "You should’ve heard what he said to me at my interview."

"And I was right, wasn’t I?" Ethan replied.

Jill stood up from the table.  "Ethan, can I get you a hot dog?"

"No thanks.  I’ve already eaten."

"Mom, can I be excused?"  But Jake was already off his chair and running to Ethan’s side.  "Do you want to see my helicopter?"

"You have a helicopter?" Ethan replied with mock astonishment.

Jake ran to his pile of Legos and returned with something resembling a yellow box with plastic legs, and a black X on top.  "Can you make it fly around the island?" he asked, handing the contraption to Ethan, who held it up to the window and examined it in the dreary afternoon light.

"Possibly," Ethan said, spinning the X.  "If I can find the right batteries."

"It doesn’t need batteries," Jake said, giggling and grabbing the helicopter from Ethan’s hand.  Then he ran around the living room making whirring noises while he lifted the copter up and down.

"Boy power."  Jill laughed.

"That works too." Ethan smiled.

After lunch, Ethan and Duncan left to count walruses, Sean and Tony returned to the trail, Brie went to the office to "monitor the radio," whatever that meant, Jill sent Jake up to the loft for a nap, and she and I suited up for a tour of the island.  Jill pulled her navy rain pants and jacket back on over her jeans and sweater and suggested I do the same.

I rummaged through my suitcase until I found the ski pants and jacket I’d borrowed from my friend Nicole, and a Lakers baseball cap, which was all mine.  "Will these work?"

"Did you even read the packing list?" Jill said.

Yes, I just interpreted "appropriate rain gear" to mean something water resistant that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen wearing.  "Yes, but I didn’t have a lot of time to shop before I left."  That was true too.

"When we get back remind me to try to find you some rain pants.  In the meantime," she added, tossing me a pair of rubber boots, "try these."

They were olive drab with a strap that cinched below the knee, and just as ugly as Captain Bailey’s galoshes.  But with two pairs of socks they were only slightly too big for me, which meant I’d be able to walk on the grass without having to reach down and unearth my foot with each step.

I followed Jill back down the trail but before we reached the staircase to the boat cove, she detoured into a clearing surrounded by tall grass.

"That’s Ethan and Duncan’s tent," Jill said, pointing to a blue dome rising up from the weeds, "and there’s Sean and Tony’s."  Their dark green tent was at the opposite end of the campground, and I doubted it was by accident.

In the center of the clearing was a small covered area with a picnic table.  "The cooking shelter," Jill said.  "It’s for the campers, but you’re free to use it too."

"Do you get many campers?"  Between the weather, the smell, and the hassle of getting there (it took me almost thirty hours from Los Angeles, although that included three planes, a boat ride, and a night in a hotel), I couldn’t imagine that they did.

She gave me a wry smile.  "You may not believe this, Sydney, but many people find Wilde Island quite beautiful."

"I think it’s beautiful."  Its jagged peaks and rocky coastline were impressive from a distance and even more so up close.  I imagine if I viewed the island from the deck of an Alaska cruise ship I’d love it too.  "It’s just . . ." I was struggling because I didn’t want to insult her.

"Primitive?" Jill offered.

"I was going to say lacking in amenities."

Jill laughed.  "I suppose compared to what you’re used to.  It’s definitely no Four Seasons."

Four Seasons!  It wasn’t even a Motel Six.  "No, but it does have its charm."  Even with the cold and the rain and the never-ending gusting wind, which had already destroyed my umbrella, the draw of the island’s rolling green hills and the vast empty ocean below could not be denied.  I’d just like it better if it came with indoor plumbing.

From the edge of the campground, we could see the walruses spread out on the beach below and hear their barking and bellowing, despite being a hundred feet up.  Thankfully, we couldn’t smell them.  "I guess the odor doesn’t come up this high, huh?"

"Not today," Jill said.  "On Wilde Island, the wind is your friend."

I followed Jill past the cooking shelter to an eight-foot-square plywood platform laying in the grass.  "I thought we’d set your tent up here," she said.

I tried not to look shocked.  I’d been envisioning something at least twice the size and a foot or two off the ground.  "You can really fit a four-person tent on this thing?"

"Sure, Ethan’s tent sleeps four."

I turned back to the blue dome.  Maybe they were bigger on the inside than they looked. "Can he even stand up in there?"

"Probably not," she said, "except maybe in the very center, but you should be able to."

I’d left all of my high heels at home.  Even I realized they wouldn’t be appropriate footwear on Wilde Island.

"C’mon," Jill said, heading back to the trail.  "I want to show you the sea lions."

"Sea lions?  I thought this was a walrus refuge."

She shook her head.  "Boy, do you have a lot to learn."

Chapter 6

As Jill showed me around the island, she explained the refuge’s rules—basically, stay on the trails and don’t disturb the animals.

"So I guess petting them would be out of the question?"

Jill’s jaw actually dropped.

"Kidding, Jill!"  As if anyone would want to pet those walruses.  First, the smell alone would keep most people away.  It wasn’t too bad when the wind was gusting, but when it stopped or when you were downwind, oh my God.  The inside of a sewer would smell better.  Jill told me I’d get used to it, though I doubted it.  I noticed that even she breathed through her mouth when we neared a particularly odorous bunch.

"And remember," Jill said, as we followed the meandering trail to the edge of the bluff, "you need to keep your voice down whenever they’re near.  This is their habitat and we don’t want to disturb them."

"How can they even hear us?"  This was the closest I’d gotten to the walruses since I’d landed at the boat cove, and they were still thirty feet down a straight vertical drop.

"They have extremely sensitive hearing," she said, motioning for me to follow her inland.  "They can pick up another walrus’s call from a mile away."

Good information to have if I ever wanted to summon a walrus.  Although why anyone would want to do that, I couldn’t imagine.

It was almost seven o’clock by the time we returned to the empty cabin.  Too late to call the office—it was an hour later in California—but I could still answer e-mail.  I pulled my laptop and rented satellite phone from my briefcase and located Jill in the kitchen.

"Would you mind if I use the empty desk?"

"Go ahead," she said, leaning into the stove with a match, which quickly set off a ring of flame.  "Although I wasn’t planning on putting you to work until tomorrow."

I’d been avoiding this conversation all day.  "Yeah, we should probably talk about that.  I know technically I’m a ‘volunteer,’" I said with the air quotes, "but we both know I’m really just here for the documentary."

Hillary Troy, the communications director at the Save the Walrus Foundation, the non-profit group on whose behalf Blake and I were producing this film, assured me before I’d left L.A. that she’d worked it all out with Jill’s boss at the Alaska Department of Wildlife.  According to Hillary, Jill was a desk jockey in ADW’s Anchorage office for most of the year.  She only managed the refuge during the summer months when it was open to visitors.

"I thought that would just be for a few days at the end," Jill said, hoisting a giant pot of water onto the stove.

"We’ll only be shooting for a few days, but I still have a lot of prep work to do between now and then, plus I’ve still got my day job.  But don’t worry," I said, holding up the box for my rented satellite phone, "I read the guidelines and brought my own, so it won’t cost the refuge a penny."

"Sydney, I know the foundation hired you and Blake McKinley to—"

"They didn’t hire us.  We’re working for free."  The Save the Walrus Foundation barely had enough money to cover our expenses.  "Blake’s very concerned about the walrus’s plight and feels strongly about using his status in a positive way."

"Very admirable," she said, wiping her hands on a towel.  "However, as I explained to Hillary, the only way the refuge would even consider allowing this was if the foundation agreed to send us a volunteer for the summer.  I think we’ve been more than reasonable in agreeing to cut that down to a month."

I hadn’t anticipated Jill being such a stickler.  "Don’t get me wrong, Jill, I’d love to help the refuge too.  I’m just afraid my abilities aren’t really compatible with your needs."

Jill leaned back against the counter and folded her arms across her chest.  "And what exactly are your abilities, Sydney?"

Chapter 7

I used to be able to answer that question with confidence.  Lately, not so much.

It had been a tough adjustment when my mom and I first moved from dreary Grover’s Point, Michigan, to celebrity-laden L.A.  But when my dad walked out on us the week before my twelfth birthday, we both learned to adapt.  It didn’t take me long to discover in L.A. you can be anyone you want to be, so long as you can play the part.  Gone were the Sundays spent volunteering at church or the local women’s shelter.  In L.A. I spent my weekends scouring high-end thrift stores for designer bargains I otherwise couldn’t have afforded, or hanging out with my friends at the beach.

We moved to California because my mom insisted we needed a change of scenery to make a fresh start.  Although she supported us the same way she had in Michigan, by teaching math at an inner city high school.  But when she was offered a job at a fancy Westside prep school the following year, she took it because it came with free tuition for me.

My mom hated working at the Warner Academy but she stuck it out there until the day I graduated when she announced that it was time for us to move to a city "where people don’t judge you by what kind of car you drive or how much money you make."

After eight sweltering weeks in Gainesville, Florida, with my mom and Molly, our three-year-old golden retriever, I gratefully returned to the land of low humidity.  I spent the next four years living in a 1970s-vintage apartment, complete with popcorn ceilings and orange Formica countertops, which I shared with five other girls as I paid my own way through UCLA.  Although "paid" is really a misnomer.  I borrowed my way through.

I admit when I started college I still had one or two lingering notions about a public interest career, no doubt instilled by my mother, who viewed our five-day drive across the country in a rented U-haul as her last opportunity to mold my character.  But I’d abandoned them by my junior year when I realized there was no way I could ever repay eighty thousand dollars in student loans on a nonprofit salary.

From there it wasn’t much of a leap to setting my sights on the entertainment industry.  It was the industry in Los Angeles, where all the city’s money, power, and beauty converged.  Since I had none of those things, I had no idea how to break in.  I couldn’t afford to take an unpaid internship like most of my friends, but I did manage to talk my way into a summer job in the corporate communications department at Golden State Bank.  And when they offered me a permanent position the week before I graduated, I took it.  Although I never intended to stay.

After the obligatory two years, I started applying for jobs at P.R. agencies and was thrilled the day Rick Lopez hired me at BB&L Publicity.  My position was account executive, which was really just a fancy title for assistant, but I was happy because at twenty-four I felt like I was finally pursuing my dream.  Not only was BB&L going to pay me to talk on the phone all day, I’d get to hang out with celebrities too!  Or so I thought.

I quickly learned that I wouldn’t actually be hanging out with celebrities.  When you work for them, they tend to view you more as a servant than a friend.  To be honest, most of them are so annoying I wouldn’t want to spend my off hours with them even if they asked me to.  Blake McKinley was the exception to the rule.  Probably because we were friends long before he ever had a career.

Rick denies it to this day, but I actually had to plead with him to let me take Blake on as a client.  He had just landed his first TV gig and he was a nobody, but I knew he was going to be huge someday.  And I was right.  Platinum Titans, Blake’s third film, wasn’t even opening until September, yet his performance as a paraplegic ex-football star who learns to walk again was already generating Oscar buzz.  Actually, I was generating it for him, but it’s the same thing.

So when Blake called me two months ago and told me he wanted a cause, of course I made it my top priority.

"What kind of a cause, exactly?" I didn’t doubt his sincerity, but Blake had never expressed an interest in social justice issues before.

"You know, a cause.  Something I can be a spokesperson for.  I’ve decided I should use my celebrity status to do good."

"You mean like George Clooney and the genocide in Darfur?"

"Yeah.  Only it has to be something unique.  Something no one else is doing.  No global warming or feeding the hungry.  Everyone’s all over those two."

"I think that’s a great idea, Blake.  Let me give it some thought and get back to you."

I hadn’t even cracked the cover of the Atlantic Monthly I’d picked up on my lunch hour to start researching obscure social causes when Blake called me again.

"Hey, babe.  So I’m in the car listening to NPR and—"

"Since when do you listen to NPR?" I mumbled through a mouthful of Chinese chicken salad.

"Nice, Sydney.  Nice to know you think I’m just another pretty face.  If you’re not going to take me seriously—"

"Blake, you know I’m teasing.  I’m just jealous because you’re out cruising around in your convertible while I’m stuck in the office under fluorescent lights.  Please, do tell me what the esteemed commentators on NPR had to say."

"I only caught the tail end of the story, but the upshot was walruses are now an endangered species."

"So?" I said, trying not to crunch in his ear.

"So this is my unique cause.  I’m going to save the walruses."

Chapter 8

Since I’d never actually seen a walrus, I immediately Googled them and quickly found the link to Wilde Island.  They didn’t look all that cute in the photos, not even in the same league as the penguins and the polar bear cubs, but Blake wanted walruses, so I went with it.  The documentary was my idea.  Blake loved it, however I still had to convince my boss.

"Sydney, if Blake wants to play Mother Teresa I’ve got no problem with that," Rick said at our staff meeting the next day.  "It’s worked wonders for Angelina.  I’m just not getting where you’re going with this."

The twelve other people in the conference room shifted their gazes from Rick to me.  "It’s actually very simple," I said, wheeling my black leather chair closer to the table.  "We’ll produce a short documentary with Blake on camera explaining why and how the walruses are endangered and what Joe Public can do to help.  If we shoot it next month, we can have it edited and uploaded to YouTube by the end of the summer, and Blake can promote it while he’s on the Platinum Titans press tour."

"And have either of you ever produced a film before?" Lindsay Holt, my back-stabbing, client-stealing, unfairly gorgeous colleague asked.  "Because I have, and I can tell you it’s not as easy as it sounds.  Someone on your team needs to know what they’re doing."

And I was sure she’d be oh so happy to volunteer.  Well, Blake was one client I wasn’t going to let her steal.  "This isn’t Gone With The Wind, Lindsay, it’s a ten-minute documentary.  I think we can figure it out."  Then I turned my attention back to Rick, while trying to keep Lindsay out of my peripheral vision, which wasn’t easy since she was sitting right next to him.

"The beauty of this film is its simplicity," I continued.  "Every summer thousands of walruses congregate on this one island in Alaska, so the shoot will be easy.  No multiple locations or trying to film at sea.  We just fly up there, shoot Blake with the walruses for a couple of days, add an interview with a talking head, a couple of stock shots of stunning scenery, and that’s it.  No muss, no fuss."

"And how exactly does an association with walruses improve Blake’s image?" Lindsay chimed in again.

"It lets the world see him for the caring, giving, socially responsible person he is."  That elicited a few twitters around the conference table, but I ignored them.

"Does it matter?" Rick said.  "It’s what he wants.  They all do these days."

"Exactly."  It doesn’t count as brown-nosing when you genuinely agree with what your boss is saying.  Plus Rick had given me the perfect segue to the idea that was sure to get me back into his good graces, which was a long way from where I was now.  "And since we all know green is the new black in Hollywood, I say we position BB&L as the public relations firm to help them update their wardrobe."

"You lost me," Rick said, his eyes straying again from my face to Lindsay’s cleavage.

"You said it yourself, Rick.  They all want to be involved in causes these days, so that’s our hook.  We position ourselves as the caring, eco-friendly, socially responsible PR firm.  BB&L doesn’t just promote its clients, it produces their films, organizes their fundraisers, arranges their visits to war-torn countries, whatever it takes.  In fact, I think there’s so much untapped potential here we should think about setting up a new practice group just to handle celebrity causes."  Naturally he’d need someone to spearhead this new practice group, and that someone would be me.  But I intended to save that conversation for later, when Lindsay wasn’t in the room.

Rick was nodding, but said, "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Sydney.  I think we should wait and see how this film turns out first before we commit any resources."

"Of course," I said.  "Fall’s the perfect time to revisit the idea."

After the meeting I rushed back to my office to call Blake.  I wanted to tell him we got the green light from Rick, but before I could even finish dialing, Lindsay sauntered in.

"I meant what I said at the meeting.  Someone on this production needs to know what they’re doing.  I’m happy to call Blake if you’re not comfortable having that conversation with your client."

"And like I said, Lindsay, it’s a ten-minute documentary.  I’m sure we can figure it out.  Thanks anyway."

I picked up the phone again so she’d know we were done, but she only shrugged.  "It’s your funeral.  I just hate to see Blake go down with you."

"No one’s going down, Lindsay.  We’re both only going up from here."

She offered me her fake smile before continuing down the hall.  She was probably headed straight to Rick’s office.  No doubt she would try to convince him to hand my project over to her since I was sure to screw it up if left on my own.  Not long ago he would’ve trusted me, but my track record hadn’t been so good lately.

My first few years at BB&L I’d been a rising star.  I’d only worked as an assistant for ten months when Rick promoted me to publicity manager, and within two years I was handling all of my own accounts.  It had only been since Lindsay’s arrival that I started stumbling.

First it was little things.  I’d order Diet Coke for my client’s hotel room and somehow the staff would end up delivering Diet Pepsi.  Or I’d arrange for a limo to pick up a client at five, and somehow the limo company would get the message not to arrive until six.  I could never prove Lindsay was responsible, which only heightened my suspicions.

The last straw was when a high-powered celebrity journalist got mad at me for not returning his call, one I’d never received.  I demanded Rick do something because clearly Lindsay and I sharing an assistant wasn’t working out.  Rick acceded to my request, just not in the way I’d wanted.  He assigned my assistant to Lindsay and made me share with a senior publicist, which meant my work only got done if she had time left at the end of the day.  Lindsay loved that.

For my last blunder, I had no one to blame but myself.  It was the morning of the SAG Awards when my mom called to tell me she’d had to put Molly to sleep.  I was devastated.

I still worked that day but I was a bit distracted, and in my haze I accidentally sent Jennifer A.’s hairdresser to Jennifer G.’s house and Jennifer G.’s manicurist to Jennifer A.’s mansion.  Since one lived in Malibu and the other lived in Los Feliz, by the time I realized my mistake, it wasn’t feasible to switch them.  Which meant Jennifer A. had to do her own hair (with the help of her many minions) and Jennifer G. had to paint her own fingernails (with the help of her maid).  They each looked fabulous anyway, and it was just the SAG Awards, not the Oscars or the Emmys or even the Golden Globes, but they both still fired me.

Rick was understandably livid.  He managed to woo Jennifer G. back—she’s Lindsay’s client now—but Jennifer A. defected to the Feldstein Agency, one of our competitors.  I had to beg Rick not to fire me too.  He had two golden retrievers of his own so he sort of understood and grudgingly agreed to keep me on, although I’d been on his shit list ever since.  I knew one more screw-up and I was history.  That’s why when Hillary Troy called and told me the only way to save the walrus documentary was for me to volunteer on Wilde Island for a month, I didn’t hesitate.  Although this catastrophe really wasn’t my fault.

I’d filed my application with the Alaska Film Commission in a timely manner, filled out all the forms, and paid the fees.  I was just waiting for final approval when disaster struck.  Goddamn Paramount!  If their stupid electrician hadn’t accidentally knocked a klieg light in the water while shooting their latest big budget disaster movie, killing two dolphins instantly and sending a third to the marine mammal infirmary, there wouldn’t have been a public outcry by every animal lover in the state demanding the Governor of Alaska issue a moratorium on film permits until new safety procedures could be put in place.  Both Hillary and I called the Film Commission and begged anyone who would listen to grandfather us in before the ban took effect—we weren’t a hundred-person crew, just a cameraman, me, and Blake—but they refused.

Since canceling the project at that point, after Blake was wedded to it and my boss had agreed, was unthinkable, we started searching for a workaround.  Hillary suggested we film in the Arctic where thousands of walruses migrate every summer, but renting a boat and hiring a crew was prohibitively expensive.  She also mentioned that Russia had its own walrus population along the coast of Siberia, but I quickly discovered that getting a last minute permit to shoot on Russian soil was impossible.  I was still trying to come up with a solution when fate intervened.

One of the refuge’s summer volunteers had broken her leg and had to cancel.  It was Hillary’s idea to offer the refuge a trade—a last-minute replacement volunteer in exchange for permission to shoot.

"That’s great," I said, snapping my wireless headset onto my ear, leaving my hands free to e-mail and IM.  "Who are you going to send?"

"Sydney, you know what a small operation we are.  Can’t you find someone?"

"No."  I had the authority to send our interns to Starbucks and the dry cleaners, not to Alaska.

"Are you sure?  Because this is our only hope.  And I already got the guy at wildlife to agree.  The refuge is owned by the state so he can’t give us official permission.  But he said since you’ll only be shooting for a few days, he can issue camping permits for you, Blake, and your cameraman and tell the refuge’s manager to look the other way."

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my temples to try to get rid of the massive headache that four aspirin had been unable to cure.  "Okay, let me see what I can do."

"Just hurry," she said.  "They have strict limits on the number of visitors they allow each season.  If we don’t decide soon, he’ll find another volunteer and give the permits away."

I ran down to Rick’s suite and had to swear on my life it was an emergency just to convince his assistant Cheryl to let me in.

"I’m sorry to interrupt," I said nodding at Steve Goldberg, our in-house counsel.

Steve smiled.  "It’s okay.  We’re done anyway."

I’ve always liked Steve, but I had no time for pleasantries.  "Rick, I need your permission to send one of the interns up to Wilde Island."

"For how long?" he asked.

"Just the summer."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Where’s Wilde Island?" Steve asked, as he stood up and stretched.

"Alaska," I said, before I turned back to Rick.  I recounted the latest developments and waited for his reply.

"I don’t think that’s a good idea," Steve said before Rick had even offered an opinion.

"Why not?" we both asked.

"Because the interns aren’t employees.  They’re not covered on the company’s insurance.  If anything happened to them while they were up there, the firm would be liable."

"What do you think’s going to happen to them?  It’s a walrus refuge, for God’s sake.  They probably have a greater chance of getting hit by a bus on a coffee run than getting injured on some stupid island in the middle of nowhere."

Steve and I both turned to Rick.  "Sorry, Sydney, you’ll need to find another way.  One that doesn’t put the firm at risk."

I knew I’d never convince him with Steve in the room.  "What if we sent an employee?" I asked Steve.  "Would that be okay?"

"Yes, we’d be covered for that."

"Absolutely not," Rick said before I even proffered a name.

"What if it’s not for the whole summer?  What if it’s just for a few weeks, a month at the most?"

"And who would we send?" Rick asked.

"Me," I said, without thinking.

They both burst our laughing.

"What’s so funny?"

"The only thing funnier than the thought of you in Alaska," Rick said, "is Lindsay there too," which started Steve snickering again.

"So I can go if I bring Lindsay?"  That’s how desperate I was!

"No," Rick said, suddenly serious.  "Sydney, the firm has other clients besides Blake.  You can’t abandon them all to produce his movie."

"I’m not abandoning them.  I’ll bring my laptop and cell and work from there.  C’mon, Rick, you know I spend most of my day on the phone anyway.  What’s the difference if I’m making calls from my office or from thousands of miles away?"

I tried persuading, cajoling, and when both failed, begging.  Eventually Rick relented.  "Only because I think your idea has merit," he declared.  "Otherwise I’d never allow it.  And so long as you understand if this thing goes south, it’s your head on the chopping block."

At that moment I was so happy I could’ve kissed him, but I restrained myself.  It was only later that night when I was lying in bed, alone and unable to sleep, that I realized the enormity of what I’d gotten myself into.  Having to go to Alaska for a month was the least of it.  The worst was that I’d left myself no room for error.  If I couldn’t make this documentary a success then not only would I lose Blake, I’d lose my job too.

Chapter 9

I tried to communicate that to Jill, that my only reason for being on the island was the documentary, and between that and my day job, I really didn’t have time to "volunteer" for the refuge too.

"I see," she replied, but I wasn’t sure she did.  I was about to try again when she said, "Sydney, let me explain something to you.  As you’ve probably already noticed, the refuge has limited resources."

A massive understatement.

"We don’t have the budget to hire a staff for the summer, so we rely on volunteers to fill the gap.  Though as you can see," she continued, gesturing to the small kitchen, "our space is quite limited.  So we have to make the most of what we’ve got."

"I understand."  And I did.  I just didn’t see how that changed anything.

"Do you?  Because I want to be clear.  Since you’ve come up here as a volunteer, I need you to actually be a volunteer, as in work."

"Of course I’d be happy to help out in whatever way I can."  I’d write her a few press releases extolling the virtues of Wilde Island if it would get her off my back.

"I’m glad to hear that," she said.  "As I explained earlier, our biggest priority this summer is replacing the damaged sections of the trail and then extending it to the north side of the island.  We’ve also got some other maintenance projects that need tending to."

"Other maintenance projects?"  Was I unclear about my time constraints, not to mention my abilities?

Jill smiled.  "Don’t worry.  Nothing too strenuous.  We’re not here to exploit people.  Obviously you came to learn about the walruses and the other wildlife on the island, and I’ll make sure you have plenty of time for that too."

Despite my conviction that P.R. was my calling, I was clearly failing in my attmept to communicate.  But I kept my mouth shut and the smile pasted on my face until she’d finished describing all the jobs she had planned for me.

"So we understand each other?" Jill said.

"Absolutely," I replied.  "Can you just direct me to an outlet so I can plug in my sat phone?  I’m not sure if the battery’s charged."  I’d let Hillary Troy be the one to explain to her that my volunteer services would be limited to whatever I could squeeze in between my day job and prepping for the documentary.

Jill just looked confused.  "Sydney, you do know we have no electricity?"

"Since when?"

"Forever."

"What about the computer?"  Desktops don’t run on batteries.

"It’s plugged into a solar converter, and we have a back-up generator for when the storms kick in."

I stepped out into the main room of the cabin.  That’s what was missing—lamps.  Even modern houses with lots of recessed lighting always have a fixture over the dining room table.  But not this one.  No TV either.  I returned to the kitchen and scanned the counter.  No microwave, no toaster, not even a coffeemaker.  Just the old-fashioned percolator sitting on the stove.

"But you have a refrigerator."  It was taller and narrower than most, but it was definitely a working fridge.  I’d pulled the condiments out of it myself.

"It runs off propane," she said.  "The stove and the water pump too."

"You can’t be serious?"

"I assure you, Sydney, we have no electricity."

"What about at night?  What do you use for light?"

"Propane lamps," Jill said, lowering the flame on the burner before the water could boil over.  "Or we use candles.  Although we normally don’t need them until August when the sun starts to set a bit earlier.  For most of the summer, we get by on natural light."

That explained why there were no blinds on any of the windows.  I’d assumed it was because there were no nosy neighbors to worry about.  "This is like living in the nineteenth century."

Jill laughed.  "Except for the computer, the phone, and the hot water heater."

Well, at least they had hot water.

I arranged my laptop and satellite phone on the office’s unoccupied desk.  Thankfully the battery was already charged, and I still had some power left on my computer.  It was too late to call the foundation, the offices would surely be closed, but I could still send Hillary an e-mail.

It took me twenty minutes to compose a message that got my point across ("I trust you’ll explain to Jill that my day job is integral to the success of the documentary, both of which take precedence over volunteer work") without sounding shrill (I deleted all the curse words and exclamation points).  After I saved the draft, I pulled out the sat phone manual and followed the instructions for connecting to the internet.  Then I pointed the antenna toward the window, dialed the access code, and waited.  Nothing.

"Mother fucker!"

Which was followed by a sharp intake of breath, not my own.

Chapter 10

I spun around to find Jake standing in the doorway to the office, wide-eyed, both hands covering his mouth.

"What’s wrong?"

He lowered his hands long enough to tell me, "You said a bad word."

It took me a second to figure it out.  I wasn’t used to spending time around little kids.  "Sorry, Jake.  I shouldn’t have said that."  Note to self:  No more cursing (at least not in front of Jake).

"Don’t worry, Sydney, I won’t tell.  Mommy said you should come inside for dinner."

I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was eight-thirty.  The dark clouds that had been hovering over the island all day had finally blown out, and it was actually lighter outside now than it had been this morning when I’d arrived.  "When does it get dark here?"

"Late," Jake said, and bounded out of the room like a puppy.  I found him hovering over Sean, who was sitting on the living room floor with Tony, Brie, and Duncan, a Scrabble board between them.  Ethan was the only one not playing.  He was lying on the recliner with his eyes closed and a thick book opened in his lap.

"Something smells good," I said, continuing on into the kitchen where I found Jill pouring dirty oil from a frying pan into a metal can.  "Need any help?"

"Sure," she said.  "Why don’t you take the chicken to the table and get everyone to sit down."

"Dinner," I called, as I set down the platter.  Jake ran in and sat in his preferred seat next to the head of the table, but nobody else moved.  I walked the ten feet into the living room.  "Did you hear me?  Dinner’s ready."

"We heard you," Brie said, without looking up from her tiles.  "We’ll be right there."

I turned to the recliner, which was when I noticed Ethan’s headphones.  "Ethan, dinner’s ready," I said, a little louder this time.

His thick lashes fluttered open, and he looked up at me from dark blue eyes.  "No need to shout."

"I—" before I could finish, Jill yelled "dinner," and they all stampeded to the table.

Since I was the last to sit down, I ended up with the wobbly metal folding chair on the end.  Ethan was second to last, so he ended up with the non-wobbly metal folding chair next to me.

"Anyone want to switch places?" I asked, directing my gaze at Duncan, who seemed like he might be the most receptive.  He’d been the nicest to me since I’d arrived.

"Sorry, love," he said, grabbing a drumstick as Jill passed him the platter, "maybe next time."

"Haven’t you heard?" Ethan said, twisting the cap off his beer bottle.  "Chivalry is dead."

Maybe, but I still had manners.  When I poured the last of the water into my glass, I went to the kitchen to refill the pitcher.  I was just about to stick it under the faucet when Jill yelled, "Sydney, no!"

I jumped back, dropping the container onto the floor.  Luckily it was plastic and survived the fall. "What’d I do?"

"The tap water’s not safe to drink.  There’s another pitcher in the fridge."

"You mean this was bottled water?"  It should’ve tasted a lot better.

Jill shook her head.  "No, it’s from the tap, but I boiled it, so it’s safe."

It was like being trapped on an island in Mexico, except it was cold and rainy and everyone spoke English.

After dinner, Brie and the "boys" as she called them returned to their Scrabble game, Jill went up to the loft with Jake, and I tried again to get my satellite phone to work.  After three failed attempts, I was reduced to smacking it on the desk, hoping the problem was a loose wire I could knock back into place.

"They say violence never solves anything."

I looked up and found Ethan in the doorway, a beer in one hand and his book in the other.  "The odds are better with electronics."  At least with TV remotes.

"You do know satellite phones don’t work indoors."

"Since when?  The manual says all you need is an unobstructed view of the sky."

"And do you have one?"

"Did you not notice the antenna aimed at the window?"  I left out the "asshole."  I hadn’t yet forgiven him for the remark about my father wanting a son, probably because I knew it was true.  My mother denied it for years even after my father left, but it slipped out one day while we were arguing over the length (or lack thereof) of my mini-skirt.

"And what’s on the other side of the window?"

I glanced outside.  Even at ten o’clock at night the sky was streaked with bands of pink and the occasional pocket of blue.  "You mean besides cold air?"

"Tall grass," he said.  "It doesn’t take much to block the signal."  Then he grabbed the phone from my hand.

I followed him all the way to the cabin door, but he was still wearing his boots and I was down to one pair of socks, so I watched from the doorway as he walked in a circle holding the phone out in front of him.  I had just pulled on my second boot when he’d gotten it to beep and the red light to turn green.  By the time I’d zipped up my jacket, he’d lost the signal again.

"They’re like that," he said, tossing the phone at me as I stepped outside and he headed in.  "The satellites are constantly moving, so you have to catch them when they’re overhead."

I managed to lock onto a signal long enough to send my e-mail, but by then the Scrabble game had broken up and everyone had gone to bed.  With nothing else to do, I did too.  Although Jill had convinced me to sleep in the tent (she swore she’d never seen a spider on Wilde Island, and this was her fourth season), she told me the platform needed to dry out and I’d have to spend my first night in the cabin anyway.

I grabbed my pillow, sleeping bag, and sweats from the pile of luggage I’d stacked in the corner of the living room and climbed the ladder to the loft.

"I guess I’m bunking with you," I said to Brie, who was cocooned in a blanket, reading a book in the dwindling gray light.

"As you can see, it’s party central around here," she said, as she rolled over to afford me some privacy while I undressed and tucked myself in.  After a while she shut her book but she kept shifting positions, so I knew she was still awake.

"So what have you been up to for the last sixteen years?" I asked, too wired to even attempt to fall asleep.  "Do you still live in Grover’s Point?"

"No, Seattle.  I’m finishing up my Ph.D at U.W."

I was impressed.  "Let me guess—marine biology?"  I was pretty sure that’s the category walruses would fall into.

"Pathobiology.  I’m part of a research group studying host factors for HIV and AIDS.  Once I finish my degree, I’ll move onto field work—either Kenya or Peru—I haven’t decided yet.  They both have a great need."

Wow, now I was really impressed.  And feeling a bit shallow too.  The only needs I fulfilled were the ridiculous demands of pampered celebrities.  "And you think walruses can somehow help cure AIDS?"

"Oh no, the walruses have nothing to do with it.  I’m just here to work on my thesis."

Now I was confused.  "Couldn’t you do that back in Seattle?"

"Yes, but there are less distractions here."

Undoubtedly true, but almost certainly an excuse.  There were only two possible reasons any sane person would come to Wilde Island—for the walruses, or for a significant other.  If she wasn’t there for the walruses . . . .  "So how long have you known Duncan?"  It had to be him.  Her eyes never left him whenever he was in the room.

She let out a laugh.  "That depends.  Are we counting from when we first met or from when he actually remembers meeting me?"

"How big’s the difference?"

"Over a year," she said, then explained.  "The first time was when I stuck a three-inch needle into his butt."

"I’d sure as hell remember someone who did that to me.  Although not fondly."

She let out another laugh.  "Duncan knew what he was in for.  Mine wasn’t his first drug trial."

"Duncan’s sick?"  I had no idea.  He looked perfectly healthy to me.

"No, he was part of the control group.  Lots of students volunteer for drug trials because they pay hundreds of dollars and require very little time."

Aaah, that made more sense.  I wished I knew about this when I was in college.

"I stuck him three times in six months, although he never remembered my name," she continued.  "Then I ran into him at a bar near campus."

"And that’s when he remembered you?"

"No," she said.  "That’s when he asked for my phone number, then never called.  Then six months ago I was standing in line for coffee at a teaching assistant’s orientation when I heard someone order tea with a charming Irish accent."

"And that’s when he remembered you?"

"At least he pretended to," Brie said.  "Although I didn’t really believe him.  But I still said yes when he asked me out to dinner the next night."

"And you’ve been together ever since?"

In the last rays of gray light filtering through the loft’s window, I saw her smile disappear.  "Not exactly."

"Oh."  My big mouth strikes again.  Although it was clear there was something going on between them, or she wouldn’t be here.  "So you dated for a while but now you’re taking a break?"

"Something like that," she said, and rolled over so she had her back to me.

I probably should’ve let it go, but I felt compelled to try damage control.  Brie was the closest thing I had to a friend on the island and a month is a long time to go with no one to talk to.  "So what you really mean is the two of you are perfect for each other, he just hasn’t figured it out yet?"

"Exactly," she said and chuckled.

I understood because until twelve days ago, I was in a similar predicament with Blake.

Chapter 11

I still remember the day I met Blake McKinley.  It was in Statistics for Social Scientists, my sophomore year at UCLA.  He’d swaggered into class in his low-slung shorts and his ripped T-shirt, all buff and tan with sun-bleached hair and perfect white teeth.  He had dozens of seats to choose from in the half-empty lecture hall, but he sat down next to me.  Then he smiled and asked to borrow my notes.  I was instantly smitten, as were most of the women in the room, and a few of the men too.

I’d assumed from his appearance that he was a native Californian.  I didn’t find out until five days later over French fries and Cokes at the student union that he was a Midwestern transplant just like me.  That didn’t change my opinion of him though.  If anything, our shared desire to transform ourselves made me love him even more.  And love him I did.

"Obsessed is more like it," my friend Nicole had said when I told her I’d experimented with three different fudge brownie recipes until I found the perfect one to use for Blake’s birthday.  We’d been dating for six weeks and this was our first occasion together.

"Actually," I said, as we trekked the half mile from Royce Hall to her apartment, "I have a favor to ask."

"No," she replied, without waiting for my question.  "I’m sleeping in my bed tonight."

Blake and I both had roommates, but Nicole lived alone and occasionally lent me her keys.

"That’s not it."  I’d already gotten Blake’s roommate, Mike, to agree to spend the night at his frat house.  "What I wanted to ask was if I could borrow some lingerie."  Nicole’s stepmother was a buyer for Victoria’s Secret, so Nicole had more sexy underwear than anyone I knew.  She was also four inches taller than me and her boobs were twice as big, so most of what she owned wouldn’t fit me, but I thought I could get away with a teddy as long as it was a clingy fabric and had adjustable straps.

She arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow until it almost disappeared beneath her wispy chestnut bangs.  "Have something special planned, do we?"

"Well, you don’t turn nineteen every day," I said, and we both laughed.  Nicole had been teasing me about my lack of "experience" ever since I’d admitted after three Jell-o shots that I’d never had an orgasm.  Of course, that all changed when I met Blake.  I could’ve had sex with him ten times a day if I didn’t have to go to class, study, and work too.

"Then I have the perfect outfit for you," Nicole replied.

When I heard the key in the lock, I slammed my economics book shut and lit the single candle in the center of the brownie tray.  The cheap bottle of champagne I’d bribed my twenty-one-year-old roommate into buying for me by promising to wash her dishes for a week was already chilling in a plastic bowl filled with ice.  All I had to do was peel off my sweats and strategically arrange myself on Blake’s bed.

I don’t know who was more surprised when the bedroom door swung open—me, Blake, or the redhead standing at his side.

Chapter 12

"So am I a total idiot?" I whispered to Nicole the next morning during our Intro to Modern Art Seminar.

"No," she whispered back as our professor droned on about the origins of cubism, and images of Picasso’s paintings flashed across the lecture hall’s giant screen.

"Are you sure?" I asked, before the pink-haired woman with the combat boots and the nose ring turned around and shushed me.  I’d felt like one last night when I’d accused Blake of cheating on me.  (C’mon, he brought a girl back to his empty apartment at ten-thirty at night on his birthday.  I was justified.)  Yet Blake swore Juliet was just a classmate from his acting seminar and she’d only come home with him so they could run lines together for a scene they had to perform the next day.  And I felt like an even bigger idiot this morning when I told Nicole the whole story, including the part where I apologized to Blake for overreacting and spent the rest of the night making it up to him.

"Too soon to tell," she scribbled on my notebook before she stuck her tongue out at the back of nose-ring girl’s head.

Three weeks later, Nicole wasn’t so noncommittal.  "What are you, an idiot?"

"But we’re only nineteen," I blubbered, as she handed me the box of tissues.  "This is the time in our lives when we should be dating lots of people, not tying ourselves down to just one" I added, repeating the same words Blake had said to me the night before.

"Oh please!  Tell me you didn’t fall for that line?"

I blew my nose and reached for another tissue, since obviously I had.

"Syd, you know I’m only telling you this because I’m your friend."

I braced myself.  The last time Nicole said that to me she proceeded to tell me that my hair looked like it had been chopped off by an angry lesbian who’d just been dumped by her girlfriend who happened to look exactly like me.  And that was the last time I ever went for a free haircut at the stylists’ training center in Santa Monica.

"If he really cared about you as much as he says he does," Nicole continued, "he wouldn’t be cheating on you with Juliet."

"He’s not cheating!  We both agreed we should see other people."

She gave me an exaggerated eye roll.  "And was that before or after you caught her blowing him on the living room couch?"

"After," I admitted and the tears started flowing again.  Blake’s roommate never asked for his spare key back, but Blake did when I walked in on him and Juliet.

"Syd, it’s time to cut your losses and move on."

"But I lo-love him," I said, barely able to get the words out through the tears.

"I know you do, sweetie," she said, as she put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed.  "This too shall pass."

And it did.  Eventually.  By the time we graduated, I could spot Blake on campus with his paramour du jour and not want to throw myself out a four-story window.  And I hardly thought about him at all by the time he literally walked back into my life three years later.

Blake actually did a double-take as he strode past me at Toast Café, a trendy Westside brunch spot.  The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.  If it had been any other Sunday morning, I would’ve been sitting across the table from Nicole, my hair unwashed and no makeup, debating whether to be good and order the egg white omelet with a side of fresh fruit, or to be bad and order the berry French toast.  (I usually ordered the French toast.)  Instead I was sitting across from Mark, a cute twenty-seven-year old lawyer I’d met at a party the week before.  Since this was a date, I was wearing makeup, a sundress, and I’d blown dry my normally wavy hair so it was silky straight.

"Blake, what are you doing here?"  He looked slightly less gorgeous than I remembered in his fraying cargo shorts and sweaty t-shirt.  Although his disheveled appearance didn’t diminish the interest of the table of four teenage girls sitting next to us, or our waitress, who suddenly remembered she’d forgotten to refill our coffee.

"Breakfast," Blake said, holding up his to-go bag and cup.  "I live around the corner."

"That’s amazing.  Nicole and I come here practically every weekend and I’ve never run into you before."

Blake smiled.  "How is Nicole?"  The two had been friendly while Blake and I were dating, but they stopped speaking shortly after we broke up.

"Good," I replied, as Mark asked, "Who’s Nicole?"

"I just moved in yesterday," Blake said, ignoring my date.  "My roommate told me this place has the best breakfast burritos in town, so I thought I’d give them a try."

I wanted to ask him why he didn’t just eat at the restaurant.  Even if his roommate couldn’t join him, surely his paramour du jour would’ve.  Instead I said, "Blake, I’d like you to meet Mark Kanan.  Mark," I said, finally turning my attention back to my date, "this is Blake McKinley, a friend from college."

Blake smiled at my characterization of him, then shook Mark’s proffered hand.

If it had been just me and Nicole, I would’ve asked Blake to join us.  Obviously I couldn’t do that when I was on a date.  Yet that didn’t stop Blake from borrowing an empty chair from the table next to us (the group of girls happily gave it up).

"You don’t mind, do you?" he asked Mark, after he’d sat down.  "Actually, this is sort of a celebration for me," Blake said, turning his attention back to me.

"You mean you don’t normally eat breakfast?" Mark said testily.  I couldn’t blame him.  If the situation was reversed, I’d be angry too.

Blake ignored him.  "You’ll never guess what just happened to me."

"What?" I asked, also ignoring Mark’s furious stare.

"Do you know that show Bite Me?"

"I know of it."  Vampires weren’t really my thing.  Too much blood.

"They hired me for two episodes but the producers liked me so much they’re turning my part into a recurring role."

"That’s great, Blake!"  Even when I was at my most despondent and Nicole was at her most vitriolic, neither of us ever denied that Blake had talent.  In fact, I believe it was Nicole who had opined that it was Blake’s ability to convincingly lie to a woman straight to her face that would ultimately lead to his success.

I would’ve followed up with more questions but the waitress arrived with our food and even Blake had to acknowledge the awkwardness created by his continued presence at our table.  "I suppose I should let you two get back to your meal."

"Yes," Mark said, stabbing a home fried potato with his fork, "you should."

Blake grabbed his takeout bag and his coffee and stood up.  "Now that I know you come here all the time I’ll have to stop by more often."

Before I could respond one of the girls at the next table said, "I eat here all the time too," which caused the rest of them to break into peals of laughter, and even I had to chuckle.  Mark, however, failed to see the humor in it.

Blake turned his dazzling smile in the girls’ direction.  "Good to know," he said, which resulted in more than one audible sigh.

I glanced over at Mark, who was chewing noisily and staring down at his plate.  I doubted he’d be asking for a second date, so I reached into my purse and pulled out a business card.  I’d just had them printed up with my new title, "publicity manager," the week before.

"You’re a publicist at BB&L?" Blake said as I handed it to him.

"Yes," I said smugly.  I wanted him to know that I was doing well too.

"That’s great," he replied, seeming genuinely pleased.  "We should get together some time and catch up."

I didn’t think he’d actually call, although part of me was hoping he would.

"The stupid part of you," Nicole said, after I’d filled her in on my plans to meet Blake for drinks the following week.

"How am I being stupid?" I lowered my voice so not every one of my cubicle mates could hear our conversation.  "He’s an up and coming actor and I’m a publicist in need of clients.  It makes perfect sense."

"You just keep telling yourself that."  I could hear her fingernails clicking across her keyboard even while she dispensed crucial best friend advice.

"C’mon, don’t you think I know better than to get involved with an actor?"  Nicole had reminded me many times that the number one rule at Zenith Management, where she worked as a business manager, was "Don’t date the clients, and never date the actors."  We didn’t have that rule at BB&L, but I acknowledged it was probably good advice.

"And the number two rule?" Nicole asked, but didn’t wait for my reply.  "Never mistake a client for a friend."

That one I had a bit more trouble with, at least where Blake was concerned.

Chapter 13

Four years later I was still ignoring rule number two, although I’d never violated rule number one.  Not that I hadn’t been tempted sometimes.  Like the night Blake took me out bar hopping to cheer me up after my boyfriend of eight months broke up with me.  Or when he was between girlfriends and he’d come over to my place and we’d order takeout Chinese food and watch DVDs.  Although we might’ve exchanged a few longing looks (on my part) or lascivious glances (on his), we never ever exchanged a kiss.  A fact I routinely reminded Nicole of whenever she admonished me for my "unhealthy relationship" with Blake.

So I didn’t see anything unusual in Blake’s request that I stay for dinner and to help him pack after we’d spent the afternoon going over plans for the walrus documentary.  Blake was leaving for Australia the next morning.  Of course I’d stay.  Nor did I find it unusual when he came up behind me while I was loading dirty plates into his dishwasher.

"I have a maid for that," he said.  "Which you should know since you hired her."

"Yeah, I’m sure she really appreciates it when you leave her a week’s worth of crusty dishes under the bed."  I only hired her after I found mold growing on his coffee table where he’d left a half-eaten pizza sitting out for two weeks.  In his defense, he had been out of town for ten of the fourteen days.

"Never under the bed."  Blake smiled.  "I always leave them out where she can find them."

"My mistake.  You’re a true gentleman."

"I am," he said with what I thought was mock sincerity.  So I laughed in his face.

"You don’t think I’m a gentleman?" he asked, staring at me with his wounded puppy expression, the one that made every female over the age of twelve swoon.

I laughed again.

"Seriously, Syd, you really don’t think so?"

"Seriously, Blake, I don’t think this is a conversation you want to have with me."

I expected him to start laughing too, or at least crack a smile, but he sported his wounded puppy expression again and I finally realized he wasn’t kidding.  "I’m not saying you’re a himbo or anything."  Every time the paparazzi caught him with a new woman, he swore he’d broken up with the previous girlfriend first, and I hadn’t heard him utter the phrase "open relationship" in years.  "But a gentleman might be pushing it."

"How come?" he demanded.

I made a split second decision to answer as his publicist instead of his friend.  "Women don’t pay twelve bucks a pop to see perfect gentlemen.  They pay to see bad boys behaving badly."  At least that’s why they paid to see Blake.

"C’mon, Sydney, we both know that’s not the real me."

We did?

"Although you do an excellent job of portraying me that way," he added.

"Thanks," I said, hoping that would be the end of it.

But he took a step closer and gave me an uncharacteristically shy smile.  "I think we make a pretty good team."

As I inhaled his intoxicating scent— Paco Rabanne mixed with Eau de Blake—I felt one of those moments coming on.  So I told myself what I always tell myself:  You’re friends, Sydney, nothing more.  He doesn’t love you, he never loved you, the rest is all in your head.  Then I looked up at him and smiled back.  "I agree."

"Good," he said, then he bent down and kissed me.

I wish I could say I slapped his face and walked out of the room.  Or at least that I didn’t kiss him back.  But I did, as ten-year-old memories washed over me.  It wasn’t until his hand started creeping up the front of my shirt, that I came to my senses.

"This is a bad idea," I said, pulling away from him, narrowly missing landing butt first in the still open dishwasher.

"You just said we were a good team."

"Professionally," I said, as I bent down and slammed the door shut.  "Personally, we’re a disaster."

"I beg to differ," he said, oozing wounded pride.  "I’ve always considered you a good friend and I thought you considered me one too."

"I do," I said, immediately backtracking.  "But I don’t do friends with benefits.  At least not with you."  Actually, not with anyone.  Although I could see the advantages of it, especially during those dating dry spells.  I’ve just never been able to sleep with a friend without getting emotionally involved.

"I’m not asking you to."

I would’ve thought I’d imagined this whole episode if I hadn’t caught a glimpse of my lipstick on his chin. "Then what was that kiss all about?"

"A date."

"A date?" I practically spat.

"Yeah, a date.  You know, dinner and a movie.  Like we do all the time, but with the sex part too."

"Blake, you don’t need sex from me.  You’ve got women practically lining up at your door."  Literally.  Although the restraining order seemed to be working.

"So that’s a no then?" he said, turning away from me.

"No!  I mean, yes.  I mean, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Geez, Syd, do I have to spell it out for you?  I’m asking you on a date.  But if you’re not interested . . . ."

Not interested!  "Blake, have you forgotten that we tried this already.  It didn’t end so well."  At least not for me.

"That was ten years ago.  I think we’ve both matured a little since then, don’t you?"

A cheap shot.  He knew I couldn’t disagree.  I turned away from him and focused my gaze on the six-burner Viking stove he just had to buy even though I’ve never seen him cook, while I reminded myself that even considering sleeping with Blake was a bad idea.  A very bad idea.  An idea so bad it would make volunteering to go to Alaska for a month look like a genius move when he reached for my chin and forced me to look up into those deep emerald eyes.

"Sydney, if all I wanted was sex you’re the last person I’d turn to."

"Thanks a lot!"

"I meant it as a compliment," he called after me as I stomped out of the kitchen.

I knew he did.  I also knew the smartest thing for me to do would be to get the hell away from him before he actually said something nice.  So when I heard his footsteps echoing behind me as I hurried into the living room for my purse, I forced myself not to turn around.  Looking into those eyes was deadly for me, like a bird mesmerized by a cobra before it administered the fatal strike.  I snatched my handbag off the coffee table and kept my head down as I hurried to the front door, still searching for my keys.

I was mere inches away from escape when he grabbed my hand.  "Just look at me."

Stupidly, I did.

"I’m sorry.  Really.  I meant it as a compliment."

"I know," I said, as I unearthed my car keys from under my wallet, my Blackberry, and a packet of breath mints, and triumphantly held them up to him.

"Then why are you leaving?"

"Because if I don’t, this will all end badly."  Again.

"You don’t know that," he said, and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand in a gesture so tender I actually sighed.

"Please Blake," I said, closing my eyes in an effort to break the spell again.  "Don’t do this."

"I promise," he whispered in my ear before he ran the tip of his tongue along my lobe.  "I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do."  Then he began gently kissing the side of my neck.  "Just tell me when you want me to stop and I’ll stop."

Odds of me telling Blake McKinley to stop kissing me:  zero, zilch, nada.  I might as well have been nineteen again.

Chapter 14

I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep until I was suddenly jerked awake.  The image of Blake disappeared, replaced by something black and yellow only inches from my face.  I looked up and found Jake, still in his Batman footsy pajamas, looming over me.

"What time is it?" I croaked, feeling for my watch.  I must’ve taken it off during the night, and now it was lost somewhere in the folds of my sleeping bag.

"Morning," he said and giggled, before scurrying down the loft’s ladder yelling, "Mommy, she’s up."

I closed my eyes and tried to pick up the dream where I’d left off—Blake and I sunbathing on a deserted beach, him in the board shorts he was wearing when I met him, and me in a skimpy bikini with all the cellulite magically removed from my thighs—but it was gone.

I staggered downstairs, unbrushed and unwashed, and plopped down into a chair at the dining table.  "What time is it?" I asked, propping my head up on my elbows.

"A little after seven," Jill said.  "I thought I’d let you sleep in since it’s your first day."

I squinted into the sunshine pouring through the dining room window.  "How long have you been up?"

"Since five-thirty.  Once the sun rises, I can’t sleep."

"Funny, that’s never been a problem for me," I said, shielding my eyes again.

"Coffee?" she asked, already pulling a second mug down from the cabinet.

I waited for the warm liquid to radiate inside me before I said, "So I assume you got me up at this hour for a reason?"

"Yes," Jill said, jumping up from the table to rinse her cup in the sink.  "You should get dressed.  Brie and the others are already out on the trail.  They’ll find something for you to do."

Obviously Hillary Troy hadn’t called yet.  And I knew no matter how much I explained to Jill that I had real work to do, she wouldn’t change her mind.  "Breakfast?" I asked.  I wasn’t just trying to delay the inevitable.  I was hungry too.

"There’s cereal in the pantry, and eggs and bacon in the fridge.  Breakfast is do it yourself here.  All I ask is that you clean up your own mess."

There was no point in showering beforehand (not that I knew where the shower was), so I washed up at the sink, then changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, and stepped outside.  The sunshine had fooled me.  The air was frigid, and the wind bit right through my cotton layers.  I returned to the cabin for my ski pants and jacket before I caught up with Brie and "the boys" at the north end of the trail.

"Planning on hitting the slopes?" Brie asked when she spotted me.  They were all similarly dressed in hideous nylon pants and flannel button-downs.

"I thought I was supposed to wear something waterproof."

"You are," Brie said, "but you’re going to overheat in that outfit."

"Well, it was this or a garbage bag."

"Then I think you made the right choice," Tony said, handing me his hammer so he and Sean could grab another four-foot plank from the stack sinking into the wet ground.  "We’ll lay out the boards, and you and Brie can hammer them in.  Okay?"

"What about me?" Jake asked.  "What should I do?"

"You can help us hold it steady," Sean replied, which seemed to pacify him.

I’d only pounded two nails—one went in crooked and the other bent at a right angle—before I too was relegated to holding the board steady while Brie, Sean, and Tony hammered it into place.  I did, however, get to use the staple gun to tack the mesh wire on top, which is one more tool than they let Jake use.

After what felt like hours, but according to my watch was only forty-five minutes, Sean called for a bathroom break, and Jake and I raced each other back to the cabin.  Jake won, but he had the advantage of shoes that fit.  While the four of them took turns in the outhouse, I ransacked my suitcases looking for something to wear.  Brie was right.  Those ski pants were way too hot.  The ground was so soggy though, I still needed something waterproof.

I peeled off my jeans and tried the ski pants au natural, but that was too sticky.  Next I tried long underwear underneath, but they were even hotter than my jeans.  I was pulling the ski pants back on when Jill climbed up to the loft and tossed me a pair of black nylon rain pants. "Try these," she said, before disappearing again.

They were long and baggy and hideously unstylish with their puckered bottoms and elastic waist, but I couldn’t deny that they were lightweight and comfortable.  Jill must’ve warned the others because no one said a word to me when I descended from the loft in my new outfit.

While the rest of them finished their coffee and snacks in the dining room, I went to the office to talk to Jill.

"Has anyone from the foundation called?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could.

"No," she said, not looking up from her keyboard.  "We only use the phone for emergencies.  Why?"

"No e-mails?"

She stopped typing and turned around.  "Sydney, what’s going on?"

"Nothing," I said, fingering my own lifeless sat phone resting on the opposite desk.  "I just thought that now that I’m here Hillary might want to touch base with you."

"Nope," she said, turning back to her screen.  "But if I hear from her I’ll let you know."

My second shift on the trail was more comfortable in Jill’s ugly pants, but after three hours sitting hunched over on my knees, my thighs and butt were aching.  By the time Sean suggested we head back to the cabin for lunch, I was ready to volunteer to clean up walrus poop if it meant I could stand up straight again.  Well, maybe not.  But I was definitely ready to spend a few hours sitting at a desk.

"Where’s Duncan and Ethan?" I asked, as we all crowded around the dining table where Jill had laid out an array of cold cuts.

"On the boat," Brie replied as she piled slices of turkey breast onto wheat bread.  "Why?"

"We have a boat?"  This was the best news I’d heard since I’d arrived.  Maybe I could hitch a ride somewhere with a cell tower and a broadband connection, or at least a pay phone and a land line.

"It’s just a rubber dinghy," Jill said, as if reading my mind.  "Nothing you’d want to take out in the open sea."

"Oh, I don’t know about that."  I was going on forty-eight hours without a high-speed internet connection.  I’d be willing to brave eight-foot waves again if it meant I could check my e-mail without interruption and surf the net.

"Trust me, Sydney," Jill said, "you wouldn’t get far in this boat."

"Then where did they go?"  Even if their destination didn’t include high-speed internet, it probably had electricity and dial-up, which meant it was better than this.

"To count the walruses on west beach," Jill said.  "It’s only accessible by boat."

Okay, it wasn’t better than this.  "Is that all they do here?  Count walruses?"  Even with the stench, that might still be better than building a trail.  I could always breathe through my mouth.

"Ethan and Duncan head up the Walrus Tagging Program," Brie replied.  "It’s a major undertaking involving several state and federal agencies in conjunction with the Oceanographic Institute."  Her tone told me I should be impressed.

"I believe it’s Ethan who heads up the program," Jill said.

Brie shrugged.  "Yeah, but we all know it’s Duncan who does all the work."

After lunch, Sean and Tony offered to return to the trail, but Jill suggested they take the afternoon off since it was their turn to cook dinner.  "I forgot to tell you," Jill said, turning to me.  "We do group dinners here, and we all take turns cooking.  You can partner with Brie."

When she heard her name mentioned, she rushed out of the kitchen, her sleeves rolled up and soap bubbles still clinging to her hands.  "I’m already partnered with Duncan."

"Ethan can help Duncan," Jill said.  "I need you to help Sydney."

"I don’t need help," I quickly replied as I spied the stricken expression on Brie’s face.  "I don’t mind cooking alone."

"No," Jill said, "that wouldn’t be fair.  We’ve all got a partner, and you should too."

"Ethan can be her partner," Brie said.

Geez!  I knew she wanted time alone with Duncan, but that didn’t justify feeding me to the wolves.  I renewed my offer to cook solo when Jill said, "No," in that tone moms the world over master to let their children know it’s not up for debate.  "Sean and Tony are cooking tonight, you and Brie are cooking tomorrow night, and Duncan and Ethan the night after that."

Brie glared at me before returning to the kitchen, as if somehow this was my fault instead of Jill’s.  I’d have to make sure whatever we cooked, I was the only one wielding a knife.

That afternoon Jill and Brie headed out to "collect nest productivity data," whatever that was.  Jill instructed me to stay behind and monitor the radio.  "Just listen and write down anything important," she said before she followed Brie outside.

I turned up the volume on the VHF radio, but all that emerged from the tinny speaker was louder static, broken by the occasional weather report (sixty-two degrees, ten-to-twelve-foot surf, and winds between fifteen and twenty knots), and someone going on about a whale.  Since none of that sounded important, I took the opportunity to catch up on my own work.

I made a list of things I needed to order before Blake and Guy, our director/cameraman, arrived:  sleeping bags, pillows, blankets, peanut M&Ms (Blake’s favorite candy), a case each of Snapple Peach Iced Tea (Blake’s favorite nonalcoholic beverage) and Sam Adam’s Lager (Blake’s favorite beer), half a dozen bags of parmesan pita chips (Blake’s favorite snack food), and probably some sort of generator for the lights, camera, and batteries (Jill would know).  On second thought, I decided to make it two cases each of beer and Snapple and a dozen bags of pita chips.  That way Blake could share with the group.  I also made a list of questions for Jill when she returned, including where to find these items locally and how to get them to the island.  I had a feeling we weren’t on anyone’s standard delivery route.

While I worked, I intermittently moved the sat phone along the window ledge and to my amazement, locked in on a signal on my fourth attempt.

"Megan, it’s me," I yelled to my assistant.

After a lag of several seconds, her voice, squeakier than usual, came through.  "Sydney, where are you?  I’ve been trying to reach you for days."

"What do you mean where am I?"  She’s the one who started the office pool for how long I would last in Alaska before I begged to come home.

"I left you—" the phone squawked static for a few seconds before Megan’s voice returned "but you never called me back."

I checked the face plate on the sat phone, but the message symbol wasn’t lit up.  "I don’t believe this.  The goddamn voicemail doesn’t work."

No response from Megan.  It took me a few seconds shouting "Can you hear me now?" before I realized that I’d stepped away from the window, thereby inadvertently severing our connection.  I slammed the phone down on the desk.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"That’s the best offer I’ve had all week."

Chapter 15

I spun around and found Ethan standing in the doorway.  As usual, he hadn’t bothered to take off his wet boots, and a puddle was forming at his feet.  I hoped whoever owned this place had sealed the wood floors, or I’d be down on my knees replacing those next.

"I lost my signal in the middle of the call," I said, then turned back to the window.  I punched the redial button over and over, but the red signal indicator refused to turn green.

"I’m surprised you got one indoors," he said, joining me next to the window.  "The satellite must’ve been in the exact right spot."

"Yeah, for about thirty seconds.  Just long enough for me to find out the voicemail’s not working."  I let out a loud sigh and shook my head.  "I am so screwed."

"It’s not a cell phone," he said, pulling it from my hand to examine the face plate himself.  "I know they tell you there’s a message indicator, but in reality you have to call and check."

"I’d have to have a signal to do that, now wouldn’t I?"

Ethan suppressed a smile.  "Yes, that’s what we in academia call a prerequisite."

I was about to let out another string of expletives, when the cabin door banged open and Jake ran in screaming, "We’re home!"  It didn’t take him long to find us in the office.

"Sydney, did you see the whales?" Jake asked, all wide eyed and pink cheeked.

"No, I was—"

"What whales?" Ethan said.

"Three humpbacks, half a mile offshore," Jill replied, joining us.  "Sydney, didn’t anyone call it in on the radio?"

"Ummm."  I picked up the empty log book.  "It’s possible."

"And you didn’t write it down?" Ethan asked incredulously.

I don’t know when Sean and Tony returned, but they suddenly appeared in the small office too.  When the room was empty it only contained a few square feet of open space.  With the six of us in there, I couldn’t even move.  It didn’t take long for my claustrophobia to kick in.  I tried not to panic since I knew it was all in my head, but when I felt like I was about to suffocate, I elbowed past Sean and Tony and ran.

I knew I’d be okay if I could gulp down a few breaths of fresh air, but when I yanked open the cabin door, Brie and Duncan were standing on the other side blocking my way.

"What’s wrong?" Duncan asked, as I shoved him aside.

The second my foot hit the damp ground I realized my mistake.  The frigid water instantly enveloped my feet, sending a chill up my body, an oddly schizophrenic experience since I was still sweating profusely above my waist.

"I don’t understand," Jill said, dunking my bare feet into a basin she’d filled with warm water.

I yanked them out as the stinging turned into shooting pains from the tips of my toes to my knees.  "That hurts!"

Jill just pushed my feet back down and handed me a towel.  "Soak them until the color returns, then dry off and put on warm socks."

I nodded.  At least I’d managed to change the subject.

Then Duncan spoke.  "Explain again why you ran outside barefoot?"

"I wasn’t barefoot.  I had socks on.  I just forgot I wasn’t wearing any shoes."

"Forgive me, love, but how does a person forget they’re not wearing any shoes?"

"Isn’t it obvious," Ethan said, joining us in the dining room.  "She was having a panic attack."

"I was not!"

"Claustrophobic or agoraphobic?" he asked, as he held my sat phone out to me.

"Neither," I said, grabbing it from him.  I left out the "asshole," since Jake was in the room.  My claustrophobia was none of his business.

He folded his arms across his chest and stared at me.  "I’m going to have to go with claustrophobia, since agoraphobics generally don’t sign up to work on islands thousands of miles from home."

"Go with anything you like, you’ll still be wrong.  I got hot and I needed some air.  End of story."  That’s more or less what a panic attack feels like, except I left out the part about my heart almost bursting out of my chest and not being able to breathe.

Ethan pulled out the chair next to mine, even though every other one at the dining table was empty, and sat down so close to me our shoulders were practically touching.  "How old are you?  Twenty-five?  Twenty-six?"

"Twenty-nine," I said, staring straight ahead, keeping my eyes unfocused so I could concentrate on slowing my breathing, the only useful skill I’d ever learned from six years of archery.  I was not about to allow Ethan’s purposeful invasion of my personal space to send me back into panic mode.

"Too young for hot flashes."

"What would you know about it?" I asked, as I spun around.  Based on the sprinkle of gray in his hair and the web of lines around his eyes, I guessed his age as forty, plus or minus a year or two.  Then I glanced down at his ring finger, which was bare, not that that meant anything.  "Got a wife in menopause?"

The smug smile disappeared.  "Beer anyone?" he asked, as he headed into the kitchen.

After my feet recovered from their brush with frostbite, Duncan offered to help me set up my tent.  Once Duncan volunteered, Brie did too of course, but Jill reminded her she still needed to input the bird productivity data, so Jake joined us instead as our third pair of hands.

As the three of us trudged off to the storage shed, Jake out front, me and Duncan lagging behind, I asked Duncan if I’d guessed right about Ethan, but he shook his head.

"Divorced, years ago.  I don’t think they even speak."

No surprise there.  Although it was surprising Ethan hadn’t bothered to correct me.  "Odd he didn’t just say that, don’t you think?  Your boss strikes me as someone who enjoys proving to everyone he’s always right."

Duncan let out a laugh.  "True enough.  Although as much as he likes being right, he hates talking about his personal life even more."

"Why?"

"I don’t know.  He won’t talk about it."

A bad joke, but I still laughed.

I laid out all the pieces of the tent on the plywood platform while Duncan hammered the stakes into the ground.  I was still reading point one of the instructions—how to connect six poles into three—when Duncan snapped them together and positioned them in place.

"So I’m guessing you’ve done this before?" I said, still trying to determine which pocket was front sleeve "A," and which was rear sleeve "C."

"A time or two," Duncan replied, expertly weaving the "B" pole through the center of the tent and hooking the rings into place.  Even Jake looked like he knew what he was doing, handing Duncan U-clips and shock cords upon request.  I tried to stay out of the way and not break anything.

Forty minutes later, the three of us stood inside my home for the next twenty-nine days—an eight-foot-wide yellow dome with a zip open door and a rear window vent.  If I stood in the center, I could take one step in any direction before my head grazed the nylon, and Jake could walk upright within two feet of the sides, but Duncan had to hunch slightly even at the midpoint.

It was a good thing I’d be sleeping alone.  I’d never be able to share a space this small with anyone else.

Chapter 16

I could smell the onions frying long before we reached the cabin.  "Mmm, what’s for dinner?" I asked, following the scent into the kitchen.

"Beer-battered onion rings and barbecued chicken," Tony said, manning a giant skillet at the stove.

"We have a barbecue?"  I’d been worrying about how I was going to cook dinner without an oven.  This opened up a whole new set of possibilities.

"Yeah, Sydney, they call it fire."  I followed his gaze out the window.  In the grassy area behind the cabin, Sean was kneeling next to a ring of rocks with a small blaze in the center and a grate on top.

I refrained from asking how one started a blazing fire in wet grass without a tank of propane or a stack of charcoal briquettes.  Maybe Brie would know.  "Can I help with anything?  Make the salad or something?"

Tony smiled benevolently.  "Sure, just pop down to the grocery store and pick up some spring greens and a couple of juicy heirloom tomatoes."

"There’s a—"

"Of course not!  Honestly, Sydney, you make it too easy."

"Sorry, but this wilderness living is all new to me.  Back home I’ve got three grocery stores and a dozen restaurants all within a mile of my apartment."

He gave me a once-over eye sweep.  "You don’t look like you partake in all of them," he said, before turning back to the stove.

I felt the flush rising in my cheeks, even though I was 99% sure he and Sean were gay.  "I eat a lot of salad," I said, as I headed to the fridge.  "And if I don’t start eating some here too you’re going to have to roll me off this island."  My jeans were already starting to feel tight at the waist.

"I think there’s some wilted lettuce in the bottom bin," he said, dropping a new batch of battered rings into the splattering oil.  "Help yourself."

I passed on the soggy salad but had Tony heat me up a can of carrots and peas. They were as bland and mushy as I remembered from childhood, but I doused them with enough salt and pepper that they became edible. Even Jake ate a spoonful.

After dinner, Sean, Tony, and Duncan helped me carry my bags down to my tent, while Ethan took off for parts unknown, Jill and Jake retired to the loft, and Brie set up the board for Trivial Pursuit.

When we returned to the cabin, Duncan asked me to join their game, but I passed.  I knew I could never compete with that bunch of eggheads.  I was the only one who didn’t have or wasn’t working on a Ph.D.  Instead, I used the free time to catch up on my day job, even though it was nine o’clock at night.

I turned on my laptop and moved the sat phone along the window ledge until I located a signal.  Remarkably I was able to connect to the internet on my first attempt, but I’d only downloaded four of my two hundred and twelve unread e-mail messages when my computer froze.

"Please don’t do this," I pleaded, but my laptop responded with several indecipherable beeps before the screen turned black.  "Motherfucker!"

A voice behind me giggled, and I whirled around to face Jake.  He’d traded his Batman pajamas for a one-piece Superman outfit with red cuffs and feet.

"Will you please stop sneaking up on me!  You’re going to give me a," I caught myself and deleted the "fucking" before "heart attack."

"What are you doing?" he asked, venturing into the room.

"Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?" I said sharply, then softened my tone.  "Sorry, Jake, I’m just mad at my computer."

He pointed to the neon green error message in the middle of my black screen.  "What’s wrong?"

"I don’t know.  Maybe it’s tired and wants to go to sleep."  It was starting to sound like a good idea to me.

"You’re silly," he said, then giggled and ran to the other desk.  He turned on Jill’s computer and spun her chair in circles while he waited for it to boot up.  I considered ordering him back to bed, but I didn’t think I had the authority.

"You wanna play Pirate Treasure?" he asked when Jill’s computer stopped grinding and a picture of him standing next to a fish almost as tall as he was popped up on her screen.

"I don’t know," I said, hitting the control, alt, and delete keys simultaneously.  The low battery indicator flashed once before the screen turned black again.  "You think your mom would mind if I recharged my battery while we play?"

"She won’t care," he said, clicking the mouse and pulling up a game that looked like a cartoon rip-off of Pirates of the Caribbean.  "Arr, mateys," the computer animated pirate with de rigeur peg leg and parrot called out.  "So ye want me treasure, do ya?"

"I’m Morris," Jake said.  "He has a cat that eats mice.  You can be James."

"What does James have?" I asked, as I crawled on the floor next to Jill’s desk searching for something that looked like it might be a solar converter.

"A magic sword."

Hmmm.  That sounded a lot better than a carnivorous cat.  I knew there had to be a catch, but I agreed anyway.

After I plugged my laptop into Jill’s charger, I rolled my chair next to Jake’s and watched him so I could learn how to play.  Morris and the cat were battling the captain and his army of mice when we heard Jill’s voice calling from the other room.  In an instant, Jake had minimized the screen and crawled under the desk.

"Have you seen—" Jill stopped short as she entered the office.  "What are you doing on my computer?"

I surreptitiously rolled my chair in front of the desk opening so Jake would be hidden behind my legs.  "My laptop battery died, so I thought I’d use yours while mine charged.  You don’t mind, do you?"

"No," she said, "that’s fine.  You haven’t seen Jake, have you?"

I shook my head.  You could accuse me of being a lot of things, but a rat wasn’t one of them.  "I thought he was upstairs with you."

"He was, but now he’s gone."

"Did you check the living room?  I think Brie and the guys are all playing Trivial Pursuit."

"They haven’t seen him."

"Arr, matey," the computer pirate roared.  "Get thee scurvy bones out of me sight or you’re a dead man fer sure."

I spun around and clicked off the speaker.  "Sorry, I got bored.  Did you check the outhouse?"

She eyed me suspiciously.  "Jake knows he has to tell me before he goes outside."

"Maybe he didn’t want to wake you."

"Maybe," she said, unconvinced.

"Why don’t you check the outhouse, and I’ll look around the cabin.  Wherever he is, he can’t have gone far."

She glanced from me to the computer screen and back to me again before she nodded and hurried out of the room.  I waited until I heard the cabin door slam shut before I knelt down in front of the desk.  "Get your ass out here this instant!"

Chapter 17

Jake crawled out from under the desk whining about wanting a do-over.

"That stupid game is going to be the least of your worries if you don’t get upstairs right now, buster."

Instantly the lips puckered and the tears started sliding down his cheeks.  "Am I in trouble?"

"Not if you go to bed immediately," I said, softening my tone.  "And whatever lie I tell your mother, you better back me up."

"Mommy says I’m not supposed to lie."

"Well, you should’ve thought of that before you snuck out of bed."

Definitely the wrong thing to say.  The tears flowed even stronger now and were accompanied by loud, heaving sobs.

I knelt down in front of him so we were eye level.  "I’m sorry, Jake.  I didn’t mean it.  Really."  I was still wiping his tears onto my sleeve when the cabin door slammed open and Duncan ran into the room.

"What happened?  Where’d you find him?"

"I’ll explain later.  Right now I need to get him upstairs before Jill gets back.  Where is everybody?"

"Outside looking for him," Duncan said.  "Don’t you think you should tell Jill you found him?"

"Of course, I just need—" All of a sudden my knees felt very warm and wet.  I looked down at the puddle spreading around my legs and followed the trail of yellow water up the leg of Jake’s pajamas to the large wet circle at his crotch.  "Jake, what did you do?"

Obviously the wrong thing to say since he burst into fresh tears.

I kept trying to soothe him with "it’s okay" and "it’s no big deal," while I reached for the box of tissues on Jill’s desk, but it just made him cry louder.  And Duncan was no help at all, since he was doubled over with laughter.

"Do you think you could give me a hand here?" I yelled, but before Duncan had even straightened up, Jill ran into the office, followed by Brie, Sean, and Tony.

As soon as Jake saw her, he wailed "Mommy!" and ran into her arms.  Jill hugged him to her, not caring that he was soaking wet, and whispered soothing words into his ear while she glared at me.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded when Jake’s sobs had subsided.

"Nothing, I swear.  I—"

"Then why’s he crying?"

"I don’t know.  I was just about to get you when he wet himself."

"It’s true," Duncan added, finally recovered from his laughing fit.  "I saw the whole thing, and—"

"Oh shut up," Jill said to him.  "We all know you just want to get into her pants."

Well, that was a conversation killer.

"C’mon baby," she said, carrying Jake out of the room.  "Let’s get you cleaned up."

Then Tony put his hand on Sean’s shoulder and announced, "That’s our cue to leave.  Good night all."

I concentrated on mopping up the puddle and didn’t dare look up until I spied Brie’s boots turn and walk out too.

"You need some help?" Duncan finally asked, kneeling down next to me.

"No, I think we’ve done quite enough, thanks."

"We didn’t do anything."

"Try telling that to Jill."  And to Brie.

Even without Jake waking me, I was up at seven.  My tent was surprisingly warm, but the sheer yellow fabric didn’t do much to block out the sun.  I considered getting dressed and hiking up to the cabin, but vetoed the idea.  Call me a wuss.  I just wasn’t ready to face the wrath of Jill, so I rolled over and forced myself back to sleep.

I didn’t wake up again until I heard her calling my name.  I lay motionless in my sleeping bag, hoping she’d go away, but my tent flap unzipped and she stuck her head in.  "We missed you at breakfast."

I shimmied out of my sleeping bag as she stepped inside.  "About last night, I want you to know—"

"I owe you an apology," she said as she sat down cross-legged in the middle of my floor.

"You owe me an apology?  I owe you one.  I never should’ve lied to you.  I just didn’t want to get Jake in trouble and—"

"I know.  He told me.  You shouldn’t have lied to me, but I panicked and—"

"I’m so sorry.  I don’t know what I was thinking.  All I can—"

"Sydney, it’s done.  How about we put it behind us and move on?"

I was so relieved.  If there was one person on this island whose good side I wanted to stay on, it was Jill’s.

"The cabin’s empty except for Ethan," Jill continued, "so if you want to grab some breakfast, now would be a good time."

"Actually, what I’d really love is a shower."  I hadn’t had one since I’d arrived, and frankly, I needed one.

"Are you sure?  It’s a bit chilly today."

"I don’t care," I said, pulling my boots on over my pajamas.  "I just want to feel clean again."

"Then follow me."

I packed a change of clothes and my toiletries in my duffel, then followed her up the hill, past the cabin, to a free-standing enclosure abutting the steepest section of the slope.  The shower consisted of a metal pole in the ground with a rusted head on top surrounded by panels on three sides and a floor made of plywood slats.  It had no roof, no insulation, and two feet of open space on the bottom where the wind whistled through, but Jill told me I could count on ten minutes of hot water.  After that it got iffy.  Then she told me to pull the chain to the right to turn it on, to the left to shut it off, and left me on my own.

I traded my boots for flip-flops and undressed inside my long wool winter coat.  When I was naked underneath, I dropped the coat and made a dash for the chain.  I was only exposed to the frigid air for a few seconds, but it was long enough for my skin to erupt in goosebumps and to start my teeth chattering.

I washed my hair first, then lathered up with the soap while the conditioner soaked in.  I managed to shave both underarms and was working my way up my left leg when the hot water ran out.  I towel dried myself faster than I ever had in my life, climbed back into my boots and coat, and dashed for the cabin.

I had three options:  I could wait an hour for the solar heater to deliver more hot water to the shower, I could boil water on the stove then wait for it to cool, or I could finish shaving my legs with cold water in the sink.  I figured the faster I finished shaving, the faster I could get dressed and warm up.

I pulled on my bra and panties, dropped my coat, and jumped up on the kitchen counter.  With my legs stretched out over the sink, I quickly finished the left and had just lathered shaving cream on the right, when Ethan walked in.

He didn’t say a word to me.  He just poured more coffee into his cup, then turned around and stared.

"Would you mind," I finally said.  "I’m shaving here."

"I can see that," he replied.

I don’t wear flimsy, lacy underwear, so there’s nothing you can see of me in my bra and panties that you can’t see at the beach, but I still didn’t like being openly stared at.  "Haven’t you ever seen a woman shave her legs before?"

"Not in the kitchen sink, no."

"I ran out of hot water in the shower," I said, as I turned on the faucet to rinse my razor.  "At least in here I’m out of the wind."

He nodded and took a sip of from his coffee cup.

I waited a few seconds, hoping he would leave on his own, yet he didn’t appear to be in any rush.  "Don’t you have better things to do than stand here watching me shave?"

He pursed his lips together as if considering it, then shook his head.  "You can’t download porn on a satellite connection so I have to take what I can get."

I briefly considered threatening him, but since my pink daisy shaver wasn’t exactly menacing, I decided my best option was to try to ignore him, and hope he’d go away on his own.  After all, watching someone shave their legs isn’t exactly titillating.  "Suit yourself," I said, and returned to the task at hand.

I’d just rounded my right knee when I nicked myself in the same spot I always do.  And as always, the blood started gushing immediately.  I searched the counter for something to stop the bleeding.  Ethan ripped a paper towel off the spindle behind him and handed it to me.

"Thanks," I said, as I tore off a corner and stuck it to my skin.  The white paper instantly turned red, and the blood trickled out from underneath, then the stream hit the shaving cream and the whole blob turned pink.

"Goddammit!"

"You need to put pressure on it."

"What are you, a doctor?"

"Yes."

I didn’t think being a zoology professor counted.  "Yeah, but you work with animals, not people."

"We all bleed the same," he said, as he grabbed the rest of the paper towel, folded it into a thick square, and stuck it onto my wound.  He held it in place with his thumb and let his fingers graze the back of my knee.

I leaned back on my elbows in an effort to put some distance between us.  He was definitely invading my personal space again.  But this time my response was much worse than a panic attack.

Chapter 18

I was starting to get that warm, tingly feeling that usually only strikes me when I’m fantasizing about Blake.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" I asked, as I stared up into those piercing blue eyes.

"I’ve had worse days," he said, managing to suppress his budding grin.

Then the cabin door crashed open, and Jake came running into the kitchen.  "Sydney, you’re naked!"

Ethan jumped back, spilling coffee down the front of his denim shirt, while I grabbed the wet towel off my head and threw it over me like a blanket.

"I’m not naked, I’m shaving."

Jill arrived a few seconds behind him and quickly took in the scene.  "C’mon, Jake," she said, grabbing his hand, "let’s let Sydney finish dressing."

"I’m thirsty," he whined.

"In a minute," she said, dragging him into the other room.

"I’ve got work to do," Ethan said without looking up.  Then he retreated to the office without even stopping to clean the coffee stain off his shirt.

I wiped the rest of the shaving cream onto my towel and grabbed my coat and duffel bag off the floor.  I was rushing through the living room in my underwear and bare feet when the cabin door swung open again and Brie, Sean, Tony, and Duncan strode in.

Man, my timing was off today!  We all froze for a second, before Tony said, "Good morning."

I mumbled "good morning" back and ran up to the loft.  When I returned in clean jeans and a wool sweater, Brie and the boys were standing around the dining table munching on trail mix, except for Duncan, who was scarfing down handfuls of cereal right from the box.

I ignored them and focused on Jill.  "Do you think I could plug my hairdryer into the generator?"

I could sense their snickering without even having to turn around.

"We usually try to save the power for the things we really need," Jill said.

Ouch.  I combed my fingers through my wet hair.  "I suppose I could let it air dry."

"That’s what I usually do," Jill replied, which explained her unruly tresses.  "There’s a clothesline out back where you can hang your towel to dry."

"I’ve been meaning to ask you, how do you do laundry here?"

"You’re out of clothes already?" she asked incredulously.

I shook my head.  "Just planning ahead."  I’d packed two weeks worth of socks and underwear, but I was wearing two pairs of socks every day, so I was going through them twice as fast.

"We’ve got five-gallon tubs in the shed.  Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll pull them out for you."

"You mean you wash all your clothes by hand?"  That would take forever.

Jill nodded.  "Then you have to hope it doesn’t rain before they dry."

"How do you live this way?"

I heard the snickering again and tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t ignore the twisted grin Jill tried but failed to wipe from her face.  "Somehow we manage," she said.

I’d have to remember to add ‘charter a boat to a town with a laundromat’ to my to do list.  "So I don’t suppose you’ve gotten any e-mails from Hillary today, have you?"

"Nope," Jill said, stealing a handful of trail mix from the open bag in Sean’s hands.  "Should I be expecting one?"

Damn that Hillary.  When I was back in L.A. she’d e-mailed me ten times a day.  After I’d agreed to "volunteer" to save the project, she assured me that she’d work out all the logistical details, including explaining the situation to Jill.  Now I couldn’t even get her to make one damn phone call.

"I guess not," I said.  "If you don’t need me, I should try to get some work done."  Maybe if she actually saw me doing my real job, she’d acknowledge that I didn’t have time to be a volunteer.

I was headed to the office when Jake called out to me.  "Sydney, don’t you want to see the bird babies?"

"What bird babies?"

"The horned puffin chicks started hatching this morning," Jill said.  "We’re going out to observe them if you want to come."

I’d never actually seen an animal being born before.  It sounded kind of exciting.  At least compared to what normally passed for excitement around here.  "I suppose I could come for a little while."

"I thought you had work to do," Brie shouted through a mouthful of nuts.

I glanced down at my watch—it was only 8:45.  "I do.  No one in L.A. gets to the office this early."

Jill led the group of us to the cliffs along the east side of the island where the puffins had built their nests on the ledges jutting out from the rock.  Individually, they might’ve been quiet.  But with hundreds of them congregated in this small space, they sounded like lumberjacks wielding chainsaws.  Yet Jill still suggested we all hike to an adjacent slope so we could observe without disturbing them.

Everyone, even Jake, pulled out binoculars.  Everyone except me since mine were still in the box, warm and dry in my tent.  Jill noticed and passed me her video camera.  "You can shoot some birds for your documentary."

I didn’t bother explaining that all the footage would be shot by a professional cameraman.  I just thanked her and zoomed in on the chicks exploring their new world.  "They’re cute," I said, zooming out to capture their numbers.  "They look like the Fruit Loops bird."

"You mean the toucan?" Tony asked.

"Yeah."  I had no idea what species the Fruit Loops bird was, although I assumed Tony did.

"Hardly," Brie said.  "The toucans’ bills are much larger, and they don’t have stripes.  Plus they’re indigenous to rain forests, not Alaska."

I knew she was mad at me, even though I’d done absolutely nothing to encourage Duncan and had no interest in him myself.  But I wasn’t about to tell her that in front of the group, so I lowered the camera and calmly said, "I didn’t say they lived here.  I just said they looked like them."

Brie muttered something I couldn’t hear and returned to her binoculars.

"There’s a slight surface resemblance," Duncan acknowledged, still staring out at the cliff.

I noticed Brie’s jaw clench, yet she didn’t contradict him.

"I can see that," Sean agreed.  "In the colors on the bill."

"Mom, will you buy me Fruit Loops?"

"No," Jill said, without looking up from the pad where she was furiously scribbling.

"Why?" Jake whined.

"Because it’s all sugar and chemicals."

"Sydney, is that true?"

Jill stopped writing and looked up at me.

"Absolutely.  My mother wouldn’t let me eat them either."  I didn’t think Jill would object to that lie.  I ate Fruit Loops for breakfast every day for years, right up until the time I discovered Pop-Tarts.

After the horned puffins, we moved on to the tufted puffins (like the horned puffins, but with yellow feathers flowing down the sides of their heads), then the pelagic cormorants (black birds with skinny necks and long tails), black-legged kittiwakes (like beach sea gulls, but with yellow beaks), and common murres (their sleek black bodies and white chests reminded me of penguins, but after the Fruit Loops discussion, I refrained from sharing my observation with the group).

At each site, Jill gave me the camera to shoot video, while she, Brie, Sean, Tony, and Duncan counted chicks and took turns making notes.  I always imagined bird watching would be boring, yet with all the nest building and food gathering and flying about, their colonies were buzzing with activity.

"Do you do this every day?" I asked Jill, as we all headed back to the cabin.

"Every other day," she said.  "Only the walruses get counted every day."

"Do you think I could come for that too?"  Since I was producing a documentary about them, I figured I should learn something about them, like how many walruses actually lived on the island.

"I was hoping you could monitor the radio this afternoon."

"Oh sure," I said, "another time."  I could always get the number from Duncan, at least if Brie wasn’t in the room.  Monitoring the radio was boring, but it had benefits too—namely being out of the cold and allowing me to work at my real job at the same time.

"But I’ll make sure you get to go tomorrow," Jill continued.  "After all, that is why you’re here, isn’t it?"

There was no edge to her voice, but something about her expression made me doubt her sincerity.

Chapter 19

After my screw-up monitoring the radio the day before, Jill realized I needed more explicit instructions.  "Write down the time, location, and a brief description of all weather events, animal sightings, and distress signals," she said, handing me the log book and a pen.

"Weather events?" After sixteen years living in Southern California, anything other than sunny and mild was a weather event to me.

"Electrical storms, gale force winds, hail the size of golf balls, that sort of thing.  Distress signals are rare, but if you hear one, make sure you call it into the Coast Guard.  The number’s programmed into the phone," she said, before I could ask.

"And the sightings?"  I hoped she didn’t expect me to know one type of whale from another.

"Just write down whatever they say on the radio, including the coordinates.  Anything else?"

"Nope.  I’ve got it covered."

"Good.  If you get bored, you can turn on my computer and type up my notes," she said, pulling her pad from her back pack.  "The file’s saved under bird data.  Or you could always play Pirate Treasure."

I decided to let that one slide.

I typed up Jill’s notes first, then moved on to my own work.  I turned on my computer and sat phone, then positioned the antenna in various spots along the window until I locked onto a satellite signal.  I tried to download my e-mails (I was now up to three hundred six unread messages), but when the computer seemed like it was about to seize, I disconnected and dialed the office instead.

"Finally!" Megan said as soon as I said hello.  "I thought I was going to have to fly up there and deliver the message by hand."

"These sat phones don’t work as well as advertised."

"You won’t have to worry about that if you don’t calm Rick down.  Hang on, I’ll transfer you," she said before I even had a chance to ask what was wrong.

"Hey, Walrus Girl," Rick’s assistant Cheryl said.  "We’ve been looking for you."

"Why?  What’s wrong?"

"Besides that you haven’t returned any of his calls or e-mails?"

"I didn’t—"

"I know," she said.  "I told him you were probably having trouble getting a signal.  You’re in Alaska, for God’s sake!"

"Well, they do have phones up here, and internet too.  It’s not like the entire state’s in the Dark Ages."

"Oh.  Then—"

"Just not where I’m at because it’s so remote."  I would’ve told her about the outhouse and the tent and the lack of electricity, although I’m not sure she would’ve believed me, but I could already hear her tapping away at her keyboard.

"Hang on a sec, hon," she said, and after another click, "Where the fuck are you, and why haven’t you returned any of my fucking calls?  Do you have any idea what I’m fucking dealing with here?"

"Rick, I’m so sorry.  I’ve—"

"Goddamn right you’re sorry.  I told you something like this would happen."

"Rick, just tell me—"

"No, Sydney.  Either fix this fucking mess or don’t bother coming back."

Click.

At first I thought I’d lost the signal again, but the green light on the phone was flashing, which meant I had a signal and Rick had hung up on me.  I immediately called back, but the line was busy, so I disconnected and tried again.  This time it rang, but I lost the signal on my end before Rick or Cheryl picked up.  I moved the phone up and down against all the windows searching for a signal, but without success.

I looked at the silent radio sitting on Jill’s desk.  It would be just my luck if something major happened when I wasn’t in the room.  But I had no choice.  I grabbed my phone, pulled on my boots and coat, and dashed outside.

"Did you fix it?" Cheryl asked.

"Fix it?  I still don’t even know what’s wrong."

She lowered her voice, and I imagined her peering around the office door to make sure no one was listening in.  "All I heard was that Charlotte Keener is very upset about the story in Celebrity Weekly and is demanding we do something."

I rushed back into the cabin so I could look up the story on-line, momentarily forgetting I was talking on a satellite phone.  I remembered again as soon as Cheryl’s voice disappeared and the phone’s status indicator switched from green to red.  I ran back outside and redialed.

"Sorry about that," I said when Cheryl picked up again.  "Can you give me the highlights?"

"Hold on," she said, and I heard her rustling through her desk drawer.  "The caption says:  ‘Beach House’ star Charlotte Keener seen exiting the private entrance of noted Beverly Hills plastic surgeon Dr. Nelson Emmet.  Then underneath it says: Keener, 26, has repeatedly told CW that she’s philosophically opposed to plastic surgery.  Apparently that philosophy doesn’t apply to new breasts."

"Yeah, and?"

"That’s it," Cheryl said.

"That’s what she’s throwing a hissy fit about?"  Honestly, did she think she could go from flat as a board to a ‘C’ cup overnight and no one was going to notice?  She spends ninety-eight percent of her screen time in a bathing suit.

"The picture’s not very flattering either.  You really should tell her to get her roots done before she goes out with her hair in a pony tail.  You’d think these girls would know better."

"You’d think.  Can you do me a favor and connect me with her agent?"

"Sure, hon, but you should talk to Lindsay first."

Then the phone beeped twice, and the solid green light turned to solid red.  It took me a few minutes walking in circles with the antennae pointed at the sky before I realized it wasn’t the signal I’d lost but the battery.  Yes, the phone came with a charger.  And yes, I could use the phone while the battery was charging.  But since Jill’s solar converter wasn’t within four feet of the window that pointed to the sky where the satellite happened to be at that moment, I couldn’t get a signal with the phone plugged in.  Which is the long way of saying that by the time I called Lindsay’s office, she’d already left for the day and was unreachable (at least to me).  Her assistant swore she’d have her return my call just as soon as she was available.  I wasn’t holding my breath.

I braced myself for a tirade and called Charlotte’s agent.  Her assistant put me right through.

"Sydney, how’s Alaska?"

"Great Kim, you should come up here sometime.  I think you’d love it."  Of course I was lying.  Kim would sooner have her hair ripped out by the roots than sleep on the ground.

"Definitely," she said, lying right back to me.  "So I presume by now you’ve heard?"

"Just found out.  I’m so sorry I’ve been unreachable the last couple of days.  My phone’s working now though so I will absolutely fix this."  God knows what I’d have to promise the editor at CW to get a retraction, but I had no choice.

"Have you talked to Lindsay?"

"We’re trading messages.  But I can handle it.  After the exclusive I gave them with Blake last year, they owe me one.  It’s as good as done."

"You really should talk to Lindsay.  As of an hour ago they were just working out the details of the photo shoot."

"What photo shoot?"

"Listen, Syd, I gotta run.  Just talk to Lindsay and tell Blake I say hi."

I tried Lindsay’s office again and received the same runaround from her assistant except this time I managed to pry out of her that Lindsay had spoken to the editor at Celebrity Weekly and they were working out the details of a spread for the September 23rd issue, just in time for Beach House’s fall premiere.

I knew it.  I just knew the minute I was out of touch Lindsay would try to steal all of my clients.   I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.  Not even if I was stuck on this godforsaken island for another twenty-eight days.

After much trial and error, I finally figured out that even though I couldn’t download my e-mail messages into Outlook without my computer freezing, I could still read them on the agency’s network server.  It was a slow process—I had to keep dialing in over and over again every time the satellite moved out of range, and opening the messages took forever, but at least I could get to them.

By the time Jill returned hours later, I’d read seventy-eight messages, replied to twenty-two, and deleted countless spam advertisements for penis enhancements and discount Viagra.

"What’s for dinner?" Jill asked, reading over my shoulder.

"I give up," I said, as I clicked on the seventy-ninth message and waited for it to open.  "By the way, I typed up your notes and saved them in the birds’ folder under today’s date, and I wrote down a whale sighting in the log book."  I didn’t want her to think I’d shirked my responsibilities even if I was only a faux-volunteer.

"Sydney, you haven’t forgotten that it’s your turn to cook, have you?"

Shit!  I didn’t have to ask to know that there weren’t any pizza places that delivered.

"I think Brie’s already in the kitchen," she added.

Ugh, from bad to worse.  She’d been nasty to me all day.  "Jill, I’m fine cooking alone.  I don’t—"

She shook her head.  "I’ll tell you what I told Brie.  It’s a small island, and there’s nowhere to hide.  Whatever your differences, you need to work them out."

"But—"

"Not interested," she said, sitting down at her desk.  "Talk to Brie, not me.  And I expect food on the table by eight."

Chapter 20

"What’s for dinner?" I asked Brie as she studied the inside of the refrigerator.

"How should I know?" she said, not bothering to turn around.

"Well, what are our choices?" I tried to join her, but she slammed the door shut and moved to the pantry.

"Listen," I said, following her, "I assume you got the same speech I got.  Jill wants us to work this out."

She closed the pantry door so fast she almost caught my hand in the frame, which I suspected was her intent.  "Just stay away from Duncan, and we’ll be fine," she spat at me before stomping back to the refrigerator.

"Brie, I know you’re upset about what Jill said last night.  But—"

She slammed the fridge door shut and spun around.  "So you’re admitting it."

"Admitting what?"

"You’re after Duncan, aren’t you?"

"I swear, Brie, I’m not."  Even if I wasn’t dating Blake, I wouldn’t be interested in Duncan.  To be honest, I didn’t really understand her infatuation with him.  He seemed like a nice guy, and he definitely knew how to set up a tent, but the only thing remotely interesting about him was his accent, and I was sure over time even that novelty would wear thin.

"Oh, now that you’re a big Hollywood hotshot no one’s good enough for you?"

This island was starting to feel like the twilight zone.  Since when was not wanting to steal another woman’s man a crime?

"Brie, I have a boyfriend."

"Who?" she demanded.

"No one you know."  Which wasn’t entirely true, since she knew of Blake.

"What’s his name?"

"I’m not going to tell you that."  Blake and I both agreed we wanted to keep our relationship confidential.  Dating was hard enough without having to read lies about yourself in the tabloids too.  The only person I’d told was Nicole, and she was sworn to secrecy.

She shook her head.  "I knew it.  It’s just another one of your lies."

"I haven’t lied about anything!"  At least not to her.

"You come here like little Ms. Hollywood with your designer clothes and your satellite phone, all Oh Duncan can you set up my tent and I’ll just die if I can’t blow dry my hair."

"Hey, he offered to set up my tent, and if you recall, I did let my hair air dry."  That’s why it looked as awful as it did.  I’d have to figure out something before Blake arrived or I’d be wearing my baseball cap for the entire shoot.

"Only because Jill wouldn’t let you plug in your hairdryer!"

"Since when did you become Ms. Wilderness America?  As I recall, you used to like electricity too."

"That doesn’t mean I can’t hammer a nail."

"Well, I’m sorry if I’m not as good a volunteer as the rest of you.  My coming here wasn’t my idea and if I could leave this stupid island right now I would.  But I can’t.  So just get over it already and tell me what you want for dinner."

By the time we finished the meal—ziti arrabiatta with sauce from a jar, canned green beans, and garlic toast—I’d stopped worrying about Brie and her overactive imagination.  I had better things to worry about.  Like how I was going to survive on the island for three and a half more weeks without getting fired by my boss in L.A.

It took most of the night, but I was finally able to access all of my e-mails.  I responded to the ones that couldn’t wait and managed to send a few new ones too.  The first was to Charlotte.  I apologized for the mix-up with CW, and told her how I’d asked my colleague Lindsay to fill in for me while I was out of town and how glad I was that she was able to help.  Then I gave Charlotte my sat phone number and told her to call me any time, day or night (the calls always seemed to go straight to voice mail anyway), and if she couldn’t reach me to leave a message and I’d call her as soon as I was able to.  I added Charlotte’s agent, Charlotte’s lawyer, Rick, and Lindsay to the cc list and hit send.

That ought to get me out of hot water with Rick and piss off Lindsay.  A win-win.  Next I typed an e-mail to my entire client list letting them know I was in Alaska working on a monumentally important project for the Save the Walrus Foundation.  I also told them to contact me if they or anyone they knew were interested in getting involved in this or any other cause.  Rick hadn’t signed off on the new practice group yet, but I knew if I could prove to him there was money in it, he would.  I’d convinced myself once Blake started promoting the documentary, it would go viral, and new clients would come pouring in.  Someone would have to represent them, so why not me?

I stopped fantasizing long enough to read the e-mail over again, fix the typos, add Rick’s name to the cc list, and hit send.  My last e-mail was directly to Rick.  I wrote him an effusive apology stating for the record that he was right, I was wrong, and I was taking steps to make sure something like this never happened again.  Then I told him how amazing Wilde Island was (I lied), how much Blake was looking forward to coming (I assumed), how grateful Blake was we could make this happen for him (he better be!), and how I just knew this whole thing was going to turn out great for all of us (I prayed).

And at four in the morning I went to bed.

And at six Jake crawled into my tent and woke me up.  "Blake’s on the phone for you."

"What?" I answered sleepily.

He repeated his statement, louder this time.

I didn’t bother getting dressed.  I just yanked on my boots and ran up to the cabin in my pajamas, pulling on my coat and scarf on the way.

"Sorry," Jill said, as I dashed into the office.  "I lost the signal."

"How could you lose the signal?"

"You know how temperamental these things are," she said, holding the phone out to me. "Just call him back."

I grabbed the phone and ran back outside.  I ignored the drizzle and punched in Blake’s cell number.  My call went straight to his voicemail, but I continued to stand outside holding the phone in front of me with the antenna pointing at the sky hoping he would call me back.  I waited until the drizzle turned into a downpour before I finally gave up.

I found Jill in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove.  "You want some oatmeal?" she asked.

It was warm and I was freezing, so I said yes.  "How did you even know he was on the phone?" I asked, joining Jake at the table.

She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.  "He told me who he was when I answered it."

"You mean this thing actually rings?" I said, grabbing the phone off the table.

"Yes, but it’s rare.  The antenna has to be locked onto a signal, but you can’t be talking on the phone.  It was just dumb luck he happened to call as I was taking it off the charger."

That made me feel a little bit better.  "How did he sound?"

"To be honest, a little drunk."

I smiled.  No denying Blake liked to party.

She glanced at Jake before she whispered, "Don’t you think it’s a little early in the day for him to be drinking?"

"Not for him," I said, then quickly added, "he’s not in L.A." so she knew what I meant.   I did the math in my head.  "It’s midnight in Australia so he’s probably out bar hopping."

Jill nodded and poured the oatmeal into three bowls.  I was surprised Jake ate it so willingly.  It looked like gruel, and tasted like paste.  I’d take Pop Tarts over oatmeal any day.

"Do you have any fruit?" I asked, hoping to liven it up.

Jill shook her head.  "Not until the end of the week."

"What happens at the end of the week?"

"That’s when Captain Bailey drops off our supplies."

So that’s how the food got here.  I’d been wondering.  After last night’s meal, we were dangerously low on pasta.  I never thought I’d feel this way, but I was actually craving salad, or at least vegetables that didn’t come from a can.

After breakfast Jill helped me order the supplies I needed before Blake arrived and told me since I’d done such a great job monitoring the radio the day before, I could do that from now on.  I think the truth was she’d heard my argument with Brie (it would’ve been hard for her not to), and despite her insistence that we work it out, she was making an effort to keep us apart.  I wasn’t going to object.

Now that my only job on the island was monitoring the radio, I no longer needed Hillary to talk to Jill, but I still hadn’t received the script she’d been promising me since before I left L.A.  As soon as I could get a signal on the sat phone, I dialed Hillary’s number at the Save the Walrus Foundation, but my call went straight to voicemail, and I couldn’t leave a message because her mailbox was full.  I hung up and tried the main number.

"Oh, Hillary no longer works here," the perky receptionist said.

"Since when?"

"A few days ago," the receptionist replied.

"I just talked to her last week.  Don’t you think she would’ve told me if she was planning on leaving?"

"I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?"

I repeated it twice and even spelled it before I realized I’d lost the connection.  When I locked in on another satellite signal and called back, she put me through to Bob Larson, the foundation’s deputy director.

"The problem is," he said, after I’d explained why I was calling, "we haven’t been able to locate Hillary’s script."

"Then call her at home and ask her where she left it."

"I’m afraid that’s not possible."

"Why not?"  Rick called me at home all the time—whenever he couldn’t reach me on my cell phone.

"I’m not at liberty to discuss it."

"What the hell does that mean?"  After half a dozen "wells" and "ums" I said, "You know what, Bob, I’d rather not know.  Give me her home number and I’ll call her myself."

"I can’t," he said.  "We’re not allowed to give out employee’s personal information."

"How about her cell?"

"Sorry."

I pointed out that if the parting wasn’t amicable, she was probably going to sue them anyway, but he wouldn’t budge.  "Okay, Bob, then what do you propose we do?  I’m assuming you’re still interested in making this film?" When suddenly it occurred to me that maybe they weren’t.  I didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

"No, we’re definitely still interested," he said.  "Only we can’t find the script.  I was hoping she’d already sent it to you."

"Unfortunately not."  I started mentally going through the list of every screenwriter I knew trying to come up with the name of someone who (a) would be available at the last minute, (b) was interested in walruses, and (c) was willing to work for free.

"That’s too bad," he said.  "Well, I’m really sorry about this, but it looks like you’ll have to write it."

"Me!  I can’t write a screenplay."  I was probably the only person in L.A. not working on a screenplay in their spare time.

"You write press releases, don’t you?"

"Yeah, but that’s totally different.  Besides, I don’t know anything about walruses.  That’s why Hillary thought she should write it."  I’d gently suggested more than once that we hire a professional, even if it meant spending a little money, but she’d insisted.  She said she’d read all of Sid Field’s screenwriting books, so she was sure she could write it herself.

"That was more of a financial decision.  We don’t have the resources to hire a writer.  We barely have the budget to cover your expenses."

Nice of him to tell me that after I’d just charged thirteen hundred dollars worth of supplies to my credit card.  The foundation was supposed to reimburse me.

"Bob, I would love to write this for you, but I can honestly tell you I know nothing about walruses.  I don’t even really understand how this whole global warming thing is harming them. You’d have to explain everything to me."

"I can," he said, "though I’m sure this phone call’s already costing us a fortune, so I suggest you talk to Ethan Eckert.  Nobody knows more about walruses than he does."

Chapter 21

Everyone but Duncan and Ethan was gathered at the cabin for lunch.  Which was just as well, since this would’ve been much more awkward with Ethan in the room.

"I don’t suppose any of you are secretly writing a screenplay, are you?" I asked over grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup.

"Why?" Brie was the first to respond.

I explained my situation and to my surprise, received a fair amount of sympathy.

"I just finished my thesis," Tony said, "but I don’t think that’ll help you."

"Is it about how global warming is killing the walruses?"  I could always cut and paste.

"No, it’s about the mating habits of humpback whales."

I turned to Sean, who shook his head.  "I’m an ornithologist."

I didn’t even know what that was but I could tell from his expression he couldn’t help me.

We all looked to Jill.  "I’m happy to talk you through the basics, but Bob’s right.  Ethan’s the expert."

"What about Duncan?" I asked, purposely ignoring Brie’s glare.  I was willing to avoid him to keep the peace, but not if it meant jeopardizing the documentary.

"I think it would be better if you talked to Ethan," said the ever diplomatic Jill.

"Would you want to ask Ethan for help?"

No one responded positively.

As promised, Jill let me out of radio monitoring that afternoon so I could count the walruses with Ethan and Duncan.  She also suggested I take the opportunity to ask Ethan for his help.  Like I’d even consider asking Ethan when Duncan was available.  I dawdled as the three of us hiked down to the first haul-out site, correctly predicting Ethan would get annoyed and walk ahead, while Duncan would stay behind with me.  Once Ethan was out of hearing range, I explained my predicament and asked Duncan if he’d be willing to help.

"Happy to," he said. "I’m yours until the day after tomorrow."

"What happens then?  You turn into a pumpkin?"

"A pumpkin?"

I tried to explain but apparently Duncan had never seen the Disney version of Cinderella.  "We’re leaving," he finally said.

"I thought you were here for the whole summer."

"Don’t worry, love, I’ll only be gone a week.  Ethan and I are going up to the Arctic to tag walruses."

"Why do you need to go to the Arctic?  It’s not like we don’t have plenty of walruses around here."

He shook his head.  "The sample’s too homogeneous.  Only fully grown male walruses haul out on Wilde Island.  The females and the younger males follow the sea ice north during the summer months."

Just my luck.  Yet two days were still better than none, and Duncan promised to find me some very basic reference materials before he left.  "Or you could always ask Brie.  She knows a fair amount just from spending time with me."

"She’s not going with you?"  I assumed if she’d follow Duncan to Wilde Island, she’d follow him anywhere.

"No, why would she?"

"No reason."  I guess even being with Duncan wasn’t worth spending a week trapped on a boat with Ethan.  I couldn’t fault Brie for that.

We caught up with Ethan at the bottom of the hill.  The wind had died down, so I knew the walruses had to be near.  "Geez, what do you feed these things?" I asked, lifting my scarf up over my nose and mouth.

"We don’t feed them anything," Ethan said.  "This isn’t a zoo."

Duncan explained it was a combination of their diet—an adult walrus can eat 200 pounds of clams a day—and being on land in large groups that made them particularly pungent.  I suspected their relieving themselves literally on top of one another might have something to do with it too.

Ethan led us to a flat-topped boulder rising out of the grass that afforded an unobstructed view of the haul-out site, which he then divided up into sections—from the cliff face to the big boulder was Ethan’s, from the big boulder to the group of smaller rocks was Duncan’s, and from the smaller rocks to the end of the beach was mine.

"What now?" I asked, following their lead and lifting up my binoculars.

"Start counting," Duncan said.

Ethan stopped at 183, Duncan tallied 197, and I came up with 126.

"That can’t be right," Ethan told me.  "Count it again."

"I know how to count!"

"Duncan, count her section too."

"Forget it, I’ll do it myself." I readjusted my binoculars for a wider view and started over.  I’d just finished the second row when a group of walruses from the first row slid into the water, and another one from Duncan’s section rolled over onto my beach.  "This would be a lot easier if they’d stay in one place."

"Why don’t you go down there and tell them," Ethan said.  "I’m sure if you ask nicely, they’ll comply."

I set down my binoculars to glare at him and realized I’d just lost my place.  Damn!  Now I’d have to start over, again.  I was only up to fifty-four when Duncan said, "One twenty-six, the same as Sydney."

"You’re both wrong," Ethan said.  "It’s one twenty-eight."  Then he marked it down on his clipboard and started walking.  He assumed we’d follow him, and of course, we did.

The second beach was smaller, and Ethan only divided it in two.  "We’ll count," he said, handing me the clipboard.  "You write down anything unusual."

"Like what?"  The walruses were rolling on top of one another, scratching themselves with their flippers, barking, yelping, and farting feces into each others’ faces.  It was all unusual to me, and disgusting too.

"If I have to explain every little thing," Ethan said, "then you’re not really helping, now are you?"

"Something unusual would be a sudden head raise or a group dispersal," Duncan explained.

"What about that?" I asked, pointing to a lone white walrus lying in the middle of a group of pinkish brown ones.  "He’s an albino."

"Counting here," Ethan yelled, without looking away from his binoculars.

"Give us a minute, love," Duncan said.

After he and Ethan tallied their sections and I wrote down the totals on the clipboard, Duncan explained that the albino walrus wasn’t really an albino.  He was only white because he’d recently been swimming in the bay.

"When they lie on the beach, the sun warms their bodies.  The blood flow increases their body temperature, and their skin turns pink and eventually that reddish brown color.  They can only stay on the beach for a few days though before they have to go back in the ocean to look for food.  Since the water temperature’s only seven degrees—"

"Seven degrees!  Shouldn’t there be icebergs?" All I saw was an endless expanse of dark blue water sprinkled with white capped waves.

"Celsius," he said.  "Maybe forty-five degrees Fahrenheit.  They go out to feed for several days."

"They can spend entire days in forty-five-degree water?  No wonder they’re white.  If that was me, I’d be blue."

"No, you’d be dead," Ethan said.

"Maybe, but my lips would still be blue."

It took us almost three hours to count all nine beaches.  Longer than usual according to Ethan, which he attributed to my "incessant inane questions."  Yet for all his complaining, I think he secretly liked having me around.  I didn’t presume it had anything to do with me.  He just liked showing off as the smartest guy in the room.  So when Duncan practically handed me an opportunity to tweak him, I couldn’t pass it up.

As we’d hiked to the last haul-out site Duncan filled me in on the history of Wilde Island.  Every summer herds of male walruses swim a thousand miles south to haul out on the island’s shore, leaving the females and pups to fend for themselves as they traveled north.  The question Duncan couldn’t answer, and he told me no one could, was why.

As the three of us followed the trail back to the cabin, I told Ethan I didn’t think it was fair.  "Why do the female walruses have to stay behind in the Arctic and take care of the babies, while all the male walruses get to come down here and hang out on the beach all day?"

"It’s haul out," Ethan said, "not hang out.  The prevailing theory is it’s to reduce the strain on the limited Arctic food supply.  Although no one really knows for sure."

"Don’t you think that’s unfair?  Shouldn’t they at least switch off so maybe every other year the moms get to come down south for a vacation while the dad’s stay behind with the kids?"

I caught Duncan biting his lip to keep from smiling, but Ethan thought I was serious.

"You’re right," he said.  "I don’t know why no one’s thought of this before.  Instead of reducing carbon emissions and banning oil drilling in their habitat, what we should really be doing is sending all those poor, overworked walrus cows on a Caribbean vacation.  Of course, they’ll all die in the eighty-degree water with no food supply, but at least you’d get to spend a month at a nice resort with indoor plumbing and overpriced drinks, and that’s what’s really important, isn’t it?"  Then he shook his head and stomped off.

"Well done," Duncan said, as we watched Ethan’s lanky figure recede.

"I was joking!" I yelled, but he didn’t even turn around.

Chapter 22

It was Duncan’s and Ethan’s turn to cook that night, which meant I got to spend a few hours with my sat phone and computer.  The e-mails I’d sent the night before worked.  Rick was placated, Lindsay was furious, and two clients replied to say they were interested in supporting worthy causes and I should get back to them with details.  Even Blake, frustrated with not being able to reach me by phone, sent me a long (for him) e-mail:

Hey Babe,

Working my ass off Down Under and looking forward to some R&R in Alaska.  Glad you’re there to handle everything.  I’m on a macrobiotic diet now, so need you to take care of the food issue.  No craft services table for me!  BTW, where’s the script?

Ciao,

Blake.

Blake McKinley could charm almost anyone with a wink and a smile, but he’d never gotten any woman into his bed on the strength of his prose.

"This is the worst risotto I’ve ever tasted," Ethan pronounced before dumping his meal into the garbage can.

"We were lacking a few ingredients," Duncan explained, as the rest of us pushed the watery rice and vegetables around our plates.  "So I had to substitute."

"Which part did you make?" I asked Ethan.  After all, we were supposed to be cooking in pairs.  Everyone smiled except him.

"That’s why Duncan’s here," Ethan replied.

"Well, I think it’s delicious," Brie said, forcing herself to swallow another bite.

Ethan shook his head then opened the fridge.  "Beer anyone?"

The consensus seemed to be if we couldn’t eat dinner then we should drink it.  While Jill made Jake a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the rest of us followed Ethan’s lead and grabbed a beer and a handful of pretzels.  Ethan waited until Jill put Jake to bed before he pulled out his bottle of Jack Daniels and a shot glass.

Several rounds later, someone, I’m not sure who, suggested strip poker.  After I lost my sweater to Tony, my socks to Duncan, and my scarf to Brie, I decided it was time for bed.  I pulled my coat on over my T-shirt, and Jill’s boots over my bare feet, before I walked out into the gray evening light.

I thought I was alone as I hurried down the trail with the wind howling in my ears, whipping my hair across my face.  So when someone squeezed my shoulder of course my first instinct was to free myself any way I could.

"Calm down," Ethan yelled, grabbing my wrist before my fist could connect with his chin.  "It’s just me."

"Jesus Christ, Ethan, you scared me half to death."

"I guess you didn’t hear me calling out to you for the past five minutes."

"So you thought you’d accost me instead?"

He grinned.  "I think accosting you is a bit of an overstatement."

He had me there.  "What do you want?"  Because all I wanted was to get back to my tent before I froze to death.

"I thought you might need some help."

I was a little wobbly, but that had as much to do with the twenty mile per hour winds as it did with the three beers I’d consumed.  "Since when are you interested in helping me, especially when there’s a possibility of seeing Brie naked?"  She’d won my scarf, but she was still losing to everyone else.

He took a step closer.  "Because I’d rather see you."

My mind flashed back to that moment in the kitchen when I nicked my knee.  Even in my inebriated state, or maybe because of it, I realized this was not a conversation we should have.

"Good night, Ethan," I said, and started downhill again.  Instead of heading back up to the cabin, he fell in next to me.  It was easy to ignore him since he didn’t speak.  But once we reached the campground and he continued on the path to my tent instead of veering off towards his own, I could no longer pretend he wasn’t following me.

"Ethan, I don’t need an escort.  I think I can make it to my tent."  Not necessarily in a straight line, but definitely in an upright position.

"Is that what you think I’m doing?"

No, but whatever he had planned, it couldn’t be good, at least not for me.  So I ignored him as he followed me the rest of the way.  He waited until I bent down to unzip my tent flap to ask, "Were you really joking earlier about the cows staying behind with the pups?"

"I do think it’s unfair," I said, struggling with the zipper, which had gotten stuck halfway, "but yeah, I was jerking your chain.  Sorry about that."

"Don’t apologize."

"Okay, I just—" as the zipper gave way, I lost my balance and started to fall.  I thought I was going head first into the wet grass, when Ethan caught me by the arm and yanked me upright.  "Thanks," I said, and casually shook his hand off me.  This conversation was charged enough without physical contact.

"Feel free to make it up to me."

"Excuse me?"

"C’mon," he said, and leaned in.  "We both know where this is headed.  You can stop pretending."

It was official.  Wilde Island really was the twilight zone.  I’d never garnered this much male attention in my life.  It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.  "Ethan, you may be some brilliant—" I hiccupped, but my anger overrode my embarrassment—"scientist, but you’re fucking delusional if you think I want to sleep with you.  I’m going to bed."  I was about to duck inside when I stopped and turned around.  "Alone, in case you were thinking that was an invitation."

"Wasn’t it?" he replied, following me in.

"No!"  He didn’t move.  "Ethan, you can stand here all night if you want, but I can guarantee you you’re not getting any."

In an instant his mood flipped from playful to angry.  "Then why have you been flirting with me for the past two days?"

"Flirting with you?  Since when is giving someone a hard time flirting with them?  Most of us grew out of that stage in the third grade."

"What about all that prancing around the cabin in your underwear?"

"I was shaving!  It’s kind of hard to shave your legs with your pants on."

"And your shirt?"

I forgot about that.  "Hey, you walked in on me."

"You didn’t exactly kick me out."

"I absolutely asked you to leave."

"Once."

"Well, how many times do I have to ask before you listen?  I’ve already asked twice tonight, and I notice you’re still standing here."

"Try saying it like you mean it."

"How’s this:  Get the fuck out!"  Then I lunged at him causing us both to crash to the ground, our lower halves inside the tent, and our upper bodies out.

"Isn’t this just perfect," Brie said, as she swayed above our heads.

Chapter 23

"It’s not what it looks like," I cried, as Ethan and I scrambled to our feet.  "We—"

"Oh, shut up!"  But the effort of yelling at me threw Brie off balance, and Ethan had to grab her by the arm to keep her from falling too.

"Let go of me," she said, pulling away from him.

Ethan complied, and Brie crashed to the ground.

"What did you do that for?" I yelled.

"She told me to."

"She’s drunk."

"So?"

"Jesus Christ, Ethan, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"That’s Dr. Egomaniac to you," Brie called up to him, then started giggling as she laid flat on her back and spread eagle.  I held out my hand to her, but she ignored it.

"Brie, do you think you can make it back to the cabin on your own?"

"I don’t want to go back," she slurred.

"Well, you can’t sleep out here."

"Duncan is," she said, and burst out laughing again.

Ethan and I surveyed the campground.  The sun had finally begun to set, but it was still light enough to see.  Ethan spotted Duncan first, face down on the picnic table.

"Can you handle this one?" he asked.

"Yeah, go take care of Duncan."

"Duncan can sleep it off where he’s at.  I’m going to bed."

"Ethan!"

"Dr. Egomaniac," Brie corrected, and set herself off into another round of giggles.

"You can’t leave him there."

"Sure I can.  He’s on his stomach.  Even if he pukes, he won’t choke to death."

"Ethan, we’re not letting him spend the night on the picnic table.  I’ll help you bring him inside, then we’ll figure out what to do with this one."

"He’s not sleeping in my tent.  If he gets sick I’ll never get the smell out.  Or worse, he could mistake me for you and try to cop a feel."

"Why do they all want you?" Brie cried, then pulled out a handful of wet grass and threw it at me.  She missed by several inches, which only upset her more.  "Why doesn’t anyone want me?"  Then she dissolved into tears.

"Nice going, Ethan."

He started to laugh.

"This isn’t funny," I said, but I had to fight to keep from laughing too.  I lost the battle when Sean and Tony entered the campground singing an off-key version of "You Can’t Always Get What You Want."  I couldn’t tell if they had their arms around each other as a gesture of love or if they were just propping each other up, but their lyrics were spot on.  The whole scene was so surreal, I would’ve thought I was dreaming if I wasn’t so goddamn cold.

"You okay?" Sean asked, when he finally noticed me.

"Yeah, but these two aren’t."  I pointed to Brie and then Duncan.

Sean and Tony agreed with me.  They ignored Ethan’s protests, hoisted Duncan to his feet, then half walked and half carried him into Ethan’s tent.

Ethan looked down at Brie, still sprawled in the grass at our feet.  The ugly nylon pants and matching jacket were keeping her dry, but only the alcohol was keeping her warm.  "How about we let these two sleep it off in my tent and I bunk with you?"

"In your dreams."

"I guarantee you’ll have a better time if I’m awake."

I glared at him until he shrugged and walked off, ignoring Sean’s and Tony’s angry stares as they made their way back to me.  I still hadn’t figured out what to do with Brie.  She’d stopped crying but was no longer coherent.  "Maybe you two should just carry her back to the cabin."

They both glanced down at her, then up the hill.  "I think she should spend the night with you," Tony said, and Sean seconded the idea.

"I’ve only got one sleeping bag."

Sean lifted Brie up in his arms, where she lay motionless with her head tipped back and her limbs splayed.  "I don’t think she’ll notice," he said, and staggered into my tent.

I wasn’t keen on being puked on or mistakenly fondled either, so after laying a plastic bag under her head, and covering her with my extra blanket, I grabbed my sleeping bag and pillow and trudged back up the hill.

If I’d have known the chain of events that innocuous act would set in motion, I would’ve taken my chances with Brie.

Chapter 24

Five hours later, the morning light was already filtering through the cabin’s huge living room windows.  I buried my face in the couch pillows, but that didn’t stop Jake.

"Sydney, wake up!"

"Go away," I mumbled.  My office was closed for the July 4th holiday, and it was too early to start worrying about monitoring the radio.

"Don’t you want breakfast?"

"No."  My head was throbbing, and the thought of food made me queasy.  I hadn’t downed any shots like the rest of them, but three beers were enough to give me a hangover.

"You want to play Pirate Treasure?"

I’d rather die a slow death.  "Jake, go away."

"Why are you being so mean?"

This kid was worse than a puppy.  At least dogs waited until you showed signs of life before they started licking your face and demanding your attention.  I peeked up at him from my pillow.  "I promise I’ll play any game you want later if you’ll just be quiet now and let me sleep."

"Any game?"

"Any game."

He smiled.  "This is gonna be fun."

When Jill padded into the kitchen ten minutes later, I dragged myself up to the loft.  I don’t know how long I slept, but when I came back downstairs, Jill and Jake were gone, replaced by Sean, Tony, and Duncan, who were sitting at the dining table eating bacon and eggs.

"Best hangover food ever," Sean said as he shoveled a forkful into his mouth.  He and Tony didn’t look too bad, but Duncan’s hair was sprouting in several directions and his normally ruddy complexion had turned gray.

"Anybody seen Brie?" I asked, as I tried to ignore the smell of fried grease while I searched the fridge for ginger ale but settled for a can of Coke.

"We thought she was with you," Tony said.

I started to shake my head but had to stop because of the pain.  I needed aspirin, now.  "No, I left her in the tent and slept here last night."

"What was she doing in your tent?" Duncan asked.

Finally, I got to exchange a look with Sean and Tony instead of the rest of them exchanging looks over me.  It felt good to be in on the joke instead of the butt of it.

"Don’t you remember?" Sean asked.

"I remember her coming with me to the campground, but I don’t remember why."

"She wanted to shag ya, lad," Ethan said, imitating Duncan’s accent.  "Good thing I was there to stop her," he continued as he walked past the dining table on his way to the kitchen.  After refilling his coffee mug he returned.  "I hate to think what would’ve happened if you were alone."

Sean and Tony stared down at their plates, while Duncan fixed his gaze on his toast.  When Ethan realized no one was going to respond, he stole a slice of bacon off Duncan’s plate then left the room.

"How do you stand that guy?" Sean asked when it was just the four of us again.

Duncan shrugged, then bit into his last slice of bacon.

Part of me felt bad for Ethan.  He obviously had no friends on the island, unless you counted Jake.  Then I thought about his behavior the night before and my sympathy quickly evaporated.

"Someone should probably check on Brie," Tony said and stared at Duncan, who looked over at me.

"You check on her," I said.  "She’s your friend."

"She’s your friend too," he replied.

"Hardly."  Even if he hadn’t overheard our argument the other night, the tension between us was obvious.

"Well, you used to be friends," Duncan said.  "And you’re the only girl."

Sean and Tony nodded in agreement.

"No, I’m not.  What about Jill?"

Sean swallowed his forkful of eggs then said, "She’s out on the boat with Jake."

"Well she’s coming back, isn’t she?"

The three of them continued to stare at me.

"Oh, fine."  I only agreed because I needed to go back for aspirin anyway.

"Knock, knock," I called, as I pulled back the tent flap, allowing the harsh morning light to flood inside.

Brie’s eyes fluttered open, then quickly shut again.  She was in exactly the same position I’d left her in the night before—my suitcase propped against her back to keep her from rolling over, the plastic bag under her head.  Only the blanket had moved.  She’d kicked it down to her feet.  "Go away."

"I’m not staying.  I just came for aspirin and to make sure you’re alive."

"I am, so you can leave."

"You should try being a little nicer.  If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be sleeping outside."

She lifted her head but covered her eyes to shield them from the sun.  "This is your tent?"

I zipped the flap closed to shade the inside.  "Where did you think you were?"

"I don’t know," she said, lying down again.

Probably Duncan’s tent, but I didn’t say so.  She looked as awful as I felt, so I decided to throw her a bone.  "Duncan asked me to come down here and check on you."

She smiled feebly.  "He did?"

"Actually, I think it might’ve been Tony who asked.  Duncan thought it was a good idea though.  He seemed very worried about you."

She started to sit up again, then thought better of it and lay back down.

"You want some aspirin?" I asked, as I located the bottle in my suitcase.

"Love some."

I shook out four tablets, downed two, and handed her the rest with my can of Coke.

"So were you with us the whole night?"  She tried to sound nonchalant, but her strained voice betrayed her anxiety.

"No, I left when you started stripping."  As soon as I saw the horrified expression on her face, I said, "I’m teasing.  You had all your clothes when you came down here, including my scarf," which I grabbed from the pocket of her jacket.

"I remember the shots and the poker game.  After that it gets a little hazy.  I still don’t know why I would’ve come down here to sleep."

I stared at the floor of the tent but her question hung in the air between us until I finally said, "I think we all assumed it was because you wanted to spend the night with Duncan."

"Oh, God."  She hid her face in her hands.  "I didn’t say that, did I?"

"Not to me."

"Do you think we did anything?" she asked, still covering her face.

"I doubt it.  He passed out before you did."

"That’s good, I guess."  After a few seconds of silence, she peeked out at me.  "Was Ethan here too?  Because I sort of remember calling him Dr. Egomaniac to his face, but maybe I dreamed it."

I preferred she not remember that part.  "He helped get Duncan to his tent."

I was sure she was going to say that wasn’t her recollection, but she said, "Would you mind if I stayed here a little longer?  I’m really not up to facing everyone right now."

"Of course."  Two days ago I’d felt exactly the same way.  "I’ll be in the cabin if you need me."

Trudging back up the hill was enough to wear me out.  I went straight to the loft and dozed until I heard Ethan leave.  Once he was gone, I went to the office to monitor the radio.  It was a useful way to procrastinate.  I knew once I actually started writing the script for the documentary I’d really start to panic.

I was scribbling in the log book when Jill and Jake returned.  "Sydney, you don’t have to do that.  Even volunteers get the day off for national holidays."

"Do the whales know that?  Because someone just reported a couple of humpbacks."

"Where?" Jill asked, peering over my shoulder.  When I read off the coordinates she said, "That’s close.  You should go have a look."

"You can see them from the island?"

She nodded.  "There’s an observation area above the sea lion beach."

"Where is that again?"  I remembered Jill pointing it out to me on my first day, but I knew I’d never find it on my own.

"Jake can take you there."

We stopped at my tent first so I could grab my binoculars.  Brie was gone, but we found Sean and Tony in the clearing tossing a Frisbee.  When Jake told them about the whales, they decided to come too.  Jake wanted to invite Ethan also, but thankfully he wasn’t around.

The hike to the observation area was slow going, both because we hadn’t yet extended the trail to this side of the island, and because three of the four of us were hung over.  Tony was the first to spot the whales—one huge one and another half its size.  We all pulled out our binoculars, but the whales immediately dived, so all we were able to see were their giant tails as they sank down into the sea.

We all kept our focus on the ocean, but after a few minutes of staring at nothing but white caps, I leaned back against the rocks and closed my eyes.  The sun peeking through the clouds felt warm on my face, and I could hardly smell the walruses and sea lions from this high up.  The bird guano was another matter, although I was learning to ignore it.

"Are they coming back?" Jake asked.

"They’re looking for food," Tony told him.  "They’ll be back soon."

"You want to play a game?" Jake asked.

"No!" we all said in unison.

"Sydney, you promised," Jake whined.

"When?"

"This morning.  You promised if I was quiet you’d play a game with me."

Ugh!  "Don’t you know you can’t hold people to promises they make before six a.m.?"  Or when they’re hung over and just want to sleep.

"Sydneeeeey!"

"Okay, okay," I said, kneading my forehead to keep my headache at bay.  "Later, I promise."

Then Tony shouted, "Look!" as the whales leapt out of the water and crashed down onto the surface, blowing a stream of fluid ten feet into the air.

"Is that one the mommy?" Jake asked, pointing to the larger of the two.

"Probably," Tony said, standing up now.  "Humpbacks have been known to nurse their calves for up to a year."

"What’s nurse?" Jake asked.

I wasn’t touching that one.  Tony gave Jake a very scientific-sounding explanation, which of course he didn’t understand, so Sean told him, "It’s like when babies drink milk from a bottle, but it comes from the mother instead."

Jake looked like he was about to ask a follow up when a third whale came bursting out of the water and crashed down next to the other two.  This one wasn’t quite as large as the mother but was much bigger than the baby.  Tony estimated he was close to forty feet long and weighed several tons.

"Is that the daddy?" Jake asked.

"It could be," Tony said.

"You mean father whales don’t just abandon their families for the summer like the walruses do?"  For some reason I could not let that one go.  If I had to play armchair psychiatrist  I’d say it had something to do with my own father abandoning me.  Although unlike the walrus fathers, mine didn’t return after a summer at the beach.  He did, however, have the nerve to send me a holiday card after over ten years with no contact.  I burned it in Blake’s fireplace last Christmas Eve.

Tony set down his binoculars and smiled.  "I heard about that."

I assumed he was referring to my conversation with Duncan and Ethan.  Although that was equally surprising since I didn’t think Duncan was the type to gossip, and Ethan had no friends.  "Who told you?"

"I overheard Ethan complaining to Jill."

"Ethan was complaining about me!  That—" I was about to let loose with a string of expletives, but I looked over at Jake and caught myself in time.

"Relax," he said.  "No one cares what Ethan thinks."

We watched the whales until they disappeared farther out to sea, then we hiked back down to the cabin.  After lunch I packed up my laptop and sat phone and told Jill I was heading back to my tent.  It may have been a holiday for everyone else but I still had a screenplay to write.

"No, Sydney," Jake said, grabbing my hand, "we have to play a game."

The kid was relentless.  "Later, Jake.  We’ve got all afternoon."

"Sydneeey!"

"Jake, leave Sydney alone."

"Mommy, she promised."

"It’s true," Sean said, piping up from the dining table where he and Tony were playing blackjack.  "We heard it."

Apparently the bonds of our newly formed friendship extended only to irritating Ethan.

"See!" Jake said to Jill while continuing to tug on me.

Obviously I wasn’t going to get out of it.  Plus, it’s not like I really wanted to work on the script anyway.  "All right, go get your stupid game."

"It’s not stupid.  It’s Star Wars."

"Star Wars is a movie, not a game."  Or six movies, if you wanted to get technical.

Jill smiled.  "Sorry, Sydney, you’re not that lucky."

Chapter 25

Jake ran up to the loft, and moments later a plastic light saber came flying over the railing, crashing onto the wood floor below.  "I’m Luke Skywalker," Jake said, bouncing down the ladder, "and you’re Darth Vader."

"Why am I Darth Vader?"

"We have to duel for Princess Leia," he said, as he picked up the light saber and pointed it at my chest.

"Then I’ll be Princess Leia," I replied, stepping out of striking range.  Even Jake would have to agree that my voice sounded a lot more like Carrie Fisher than James Earl Jones.

"You said you’d play any game I wanted, and now you’re taking it back."

"I’m not taking it back.  I just want to play a different part."

"Noooo," he whined.

"Then who’s going to play Princess Leia?"

"Mommy.  She always plays the princess."

I couldn’t object to that.  And it could’ve been worse.  He could’ve forced me to play Chewbacca.

"Why don’t you let Sean and Tony guard your light saber while you change," Jill said, grabbing it by the blade before Jake could send a stack of freshly washed dishes crashing to the floor.  "I’ll be up in a minute to help you with your costume."

Jill only had to threaten him twice more before he ran up to the loft.

"I suppose you’re going to tell me I have to change too?"

"I’m afraid so," Jill said.  "Anything black will do."

That part would be easy.  I trudged down to my tent and swapped my jeans and sweatshirt for black pants, a black wool sweater, and Captain Bailey’s black galoshes.  When I returned to the cabin, Jake was jumping around the living room in his long underwear with one of Jill’s white button-downs, which reached to his knees, double belted around his waist.  Sean and Tony were still playing cards at the dining room table.

"Don’t you guys have something better to do?"

"Not really," Tony said.

"We wanted to see the first female Darth Vader," Sean added, and grinned at me.

"Well, you’ve seen her.  You can go now."

"Spoil sport," Tony said, as he pushed back his chair.

"May the force be with you," Sean intoned, sending himself and Tony into a laughing fit as they made their way out the cabin door.

"Okay, Jake, let’s get this over with."

"Your costume’s not finished."

I looked down at my all black outfit.  "It looks finished to me."

"You need a helmet," he said.

"Sorry, I left all my helmets back in L.A."

"Mommy can make you one."

"You look good," Jill said, when Jake and I joined her in the office.

"Thanks.  I was afraid these pants would be tight, but all the hiking around the island must be working."  I certainly wasn’t losing weight from my diet.

"I meant you make a good Darth Vader."

"Oh."  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult.  "Don’t you have to put on your Princess Leia costume?"  She was still wearing her khakis and flannel shirt.

"No, I’ve got a report I need to finish, so Princess Leia’s going to be hiding on another planet while you two duel to the death."

"Excuse me, but has either of you even seen Episode VI?"  I didn’t want to give away the ending if they hadn’t, but they needed to know that Luke doesn’t kill Vader.  He only dies because he forces Luke to take his helmet off.

"I meant pretend death," she said.  "Come with me."

Jake and I followed her into the kitchen, where she placed a large silver mixing bowl upside down on top of my head.  I had to push the rim up just to see.  "What’s this for?"

"That’s your helmet," Jake said.

I turned to Jill, who nodded confirmation.

"Isn’t Darth Vader’s helmet supposed to be black?  Besides, it’s too big."  I shook my head from side to side so the bowl slid around.  "See.  It’ll fall off as soon as I move."  Not to mention I no doubt looked like an idiot with a mixing bowl on my head!

"Well, sometimes we have to use our imagination when we dress up.  Right, Jake?"

"Right," he said, and made the "wah" sound as he flipped the switch on his light saber, causing the white plastic blade to glow fluorescent green.

I lifted the mixing bowl off my head and set it on the counter.  "Well, I can’t fight without a light saber."  I’d hoped I’d found the fatal flaw in their make-believe plan.  What was Jill going to substitute—a rolling pin?  I’d clobber the kid.

The ever resourceful Jill just pulled the cardboard tubes out of two paper towel rolls and cinched them together with duct tape.

"You’re giving me a cardboard light saber?  There’s no way I can win with this."

Jill gave me a quizzical look.  "Sydney, he’s six."

Oh right.  I was new to this big sister stuff.

Jill packed the paper towel rolls with balled-up scrap paper to keep them from getting crushed, then covered the cylinder with red construction paper, and drew a black handle on one end.

After Jill finished my light saber, Jake insisted I put my helmet back on.  I argued that since my hair was dark, I didn’t need one, but ultimately agreed to put it to a vote.  I lost two-to-one along family lines.  After I twisted my hair into a bun, Jill grabbed another belt and used it to fasten the mixing bowl to my head.  When Jake complained that I was missing the cape, Jill returned with a black rain slicker, the arms of which she tied around my neck.  Once I donned my sunglasses, Jill pronounced my outfit complete and Jake pulled me outside to the trail.

"We can pretend it’s a walkway on the ship."

"You mean the one in Episode V where Darth tells Luke he’s his father?"  I always loved that scene.

"I don’t know," Jake whined.

Jake may have had the better outfit, and definitely the cooler light saber, but clearly I was the bigger fan.

After I followed him down the hill to a small flat area where the wood planks hadn’t yet buckled, he stopped and pointed the light saber at my head.  "Release the Princess now, Vader, or prepare to die."

That line didn’t even sound familiar.  "Time out," I said, and lowered my paper towel rolls.  "What episode are we in?"

"Sydneeeeey!  You’re ruining it."

"I’m sorry, Jake, but I need to know my motivation.  I can’t play Darth Vader if I don’t know what’s going on."

"We fight and Luke Skywalker kills the evil Darth Vader and saves the Princess."

"You know it doesn’t happen like that in any of the movies, right?"

"Sydneeeey!"

"All right, all right.  I’ll just follow your lead."

Jake made the "wah" sound again and raised his light saber, and I raised mine.  "Are you going to release the Princess?" he asked.

"No," I said, lowering my voice in my best Darth Vader imitation.  I even added some heavy breathing to replicate the sound effects.  "If you want the Princess, then you’ll have to kill me to get her."

"Then prepare to die," he said and jabbed me in the chest.

"Ow!  That hurt."

Jake stabbed me again, this time in the stomach.

So I raised my light saber and dueled.  His plastic saber was stronger than my cardboard one, but I had the height advantage.  We were slowly moving down toward the campground when I heard voices behind me.  I turned around and found Brie and Duncan heading up the trail.

"What on earth are you doing?" Brie asked, as Jake stabbed me in the arm.

"No fair," I said, turning back to him.

"Release the princess, Darth, or prepare to meet your doom."

"Who are you supposed to be?" Duncan asked, staring at our outfits.

"I’m Darth Vader, and he’s Luke Skywalker.  Can’t you tell?"

"I always thought Darth Vader’s helmet was black," Duncan replied.

"We had to improvise," I said, turning back just in time to block Jake’s light saber with my arm.  If I was smart, I’d let him kill me now before I was completely covered in bruises, but I couldn’t give up that easily.

"Don’t move," Brie said before she took off running toward the cabin.

The three of us—Jake and I dueling, Duncan offering pointers from the sidelines—had almost reached the turn-off for the campground when Brie returned with Jill’s video camera.

"Oh no," I said, grabbing the plastic blade of Jake’s light saber so he couldn’t stab me with it while I talked to Brie.  "You’re not taping this."

"It’s not for me, it’s for Jill," she said, as if that made all the difference.

"Jill’s already seen me in this get-up," I said, keeping my grip on Jake’s blade as he struggled to pull free.

"She said she wants it for Jake’s memory book."

"What’s a memory book?" Jake and Duncan asked simultaneously.

"A lie Brie tells to embarrass me."

"It’s true," Brie said, "I swear.  I told Jill she needed to come and see this, and she asked me to tape it for her."

I had to let go of Jake’s light saber to make a grab for the camera, and he took the opportunity to whack me in the legs.  "Hey, that hurt!"

"You’re evil, Darth Vader.  Nothing you say can save you now."

Fine with me.  I lowered my light saber and said, "Okay, I’m done."

"What do you mean?" Jake said.  "We haven’t even gotten to the boat yet."

"What boat?" both Brie and I asked.

"When Darth Vader dies, Luke sets him on fire and pushes him out to sea in the boat."

Obviously that wasn’t going to happen.  Even Brie backed me up on that.

"I’m not really going to set her on fire," Jake said.  "It’s all just pretend."

"Then you can pretend to set me out on the boat too, because we’re not doing that either."

"Sydney, you promised!"

"I did not promise to go out into the ocean in a rubber dinghy."  However I did finally agree to let Darth Vader die on the steps leading down to the boat cove just to shut the kid up.

With our agreed-upon ending in place, Jake and I raised our light sabers.  I fenced backward, moving us toward the beach as quickly as possible, while Duncan cheered us on and Brie videotaped.  When we reached the top step, I dropped my light saber and clutched my chest.  "You got me, Luke."

"Not like that," Jake said.  "Luke has to stab Darth Vader."

"Who are you—George Lucas?"

"Sydney!" he yelled.

I sighed, but raised my paper towel rings.  "You’ll never take me alive, Luke."  Then we clashed light sabers a few more times, and I let Jake stab me in the chest.  Unfortunately for me, the kid was strong, and the stairway was still wet from last night’s rain.  I reached out for the railing, but wasn’t fast enough.  I don’t remember the fall, just the waking up.

Chapter 26

When I opened my eyes Brie, Duncan, and Jake were all standing over me.  My left foot was one down from the top step, and my right leg was folded underneath me at the knee.  I tried to sit up, but I immediately started sliding.

"Get behind her," Brie yelled to Duncan.

As he took a step down, the heel of his boot slipped on my light saber, and Duncan tumbled forward.  Seconds later, he was the one crying out in pain.

Brie immediately abandoned me for Duncan.  Between the handrail and Jake’s support, I managed to pull myself upright.  My right knee hurt, but I didn’t think anything was broken.  We weren’t so sure about Duncan.  He was lying on the top landing, flat on his back, with one hand clutching the opposite shoulder.

"Are you okay?" Brie kept asking him.

He didn’t speak.  He just kept panting and squeezing his eyes shut.

Then out of nowhere, Ethan came bounding down the metal staircase. "What’s wrong with you?" he yelled to Duncan.  "She’s the one who fell."

At the time it didn’t occur to me to ask him how he knew that.  I just told him what happened.

"I think I dislocated my shoulder," Duncan finally said between cries of pain.

"How do you know it’s not broken?" Brie asked, still kneeling at his side.

"I’ve done it before," he said through panted breath.  "Rugby."

"Jake, go back to the cabin and get us your mom’s first-aid kit," Ethan ordered.

"You can fix a dislocated shoulder with a first-aid kit?"  This I wanted to see.

"No," he said.  "Your arm’s bleeding."

Jill and Jake met us coming down the trail as the four of us hobbled up.  Duncan was out front clutching his left shoulder with Brie glued to his side, and I was limping behind them with Ethan following me.

"What happened?" Jill demanded, the red plastic first-aid kit swinging from her hand.

"We took a bit of a spill," Duncan said, glancing back to offer me a smile.  Brie turned around too, but her look wasn’t so friendly.  Amongst the three of us, we explained how Duncan and I both managed to fall down the steps.

"Do you think you broke it?" Jill asked Duncan, as she led him into the cabin.  He assured her he hadn’t, but she wasn’t satisfied.  "I don’t know what we’re going to do," she continued, sitting him down on a dining room chair.  "The nearest hospital’s fifty miles away, and even Bill Bailey won’t land here when the surf’s this high."

"I don’t need a hospital," Duncan said, still clutching his left arm.  "I just need one of you to help me pop it back in."

Jill remained unconvinced, but Ethan reminded her that we didn’t really have a choice.

"Are you sure about this?" Jill asked again as Duncan lay down flat on the dining room table, his injured arm hanging off the side.

Duncan nodded and Ethan disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels.  He unscrewed the cap and ordered Duncan to take a sip.

Duncan grimaced as he swallowed a mouthful then handed the bottle back to Ethan, who took a swig too.  Jake wanted to stay with Duncan (apparently a dislocated shoulder was more compelling than a two-inch gash on the arm), but Jill ordered him into the office.  "You can either help me fix Sydney’s cut or play on the computer."

Thirty seconds later, the animated pirate captain called out, "Arr, matey, so ye want me treasure, do ya?"

I followed Jill into the office.  "You need to take off your sweater," she said as she popped open the first-aid kit.

I looked down at the ragged edges of my torn sleeve, which perfectly matched the jagged gash in my arm.  "Can’t you just cut it off?"

"Don’t be ridiculous.  You could sew up this hole and it’ll be as good as new."

She’d obviously never seen me with a needle and thread.  I was almost as bad as I was with a hammer.  But I didn’t want to argue with her so I pulled my sweater over my head and wrapped it around my chest.

"Jake, go upstairs and get Sydney one of my sweatshirts."  Before he could object that he was in the middle of a game, Duncan let out a piercing scream, and the three of us ran into the living room.  We found Duncan still lying on the dining table with Brie on one side of him and Ethan on the other.

"What did you do to him?" Jill asked.

"We fixed his shoulder," Ethan said, then reached for the bottle of whiskey.  After he and Duncan each took another swig, he crossed over to me.  I thought he was going to offer me the bottle too, but he just grabbed my arm with his free hand and inspected my wound.

"I don’t think you need stitches," he said, letting his eyes linger on my chest before bringing them up to my face.  I wrapped the sweater around me a little tighter as he asked, "When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?"

"I don’t know.  Eight or nine years ago maybe."  The last one I remembered was when I’d sliced my foot open on a chewed-off beer can at a frat party.

"They’re supposed to be good for ten," he said, "but if your jaw starts locking up, let us know."

I couldn’t tell if he was joking, so I nodded and headed back to the office.

"And Sydney," Ethan said, when I was almost out of the room.  He pointed to my pink bra straps sticking out from the top of my sweater.  "I believe Darth Vader wears all black."

Chapter 27

Duncan, Brie, and I left the cabin together—Duncan with an icepack on his shoulder and his arm in a sling, Brie at his side, and me with my laptop, sat phone, and an order from Jill to stay away from slippery surfaces and sharp objects.  Not a problem since as soon as I laid down on my sleeping bag, ostensibly to work, I fell asleep.

I woke up two hours later to the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance and rain pelting my tent.  I decided I’d rather sit out the storm in the cabin with the others, so I donned my jacket and trudged back up the hill.

I could hear their raised voices even before I pushed open the door.

"Ethan, you’re not making sense."  The sentiment wasn’t unusual, but the source was.

"You’re no use to me with your arm in a sling," Ethan calmly replied.

I was still shaking the rain off my jacket when the two of them bolted from the office, Ethan swinging a beer can, a red-faced Duncan following close behind.

"Just because I have a bum shoulder, doesn’t mean I can’t work.  Don’t forget, I’m the one who got us the grant."

Ethan tossed his empty can into the recycling bin and grabbed a fresh one from the fridge.  "You think you would’ve gotten it if you’d sent the proposal out under your own name?"

"No.  I don’t know.  Maybe.  Bloody hell, Ethan, you’re not being fair."

"Six year old in the room," Jill piped up from the dining table, which she and Jake had commandeered with stacks of coloring books and a box of crayons.  Jill may have been interested in artistic pursuits, but Jake’s attention was riveted on Duncan and Ethan.

I sat down on the couch next to Brie, who had a book open in her lap that she obviously wasn’t reading.  "What are they fighting about?" I whispered.

"Ethan won’t take Duncan to the Arctic."

"Why not?" I asked, but she shushed me so she could listen in.

"Jill, will you talk to him?" Duncan pleaded.  "He’s not making sense."

Jill shook her head.  "Sorry, Duncan, I’m Switzerland."

Duncan threw up his one good arm.  "Ethan, be practical.  You need a second person to tag, and you’ll never be able to find a replacement in one day."

"That’s my problem, not yours," Ethan said, as he crossed through the living room on his way back to the office.

When he walked past us, Brie called out, "What about Sydney?"

We all stared at her but Duncan and I were the only ones with our mouths hanging open.

"Obviously she’s not as good as Duncan," Brie continued, speaking directly to Ethan as if I wasn’t sitting right next to her, "but she’s not completely useless.  She could take notes, carry equipment, you could probably even teach her to tag."  That was when Brie finally acknowledged my presence on the couch. "Weren’t you on the archery team?"

"Sixteen years ago."  I knew she wanted to keep me and Duncan apart but I never thought she’d go this far.

Brie shrugged.  "It was just a suggestion."

Thankfully Ethan usually ignored Brie, and this time was no different.  He merely shook his head and continued to the office with Duncan at his heels.  They shut the door this time but we could still hear their muffled voices.  Brie and I both strained to listen as Duncan vacillated between rational discourse and hysteria, but the only thing that seemed to upset Ethan was the fact that he couldn’t get a signal on Jill’s satellite phone.

Then the door burst open, and Ethan stormed out.  "Sydney, where’s your phone?"

"In my tent.  Why?"

"I need to borrow it."  He’d already donned his jacket.  "I assume that’s not a problem."

"No, no problem."

When I stood up he said, "You don’t need to come.  Just tell me where to find it."

I was going to anyway since I didn’t want him pawing through my belongings, but then a thunderbolt cracked overhead and the sky outside the window flashed white.  "It’s on the floor next to my sleeping bag," I said as I sat back down.

Ethan zipped up his raincoat and dashed out the door.

"Thanks a lot," Duncan said, before he followed him out.

I didn’t know if that remark was intended for Brie or for me, but I wasn’t fooled by her innocent façade.  "How many times do I have to tell you, I am not interested in Duncan."

"I know," she replied without looking up from her book.

"Then why are you trying so hard to get rid of me?  What the hell did I ever do to you?"

"Language please," Jill called from the dining room table.

"Sydney, has it ever occurred to you that maybe not everything is about you?"

If she thought I was self-centered, I couldn’t wait for her to meet Blake.  And he was the least narcissistic of my clients.  "How is trying to get me kicked off the island not about me?"

Jill finally stopped coloring.  "Sydney, no one’s kicking you off the island.  Brie just suggested you help Duncan out."

"Duncan doesn’t want my help."

Brie slammed her book shut and tossed it on the coffee table.  "Sydney, he’s been working on this project for almost three years.  It’s the reason he took the fellowship with Ethan.  Of course he’s not happy about being left behind.  But he’d be more unhappy if the program was cancelled."   She didn’t say "because of you," but I could sense the accusation.

"I’m sorry, but the answer’s no.  Blake’s going to be here in less than three weeks, and I still don’t have a script."

"You can write on the ship," Jill said.  "I’m sure Ethan would help you."

"What ship?"  I immediately started imagining a decked out ocean liner, even though I knew that couldn’t be right.

Jill smiled.  "I wouldn’t call it luxurious, but I can guarantee you it’ll have electricity and indoor plumbing."

Tempting, but "Forget it."

"You love electricity," Brie said.

"Everyone loves electricity.  That doesn’t mean I’m willing to spend a week trapped on a boat with Ethan just to get it."  I’d learned to live without a hair dryer.  With the constant wind and rain it wouldn’t have helped much anyway.

"It won’t be just Ethan," Brie said.  "They’ll be other scientists there too.  This is actually an amazing opportunity for you."

She must really think I’m an idiot.  "Well, if it’s such an amazing opportunity then why aren’t you going?"

"I can’t," Brie said, her enthusiasm wavering.

"Why not?"

"You know why," she said testily.  "Or have you forgotten the eighth grade class trip?"

I had forgotten.  Or I’d forgotten until she reminded me.  I now vividly remembered the sights and sounds of her and Michelle Sweetzer puking their guts up over the side of our Lake Michigan tour boat.  I closed my eyes, trying to shake the memory, which was now making me nauseous too.  "Well, how do you know I won’t get seasick?"

"Did you have to take three Dramamine just to get out here?" she asked.

"No," I answered honestly.

"Then you’re in better shape than me."

We continued the discussion, Jill and Brie pointing out the pros—what a great opportunity it was, how I’d be helping both Duncan and the walruses, all the modern conveniences available on the ship—and me pointing out the cons—I still had a day job I had to do in addition to writing a script, plus I’d be stuck with Ethan for a week—until the pair returned.

"Thanks," Ethan said, as he tossed me my sat phone.  "And someone named Blake said to tell you he called."

"Blake McKinley?"

"I don’t know," Ethan said, shaking the rain off his jacket.  "How many Blakes do you know?"

"What did he say?  Is he okay?  Does he want me to call him back?"  I checked my watch and calculated the time difference.  It was five o’clock in the morning in Australia, an unlikely hour for him to be awake.

"I don’t know, Sydney, he didn’t confide in me."

"You’re useless," I muttered as I grabbed my jacket from the peg by the door and ran outside.  By the time I finished leaving a long and rambling message on Blake’s voicemail, I was thoroughly soaked.

The storm raged through the night.  By morning the thunder and lightning had subsided, but the rain continued to pour down.  I dozed a little later than usual, hoping to miss Ethan’s big goodbye.  I figured by the time I trudged up the hill, the cabin would be empty.  Instead I found the house full.  Jill and Jake were sitting on the floor playing Chutes and Ladders, Brie was whisking eggs in the kitchen, and Duncan, Sean, and Tony were crowded around the dining table.

"Rummy?" Sean asked, shuffling a deck of cards.  By the state of his and Tony’s plates, it appeared they’d already eaten.  Duncan’s place was clear and his expression was glum.

"Maybe later," I said, "I’ve got some work to do."

Sean nodded, and dealt a hand to Tony instead.

"I don’t suppose anyone has changed their mind about wanting to write a screenplay?"  I looked around the table, but no one volunteered.  "How about if I throw in two tickets to the world premiere of Blake McKinley’s next movie?"  Tony smiled sympathetically, but he didn’t take the bait.  "Then can one of you please explain to me exactly how global warming has turned the walruses into an endangered species?"

"I left you a couple of articles," Duncan said, looking up at me.  "They’re in the office."

"Thanks.  I really am sorry about all this."  And I was.  I just wasn’t willing to sacrifice myself for the cause.

He shrugged and looked away.

"How’s your knee?" Brie asked as I joined her in the kitchen.

"Fine," I said cautiously, unsure of her motivation.  I didn’t think she really cared how I felt.  "It’s a little sore, but it’ll be fine."

"Good."  She smiled at me, then poured the eggs into the frying pan, and dumped a handful of last night’s leftover sausages on top.  "You want an omelet?"

Now I was certain she wanted something.  She was being way too nice.  "No thanks."

"You sure?  It’s no trouble.  I’m already making one for me and Duncan."

"I’m sure," I said, and reached for a cereal bowl as I waited for her to reveal her true motivation.

By the time I finished measuring out exactly two ounces of raisin bran, adding the milk, and pouring myself coffee, she was scooping the omelet onto a plate and cutting it in half.  I followed her to the table.  She took the empty seat next to Duncan, and I pulled out a chair at the opposite end.

"I think Duncan has something he wants to tell you," Brie said, before I’d even taken my first bite.

"Brie!" he yelled, but she widened her eyes and feigned innocence.  I turned to Sean and Tony, but they took that as their cue to leave.  After a few seconds, Duncan sighed and turned to me.  "Brie thinks you should take my place with Ethan and so do I."

I nearly choked on my cereal.  When I stopped coughing, I managed to squeak out, "But he already left."

Duncan shook his head.  "He can’t get out.  Not until the storm passes."

"I thought you were meeting a ship?"

"We are, or he is," Duncan said.  "It’s a charter.  They’ll wait."

I didn’t know how to respond.  Duncan’s request hadn’t changed anything, at least not for me.  I told him I’d think about it, then dumped my cereal bowl in the sink, and headed to the office.

At least I wasn’t surprised when I found Ethan sitting at Jill’s desk.  He glanced at me when I walked in, but didn’t speak, and neither did I.  He continued to ignore me as I moved my sat phone along the windowsill searching for a signal, and only looked up once when I dialed into my voicemail.  I had two messages, but neither was from Blake.  I bent down next to Jill’s desk to plug the phone into her charger when Ethan said, "May I?"

I handed him the phone but told him, "It’s down to one bar, so you’ll have to be quick."

I tried not to listen to his side of the call, but it was hard not to since he was standing three feet away from me.  Ethan told the person on the other end that the weather service was forecasting the storm would clear out by the end of the day, so if he could rebook his flights and get a boat early the next morning, they’d only be one day behind.  The search for Duncan’s replacement didn’t appear to be going quite as well.  Then the phone beeped twice and Ethan said, "Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out," before he handed it back to me.

I was trying to concentrate on the article Duncan had left for me when Ethan swiveled his chair in my direction.  "Were you really on the archery team in high school?"

"Junior high," I replied.  "And I haven’t shot an arrow since."

Chapter 28

I spent the rest of the morning trying to ignore Ethan and write the screenplay.  Ignoring him got much easier after he went back to his tent, but the writing part never did.  Jill poked her head in once, ostensibly to ask me if I had any preference for lunch, but really to badger me.

"You may not have realized it, but if you go with Ethan, you’ll have to fly through Anchorage."

"So?" I’d flown through Anchorage on the way up.  It was like every other metropolitan airport, except the gift shop sold toy polar bears and moose hats in addition to the requisite t-shirts, candy, and magazines.

"Anchorage is a major city," Jill continued.  "Hotels, restaurants, laundromats.  I imagine a resourceful girl like you could even locate a high speed internet connection without too much trouble."

She certainly knew my weak spots.  "All that would be great if it didn’t require me to spend a week trapped on a boat with Ethan.  Besides, I’ve still got this stupid script to write."

"How’s it coming?" she asked, peering over my shoulder.

"It’s coming," I said, minimizing the screen.  I didn’t want her to see that after almost three hours I’d only managed to write two lines, one of which was stage direction.

"Sydney, I’m sure if you asked Ethan he would be happy to help you.  He wants this documentary to succeed as much as you do."

I doubted that.  Besides, Ethan would never help me without expecting something in return.

After lunch, which consisted of saltine crackers and chicken soup from a can, I returned to the office to work on the script.  Jill periodically stuck her head in to remind me indoor plumbing and high speed internet access were merely a boat ride away, but I held firm.  I’d already survived five days without them.  I could hang on another few weeks.

Ethan was craftier.

"What are you working on?" he asked, joining me again later that afternoon.  It was Sean’s and Tony’s turn to cook dinner, and I could already smell the garlic simmering on the stove, distracting me from my task.  Not that it took much to distract me.  I’d managed to waste two hours just reorganizing my computer files, which suddenly seemed like an urgent task.

"Nothing," I said, minimizing my laptop screen.

Ethan sat down at Jill’s desk but spun his chair around to face me.  "I’ve been giving some thought to bringing you on this trip."

"Oh?"  Jill was already playing good cop.  He must be bad.

"I admit I wasn’t initially enthused."

"That makes two of us."

"But I’ve changed my mind," he said, and leaned back with his arms folded across his chest as if that was the end of the conversation.

"Well, I haven’t.  I’m a little busy here, so if you wouldn’t mind."  I turned back to my computer and opened the script file.  I promised myself I’d write two full pages before dinner, and I hadn’t even finished the first yet.

"I would think you’d feel obligated seeing as you’re responsible for this mess."

"How do you figure that?"

He wasn’t smiling, but I could tell he wanted to.  His eyes were crinkling in the corners.  "Duncan never would’ve dislocated his shoulder if it wasn’t for you."

I did feel a bit guilty about that, even though it wasn’t my fault.  "You can’t pin this on me.  It’s not like I pushed him down the steps."

"Maybe not," he said, "but he never would’ve been on the steps if he wasn’t trying to help you."

"So you’re saying if it wasn’t for me, none of this would’ve happened?"

"Exactly."  Then he leaned back in his chair and smiled as if he’d won.

"First," I said, holding up my thumb, "I was only there because of Jake.  Second," I added my index finger, "I only fell because the stairs were wet.  Third," I punctuated with my middle finger, "I didn’t ask Duncan to follow us.  In fact, I would’ve preferred if he hadn’t.  Finally," I said, giving up on fingers and adding my whole hand, "it’s not my fault he tripped over my light saber.  Jill’s the one who made it.  If you need to blame someone, then blame her."  Rant finished, I turned back to my computer screen.

"What if I make it worth your while?"

I stopped skimming my three-quarters of a page.  "What do you possibly think you could offer me that I would want?"

He stood up and peered over my shoulder.  "Is that your script?  It looks like you haven’t gotten very far."

I quickly minimized the screen again.  "What’s your point, Ethan?"

"I think we can help each other."

"How?  Have you been secretly writing a screenplay about walruses in your spare time?"

"No, but I’ve participated in several documentaries, and I can tell you the one thing they all have in common is interviews with experts."

"You’re offering to submit to an interview, something you should do anyway since it’s to help the walruses, supposedly your life’s work, if I agree to be your slave for a week?"

He smiled again.  "That’s not how I would characterize it."

"Accurate though it may be."

"Except you won’t be my slave.  I pay Duncan.  Since he won’t be there, I can dock him for the week and pay you instead."

"That’s okay, I have a job."  Hopefully I still would by the time I got back to L.A.

"I can also offer you an opportunity to get amazing footage of walruses in their natural habitat.  That’s another thing common to all wildlife documentaries, in case you didn’t know."

"Thanks, but we’ve got plenty of walruses around here if you hadn’t noticed.  Or did you think I came for the charming company?"

"They’re all bulls.  As you’ve pointed out more than once, their behavior can be off-putting."

"I know you probably don’t get out much, but smell-o-vision died in the sixties.  I think our audience is safe."

"Aah, but nothing tugs at the heartstrings like cute pups."

I had to admit that was true.

"Wilde Island is scenic," he continued, "but it’s nothing compared to the Arctic.  Plus you’d get to see polar bears too."

"Really?"

"Practically guaranteed.  The walrus is one of the polar bear’s favorite prey."

I was just starting to get excited when I realized how he’d manipulated me.  "Nice try, Ethan, but none of it will do me any good since our cameraman won’t be there."

"You don’t need a cameraman.  All you need is a camcorder."

"Well, I don’t have one of those either."

Ethan leaned over and grabbed Jill’s video camera off the top of the bookshelf.  "I’m sure Jill would let you borrow hers."

I was sure she would too.  That still didn’t mean I wanted to spend a week trapped on a boat with Ethan.

Dinner was a tense affair.  Ethan drank the last beer, Duncan pouted over his lost Arctic expedition, Tony and Sean must’ve had a fight since they were barely speaking to each other, Jake was whining about being stuck in the cabin all day, and even Brie was acting peevish, which made no sense since Duncan would no longer be leaving.

After dinner, instead of poker or Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit, the group dispersed.  Jill went up to the loft with Jake, Brie lay on the couch with her book, and the guys all went back to their tents.  The only bright spot was when I checked my voicemail I found a message from Blake.

"Hey Babe, it’s me.  I’m surprised you got the message.  That guy who answered your phone was a real jerk.  I’ll be around for the next ten minutes or so.   After that I’m in make-up then on the set.  I checked my e-mail again, but still no script.  I really need you to get on this, Babe.  Ciao."

I listened to it twice more just to hear his voice again, then I read over my one-page screenplay.  Who was I kidding?  Even if I could manage to eke out nine more pages, they would suck as bad as this one did.  For this documentary to even have a shot at succeeding, I’d have to ask Ethan for help.  I knew it, and the worst part was that he knew it too.

Chapter 29

"Pack a bag," Ethan said.  "Just one.  We’re leaving in the morning."

This was the first time I’d been inside his and Duncan’s tent.  It was much homier than mine.  They actually had cots to sleep on and a small fold-out table with a lantern.

"What should I bring?" I asked, as I sat on the edge of what I presumed was Duncan’s bed since Ethan was lying on the other one.

He folded his copy of Aquatic Mammals magazine down onto his chest and pushed his reading glasses up to the top of his head.  His blue eyes appeared much darker in the amber glow.  "I think you can safely leave your evening gown behind."

"I meant what’s the weather like?"

"It’s the Arctic, Sydney.  Take a guess."

"Well, the way you people go on about global warming I thought maybe I’d need a bathing suit."

His smirk dissolved into a genuine grin.  "In a few years perhaps, but in the meantime you’ll need a warm jacket and lots of layers.  The temperature will be close to freezing, but there shouldn’t be much rain."

"Thanks," I said and stood up to leave.

I’d just unzipped the tent flap when his voice stopped me.  "And, Sydney."

I turned around.

"I knew you’d come."

I flipped him my middle finger before I stepped out into the night.

When Ethan stuck his head in my tent eight hours later, I was already awake.  I’d spent most of the night rolling around in my sleeping bag wondering if it was possible to spend a week working side by side with him without killing him.  I doubted it, although somehow Duncan managed.  Maybe he could give me some pointers.

When I arrived at the cabin, Jake was playing with his Legos and Jill was cooking breakfast.

"Walnut pancakes?" she asked, pouring batter into the frying pan.

"Sure.  What’s the occasion?"  It had been cereal or oatmeal for her and Jake since the day I’d arrived.

"No occasion.  I just wanted to send you off with a nice breakfast."

No need to ask whether she’d talked to Ethan.  He’d obviously come and gone.

"Mom, I want to go to the Arctic too," Jake said, sitting down next to me at the table.

"When you’re older, honey."

"How old?"

"Mmm, eighteen."

Jake started counting from six on his fingers.

"Twelve more years," I said when he was only up to nine.

"I’ll be old by then!"

"Jakie, Sydney and Ethan are going to shoot lots of video, so it’ll be just like you were there with them."

"Do you promise?" Jake asked me.

"I promise.  And if you promise to be good while I’m gone, I might even bring you back a present."

His eyes widened.  "What kind of present?"

"I don’t know.  What kind do you want?"

"A polar bear.  A big one with lots of teeth."  Then he growled at me with his arms overhead.

I had to laugh.  "I don’t think they allow polar bears on the plane, but I’ll see what I can do."

After breakfast I went back to my tent to cram four suitcases worth of stuff into one.  Jill told me I wouldn’t need my sleeping bag on the boat, so that eliminated the duffel, and she assured me I’d have access to a washer and dryer, which meant I’d only need a week’s worth of clothes.  That narrowed it down to two suitcases, but that was still one too many.

I finally pulled out my long wool coat (I’d get by with just a ski jacket), all of my shoes except for my sneakers and a pair of black flats, and half my pants and sweaters.  I managed to stuff what was left into my largest bag.  I had just zipped it shut when Jill and Jake arrived.

"The boat should be here in ten minutes," Jill said, carrying Captain Bailey’s galoshes in one hand and her video camera in the other.  I was glad she’d remembered since I’d already forgotten them both.

With Jill holding one end of my suitcase, me the other, and Jake tugging on the handle at the side, the three of us carried my bag to the trail, where I was able to wheel it again.  When we reached the staircase to the boat cove, we found Ethan seated on the top step.

"It’s still a couple miles out," he said, pointing to a speck on the water off in the distance.  Then he turned around.  "I said one small bag."

"You never said small."

"Well, I definitely said one."

"I’ve only got one."

"I see three," he said, and nodded at my briefcase and purse.

"These don’t count.  One’s my carry-on and the other’s my personal item."

He shook his head, picked up his one bag, an oversized backpack, and started down the four flights of steps.  Jill, Jake, and I waited at the top of the staircase until we saw Captain Bailey’s boat enter the cove.

I began dragging my suitcase down the stairs like I usually do when an escalator isn’t available, but Jill stopped me.  She claimed all the noise was disturbing the walruses, even though only one or two of them even bothered to look up.  So we tried it her way instead—we each took an end and lumbered down the stairs with the bag between us.  Admittedly her method was quieter, but much slower and more cumbersome too.

When we reached the first landing, Jill set the suitcase down and called out to Ethan.  "Are you going to come up here and help us or not?"

"I thought she’s supposed to be helping me," he shouted back.

Jill just glared at him until he jogged back up the stairs and grabbed my bag.  "What have you got in here, rocks?"

"My bowling ball.  I never leave home without it."

I was expecting an argument, or at least a sarcastic response, but instead he laughed and shook his head as he carried my suitcase the rest of the way down the steps.

"See," Jill whispered, as we walked a few paces behind him, "he’s not as bad as you think."

"One kind gesture does not a nice guy make."

Ethan spent most of the two-hour boat ride asleep on one of the benches, but I relished the rare sunny day.  "I didn’t realize the fog was so thick the day you brought me here," I said to Captain Bailey, as I zoomed out with Jill’s video camera to capture the string of volcanic islands only a few miles away.  "I didn’t see any of these."

"That’s because they weren’t there," Captain Bailey said.  "I picked you up in Togiak.  We’re headed to Dillingham."

"Why?  Is it closer?"  I wouldn’t mind skipping the half-mile walk from the airport to the shore.  Although presumably it would be easier today with just one suitcase.

"Not exactly," he said and smirked.

Captain Bailey drove the skiff right up onto the deserted beach.  "The float plane’s on the other side of those trees," he said, as Ethan and I hopped down into the sand.

"Float plane?" I asked.

"It’s perfectly safe," Captain Bailey said, as he handed me my suitcase.  "Just watch out for the bear."

"There’s a bear!"

Ethan calmly asked its location, and Captain Bailey pointed to a dark spot in the trees.

"Got it," Ethan said, then headed toward the lake, making a wide berth around the wooded area off to our left.

"Wait!"  I yelled, as I threw my purse and briefcase over my shoulder and pulled out the handle on my bag.  "You can’t just leave me here with a bear."

"I’m not leaving you," Ethan said, without slowing his pace.  "I expect you to follow."

Have you ever tried to wheel a fifty-pound suitcase across soft sand with bags hanging off both shoulders and mosquitoes buzzing around your head?  I don’t recommend it.  I trekked after him but when the shadow in the woods ventured out into the grassy area separating the forest from the beach and I could actually see the lumbering bear’s huge paws and matted fur, I dropped everything and ran.

"Stop!" Ethan yelled as I flew past him.  I thought he was talking to the bear, who was now up on his hind legs growling.  When Ethan grabbed the collar of my jacket and yanked me back, I realized he was talking to me.  "You need to calm down."

"Calm down?  There’s a fucking bear on the loose!"  He’d stopped growling but was still moving in our direction.

"You surprised him.  Bears don’t like surprises."

"Well, neither do I, but you don’t see me growling at everyone, do you?"

Ethan tried to suppress his smile.  "We’re going to talk very loudly," he said, demonstrating the proper level, "and walk back over to your luggage.  And I do mean walk, not run."

He could walk if he wanted to, I was going to run, and not to my luggage.  As soon as he let go of me, I took off towards the float plane.  I only made it five feet before he caught up with me again.

"What did I just say?"

I assumed the question was rhetorical.

Then he put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me to him, but not in a loving way.  With my body pinned to his side, we slowly walked back to my suitcase and Ethan hovered over me as I bent down to retrieve my briefcase and purse from the sand.

"Look," he said, pointing at the bear, which was now loping back towards the trees.

"Good, let’s make a break for it."

"Don’t even think about it," he said, putting one arm around my shoulder again, while he used his free hand to pick up my suitcase.  "The minute you run he’ll give chase."

"I’m a pretty fast runner when I have to be."  Which was pure conjecture on my part since I’d never actually had to run for my life before.

"Not fast enough to outrun a bear," Ethan said as he slowly guided us to the float plane.

My heart started pounding again as soon as I stepped inside the four-seat cabin.  I waited for Ethan to turn around before I dry swallowed the anti-anxiety pill I keep stashed in my purse for emergencies.  I don’t like to take them, and I rarely do, but I make exceptions for long flights and small planes.

The combination of the pill and the hum of the propellers lulled me into a fitful sleep, so I missed most of the scenery from Nunavachak Lake to Dillingham Airport.  I caught up on my sightseeing on the flight from Dillingham to Anchorage.  It looked just like the picture in the brochures—thousands of feet below us a crystalline river snaked through the verdant hills, dissecting acres of grasslands before disappearing into the trees.  I didn’t see any snow-capped mountains, but Ethan assured me I would as we traveled farther north.

I would’ve been happy to end our journey at the Anchorage Airport, where I spent four glorious hours admiring the city’s skyline from the comfort of a climate-controlled, mosquito-free terminal, while talking on my cell phone and surfing the internet at high speed.  I felt happy, secure, and connected to the world again, which left me completely unprepared for what would come next.

Chapter 30

"This is the Arctic?" I asked, peeling off my jacket as we descended the stairs from the jet.  I had to pull on my sunglasses just to keep the dust out of my eyes.  From the description I’d read of it in the in-flight magazine, I’d envisioned Barrow, Alaska, as a quaint town covered in a layer of pristine snow, surrounded by glacial peaks.  Not miles and miles of flat dusty plains punctuated by nondescript buildings and the occasional satellite dish.

"Barrow’s three hundred miles north of the Arctic Circle," Ethan told me as we crossed the tarmac with the ten other passengers from our plane.  "The northernmost city in the United States."

"Then how come it’s seventy-five degrees out?" I said, pointing to the digital display clinging to the side of the airport’s sole terminal building as it switched from time to temperature.

"I guess you should’ve brought that bathing suit after all."

We waited in the cramped luggage area for twenty minutes before the airline’s customer service supervisor, who also happened to be the ticketing agent, gate attendant, and security screener, admitted that my suitcase wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

"So you lost it?"

"Temporarily misplaced," he said, smiling affably.  "Please fill out this form, and I’ll start a trace."

"How can you lose a bag on a flight with a dozen passengers?"

"This could only happen to you," Ethan said, and walked away from me as if my bad luck might rub off on him.

"You checked it through from Anchorage," the agent said, still keying my information into the computer.  "It probably just missed the connection in Fairbanks."

"Which means?"

"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 startled 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.

I remembered to knock on the bathroom door first, which was a good thing since Patti answered me.  A minute later she opened the door on my side and told me it was free.  It wasn’t until I noticed the bath towels hanging on the back of her and Joe’s door that I realized I didn’t have one of my own.

"You don’t happen to know where I can find a towel, do you?" I asked, sticking my head into their room.  It was the mirror image of mine and Ethan’s, right down to the itchy gray blankets and faded white sheets.

"You didn’t bring one?"

I explained about my lost luggage and the trip to the AC.  "Ethan never told me I needed to buy a towel."

"Maybe he brought an extra," she said, crossing through the bathroom into Ethan’s and my room.  She looked in his closet first, then tried the cabinet under the sink.  "Here," she said, and handed me a dark blue bath sheet.  "There are two in here, so one must be for you."

I wasn’t as confident in that conclusion as she was, but since I didn’t want to drip dry, I chose to believe her.

She crossed back into her own room and pulled three sample–sized bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel out of her bag.  "You can have them," she said, as she piled them onto my towel.  "I always pack more than I need."

I thanked her and smiled, even though I’d bought my own at the AC store.

"Happy to help.  Now did anyone show you how to use the shower?"

I peeked inside.  It had one knob in the center with an "H" to the left and a "C" to the right.  "Don’t I just turn the handle?"

"Yes, but we’re supposed to take sea showers to conserve water.  Do you know what that is?"

I shook my head.  I hoped it didn’t involve washing with sea water because my hair and skin were already dried out from the constant gusting wind.

"Just turn the water on to wet down, then shut it when you soap up, and turn it on again to rinse.  I usually wash my hair while I’m soaping, then rinse all at once.  Same rules apply for the sink."

That would make shaving a challenge.  But since I didn’t have a razor unless I borrowed Ethan’s, it didn’t matter much.  This still beat showering on Wilde Island.  At least on the boat I was indoors.

When I arrived in the galley, it was already empty, so I scarfed down the pancakes Will had left out for me, and carried my second cup of coffee to the lounge.  That was empty too, but I heard voices above me, so I ventured up one more level to the bridge.

I found Patti, Joe, Ethan, and Captain Roberts huddled around one of the computer screens.  Everyone but Ethan said hello.  I apologized again for the false alarm, but Captain Roberts just told me the next time I wandered off in the middle of the night I should let my roommate know.

"So what’s the plan?" I asked, joining them.

"That’s what we’re working on," Joe said, making room for me in front of the screen.  They were studying some sort of satellite image.

"What is this?" I asked, pointing at the bands of color punctuated by clusters of red dots.

"A map.  We’re here," Joe said, and pointed at the area where the yellow blended into the green.  "This is Point Barrow," he added, moving his pen to the uppermost tip of the black blob at the bottom of the screen.

Once I had a reference point, I was able to make out the outline of the northern coast of Alaska.  "What’s all this?" I asked, pointing to the layers of color above.

"This is the Chukchi Sea," he said, circling the large green and blue area on the left side of the image, "and that’s the Beaufort," he added, pointing to the purplish patch on the right.  "The red spots are where we think the walruses are."

"Doesn’t tracking them with a satellite kind of take the sport out of it?"

"Sydney, this isn’t a game," Ethan said.

Clearly he hadn’t accepted my apology.  "I know, Ethan, it was a joke."  Although obviously not a funny one.

The rest of them ignored me, but Joe gave me a sly grin.  It was good to know at least one person on this boat had a sense of humor.

Captain Roberts typed something on the keyboard, and the satellite image was overlaid with a series of numbered grids.  He punched more keys and the red dots stayed, but the oceans turned blue and swirling white clouds covered the screen.

"The highest concentrations are here and here," Captain Roberts said, pointing his meaty finger at the spots with the most red dots, "but I’m concerned about this storm," he said, moving to the large white swirl in the center of the screen.  "I think we should start here," he continued, pointing to grids eight and nine, "then circle back when the storm’s moved south."

Patti, Joe, and Ethan agreed, and Captain Roberts minimized the map.  "We should be at the first site in less than an hour.  If you want to get your gear together, I’ll send one of the crew to help you load it onto the dinghies."

I followed Patti, Joe, and Ethan down the stairs and out onto the deck, but I was immediately sorry I did.  Overnight, yesterday’s balmy seventy-five degrees had dropped to a decidedly colder temperature, aided by an icy wind.

"Don’t we need jackets?" I asked, alternately blowing on my hands and rubbing my arms.  They were jacketless too, but they seemed to be handling the cold better than I was.  Maybe they were wearing more layers underneath their sweaters and khakis.

"You can go back inside," Patti said.  "We can handle it."

"No, I’ll stay."  I’d already made a bad impression with the false alarm.  I wasn’t going to be the only one who couldn’t handle the cold too.

We all followed Patti to a large metal door at the back of the boat.  She pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge.  "They must’ve locked it.  We’ll have to wait for them to bring the key."

It figured the one locked door on the whole ship was outside.

"What kind of equipment is it?" I asked, placing my hands between my thighs and rocking back and forth on my heels.  I’m not sure it increased my core temperature any, but at least it kept my fingers from going numb.

"Go back inside," Ethan said.

They all had their hands in their pockets, and everyone’s nose was red, but I was the only one who was actually shivering.

"Really, Sydney," Patti said, "it’s okay.  I’m about ready to go back too."

"I’m fine," I said, stuffing my hands under my armpits and jogging in place.

Ethan shook his head and walked away.

"I swear to God, Patti, no matter what I do, he’s mad at me.  If I didn’t come out here he’d just be pissed at me for not pulling my weight."

"He’s not mad," she said, following my lead and stuffing her own hands under her arms.  "He’s just concerned.  If something happens to you, he’s responsible."

"What does he think’s going to happen?"

"Sydney, if you’re going to work for him, you’re going to have to learn to let a lot slide."

I stopped jogging.  "I don’t work for him."

"What about the documentary?"

"Didn’t Ethan tell you?  I’m a publicist.  I work for Blake McKinley."

"You’re a publicist?" she said, at the same time Joe asked, "Who’s Blake McKinley?"

Chapter 33

Patti decided we’d waited in the cold long enough.  "We’re going back in," she shouted to Ethan, who was standing at the railing looking out to sea.

"I’ll wait," he replied.

"Suit yourself," she told him, and Joe and I followed her back to the galley.

While we hovered around the coffeemaker waiting for the fresh pot to brew, Patti and Joe peppered me with questions, and I explained to them how a publicist could end up on a scientific research vessel in the middle of the Arctic.

"Who exactly is Blake McKinley?" Joe asked, wrapping his big hands around the steaming mug Patti handed him.

I rattled off the titles of his films, but either they hadn’t seen them or they didn’t remember his part.  It was when I told them that he used to star in a TV show called Bite Me, that they knew exactly who he was.  Or at least Patti did.

"I’m a little surprised you watched that one."  I didn’t want to be rude, but they were both significantly older than the show’s core teenage demographic.

"I didn’t," Patti admitted, "but our niece Kristy loves it.  I bought her the whole series on DVD for Christmas last year.  She’s head over heels for Blake McKinley, much to her mother’s distress."

I understood.  Although the show was aimed at twelve to twenty year olds, many parents assailed it for being too racy, which naturally only made it appeal to teenagers even more.

"There you are," George said, joining us in the galley.  "The equipment’s ready to go.  You three need to suit up."

"Suit up?" I asked.

"Get into your gear," Joe said.  "Ethan probably left yours in your cabin."

Joe was right.  When I returned to the cabin, Ethan had laid out two jumpsuits on my bunk—one thick and fluorescent orange, the other thin and opaque white.  "I’m supposed to wear one of these?"  The orange one was hideous, but at least it looked warm.  The white just reminded me of a hazmat suit without the gas mask.

"Both," he said, "and they’re not optional.  The orange one’s a dry suit.  It’ll keep you alive if you accidentally fall through the ice.  The white one’s to blend in."

"Why do I need to blend in?  Are the walrus police out looking for me?"

"Because the easiest way to tag a walrus is to sneak up on it from behind."

I grabbed the dry suit, my long underwear, and a pair of fleece sweats, and headed into the tiny bathroom.  By the time I pulled on all the layers, I was sweating profusely.  The air outside the ship was frigid, but inside was toasty.

"How am I supposed to move in this—"  I flung open the bathroom door and stared at Ethan.  He was wearing an orange jump suit too, but he’d left the top half unzipped, dangling around his legs.  From the waist up he was naked.

"Sorry," I said, and quickly turned around, although not before I noticed his surprisingly toned upper body, and his flat stomach marred only by a faded C-shaped scar.  While his physique paled in comparison to Blake’s, who had six-pack abs and perfectly formed pecs, I couldn’t deny that Ethan looked good for a man who undoubtedly didn’t spend two hours a day in the gym.

I stood facing Patti’s and Joe’s closed bathroom door until Ethan told me it was safe to turn around.  His jumpsuit was still folded down at his waist, but he’d covered his upper body with a long-sleeved thermal tee.

"Is this supposed to be this loose?" I asked, yanking on the fabric of my dry suit while purposely avoiding his eyes.  He’d seen much more of me at Wilde Island than I’d seen of him today, but I was still embarrassed and could feel my face flush.

"Yes," he said, avoiding eye contact too, "but not at the closure points.  Wait here."

As soon as he left the cabin, I unzipped my jumpsuit and started peeling off the layers.  It was too much trouble to deal with the bottoms, so I just undressed on top.  By the time Ethan returned, I was down to a moisture-wicking T-shirt and a sports bra underneath.

He gazed down at my chest first before settling on my face.  "I’ll tape your seams shut when we get outside," he said, holding up a roll of silver duct tape.  "You ready?"

"I think so," I said, as I pulled my layers back on and grabbed my purse.

"Is that waterproof?"

"You’re kidding, right?"  How could anyone think a Marc Jacobs satchel was waterproof?

"Then leave it behind."

"Ethan, just because I came here doesn’t mean I gave up my day job," I said, pulling my sat phone, wallet, and Blackberry out of my purse.

Ethan sighed, then tossed me a giant plastic bag.  "Use it for anything you don’t want to get wet, because I can guarantee you anything not inside it will be."

When we reached the deck, Joe and Patti were already waiting.  We looked like four giant powdered sugar doughnuts oozing orange cream filling.  George, Mac, and Will were on deck too, but they weren’t wearing these silly suits.  They were dressed in jeans and parkas.

As Patti and Ethan started divvying up the hard-shelled silver cases, I asked Joe what was inside.  "Crossbows," he said, pointing to the two largest boxes.  "The rest are satellite tags and testing equipment."

"That’s how the walruses show up as red dots?  From the satellite tags?"

"No," he said, "those were geothermal maps.  The walruses appear in red because they’re warmer than the ice they’re floating on."

Now I was confused.  "If you already know where they are, then why are we tagging them?"

"To determine how much time they spend in the water versus hauled out on the ice.  The tags are just sensors with mini-transmitters.  They record the air and water temperature, and send the information back to us."

"Wouldn’t it be easier just to watch them for a few days?"  I thought that was the point of counting them every day on Wilde Island.

Joe shook his head.  "Since the walruses spend the majority of their time in the water, it’s impossible to get an accurate visual count even using aerial photography.  But with the data from the tags, we’ll be able to extrapolate how much time they spend in the water versus hauled out on the ice to estimate their true population size."

"And that’s important because?"

But the crew had finished loading the equipment into the dinghies and George directed us to climb in.  Patti lowered herself down first and I grabbed the ladder next, but Ethan stopped me.  "No, you’re on my boat."

I followed him to the other side of the deck where Mac was waiting for us in a second dinghy.  I assumed we’d be following Joe and Patti’s boat, but Mac steered us in the opposite direction.  Ethan explained that we’d be tagging in separate locations "to increase data diversity."

I hadn’t even settled into my seat yet when he tossed me a tube of sunscreen.

"Is this really necessary?"  I didn’t expect to tan in the Arctic even on sunny days, but definitely not when the sky was a solid mass of white clouds.

"Not if you don’t mind second-degree burns from the glare."

While I was lathering my face with sunscreen, Ethan was unlatching the cases.  "Have you ever used one of these?" he asked, as he pulled out what looked like a sawed-off shotgun with an arrow attached to the top.

I shook my head.  "No, we only had the low tech kind in junior high."

"This’ll be easier," he said, pulling a small crank out of the case and attaching it to the side of the crossbow.  As he spun the handle, a wire on top of the barrel moved farther and farther back, until it formed a triangle above the trigger of the gun.  "Give it a try," he said, handing it to me.

It was a lot heavier than a standard bow and arrow, but easier to keep steady.  I focused on a chunk of ice floating off in the distance and pulled the empty trigger.  I wasn’t prepared for the recoil, which almost knocked me on my ass.  I’d definitely have a bruise, even with the five layers of clothing between my body and the butt of the gun.  I finally understood why Ethan refused to bring Duncan.  There was no way someone with a dislocated shoulder could shoot a crossbow, even if he didn’t have his arm in a sling.

"If you relax your muscles, you won’t feel the kick back so much."

I doubted that, but I cranked the bow back into place and squeezed the trigger again.  "Ow!" I yelled, as the gun smashed into my shoulder a second time.

"You’re too stiff."

"Well, if you’re such an expert why don’t you shoot?"

"I’m going to," he said, then reached his arms around me and positioned the crossbow in the crook between my arm and my chest.

I turned around to ask why he needed me if he was going to shoot the walruses himself, but our faces were so close, I could feel his breath on my cheek and I quickly snapped my head back.

"Now relax your shoulders," he said directly into my ear, and I started to get that tingle again.  I took a deep breath and closed my eyes so I could concentrate on replacing the image in my head of a shirtless Ethan with one of a shirtless Blake.  It didn’t make me any less tingly, but at least my feelings were directed at the right man.

With the image of Blake firmly in my mind, I opened my eyes and elbowed Ethan hard in the ribs.  "Get off me.  I can’t shoot with you hovering."

Ethan moved back, and I let go of my fantasy to focus on what I was doing.  I forced my shoulders down, then lined up the sights and squeezed the trigger.  I still felt the butt of the gun recoil against me, but it hurt less this time.

While I practiced firing, Ethan pulled out a second crossbow.

"I don’t understand," I said, setting down my weapon.  "If you’re going to shoot them yourself, then why do you need me?"

"Because we’re shooting different things."

"You mean I’m not going to shoot the walruses?"  I thought that was why I was there.

He sighed and set down his crossbow too.  "Sydney, what do you think happens when you shoot a walrus?"

"I have no idea."

"Guess."

"It runs away.  Or swims away."  I hoped attacking the shooter wasn’t an option.

"Exactly.  So once I tag it with the transmitter we only have a few seconds for you to get a tissue sample before the walrus dives down."

"And how exactly am I supposed to get this tissue sample?"

"Don’t worry," he said, "it won’t require you to get your hands dirty.  I doubt you’ll even break a nail."

Mac slowed the engine as he pulled the dinghy alongside a large mass of floating ice.  I didn’t need my binoculars.  I could tell from the awful smell that those pink and brown lumps fifty yards upwind were a herd of walruses.

"I don’t think I can shoot them from this far away," I said, joining Ethan at the front of the dinghy.

"You’re not going to," he said, as Mac cut the engine.

"So what’s the plan?  We sit on the boat and hope they get curious and swim over?"

"No, we’re going to them."

I turned to Mac, who was now leaning back in the captain’s chair with his feet up on the console.  "If we’re going to them, then how come Mac looks like he’s ready for a nap?"

I could tell by the set of his jaw that Ethan was getting annoyed with me again, but he managed to keep his voice steady.  "We can’t go by boat.  The noise will scare them off.  We have to get out on the ice and approach them from behind."

"Isn’t that dangerous?"

"That’s why you’re wearing the dry suit."

That’s also when I started to panic.  "Ethan, you’re the one who told me I wouldn’t last five minutes in this water."

"That was without the dry suit," he said.  "With it, you could survive maybe half an hour."

"Gee, that makes me feel so much better."

He lifted his binoculars and focused on the walruses.  "Don’t worry, I’ll pull you out long before then."

"Ethan, I’m serious."

"So am I."

Yes, I agreed to go to the Arctic and shoot arrows at giant smelly walruses with very sharp tusks.  But I didn’t sign up for drowning in icy waters.  "Tell me the truth," I said, turning to Mac.  "Is it really safe?"

"It is if you don’t fall in," he said, then laughed at his own bad joke.

Just what this boat needed, another sarcastic jerk.  "Forget it.  I’m out.  You can take your own damn tissue samples.  I’m staying here."

I left Ethan at the bow while I returned to the back of the boat.  I spotted Jill’s video camera in my plastic bag and pulled it out.  I doubted Guy would want to use anything I shot, but playing with the camera gave me something to do, and it looked like it was going to be a very long week.

I was focusing in on the herd when Ethan stepped in front of me.  "Can you move, please?  I’m recording,"

He reached for the camera, but I pulled it away.  "Sydney, we don’t have time for this."

I stepped around him and refocused.  "Go.  I’m not stopping you."

"You’re acting like a child."

I paused the recorder and looked up.  "Since when is not wanting to drown childish?"

"Do you honestly think I would let you go out on the ice if it wasn’t safe?"

"I don’t know, Ethan, would you?"

From the wounded expression on his face, you’d think I’d shot him with the arrow.  He held my gaze for a long time before he finally said, "You’re not going to drown."

"How do you know?  Are you psychic now too?"

He opened his mouth as if about to speak, then shut it again before cracking a smile.  "I haven’t lost an assistant yet."

"There’s a first time for everything."

"Yes, but not today."

I glowered, but he kept smiling at me until I felt stupid.  "Oh fine, we’ll do it your way.  But if I die, it’s on your head."

"I’ll take my chances," he said, and didn’t even try to hide his self-satisfied grin.

After I secured the camcorder in the plastic bag, Ethan handed me two strange-looking arrows.  One had a silver pincer at the tip with an orange string of dental floss running through the shaft and out the back.  The other was heavier, with a sharp blade that fanned out at the head, and a hockey-puck-sized cylinder with a short antenna sticking out the other end.

"That’s the satellite transmitter," Ethan said, as pulled the roll of duct tape out of his inside pocket and ripped off several strips.  "The rod will fall out, but the transmitter stays embedded in the walrus’s hide," he continued as he taped the dry suit tighter around my ankles, wrists, and neck.  "You’re going to shoot the one with the pincers though."

"What does that do?" I asked, touching the tip of the blade with my finger.  I could feel its sharpness even through two layers of gloves.

"It’ll rip out a slice of the walrus’s hide so we can test it."

Ouch.  "Isn’t that going to hurt?"

"That’s why we only tag the older ones," he said, and donned his sunglasses.  "Their hides are so thick they barely feel it."

I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I didn’t have a choice.  Ethan picked up both crossbows and stepped out onto the ice.  Reluctantly, I followed.

Chapter 34

I thought the ice would be slippery, but it wasn’t.  It crunched under our feet like hard snow.  Good for walking but bad for sneaking up on walruses.

"Get down," Ethan commanded.

I followed his lead and lay flat on my stomach.  I don’t know who Ethan thought he was fooling.  Not the walruses.  They stared right at us.  Even with our white jumpsuits, we still stood out on the ice.

"I think they see us," I whispered.

"Just keep your head down and follow me."

We quickly fell into a routine.  We’d lie flat until the walruses closed their eyes or stopped looking in our direction, then we’d slither toward them on our stomachs as fast as we could.  Inevitably, the ice crunched under us when we moved, and even though their barking and yelping were much louder than our crawling, the walruses always picked up on the noise and at least a few of them turned around.  Once spotted, we’d have to lie still and wait for them to lose interest again before we could move.

"Are you okay?" Ethan whispered, when he caught me trying to bury my face in my jumpsuit.

"Yeah, I just can’t stand the smell."  Windy conditions don’t help much when you’re the one who’s downwind.

"They are pretty ripe."

Which just proved my theory that no one, not even walrus lovers, ever really gets used to the smell.  "How close are we going to get?"  Even without my binoculars, I could clearly see the pointed edges of their tusks.

"It’s not the distance that’s the problem," he whispered, rolling onto his side to face me. "It’s the angle.  If we shoot from here the tag will just bounce off, and a four-thousand-dollar transmitter will end up at the bottom of the Chuchki Sea."  Ethan surveyed the group again before he turned back to me.  "Do you see that big one facing east?"

"Have I not mentioned that my entire sense of direction is based on whether the ocean is on my left or my right?"

He sighed and pointed to two o’clock.  "It’s that way, Magellan."

"I assume you mean the one in the middle acting as if he owns the place."  The cinnamon-colored behemoth dug his tusks into any other walrus that even attempted to climb on top of him.

"We don’t know it’s a he.  That’s why you’re here."

"What do you want me to do?  Start flirting with him and see if he flirts back?"

Ethan laughed.  "As entertaining as I’m sure that would be, I’m afraid it’s not definitive enough for our purposes."

"Well, if you think I’m going to go over there and check under the hood, think again."

"No, that’s what the pincers are for.  C’mon."

In an instant he was on his feet, hunched over and zigzagging across the ice.  He probably ran about fifty feet, but landed only a few yards away.

"What the hell was that supposed to be?"

"Just follow my path," he whispered, "and hurry before he moves again."

I may have almost flunked biology, but I aced geometry.  I knew the shortest distance between two points was a straight line.  I’d only taken two steps forward when I heard the crack.

Ethan spun to face me.  If he was worried, he hid it well.  "Just lie down flat and crawl back," he whispered.

I slid down to my stomach and started inching backward, but a few seconds later I heard another crack and felt the ice give way beneath me.  I froze again, too scared to move.  Ethan didn’t bother with directions this time.  He dropped his binoculars, retraced his circuitous path, grabbed me by the ankles, and yanked me back to where I’d started from.

At first neither one of us spoke, but my heart was pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it too.  Ethan’s presence certainly didn’t calm me.  His jaw and fists were clenched so tight, I thought he might drown me himself.  "It’s not my fault," I finally said.  "I just did what you told me to do."

"No, Sydney," he responded, obviously fighting to keep his voice low, "you did not do what I told you.  If you had, this ice floe wouldn’t be about to split in two."

"Well, how was I supposed to know it would crack?"

Ethan responded by grabbing my arm and spinning me around on my butt.  "Look," he said, pointing to the spot he’d just pulled me from.  "See the difference?"

"Not really."  It was gray-white, just like the rest of the ice.  Although I’d heard it crack and felt it give way underneath me, from this angle it looked like one solid piece.

He ripped my sunglasses from my head.  "Look again."

The glare off the ice was blinding, but I forced myself to squint.  Not only did it appear much whiter without the polarizing shades, but the shadows were more visible too.  I still couldn’t see any cracks, but I did notice the tiny holes on the surface, giving the ice a honeycomb appearance.

"It’s rotten ice," Ethan pronounced.

"Then why the hell didn’t you just tell me that instead of running in circles for no reason?"

"Obviously I had a reason, or—"

We were stunned silent as the ice floe erupted.  A hundred formerly placid walruses suddenly began stampeding into the sea.

"What the—"

"Get back on the boat," Ethan said.

"But I—"

"Now!"  He grabbed my arm and yanked me upright, then took off running.  He stopped just long enough to snatch our equipment, and ran back, narrowly avoiding the rotten ice himself.

Mac heard the commotion and had the engine running even before I made it to the boat.  "What’s going on?" I asked, as he helped me onboard .

"Look," he said and pointed to the ice floe.

Chapter 35

I turned around and caught sight of the enormous polar bear rushing toward the herd.

"Oh my God, is he going to eat them?"

"Not if they get to the water first," Ethan said, as he leapt onto the boat behind me holding the binoculars and both crossbows.

Mac didn’t wait for instructions.  He gunned the engine and got us the hell out of there.

"What are you doing?" Ethan yelled.  "Go back."

"Are you crazy?" Mac said, before I could.  "There’s a polar bear back there."

"Yes, I’m aware of that," Ethan said, while pulling Jill’s video camera out of my plastic bag.  "And I’d like to film the attack while it’s still happening."

I didn’t need binoculars to know that the polar bear had won.  The formerly pristine white ice was now covered with large splotches of red.

"Why is he growling?" I asked, as I turned away from the sight of the massacre.

"He’s probably warning off other bears," Ethan said, zooming in.

"You mean there’s more of them?"

"There could be."

I borrowed Mac’s binoculars to scan the horizon.  I didn’t see any other polar bears, but I did accidentally catch a magnified view of this one as he grabbed the unlucky walrus by the neck.  A flipper came up and swatted the bear in the face.  "Oh my God, he’s still alive!"

"Of course he’s alive," Ethan said, as Mac reached for his binoculars.

"Well, isn’t he going to at least kill him before he eats him?" I turned away before the sight of it made me puke, but Mac seemed as enthralled as Ethan.

"He is," Ethan said, still recording the carnage.  "The bear will keep biting until he dies."

The bear growled again, and I looked up involuntarily.  His muzzle, paws and the front of his coat were covered with walrus blood.  "How can you watch this?" I asked, quickly turning away again.

"Polar bears need to eat too," Mac told me.

"Yeah, but does he have to be so vicious?"  I closed my eyes and tried to replace the image I’d just seen with the cute and cuddly versions I knew.  "Why can’t they be more like they are on TV?  Like on that commercial where they share their Cokes with the penguins."

Ethan finally looked up from the viewfinder.  "Please tell me you’re joking."

"Haven’t you ever seen it?  They run it Christmastime every year."  It was my all time favorite Coke commercial.

Ethan handed Mac the camera and turned around.  "Okay, Sydney, it’s time for a lesson in reality.  Penguins live in Antarctica, that’s the South Pole.  Polar bears live in the Arctic, that’s the North Pole.  You do understand that those are at opposite ends of the earth, right?"

"Yes, Ethan, I’m not an idiot."

"Good.  Then you should know that in the real world, a polar bear and a penguin could never meet."

"What about at the zoo?"  The polar bear enclosures were always near the penguins.

"They’re separated, and for a very good reason.  If a polar bear ever met a penguin he wouldn’t be offering him a soda, he’d eat him."

"You don’t know that."

"Yes, Sydney, I do.  And if you spent a little more time watching the Discovery Channel and a little less time watching Disney movies, you’d know that too."

"Well, I prefer the Disney version.  The animals don’t eat each other, they’re friends."

"Then you must’ve missed The Lion King," Ethan said.

"When did you see The Lion King?"  I couldn’t imagine him spending five minutes in a theater with a bunch of screaming children, or even watching it on DVD.

"More times than I care to remember.  I thought I’d never get that stupid Hakuna Matata song out of my head.  To this day I can’t figure out why on earth my son loved that ridiculous movie."

At first I was speechless, then just incredulous.  "You have a son?"

Chapter 36

The existence of a child is not something a parent normally keeps to himself.  Ethan grabbed the camera from Mac’s hand and started filming again, but I persisted.  I wanted to know why he’d never mentioned his son before today.  No matter how many times I asked, he ignored the question.

"C’mon, Ethan, what’s the big secret?  Is he one of those nerdy kids who gets beat up on the playground at recess?"  I was about to tell him that in elementary school I was routinely picked last for every sports team, which was how I’d ended up in archery, when it occurred to me, "You didn’t walk out on him, did you?"

"Of course not," he replied, "on both counts," but his gaze never left the ice floe.

I finally grabbed the camera from his hand so he was forced to look at me.  "Then what?"

In a voice devoid of all emotion he said, "He’s dead."

Yet another time I wished I’d kept my big mouth shut.  "I’m so sorry, Ethan.  I didn’t know."

"Don’t apologize," he roared, and grabbed the camera from my hand.

His anger was so palpable I took a step back, and even Mac set down his binoculars.  "I’m sorry," I said, but quickly realized my mistake.  "I mean, I’m not sorry.  I mean, why am I not allowed to be sorry?"

He turned back to the polar bear and spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear him.  "Because you’re not the one who killed him."

I stayed quiet after that, as did Mac, and Ethan too.  I had a million questions, but asked none of them.  I couldn’t even imagine having a child, let alone losing one.  But the silence was oppressive.  For a long time, the only sounds we heard were the waves as they slapped against the boat’s pontoons and the polar bear’s grunts while he devoured his prey.

"It’s getting late," Ethan finally said, turning off the camera.  "We should try to tag at least one walrus before we go back."

"Whatever you want," Mac replied, and started the engine.

It didn’t take long before Mac found us a small herd hauled out on a tiny patch of ice.

"Can you hit one from here?" Ethan asked, as we studied them from the bow.

"You want to shoot from the boat?" I said, confused by the sudden change in strategy.

"We only approach from the ice when we have to," he said.  "My preference is always to shoot from the boat."

After the rotten ice and the polar bear scare, that was my preference too.  "I think so."  With the boat rocking, it was harder to keep steady, but my target was as big as a door.

Ethan inserted the pincer arrow into my crossbow before loading the transmitter arrow into his.  Then he kneeled down at the side of the boat with his forearms resting on the edge.  "Just make sure you don’t nick the pontoons," he said, as I followed his lead.

Duh.  Did he think I was an idiot?  I decided not to ask.

We lined up our sights and Ethan chose our target—a particularly blubbery one with a broken tusk.  Then he counted us down from three.

Our arrows whistled across the water and seconds later the ice floe erupted into chaos as all twenty-six walruses tried to scramble into the sea at once.

I scanned the horizon for more of the vicious white predators I no longer thought were so cute. "I don’t see any polar bears, do you?"

"They’re reacting to us."  Ethan replied.

"I thought you said they couldn’t feel it."  I knew he was lying.

"It’s like a pin prick," he said, reeling in my orange fishing line.  "They might feel it, but it doesn’t hurt."  When my arrow tip was near, he reached over the side of the boat and pulled it from the water.  But when he popped open the silver jaws and shook the contents into a small plastic cup, only a few drops of water dribbled out.

His sigh told me that’s not what was supposed to happen.  "What does that mean?"

"It means you missed," he said, then walked to the back of the boat.

I considered following him but decided we’d both be better off if I didn’t.

Joe, Patti, and George beat us back to the ship.  The three of them were halfway through their lunch when Mac, Ethan, and I joined them in the galley.  It was a tight squeeze at the U-shaped table, but we all fit.  I just made sure I sat on the end and as far away from Ethan as possible.

"How did it go?" Patti asked, looking from Ethan’s sullen face to mine.

"Fine," I said when he didn’t answer.

"Did you tag any walruses?"

I glanced over at Ethan, but he ignored me as he shoved a forkful of chicken Caesar salad into his mouth. "Just one," I replied.  "But we saw a polar bear attack, and Ethan got the whole thing on tape."

The three of them immediately began peppering him with questions, and those he couldn’t ignore.

After we finished eating, everyone but me huddled around the camera’s viewfinder to watch the video playback.  I still didn’t understand how people who were working to protect walruses could be so gleeful at the sight of one being viciously torn apart.

"This is one animal eating another to survive," Ethan shot back when I pointed out the dichotomy.  "Not one animal destroying another’s habitat so it can drive a bigger SUV."

I was in no mood for a lecture on the evils of modern society, so I left them to their bloodlust and ventured outside.  Even the bright spot in the clouds that I’d assumed hid the sun had disappeared.  The sky was now a solid wall of gray seeping down into a black sea.  The gloomy weather was even more depressing than hanging around with Ethan.  I decided to head back inside when Ethan stepped out onto the deck.

"What’s that?" I asked, pointing to the purple plastic crossbow in his hand.

"Target practice," he said, handing it to me along with a handful of yellow arrows with suction cups for tips.

"You’re joking, right?"

"You don’t think you need it?"

I couldn’t deny that I did.  "Where did you even get this thing?" I asked, examining the toy gun.  It was half the size and weight of a real crossbow, but it still wouldn’t have fit inside Ethan’s bag.

"Patti," he replied.  "Apparently Joe’s almost as bad a shot as you are."  Then he pulled a black marker out of his pocket and drew an unrecognizable blob on the side of the ship.

"Is that supposed to be a walrus?"  He hadn’t even gotten the shape right.

"Use your imagination.  Anywhere on the backside is fine, just stay away from the head."  Then he walked me halfway down the deck and pushed me down on one knee.  "When you’ve made three in a row, come and get me."

"Where are you going to be?"

"Taking a nap."

I didn’t have to practice for long.  Of course, it’s a lot easier to hit a target when it’s not moving.

An hour later we were out on the water again.  It was the same drill as before, except this time when Ethan popped open my pincers, a hunk of gray walrus hide fell out.  He added a few drops of clear liquid with an eyedropper, and within seconds the water in the container turned blue.

"Congratulations."  He smiled.  "You just tagged your first bull."

I felt like I should be passing out cigars.  "What now?" I beamed.

"Now we do it again."  He turned to Mac, who nodded and started the engine.

"That’s it?  We just shoot them and move on?"  After all the buildup, it felt a bit anti-climactic.

"I guess tagging walruses in the Arctic can’t compare to the excitement of yakking on the phone all day."

It did seem absurd when he said it.

As Mac piloted us to the next herd, we entered what looked like a floating asteroid field.  Our dinghy was suddenly surrounded by plates of ice that ranged in size from just a few inches to ten feet in diameter.  Yet despite the difference in size, every one of them had a translucent center ringed by a ridge of opaque white.

"Pancake ice," Ethan said, as I marveled at the unearthly vision.  "The wind and the waves cause the particles of slush that float on the surface to collide with each other.   The crystals bond and form these pads of ice."

"Can you walk on them?"

"Some of the thicker ones maybe, but I wouldn’t recommend it."

I didn’t intend to, although they beckoned like a path across the sea.  The sight was so bizarre, I pulled out Jill’s video camera and started shooting.  It didn’t take me long to realize how boring it would be to watch nothing but pads of floating ice, so I turned the camera on Ethan.  "Explain again why we’re tagging the walruses."

He responded with a sigh.

"C’mon, Ethan, I’ve kept up my end of the bargain, you need to keep up yours."

"I suppose," he said, and leaned back against the side of the boat.  "What do you want to know?"

What I really wanted to know was how his son died and what happened to his ex-wife, but I said, "Let’s start with the purpose of the tagging program."

He sighed again but said, "Since the walruses spend so much of their time underwater, it’s impossible to obtain an accurate population count solely from thermal scanners and aerial photography.  That’s why we developed the satellite tags."

"I know that part.  What I meant was why are we counting them?  What’s the purpose?"

Bored Ethan disappeared, replaced by Angry Ethan.  "The ability to accurately track population trends is a crucial requirement for the conservation and protection of any species.  In the case of the Pacific walrus, it’s even more critical because we know their habitat is being destroyed.  So to answer your question, the purpose is to garner irrefutable proof that even the bozos in Washington can’t ignore."

"Proof of what exactly?"

"Proof that the unprecedented retreat of the sea ice is decimating their population."

"And if it is?"

"There’s no if, Sydney.  It’s a fact.  All legitimate scientists agree.  Only the shills for the oil industry claim there’s some dispute.  But we still need empirical data for them to be protected under the Endangered Species Act."

I lowered the camera since this part of the Q&A would surely not be making it into the documentary.  "Ethan, I know you feel really strongly about this.  But honestly, if there were a few less walruses in the world, would it really make that big of a difference?  I mean, it’s not like they do a whole hell of a lot."  From what I’d seen, their day revolved around eating, sleeping, and for the unlucky few, providing a meal for a passing polar bear.

Ethan shook his head again and threw his hands in the air.  "I don’t know why I bother."

"What?  It’s a legitimate question.  Not everyone in the world loves walruses.  In fact, I bet most people would happily sacrifice a few if it meant saving ten cents a gallon on gas."

"Sydney, why don’t you do us all a favor.  When the ship docks in Barrow, take the next flight back to L.A."

"You know I can’t.  We still have to shoot the documentary."

"Forget the documentary.  It’s a lost cause."

"If it’s a lost cause, then why are we even up here?"

"I didn’t say protecting the walruses were a lost cause, just your documentary."

He’d voiced my worst fear and I couldn’t help thinking what if he’s right?  Somehow I managed to keep my voice steady as I asked, "Why would you say that?"

"Because with you at the helm, it’s guaranteed to fail."

Chapter 37

My fear quickly morphed into anger.  I fantasized about throwing Ethan overboard.  Instead I threw Jill’s camera into the plastic bag and strode to the front of the boat.

I didn’t need Ethan’s support, or his approval.  What the hell did he know about producing a documentary?  Less than me, I’d bet.  And he sure as hell knew a lot less than me about promoting one.  He should be thanking me for taking on his stupid cause, not criticizing me because I dared to ask him one simple question.

I stomped back to where he was sitting and said, "You owe me an apology."

He didn’t even set down his binoculars.

"Wouldn’t you agree?" I said, a little louder this time.

"Obviously not," he replied, still scanning the horizon.

"Trust me, you do.  What you said earlier was completely unjustified.  Not to mention downright mean."

He didn’t lower his binoculars, but he did at least turn away from them to glance in my direction.  "And what did I say that you think warrants an apology?"

"That the documentary was guaranteed to fail because of me."  He didn’t deny it.  He just shrugged his shoulders before he turned his attention back to the sea.

I reached down and pulled the binoculars out of his hands, but they were attached to a cord around his neck, so they just slapped against his chest.  "Don’t forget, it wasn’t my idea for me to come here, it was yours.  I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do, including crawling across the ice for two hours waiting for some stupid walrus to show us its backside.  I think I’ve earned a little respect."

"This has nothing to do with respect.  I just don’t think you have any understanding of what we’re trying to accomplish here."

"Well duh!  Why do you think I agreed to come?  It sure as hell wasn’t for your sparkling personality.  I want this documentary to be a success, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes, even if it means spending a week working for you."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?  You think I should want it to fail?"

"No, I mean why are you even making this film?  You obviously know nothing about walruses and clearly have no interest in them, so why do this?"

"Because Blake wanted a cause."

"What?"

"Blake wanted a cause," I said again, but it was clear from Ethan’s expression that further explanation would be necessary.  "Blake McKinley, the actor I work for who’s going to be the voice and face of this documentary, thinks celebrities should use their status to support worthy causes.  He picked the walrus."

"Why?  There are plenty of other causes that are higher profile.  Genocide, world hunger, cancer research—"

"They’re all taken by other celebrities.  Blake likes to be unique."

What started out as a chuckle ended up with Ethan doubled over with laughter.

"I really don’t see what’s so funny."

"I’m sure you don’t," he said, as he leaned back to catch his breath.

"What does it matter why he wants to help," I said, trying to keep my anger in check, "the outcome’s the same.  It raises awareness of the issue, brings in much-needed donations to the Save the Walrus Foundation, and Blake gets to feel like he’s making a positive contribution to the world.  Everybody wins.  What’s wrong with that?"

"What do you get out of it?" he said, suddenly serious again.

"I get to make my client happy and keep my job."

"And?"

"Isn’t that enough?"

He tried to stare me down with those piercing blue eyes but I refused to be cowed.

"I suppose," he finally said.

"Good."  I picked up the camcorder and pointed it at him.  "Now will you please explain," I pressed the pause button, "nicely and in laymen’s terms," I admonished before I hit record again, "the importance of keeping the walrus population steady."

This time he didn’t argue.  "In simplest terms, it’s important because any significant decrease in the walrus population will cause the rest of the ocean ecosystem to suffer too."

"How?"

"They’re interrelated."  He leaned forward and started gesturing with his hands.  "Think of the walrus as a kind of underwater earthworm.   It dives down to the bottom of the ocean to search for clams and other bivalves hiding in the sediment.  It does this by blowing jets of water out its nose, which stirs up the ocean floor.  When a walrus finds a clam it doesn’t eat it whole, it holds it in its jaws and sucks the meat out then discards the shell.  All of this activity—the blowing and sucking and spitting—churns up massive amounts of nutrients, which keeps the rest of the ocean healthy.  Without the walrus’s scavenging, other organisms wouldn’t survive."

I stopped recording and looked up.  "Is that true?"

"Of course it’s true.  Stirring up nutrients is an important function.  What do you think would happen to all the organisms that feed off the plankton if the walrus disappeared?"

"I have no idea."  I didn’t even know what plankton was, although I was envisioning something in the pond scum family.

"They would die, and so would the walrus."

"Wouldn’t that just mean more clams for the rest of us?"

"No, it would mean no clams for the rest of us because the clams feed off the plankton, and the walrus feed off the clams."

"So we’re back to that whole circle of life thing again?"

"Exactly!"

I almost said "Just like The Lion King," but stopped myself in time.

After tagging two more walruses, we returned to the Centaurian.  Ethan went directly to the bridge to talk to Captain Roberts while I headed to the galley for something warm to drink.  Patti had had the same idea and had already brewed a fresh pot of coffee.

"I have a favor to ask," she said, pulling a bag of Oreos out of a cabinet.

"Shoot," I said, while I searched the shelves above the sink for a clean coffee cup.

"Would it be possible for you to send me something autographed by Blake McKinley?  Kristy’s birthday is next month, and I know she would love that."

"Sure."  I had stacks of Blake’s headshots back in L.A.  "I’ll have him write her a personal note."  I’d have to compose it of course, but Blake would sign.

"That’d be great," she said, and set the bag of cookies in the center of the table.

I hadn’t planned on snacking before dinner.  But I hadn’t planned on questioning Patti about Ethan’s son either.  Sometimes fate intervenes.

"Can I ask you something?" I said, as I grabbed a cookie and sat down across from her.

"Of course," she replied, and dunked her Oreo into her cup.

"Do you know what happened to Ethan’s son?"

She froze.  At first the only movement at the table was the coffee dripping from her cookie into her cup.  Finally she looked up and said, "He told you about Marcus?"

"He didn’t mean to.  It sort of slipped out."

I waited while she chewed the wet Oreo and washed it down with a swallow of coffee, then said, "What do you want to know?"

Everything.  But I’d start small.  "How did it happen?"

"An accident.  A tragedy, really."

"Ethan was driving?"

She shook her head.  "Not a car accident."  She grabbed another Oreo from the bag, but this one she didn’t dunk.  She split it open and picked at the cream filling with her finger while she explained.  "Ethan always loved sailing.  He crewed every summer during college and finally bought himself a used sailboat a few years after Marcus was born.  Marcus was very much a daddy’s boy.  If daddy was a sailor, then Marcus wanted to be one too."

"So it was a boating accident?"

Patti nodded.  "They got caught in a squall and the boat capsized.  The Coast Guard found them the next day, but Marcus was already gone."

I shuddered.  I couldn’t even imagine it, nor did I want to.

"It was a long time ago," Patti said, finally looking up at me with moist eyes.  "Marcus was only six when he died."

My stomach clenched and I could feel myself tearing up.  "And his wife?"

She shook her head.  "She wasn’t with them.  Lily always hated the water.  Even more so now.  Joe and I still run into her from time to time."

"And she blamed Ethan for the accident?"  It would be easy to understand.

Patti nodded.  "It didn’t matter though, he blamed himself more.  We all tried to convince him there was nothing he could’ve done to save Marcus, but that’s not an easy concept for a person to accept, especially not one like Ethan."

She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose while I surreptitiously wiped my eyes on the back of my hand.  "So have I satisfied your curiosity?" she asked, when we’d both recovered our composure.

I gave her an embarrassed smile.  I knew how nosy I was being, even for me.  "Just one more question.  Is that how he got the scar on his stomach?"

Her eyebrows shot up.  "Why, I don’t know, Ms. Sydney," she said, deepening her southern accent as she tried to suppress her grin.  "I don’t believe I’ve ever seen that scar.  Where did you say it was again?"

"Never mind!  And it’s not what you’re thinking," I added, before her imagination really took hold.  "I walked in on him when he was getting dressed."

"I wasn’t thinking anything."  But her amused smile told me otherwise.

Chapter 38

I returned to the cabin just long enough to lose the ugly jumpsuits and retrieve my laptop and satellite phone.  I assumed with a window that stretched the length of one wall, I’d be able to latch onto a satellite signal from the lounge.  But no matter where I placed the antenna, the indicator light stubbornly refused to turn green.  After I’d tried every inch of it, I finally accepted that if I wanted internet access, there was only one place to go.

"Isn’t it a little cool for sunbathing?" I asked, as I stepped out onto the deck and discovered Joe lounging in a lawn chair, albeit wrapped in a parka.

"Whale watching," he said, and lifted up the binoculars I hadn’t seen hanging around his neck.

"Where?"  I scanned the horizon, but all I could see was ice.

"They come and go.  You have to be patient."

Patience wasn’t my strong suit, but I could multitask.  "Where’d you get the chair?"

"Storage closet around back."

Joe held my computer and phone for me while I went to retrieve one for myself.  "Nice set-up you got here," he said when I returned.  "What are you paying?  A dollar, dollar-fifty per minute?"

"Flat rate plan," I said, and unfolded my chair next to his.

"Smart.  The ship has internet access, but it’s pricey, so I’ve been holding off."

"You’re welcome to use mine if you want."

"Thanks, I might take you up on that."  He scanned the horizon again, but apparently the whales were in hiding because he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  "If only I had a cold beer, this would be perfect."

If the sun was shining and it was forty degrees warmer maybe, but the beer sounded good.  "I could go get us some."

He shook his head.  "No alcohol allowed aboard ship."

That explained why Ethan had been on the wagon since we’d arrived.  This was the longest I’d seen him go without a drink.

"So what exactly do publicists do?" Joe asked, as we waited for my laptop to boot up.  "When you’re not tagging walruses, I mean."

"We get publicity for our clients.  Preferably the good kind.  If it’s not good, then we do damage control."

Joe nodded as if he understood.  "How exactly do you go about getting the good kind?  Do you write the articles in all those celebrity magazines?"

I had to laugh.  How much easier my life would be if that was how it worked.  "No, we don’t write the stories, we just pitch them to the editors and journalists and hope they print what we want them to instead of what we don’t.  There’s also a fair amount of hand holding with the celebrity clients."

"You mean ordinary people in L.A. have publicists too?"

"Corporations mostly, and not just in L.A.  As my boss always says, ‘The actors add the glamour, but it’s the corporate clients who pay the bills.’"

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 they 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."

"What if I miss and hit the calf by accident?"

"Don’t miss."

I lowered my crossbow.  "No way, Ethan.  Pick another one."

"Pick another one?"

From the tone of incredulity in his voice, you’d think I’d told him to swim over there and arm wrestle one to the ground.  "There are tons of them.  Just pick another.  One without a baby glued to its side."

He continued to stare at me with his jaw hanging down.

"What?  You heard me.  Pick another one."

Then he started to laugh.

"What’s so funny?"  I was trying to keep a straight face, but it was hard with him laughing at me, and even Mac sporting a wide grin.

Ethan stopped laughing and cleared his throat.  "Since when are you giving the orders?"

"Someone has to."

"Yeah, me."

"Listen, Ethan, I agreed to come up here and help you tag walruses, but I never agreed to take orders from you."

His eyebrows shot up so high, they looked like two centipedes crossing his forehead.  "You damn well did."

"When?"

"Yesterday, when you almost fell through the ice."

I shook my head.  "That’s not how I recall it.  I believe you admitted it was your fault for not warning me."

"I did no such thing."

"Sorry, but you did."

We continued bickering, half serious, half in jest, until Mac said, "You two want to keep it down, you’re scaring the walruses."

We both stopped talking and turned around.  Ethan reached for his binoculars while I stared in horror at the sudden walrus stampede.  Apparently the ones closest to the edge were moving too slowly because the ones in the center of the ice floe were stomping on top of them and digging their tusks into their hides trying to push them out of the way.

"It’s a polar bear," Ethan said.

I grabbed his binoculars, but all I could see was a furry white head sticking out of the water as it dog paddled its way toward the herd.  By the time the polar bear hauled itself onto the ice, all the walruses had dispersed into the sea.

"How come he’s not following them?" I asked, when the polar bear just lay down.

"Look at him," Ethan said.  "He’s exhausted."

I scanned the horizon for more ice floes, but all I could see was open water.  "Where did he come from?"

"I don’t know," Ethan replied.  "He’s a long way from land."

"Is that normal for a polar bear to be out swimming in the middle of the ocean like that?"

Ethan sighed.  "There is no normal any more."  Then he lowered his binoculars and told Mac to go.

Twenty minutes later we came upon a new herd of walruses sunning themselves on an ice floe in the gray afternoon light.

"Someone should go back and tell the polar bear.  I’m sure he’d be happy to hear dinner’s only a few miles away."

"He’ll figure it out," Ethan said, handing me my crossbow.

"What if he doesn’t?  What if he swims in the wrong direction?"

"Then he’ll either find something else to eat or he’ll starve."

I didn’t want to watch a polar bear devour a live walrus, but that didn’t mean I wanted it to starve to death either.  What I didn’t understand was how someone who supposedly cared about these animals could be so cavalier.

"Has anyone ever told you you’re a cold-hearted bastard?" I asked.

"Yes," Ethan calmly replied

We tagged two more walruses before heading back to the ship—one bull and one cow.  I was so caught up in the moment that I’d temporarily forgotten that this wasn’t actually my job.  I remembered again as soon as I turned on my sat phone.

Chapter 41

"What the fuck are you doing in the middle of the Arctic Ocean?" my boss’s voice boomed through the sat phone’s tinny speaker.

"Tagging walruses."  I wanted to strangle Blake for ratting on me, but to be fair he didn’t know he was ratting.  I never told him not to tell anyone.

"You’re what?" Rick yelled again.  I started to explain, but he cut me off.  "You know what, Sydney, I don’t fucking care.  Either get back to work or hand Blake off to Lindsay."  Click.

Damn Blake for driving drunk.  Thankfully no one was hurt, and his blood alcohol level was so low he didn’t have to spend the night in jail, but someone leaked his mug shot to the tabloids and it was popping up everywhere.

While the rest of my shipmates ate dinner, I sat out on the deck and called every editor I knew alternately begging, threatening, and cajoling them not to run the story, or at least not with the mug shot.  Two of the classier magazines agreed on condition that I get them exclusives in the next six months.  The rest just laughed at me.  I was still on a conference call with Blake’s agent, his U.S. lawyer, his Australian lawyer, and the studio’s publicist when Ethan, Joe, Patti, George, and Mac walked outside.

"C’mon," Ethan said, "we need to go."

I covered the mouthpiece with my hand. "I can’t, I have a situation here."

"Is someone dying?" he asked.

"My career if I don’t fix this."

"Then get in the boat."

Ethan refused to leave without me, and I couldn’t hang up, so I took the phone with me and talked from the dinghy.  It was difficult to hear over the sound of the wind and the roar of the boat’s engine, and I had trouble taking notes with water spraying over the side, but I managed to finish the call before I lost the signal or the battery died.

"You couldn’t have waited ten minutes?" I hissed at Ethan as soon as I hung up.

"Your call couldn’t have waited?" he shot back.

"No, Ethan, it couldn’t.  That job pays my rent.  This one’s just for fun."  Although "aggravation" would’ve been a more accurate description.

"I realize tagging walruses may not be as glamorous as celebrity DUI, but it’s a hell of a lot more important."

I knew he’d been listening.  "Well, if it’s so goddamn important then why won’t you help me write the script?"

"I told you I would and I will.  I just didn’t want to work on it last night."

"Great," I said, and folded over the cover of my pad to a clean sheet.  "No time like the present."

"How about we tag a few walruses first?"

I badgered Ethan into working on the script on the boat ride back.  By the time we joined Patti in the lounge, we were barely speaking.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, glancing up from her knitting.

"Ask him," I said, as I joined her on the couch.

Ethan sat down at the opposite end.  "Patti, were you aware that I know absolutely nothing about wildlife documentaries?"

"I never said that," I told Patti, before returning to glaring at Ethan.  "It’s obvious you know tons about the boring ones.  You just know nothing about the ones people actually want to watch."

"You think providing information is boring?"

"When it’s done your way, yes."

"Then you’re free to write it without me," he said, and folded his arms across his chest.

"I think I will," I replied, then grabbed my plastic bag and headed for the stairs.

"Don’t come crying to me when you can’t write a word," he called after me.

"No need to worry," I shouted back from the stairwell, "you’re the last person I’d come crying to, on any topic."

I didn’t cry, but I wanted to.  Damn Ethan for always being right.  It was one of his most annoying traits.  I’d sat in front of my laptop for over an hour and the only words I’d typed were:  Blake’s voice-over.   I was about to go up on deck to see if I could pull anything useful off the internet when Patti stuck her head into the galley.

"How’s it going?" she asked.

I shrugged.  "It’s going."

She nodded at the open bag of pretzels on the table.  "You know Will left you a plate in the fridge."

I microwaved my dinner of leftover shrimp pasta while Patti read my one-page script.

"This is really good," I said, returning to the table.  I could tell by Patti’s expression that she wasn’t thinking the same about my writing.  "I know, it’s terrible.  Ethan’s right.  This film’s going to be a disaster."

"Not at all," she said.  "It just needs a little work."

"A little work?  How about nine more pages and a complete rewrite of the one that’s there."

Patti gave me a sympathetic smile.  "Well, you don’t have to finish it tonight, do you?"

"If not tonight, then very soon.  Blake thinks I already sent it to him and it got lost in cyberspace.  Although with the drunk driving arrest, he’s probably a little preoccupied right now, so that ought to buy me another day."

"He was arrested for drunk driving?"

I gave Patti the ten second synopsis, emphasizing that the blood alcohol limit in Australia was much lower than in the U.S, and that no one was hurt.  "The local lawyer told us he’ll likely get off with a fine, so it’s really more of a PR problem than anything else.  I’m not sure it’s even a problem.  He’s hardly the first celebrity to get arrested for drunk driving.  A little good publicity to counteract it wouldn’t hurt though."

"Then we should get to work.  First, I think you need to narrow your focus."

"Narrow it how?"

"You’re making it sound like this is a documentary about global warming, instead of the story of the endangered Pacific walrus."

"Aren’t they tied?  I thought they were ‘inextricably linked,’" I said, attempting to imitate Ethan’s practiced tone of moral outrage.

Patti laughed at my bad impersonation.  "Of course they’re linked.  But global warming’s an abstract concept.  A cute and cuddly walrus drowning because the sea ice melted out from under it is something everyone can relate to."

I didn’t know where we’d find a cute and cuddly walrus but I understood her point.  "Are you sure you don’t want to write this?  Because I think you missed your calling."

Patti smiled again just as Ethan appeared in the doorway.

"I’m only here for a refreshment," he said, as he walked past us and into the kitchen.

"Don’t just concentrate on the melting sea ice," Patti continued.  "Off-shore drilling’s a major threat too."

"You mean like what happened in the Gulf?  I thought they cleaned that up really fast, once they shut down the well."

"You did not just say that," Ethan said, peering around the fridge.

"It’s true.  I saw it on TV.  The beaches are open and everything."

"Sydney, all they did was flood the Gulf with a toxic dispersant that sunk the oil.  It didn’t make it magically disappear.  It’ll be years before we know the true extent of the damage."

"There’s still no effective way to clean up an oil spill in icy water," Patti said.  "A large spill here would be catastrophic, not just for the walruses, but for the entire Arctic ecosystem."

"And we’ve already gotten a preview," Ethan said, then slammed the fridge door shut.

"What a nightmare that was," Patti acknowledged before turning her attention back to me.  "Do you know about the spill at Prudhoe Bay?"

"I know about the Exxon Valdez."  It had been a case study in my marketing class at UCLA, an example of how not to handle a corporate crisis.

"Different spill," Ethan said, "but the result’s the same.  Rush Oil’s was one-tenth the size, but it still managed to wipe out almost an entire species of wild geese and thousands of tundra swans.  Six years later the area still hasn’t fully recovered, and probably never will."

"They’re still drilling though," Patti said, shaking her head.  "Without adopting even one of the safety measures we suggested."

Ethan shook his head too.  "Rush Oil really is the worst of the worst."

I pushed my plate away and started typing.  A few minutes later Patti stood up, insisting it was past her bedtime even though it was only ten-thirty at night.  When I couldn’t convince her to stay I turned to Ethan, who was still leaning against the counter sipping his soda.  "Well, are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to help me?"

To my amazement, he did.  Naturally I discarded most of his suggestions.  But they always got me thinking in a different direction, which really was useful.  And he did provide lots of information about walruses that I never would’ve discovered on my own.

Three hours later we had a ten-page script.  It wouldn’t win any Academy Awards, but it was good enough to send to Blake.  After I saved it to my hard drive and made a backup copy, I ran down to the cabin for my jacket.

"You don’t have to come with me," I said when Ethan pulled on his jacket too.  "I can take it from here."

"What if you get struck by a rogue wave and fall overboard before you can hit send," he said, following me up the steps.  "Then all my hard work would’ve been for naught."

"A rogue wave?"

"Anything can happen when you’re out at sea."

I was too tired to argue, so I ignored his hovering as I hooked up my computer to my satellite phone and locked onto a signal.  It took two attempts, but I e-mailed Blake the script, which presumably landed in his in-box 10,000 miles away.

I was so relieved that I laid down there on the deck.  Ethan was right.  It was colder than lying in the dinghy.  "I wish we had champagne.  This deserves a celebration."

Ethan looked down at me with a sly grin.  "No champagne, but I’ve still got whiskey."

I glanced up at the bridge.  Will was on duty tonight, but he didn’t seem to be paying us much attention.  "Okay, but bring a mixer this time.  I can’t drink that stuff straight."

I closed my eyes to the solid mass of clouds blocking the midnight sun and almost dozed off before Ethan returned with his quarter bottle of whiskey, a can of Coke, and two paper cups filled with ice.

"What, no peanuts?"

"I couldn’t find any, so I brought these," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a handful of pretzels.

"It’s a party.  Should I get the lawn chairs?"

"We’ll have more room in the dinghy."

I waited until Ethan finished wiping the bottom of the boat with a dirty towel Mac kept under the wheel before I joined him.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked, as he poured equal parts whiskey and soda into my cup.  "You haven’t even tasted it yet."

"I’m just so happy not to have this stupid script hanging over my head."  We still had to shoot the film, but as far as I was concerned the hard part was over.

"Christ, Sydney, it was ten pages.  I’ve written hundreds of articles longer than that."

"Yes, but has anyone ever read one without falling asleep?"

He shot me a half smile before he took a long swallow from his drink.  "So now that I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain, I want an answer to my question."

"And what question would that be?" I asked as I leaned my head back against the dinghy’s pontoon.  I was so much more relaxed now I probably could’ve fallen asleep even without the whiskey.

"Why are you making this film?"

"I already told you.  Blake wanted a cause and—"

"Not the canned version, the real reason."

I smiled as I shook my head.  "I can only imagine what kind of dark and twisted scenario you’re concocting but I swear to you, Ethan, it’s the truth."

He gave me a skeptical stare.

"Fine.  Clearly you think you know my mind better than I do, so why don’t you tell me why I’m really here."  I leaned back and closed my eyes again.  This ought to be good.

"Blake McKinley," he pronounced.

"Brilliant deduction, Doctor Watson, especially considering I already told you that."

"You told me it was about keeping your client satisfied, but that’s not the real reason."

"It’s not?" I said through a yawn.

"No, you’re in love with him, or at least you think you are."

My eyes flashed open and I bolted upright.  How could he possibly know?  I’d barely mentioned Blake the last ten days.

"And somewhere in that jumbled brain of yours you think if you do all this for him," he said, gesturing to the ship, "he’ll love you back.  Obviously you’re already sleeping with him."

"Obviously?"

"Or you wouldn’t have panicked when I suggested you might be pregnant."  A smug grin spread across his face.

The cocky bastard.  I wanted to slap his face.  Instead I said, "I never thought I was pregnant.  That was all you.  And my relationship with Blake is none of your goddamn business."  Then I turned my back to him so he’d know this conversation was over.

"Okay, I’ll concede maybe you weren’t panicked.  Although I was right about you sleeping with him.  If you weren’t, you would’ve just denied it.  Unless . . ."

"Unless what?" I said, turning around in spite of myself.

"Unless you’ve tried and failed."

"Tried and failed?"  What did he think, just because we didn’t have doctorates we couldn’t figure out how to place penis A into vagina B?

"Do you honestly believe if you go to these great lengths for him, he’ll love you out of gratitude?"

"GRATITUDE!  Are you fucking kidding me?  You might find this hard to believe, Ethan, but some men actually want to sleep with me.  Not everyone views me as a pity fuck like you apparently do."

"Sydney, I never—"

"Shut up, Ethan.  Just shut up.  We’re done speculating about my love life, now it’s time to talk about yours.  I have no doubt it’ll be a short conversation."

"I’m divorced," he said, the smile disappearing from his face.

"I know.  Duncan told me.  What I want to know is why."  Although the real question was why anyone would ever marry Ethan in the first place.

"You know why," he answered, a hard edge to his voice.

"No, I don’t.  Although I can imagine."

"Can you?" he said, his voice rising too.  "Can you imagine what it’s like to watch your child die in your arms?  To bargain with God to take your life and spare his, only to have him spit in your face?  To reach the point where you can’t even go through the motions any more until you wake up one morning and find that everyone and everything you’ve ever cared about is gone?  Can you really imagine that, Sydney?"

No, I couldn’t.  I was afraid to say that though, or even breathe.  His fingers were digging into my shoulders so hard I couldn’t move.  Eventually he seemed to realize that he was holding onto me and let go, then collapsed against the boat’s pontoon.

"Ethan, I’m so—"

"Don’t!" he shouted, and pointed his finger at me.  "Don’t you dare."

I didn’t know what to do.  All I could think of was to apologize but that just made him angrier.  I finally said, "I should probably go to bed."  But when I started to stand up, he grabbed my wrist.

"Not yet," he said, calmer now too, even as he tugged me down.  "You haven’t finished your drink."

"Ethan, I can’t even imagine—"

"I don’t want you to," he said, pushing the cup into my hand, "I just want you to finish your drink."

I sat down again, but the silence was oppressive.  In an attempt to lighten the mood I said, "You know no matter how drunk you get me, I’m not going to sleep with you, right?"

"I know," he said, and forced a smile.

"You do?"

"Sydney, you fall asleep after two sips of whiskey.  I have no choice but to seduce you without the aid of alcohol."

I had to laugh.  "Truly, Ethan, your arrogance knows no bounds."

He smiled, genuinely this time, and poured more whiskey into both our cups.

Chapter 42

"This is getting to be a real habit with you two," Mac said, standing over us.

I removed Ethan’s arm from around my waist and sat up.  We fell asleep in the dinghy again, Ethan still wearing his three layers of clothes and me still wearing my four.

"What time is it?"  The clouds had broken up and I could see the sun, but that didn’t tell me whether it was day or night.

"Six-thirty—a.m." he added, in case there was any doubt.  "Is something wrong with your cabin, or do you two just like sleeping outdoors?"

The cabin was way too small for my comfort.  I didn’t know Ethan’s excuse.  "Sorry," I said, and stretched as I stood up.  "Won’t happen again."

"Makes no difference to me," Mac said, offering me his hand as I stepped out of the dinghy and onto the deck.  "You can sleep wherever you want."

"Really?  I thought it was some sort of shipboard violation not to sleep in your cabin."

Mac shook his head.  "I don’t know where you got that idea.  As long as you’re not putting yourself or anyone else in danger, we don’t care where you sleep."

I knew where I got that idea.  I kicked Ethan’s boot.  He was still curled up at the bottom of the dinghy pretending to be asleep.  "I can’t believe you lied to me!"

Ethan cracked a smile as he opened one eye.  "This from the girl who lies for a living."

"I do not."

"You sure about that?" he said, as he stretched his arms overhead.

There’s a difference between putting a positive spin on things and outright lying, but Ethan was too self-righteous to discern those fine distinctions.  "You know what, Ethan?  I don’t want to talk to you anymore.  Can we just have silence for the rest of the day?  Is that possible?"

"Sure," he said, as he joined me on the deck.

"Good."  I was about to leave when I caught Mac shaking his head.  "What’s your problem?"

"No problem," he said, his hands up in defense.

I stomped off toward the bridge and refused to turn around, even when I heard them laughing behind my back.

I spent my sea shower trying to figure out what Ethan was up to.  First, he lied to me about sleeping in the cabin.  Then he spent not one, but two nights with me out on the deck, but he acted like a perfect gentleman.  Well, not exactly a gentleman.  He is Ethan after all.  But he never tried to make a move on me, even after he’d plied me with alcohol.

The whole situation made no sense.  I worked with difficult people every day, but I never let them get to me.  Why was Ethan the exception to the rule?  Okay, I admit, Ethan could be charming when he wanted to be, which was rare.  But he was no Blake McKinley.  Not even close.  Ethan was just a wise ass with a decent body.

"Don’t get sidetracked," I told myself as I turned on the water to rinse.  "You got what you came for.  The script is written and the interview’s on tape.  Now just ignore him and focus on what’s important—the documentary, the job, and Blake."  Not necessarily in that order.

"Are you going to spend all day in there?" Ethan shouted through the bathroom door.  "I’d like to shower while there’s still some hot water left."

"Focus," I intoned as I toweled off.  "Keep your eyes on the prize."  And that sure as hell wasn’t Ethan.

After breakfast Captain Roberts informed us that the ship would be passing through deep waters for the next few hours.  Ethan, Patti, and Joe understood what that meant but I needed an explanation.

"Walruses can’t live in water this deep," Ethan said, "so you’ve got the morning off."

Good.  It would give me an opportunity to catch up on some real work.  I returned to the cabin and pulled on my usual four layers of clothing, then grabbed my laptop and sat phone and headed out to the deck.  With the sun shining and only a light breeze, it felt closer to sixty degrees than the usual twenty to thirty, and I immediately shed my coat.

After I set up a makeshift office, which consisted of a small folding table, a lawn chair, and an unobstructed ocean view, I called Blake on his cell.  It was one o’clock in the morning in Australia, and I assumed he’d be out partying, but my call went straight to his voicemail.  I left him a message asking what he thought of the script, then called my office where the day was just beginning.  My assistant Megan told me she hadn’t heard any more yelling about my Arctic expedition, so either Rick had forgiven me or someone else had done something to piss him off even more.  I was betting on the latter.

I hung up with Megan and used the sat phone to connect to the internet.  I’d just sent an e-mail to a newly minted journalist who offered me her first-born child for a one-on-one interview with Blake (I politely declined but asked her to send me her clips) when I heard the cry.  At first I thought it was a bird but since I couldn’t see any flying overhead, I decided to take a quick look around the deck.  Nothing.

I’d just sat back down when the yelping began again.  "This isn’t funny," I shouted to whoever was making the noise.

The culprit responded with a high-pitched bark.

I set my computer aside and started searching again.  This time I checked the inside of the two dinghies lying dormant on the deck.  Both were empty, but when I heard the crying again, louder this time, I immediately realized where it was coming from.

Chapter 43

I leaned against the guard rail and looked down over the side.  Swimming next to the ship was a walrus.  I knew it was a calf because of its prominent mustache and lack of tusks, but the color was odd.  Most of the walruses I’d seen ranged from cinnamon brown to gun metal gray, but this one had pale pink skin and blue eyes.

I knelt down for a closer look.  "Hey, boy, what are you doing out here?  Where’s your mommy?"

But this only made him cry louder, which he alternated with barking too.  At one point he stopped swimming and tried to just tread water, but our ship was still moving, and he quickly fell behind.  When he panicked and started swimming to catch up I knew I had to do something.  I just didn’t know what.

I waved my arms overhead and jumped up and down in an attempt to get Captain Roberts’s attention.  I know he saw me because he leaned into the window of the bridge, but he must not have been able to hear me shouting at him to stop the ship.

I leaned down next to the baby walrus.  "Just keep swimming, I’ll go get help.  Do you understand?"

I would swear he nodded, but I could’ve just imagined it.  I took off running and crashed into Captain Roberts on the stairwell, who was sprinting down, while I was rushing up.

"What’s wrong?" he demanded.

"You need to stop the ship."

"Why?  What happened?"

"There’s a walrus in the water.  I think he needs our help."

He collapsed against the wall.  "A walrus?  Sydney, we—"

"I don’t have time to explain," I said, bolting past him.  "Just stop the ship!"  As I’d hoped, I found Ethan in the lounge.  He was lying on the couch reading a book, while Patti sat across from him knitting something long and green.

"You need to come outside," I shouted between gulps of air.  "There’s a baby walrus following our ship.  I think he’s in trouble."

"Are you sure?" Patti asked, at the same time Ethan said, "What’s wrong with him?"

"I don’t know."  Big breath.  "But he’s alone and he’s crying."

"It’s probably just waiting for its mother," Ethan said, then returned to his book.

"No, he’s by himself."

"Are you sure it’s a walrus?" Patti asked.  "Those little ones can look a lot like seals."

"Yes, I’m sure.  It’s got little stubs where the tusks are supposed to be and a big, bushy mustache."

Ethan and Patti exchanged a look and Ethan sat up.  "Where’s the video camera?"

"I don’t know," I said, finally catching my breath. "In the cabin, I guess."

"I’ll meet you out there," he said to Patti.

"Get mine too," she told him.  "It’s in the desk.  And wake Joe.  He’ll want to see this."

I couldn’t believe they were more concerned about getting their stupid cameras than helping the poor walrus, but maybe they knew something I didn’t.  Patti followed me out onto the deck where we found Mac scanning the area with his binoculars.

"Where is it?" he asked.  "I don’t see anything."

"Over there," I said, pointing to the dinghies.  "He was swimming right next to us."

Mac hurried to the bow and looked over both sides.  "He’s not here."

"Because he can’t keep up.  That’s why you need to stop the ship."

Mac looked up at the bridge and ran his finger across his neck.  A few minutes later we heard the rumbling engines shut down.  Patti and I each took a side and scanned the ocean below.  Ethan and Joe joined us, cameras in hand.

"Are you absolutely sure he was alone?" Ethan asked.

"Maybe its mother just dove down to forage for food," Patti suggested.

"You’re the ones who keep saying the water’s too deep here for them to survive."

Ethan and Patti exchanged another look, but neither one answered me.

"Maybe it was a seal or a sea lion," Joe offered.  "People often—"

"It was a walrus!  I know the—"  I stopped when I heard the cry.

"What is it?" Patti asked.

"Didn’t you hear that?"  It was faint, but I hadn’t imagined it.

"Hear—"

Ethan shushed her before I could.

"You heard it too, didn’t you?" I said to Ethan, who nodded his assent.

We all stopped talking until we heard the cry again.  "Over here," Mac called, and the four of us ran to the back of the ship.  The boat was finally slowing down and the walrus was swimming fast to catch up.

Ethan turned on Jill’s camcorder and zoomed in, while Joe and Patti took turns peering through their camera’s telephoto lens.

"You want to borrow these?" Mac asked, holding out his binoculars.

"No, I just want someone to do something so he’ll stop crying."  The whimpering was even louder now and more insistent.

"What do you suggest?" Ethan asked.

"What do I suggest?  How about one of you geniuses devise a plan to rescue him!"  Geez, was this not obvious?  "Unless you’d rather stand around taking pictures while the poor calf drowns."

"How do you know he’s drowning?" Mac asked.

"Well, gee, he’s alone, which he’s not supposed to be, in deep water, where he shouldn’t be, and he’s crying.  Call me crazy, but I’m not taking that as a sign that he’s A-O-K."

"I think you’ve been working for this guy too long," Mac said, nodding at Ethan.  "You’re starting to pick up the attitude."

"Sorry, Mac, I didn’t mean to be rude," I replied, before turning back to Ethan.  "I just don’t understand why no one’s doing anything!"  The calf had finally caught up with us, and the incessant crying was almost unbearable.

"Because there’s nothing we can do," Ethan said, raising his voice too.

"How do you think he made it out this far?" Patti asked, while Joe continued to snap pictures.  "We have to be at least a hundred miles from shore."

Ethan shrugged.  "I don’t know.  It could’ve gotten separated from its mother in a storm."

"We haven’t had any serious storms around here in weeks," Mac said.

"Maybe the ice melted over the shallower water and the herd had to swim farther out," Ethan continued.  "Its mother could’ve—"

"But there’s no ice around here either," I said.

"Not now," Ethan replied.  "But a few days ago there might’ve been.  If it melted quickly, the calf could’ve gotten separated from the herd, and now it’s stranded."

"But wouldn’t the mother come back?" Patti asked.  "A cow would never just abandon her calf this way."

Ethan shook his head.  "Who knows?  She could be hundreds of miles away by now.  She can’t swim forever, not without ice."

"So Brutus is an orphan?"  It was like Bambi, only worse because this was real.

Ethan spun around.  "Who’s Brutus?"

"Him," I said, pointing at the whimpering pup.  "We can’t keep calling him the calf.  He needs a name."

"Why?"

"Ethan, when you rescue an animal you get to name it."  I thought everyone knew that.

"Sydney, this isn’t a rescue mission."

"But you just said you don’t think Brutus’s mother is coming back.  Are you telling me a calf this young can survive without its mother?"  I knew the answer was no because he’d told me that the other day.

"No," he said.

"Then what’s going to happen to Brutus if we do nothing?"

"It’ll likely drown or starve to death."

"First of all, Brutus isn’t an ‘it.’  He’s a ‘he’ or possibly a ‘she,’ but definitely not an ‘it.’  So we need to bring him or her on board until we can find him or her a new home."

"And where would that be?" Ethan asked.

"I don’t know.  You’re the expert.  Can’t we just take him with us and drop him off with the next herd?  Look how cute he is.  Cuter than all the other walruses.  Surely one of the cows will adopt him."

"Sydney, we can’t," Patti piped in.  "It’s illegal to remove marine mammals from U.S. waters."

"I’m not suggesting we keep him.  We’ll put him back as soon as we find the next herd."

Joe finally lowered his camera and turned around.  "Sydney, it doesn’t work that way."

"Okay, even if we’re technically breaking the law, honestly, who’s going to know?  Mac, you’re not going to turn us in, are you?"

Mac looked up when I called his name.  "I’ll go along with whatever you all decide."

"See?  We’re in the clear.  Now we just have to figure out how to get him on board the ship."  As soon as I caught sight of the dinghy it gave me an idea.  "Do you think if we lowered one of the boats into the water he’d hop in?  Or we could get some food from the galley and use it as bait.  Like you said, he’s probably starving.  You could lower the boat down and—"

"Enough!" Ethan shouted.  "Sydney, this is not a rescue mission.  The sooner you accept that, the better."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"The captain will restart the engine, you’ll go back to doing whatever the hell it is you do around here, and the rest of us will get back to work."

"And what about Brutus?"

"The calf will either find a way to survive or it won’t."

"He has a name!"

"No, Sydney, it doesn’t.  It’s not a pet.  It’s a wild animal.  And in the real world the cute baby animals don’t always survive."  Then he turned to Mac.  "Go tell the captain we’re ready to leave."

Mac nodded and started toward the bridge, but I grabbed his arm.  "We’re not leaving without Brutus."

"Sydney," Patti said softly, "Ethan’s right."

I couldn’t believe she was siding with him.  I thought she was nicer than that.  "You want to leave him here to die?  You know he can’t survive without his mother.  Even I know that."

Brutus must’ve realized we were talking about him because his crying morphed into high-pitched barks interspersed with occasional whimpers.

"Sydney, even if we brought him—"

"Patti, don’t," Ethan said, his tone matching his flinty gaze.

She nodded at him but continued.  "Even if we dropped the calf off with another herd, odds are he wouldn’t survive.  He’s still nursing, which means another cow would have to adopt him.  Walruses generally don’t do that."

"You said generally, which means there’s a chance one could."  I bent down next to the guard rail where Brutus was barking a few feet below.  "Look at him," I said, reaching out to touch him, but he was too far away.  "If there’s even a chance we could save him, shouldn’t we at least try?"

"Enough, Sydney," Ethan said, but without the yelling this time.  "We don’t have a choice.  We have to leave him behind."

"Oh really?  Is that what you said when Marcus was the one about to drown?"  My hand unconsciously rushed to my mouth, but it was two seconds too late.  The words were out and I couldn’t pull them back, no matter how much I wanted to.  I could hardly believe I’d uttered them.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if God struck me down on the spot.  I almost wished he would.

No one spoke after that, not even Ethan.  He didn’t have to.  The grief-stricken expression on his face was far worse than any cruel retort he could’ve hurled at me.  I was actually grateful when he turned away and slowly walked towards the bridge.  Patti followed, and eventually so did Mac.  Only Joe stayed behind with me.

"I’m so sorry," I said, fighting to hold back my tears.  "I can’t believe those awful words came out of my mouth.  Nicole’s right, I need a filter."

"A filter?" Joe asked.

"Between my brain and my mouth," I said as the tears spilled onto my cheeks.  "And I know this is going to come out wrong too, but there’s just something about your face that makes me want to cry."  It was the kind eyes, magnified by his thick glasses.

"I think that Nicole may be on to something," he said, as he handed me his handkerchief.

I laughed, but that didn’t stop my tears.  I knelt down next to the guard rail and looked out at the whimpering calf.  "I’m sorry, Brutus.  I tried."

Joe squatted next to me.  "We’d really like to help you, buddy, but there’s nothing we can do."

I don’t know if Brutus understood, but he started barking even louder.

I turned away to blow my nose and that’s when I spotted my sat phone.  The green light was blinking at me from across the deck.  "Wait a minute.  Isn’t there someone we can call?  Like a 911 for animals?"

Joe didn’t answer.

"There is, isn’t there?" I said, wiping my tears.

"I don’t want you to get your hopes up."

"I won’t, I promise," I lied, and blew my nose again.  We both heard the rumble as Captain Roberts started the engine and the ship’s propeller roared to life.  The noise must’ve scared Brutus because he dove down and swam away from the ship.

"I don’t know their number," Joe said, "but you can probably find it on the internet."

Chapter 44

Joe ran back to the bridge to get our GPS coordinates, while I hooked the sat phone to my computer.  By the time Joe returned I’d connected to the internet, but I was still waiting for the Seaquarium’s webpage to load.  He handed me a sheet of paper with several sets of numbers scrawled across the top.

"That’s our GPS location," he said, pointing to the first line, "underneath is our latitude and longitude, and below that’s the number for the Fish and Wildlife Agency."

"Should I call them instead?"  The Seaquarium’s main page had finally appeared, but I’d clicked on the stranded animals link and was now waiting for that to load.

He looked at his watch.  "No, they don’t open until nine.  The Seaquarium has a twenty-four-hour hotline."

By the time I located the 800 number and got a live person on the phone, Brutus had fallen far behind.  I could still spot him with Joe’s telephoto lens, but I could no longer hear his cries.

The very nice woman at the Seaquarium asked me lots of questions about Brutus’s size and condition, but when I told her his location, she told me there was nothing they could do.

"Why?  We just left him a few minutes ago.  Even if he’s not in that exact spot when you get there, he won’t have gone far.  There’s no ice left for him to haul out on."

"I’m sorry," she said, "I wish we could help, but we can only rescue animals stranded on land.  If it’s still in the water we have to leave it there."

"That makes no sense."

"I’m sorry," she said again.  "But that’s our policy.  We want to give the calf and its mother an opportunity to reunite.  We can’t risk exhausting and possibly drowning the animal by forcing it to actively swim and dive trying to evade capture."

"But that’s the whole point.  His mother’s gone.  If we leave him in the water he will drown."

"I’m sorry," she said for the third time.  "There’s nothing we can do."

I pleaded, but I couldn’t sway her.  She finally thanked me for calling and hung up.

"What now?" I asked Joe, who had been standing by my side for the entire conversation.

He just looked at me with those sad eyes.  "You tried, Sydney, that’s all anyone can do."

Fat lot of good it did Brutus.

Joe helped me put away my chair and table, then walked me back to the cabin.  "Are you okay?"

I shrugged.  I was drained, physically and mentally.  All I wanted was the escape of sleep.  "I’m going to try and nap."

"Good," he said, "Sleep’s probably the best thing for you."

I attempted a smile.

"Don’t beat yourself up about this," he continued.  "The work you’re doing—tagging the walruses and making the documentary—you’re helping.  Try to remember that."

"I’ll try," I said, then pushed open the door to the cabin, which mercifully was empty.  I knew I owed Ethan a major apology.  I just wasn’t up to dealing with him yet.

I found his bottle of aspirin in his toiletries bag under the sink.  I didn’t think he’d mind if I stole a few, at least not after he stopped hating me.

The rest of the day passed in a haze.  I opened my eyes once and thought I saw Ethan, but the next time I woke up, he was gone.  I finally dragged myself out of bed at six o’clock.  I probably could’ve slept longer but I knew if I did I’d be up all night, and then I’d never get myself back on the right schedule.

I jumped in the shower to try to force myself awake.  When I opened the bathroom door to the cabin, I found Ethan sitting at the desk.  He glanced up at me, wrapped in my towel and frozen in place, but quickly returned his gaze to his book.

"What are you reading?" I asked.  The light blue cover had no dust jacket.

"Something you wouldn’t be interested in," he said, without looking up.

I took a deep breath and blurted it out before I lost my nerve.  "Ethan, I owe you an apology.  A huge one."

"Not necessary," he said, still staring down.

I grabbed the book out of his hand and slammed it shut.  "Yes, Ethan, it is.  What I said to you this morning," I cringed just thinking about it, "I was way out of line and I’m really, truly, unbelievably sorry.  To compare your son to Brutus . . . ."  I would’ve continued blathering on, but he finally looked up.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Not really."

"Which is exactly why apologies are pointless.  They don’t change anything."

"Maybe not," I said, handing him back his book, "but I was wrong and I wanted you to know."

He found the page where he’d left off, but I had the feeling he wasn’t really reading.  I could smell the whiskey as I squeezed past him to get to my closet.  When I emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later in khakis and a thermal tee, Ethan was sitting in exactly the same spot, probably reading the same page too.

"I called the Seaquarium," I said, as I leaned back against the wall to put some space between us.

"I heard," he replied, then flipped the page.

"They told me they couldn’t help because Brutus was still in the water.  Apparently an animal has to be on land before the Seaquarium will rescue it.  Ironic, huh?"

"Yes," he said, glancing up briefly before returning his eyes to his book.  "I’m familiar with their policies.  If I thought they could’ve been of use, I would’ve called them myself."

"It’s just so sad.  It’s not Brutus’s fault there’s no land around here.  I mean, what’s the point . . . ."  I stopped because I could feel the tears welling up again.

Ethan finally closed his book.  "I think it’s a good thing."

"A good thing?  How can this possibly be a good thing?"

"Obviously not for the calf."

"Obviously.  And his name is Brutus."

Ethan sighed.  "No, not for Brutus.  For you."

"Me?  Why?  Because you like seeing me miserable?"

"No, I like seeing you care."

I couldn’t stifle my harsh laugh.  "Ethan, I’ve always cared."

"Yeah, about what’s in it for you and your precious Blake.  Now maybe you’ll do it for them too, or at least for Brutus."

I wished I could deny the accusation, proclaim it was all about the walruses and always had been, but he knew the truth.  "I would’ve tried my best anyway, you know.  I always do."

"I’m sure that’s true.  But you’ll be better at it now that you’re invested in the outcome, even if it does make you more of a pain in the ass, which I would not have thought possible before today."

Mr. Charming was back.  "My mother always told me it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the grease."  Or something like that.

"It’s the squeaky wheel that gives me a headache."

Which reminded me.  "I hope you don’t mind, but I stole a couple of your aspirin."

"From where?"

"The bag under the sink.  Why?  Wouldn’t you have given me some if I’d asked?"

He got up from the desk and knelt down in front of the cabinet.

"Don’t worry, I didn’t finish them."

"Which bottle?" he asked, rummaging through his toiletries bag.

I’d never seen anyone freak out over a couple of aspirin before. "Geez, Ethan, it’s not like I finished them.  I’ll buy you another bottle if it’s a problem."

"The aspirin’s not the problem," he said, shaking his head.

"Then what?  You’re mad at me because I went through your stuff?  I’m sorry, but—"

"Sydney, how long did you sleep?"

"I don’t know.  Most of the day, I guess."

"You didn’t think that was strange?"

"I was tired."  Although now that he mentioned it, I was awfully groggy.  "Those weren’t aspirin, were they?"

He tried to suppress his smile, but couldn’t.

I punched him in the shoulder.  Not hard, but enough for him to take a step back.  "You jerk!  Who stores drugs in an aspirin bottle?"

"If I knew you were going to steal my stash, I definitely would’ve hidden them better."

"And you knew I was having trouble sleeping.  How come you didn’t at least offer me some?"

"The Jack Daniels worked just as well.  Besides, I didn’t want to get you hooked.  Painkillers are very addictive."

"You would know."

"No," he said, suddenly serious again.  "I keep them strictly for emergencies."

"Well, at least now I know where to find them the next time I can’t sleep."

He took a step closer and leaned his arm against the wall above my head.  My heart immediately started racing, but I wasn’t sure if it was from my claustrophobia or his proximity.

"What makes you think I’m going to share?"

"Because you finished the whiskey.  That’s all that’s left."

He pulled back and folded his arms across his chest.  "Why would you think that?"

"It doesn’t require much effort when you leave the empty bottle sitting on top of the trash."

He followed my gaze to the tiny waste basket bolted next to the sink.  "Touché."

It was as if someone had flipped a switch.  One minute we were jousting over whiskey and painkillers, and the next we were kissing.

Chapter 45

For all of Ethan’s faults, and he had many, I had to admit the man knew how to kiss.  The whiskey, which burned in my mouth, tasted warm and inviting on his.  Although we started out leaning against the wall, he somehow managed to maneuver us on top of the desk without ever breaking our connection.

At that moment I wasn’t thinking about Blake, or Brutus, or how awkward everything would be from that point forward, I was enjoying the most intimate kiss of my life.  Then someone knocked and our cabin door creaked open.

Ethan and I both looked up at Patti’s astonished face.  "Oh my," she said, before she quickly slammed it shut again.

Ethan closed his eyes and sighed as I slid out from under him.

"I’m so sorry," Patti called to us through the cabin’s closed door.  "I only came to tell you dinner’s on, but we can eat without you.  I’ll just—"

"No," I yelled back.  "I’m starving.  I’ll be there in a minute."  Then I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face.  It was still flushed, but there was nothing I could do.  "We’d better go," I said as I turned around, focusing my gaze on the top buttons of Ethan’s shirt.

"I’ll meet you there," he said.  "I need a minute."

I let my eyes drift downward and immediately understood.

When I arrived in the galley, Patti and Joe had already started eating.  I grabbed an empty plate and helped myself to roasted chicken, artichoke hearts, and Spanish rice.  We chit-chatted about the unusually warm weather, how hard it was to sleep at night when it never got dark, and the surprisingly tasty food on the ship.  Even after Ethan joined us, Patti and I kept up the inane chatter until we’d exhausted every innocuous topic either one of us could think of.

At one point I glanced over at Ethan, but as soon as our eyes met I could feel the blush spread across my face.  I shifted my eyes back to my plate and spent the rest of the meal avoiding everyone’s gaze.

After dinner the four of us went up to the bridge to ask Captain Roberts when we’d be leaving again.

"Not anytime soon," he said.  "There’s been no appreciable ice all day."

"Isn’t that unusual?"  This was the Arctic, even if it was July.

"Not lately."  Ethan replied.

As the four of us filed down the steps, Joe asked, "Anyone up for a movie?"  When no one answered he turned to me.

"I can’t, I’ve got work to do."  Which was true, but not my primary reason for passing.  The lingering effects of the painkillers had finally worn off and I realized what a mistake I’d almost made.  I needed to keep as much distance between me and Ethan as possible.

But Ethan said, "I have work to do too."

I was sure from the smile on Patti’s face she just assumed we were planning on going back to the cabin to pick up where we’d left off.  From the way Ethan was eyeing me, I think he was assuming it too.  But I was serious about wanting to work, or at least about wanting to avoid him.  The kiss was a drug-induced mistake.  I had no intention of cheating on Blake.

I practically ran to the cabin for my laptop and sat phone, hoping to avoid Ethan, but he caught up with me on my way out.

"Where do you think you’re going?" he asked, shutting the door behind us.

My heart started racing again, so I took a step back.  "Outside.  It’s the only place I can get a signal."

"Do you really need to do that now?" he asked, moving closer.

"Yeah, Ethan, I really do," I managed to slide past him and get to the door, but he grabbed the knob from the inside so I couldn’t shut it behind me.

"So I’ll see you later then?"

"Of course."  We shared a cabin.  I couldn’t avoid him forever.  I could, however, delay it for as long as possible.

I phoned Blake first but my call went straight to his voicemail.  I left him another message, then called Nicole but ended up with her voicemail too.  Two hours later I hadn’t heard back from either one of them but I had managed to return all my messages and reply to every e-mail, even the ones that could wait.  With nothing left to do, or at least nothing I could do from the ship, I joined Will, George, Joe, and Patti in the lounge.  Everyone but Will retired for the night when Die Hard ended.  The two of us made it through Die Hard 2, but when I suggested a triple feature Will declined.

I was alone when I fell asleep watching Die Hard 3, but I wasn’t when I woke up.

Chapter 46

"What are you doing in here?" Ethan asked, as he shook me awake.

"Sorry," I said, as I sat up.  "I guess I fell asleep."

He leaned back on his heels with his arms folded across his chest in what I was learning was his angry stance.  "I thought you had work to do?"

"I did," I said, as I shut the TV.  "When I finished I came in here and watched a movie."

"Why?  You knew I was waiting for you."

He wasn’t going to make this easy on me, not that I expected him to.  Nothing with Ethan was ever easy.  "You know I don’t like to sleep in the cabin."

"Who said anything about sleeping?"  His grin quickly faded when I didn’t reciprocate.  "You talked to him, didn’t you?"

"Ethan, it’s complicated."

"No, Sydney, it’s very simple."

"You were right.  I don’t just work for Blake.  We’re seeing each other too."  I know I promised Blake I’d keep it a secret, but I didn’t think I had to worry about Ethan tipping off the paparazzi.

"He’s using you, you know."

"How?"  If Blake wanted sex he didn’t need it from me.  He had plenty of other opportunities.

"He’s not some great humanitarian, Sydney.  All this," he said, sweeping his arm across the room, "it’s just about improving his image."

That’s how he thinks Blake’s using me!  I had to fight to keep a straight face.  "Ethan, I’m his publicist.  Improving his image is my job."

"Really?  Spend a month in Alaska for all your clients, do you?"

I assumed that was a rhetorical question.

"What about the walruses?" Ethan asked.  "What about Brutus?"

"That’s not fair!  At least I tried to help Brutus, which is more than you did."

"You think your precious Blake cares if Brutus lives or dies?"

"He would if he met him."

Ethan shook his head.  "I guess I was wrong about you."  Then he turned around and walked out of the room.

I slept in the lounge that night, but I didn’t get much sleep.  I spent most of the evening defending Blake to Ethan in my head.  Blake wasn’t a bad person.  He just put his own interests ahead of everyone else’s.  I could say the same about almost every person I knew.

* * *

Somehow, without ever discussing it, Ethan and I managed to reach a détente.  The camaraderie we’d shared was gone, but the tension between us eased enough that we were able to spend the last few days aboard ship tagging walruses and sharing a cabin without trying to push each other overboard.  When the boat returned to Barrow, we didn’t linger long.

"So I guess this is it," Patti said, when the last boarding call for my and Ethan’s flight crackled over the airport P.A.  Patti and Joe weren’t flying home until the next morning.

Joe offered Ethan his hand while Patti hugged me.

"Thanks for everything," I whispered.  I meant it too.  This whole experience would’ve been so much worse if she and Joe hadn’t been with us.

"It was my pleasure," she said.  "Really.  I’m glad you came."

"I haven’t forgotten about Blake’s autograph," I added, pulling away when I felt myself misting up.  I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.  Maybe it was the Arctic air.  "I’ll send it to you as soon as I get back."

"No rush."  She smiled but her eyes were moist too.  "Her birthday’s not for another six weeks.  I would love for you to keep in touch though.  We both would," she added, placing her hand on Joe’s arm.

"Absolutely," Joe said, switching places with his wife so he could give me a hug while she said goodbye to Ethan.   "We’re really looking forward to watching your documentary."

* * *

"You survived," Captain Bailey called out to us as we approached the skiff.  This time it was just me and Ethan, no bear.

"Did you think we wouldn’t?" I slurred, as I stumbled onto the boat.  I was still woozy from the painkiller Ethan had given me to keep me calm on the plane.

"I didn’t give it much thought one way or the other," Captain Bailey said, as he reached for the shopping bag holding the two-foot tall stuffed polar bear I’d purchased for Jake at the Anchorage Airport.  My duffel bag was still slung over Ethan’s shoulder, which surprisingly he’d agreed to carry for me without a fight.

Captain Bailey deposited the stuffed bear at the back of the boat, where a dozen boxes were already stacked up.  The top layer contained groceries, but the bottom ones were sealed.

"What’s all that?" I asked.

"I don’t know, but they’ve got your name on them."

"My name?"  I pulled one out and Captain Bailey slit the top open with his pocket knife.  Inside were a dozen bags of pita chips.  I’d forgotten I’d ordered all this junk food.  That was before Blake had told me about his new macrobiotic diet.

Ethan peered over my shoulder then reached inside and grabbed one of the bags.  At least the beer and chips wouldn’t go to waste.

The sky was gray, as usual, but the sea was calm.  I don’t know how Ethan amused himself during the boat ride back to Wilde Island because I passed out on a bench as soon we started speeding across the water.  I awoke two hours later feeling relaxed and refreshed.

My tranquility was short-lived.

Chapter 47

Jill waved from the stairs as Captain Bailey lowered the dinghy’s anchor into the water.

The captain decided this time Ethan should have the honor of accompanying me from the skiff to the jetty.  Ethan didn’t seem to mind, especially when I started to lose my footing on the slippery rocks and he grabbed me around the waist to keep me from falling.

"Thank heavens you’re back," Jill said, as I climbed up onto the jetty

"Let me guess," I said, as we exchanged a quick hug.  "You woke up this morning and thought what this island really needs is a good publicist to spruce up its image?"

"Yeah," Ethan said, as he handed me the shopping bag with Jake’s polar bear.  "Do you know one?"

Before I could come up with a barbed reply he winked at me, then grabbed my duffel bag, which he slung over his shoulder, and a box of groceries, which Captain Bailey had set down on the rocks, and headed for the staircase clinging to the side of the cliff.

Jill’s jaw was still hanging open when she stopped staring after Ethan and turned back to me.  "What exactly happened between you two in the Arctic?"

"Nothing," I said, fighting to maintain my innocent façade.  "We tagged walruses for a week."  Then I too grabbed a box of groceries and took off toward the staircase before the flush rising in my cheeks could give me away.  I waited until I was sure it had faded before I turned around.  "So why are you so glad to see me?"

Before she could answer, a voice called out to me from the top of the cliff.  We both looked up.  Standing at the edge of the bluff was Blake, flanked on all sides by the rest of the island’s human inhabitants.  Jake, who was wedged between Sean and Tony, screamed "Sydney, you’re back!" and immediately ran for the steps.

"I’m so glad you remembered that bear," Jill said.  "That’s all he’s talked about since you left."

I turned to her but couldn’t speak.  I was still processing the fact that Blake McKinley was on Wilde Island instead of in Australia, where he was supposed to be for the next eight days.

"He arrived this morning," Jill said, reading my mind.

I hurried up the steps as fast as I could while balancing a box of groceries in one arm and trying to hide a polar bear behind my back with the other.  Jake caught up to me at the third landing, and almost knocked me over hugging me around the waist.  "Did you remember my present?"

"Of course," I said, and pulled out the polar bear.

As Jake hugged the soft white fur, Jill not so subtly prompted him. "What do you say, Jake?"

"Thank you, Sydney," he said, but he’d already started climbing the stairs, dragging the bear behind him by its paw.

Jill and I reached the top of the steps at the same time as Blake and his posse.

"There’re more boxes down on the beach," Jill announced to the group.

"Welcome back, love," Duncan said, before he trotted down the stairs.  Brie said hello too before she followed him, and Sean and Tony nodded and waived.

Jill glanced from me to Blake and back to me again before she reached for my box of groceries.  "I’ll see you at the cabin," she said, and stepped out onto the trail carrying a load under each arm.  Which left just me, Guy, our director/cameraman, and Blake.

"Hey, Syd."  Guy leaned in for a hug.  "Long time no see."

I took my eyes off Blake just long enough to say hello to Guy and hug him back.  He was a friend of Blake’s from high school and worked on all of his projects.  We’d known each other for years.

Guy shifted his gaze from me to Blake then said, "I think I’ll go give those guys a hand," before he took off down the steps too.

It had only been three and a half weeks since Blake had left for Australia, but if felt like years.  He was even more gorgeous than I remembered—chiseled jaw, deep green eyes, his hair bleached golden from the sun.  He was still the same surf god who’d asked to borrow my statistics notes, except instead of shorts and a t-shirt, he was clad in dark rinse jeans, a thick wool sweater, and knee high rubber boots.  Although I wasn’t yet tired of staring at him (I never tired of staring at Blake), I finally spoke.  "So?"

"You haven’t seen me in almost a month and all I get is a ‘so’?" Blake said.

I was about to throw myself into his open arms when I caught sight of Ethan striding down the trail.  "Not now."

Blake followed my gaze up the hill.  "Who’s that?"

"No one."  I knew they’d have to meet sooner or later, I was just hoping for later.

"Good," Blake said, and embraced me in a long, sensual kiss.  Blake’s technique was very different from Ethan’s, but the effect was the same.  I was so caught up in the moment that I temporarily forgot where I was, until I heard Ethan’s voice behind us.  "You must be the infamous Blake McKinley."

I avoided Ethan’s gaze as I introduced them.  Blake held out his hand, but Ethan barely shook it.  "Your bag’s in your tent," he barked, then disappeared down the steps.

"What’s his problem?" Blake asked, staring after him.

"You don’t want to know."

"Cozy," Blake said, as he surveyed the inside of my tent, which was still covered with clothes from my rushed packing job the week before.  As I picked up discarded pants and sweaters and tossed them on top of my suitcase, Blake spotted my sleeping bag and laid down.  "Care to join me?" he asked, then flashed a lascivious grin.

"Not until you tell me what the hell you’re doing here.  I thought you weren’t wrapping for another week."  I’d heard of film shoots running over schedule, but never under.

He patted the empty space next to him.  "Lie down and I’ll tell you everything you want to know."

And he did, between kisses.  By the time Blake had finished his convoluted tale, the upshot of which was that one of his co-stars injured himself riding his motorcycle and the production had to shut down for a week while he recovered from emergency knee surgery, I no longer cared.

"So it was either come now or cancel the whole thing," Blake said, before returning his lips to my stomach, where they were making a slow descent to my waist.

"Obviously, you made the right choice," I replied, and pulled my sweatshirt over my head.  Thankfully I was wearing my push-up bra instead of one of the sports bras I’d purchased at the Barrow AC.

"Definitely," he said, as he unzipped my jeans and slipped them off of me.

Minutes later I was on the verge of ecstasy when I heard, "Sydneeey!" and froze.

"Ignore him," Blake whispered.  "He’ll go away."

"Sydney, where are you?" Jake’s sing-song voice rang out, even closer this time.

I pushed Blake off of me and jumped up.  "You don’t know this kid.  He’ll never go away."

I managed to pull my clothes on, sans underwear, just as Jake unzipped the flap to my tent.  "Sydney, didn’t you hear me?" Jake asked, as he crawled inside.

"Sorry."  I stepped in front of him in an attempt to block his view of Blake, who was pulling up his boxer shorts.  "I was sleeping."

Jake ducked around me and directed his next question to Blake.  "What are you doing in Sydney’s tent?"

"Nothing," Blake said, as he stepped into his jeans.

Jake shifted his squinty-eyed stare back to me.

"Blake was helping me find something," I said in response to his unspoken accusation.

"What?" Jake demanded.

I looked around the tent in a panic until I spotted my watch next to my pillow.  "This," I said, as I grabbed it off the floor and jiggled it in his face.  "Blake found it for me.  See?"

My six-year-old prosecutor was not so easily fooled.  "You said you were sleeping."

"Jesus Christ, kid, give it a rest!"  Then Blake turned to me.  "You were right.  He is a pit bull."

"I am not!" Jake screamed.  "I’m telling Mommy!"  Then he ran out calling her name.

"Well, that went well," I said, turning back to Blake.

"Hey, I got rid of him, didn’t I?"  In one swift motion he managed to pop open all the buttons on the fly of his jeans.

"Trust me," I said, ignoring the bulge in his pants while I searched for my bra, "you’ll be sorry you did."

Chapter 48

Much to Blake’s dismay, I refused to finish what he’d started.  After we’d both dressed, with underwear this time, I lead him up the trail to the cabin.  As soon as I pushed open the door, the conversation ceased and all eyes turned our way.

Duncan, Brie, Guy, Sean, and Tony were sitting around the coffee table playing a game of cards, Ethan had commandeered the recliner, and Jake, his new polar bear, and his entire collection of action figures had appropriated the dining room table.  Even Jill stuck her head out from the kitchen, but when she saw it was just me and Blake, she returned to her chopping board.

I grabbed Blake’s hand and ventured inside but he stopped at the couch.  "I’ll be here if you need me," he said, and sat down in the empty space next to Guy.

"Thanks a lot," I mouthed then walked to the dining room table alone.  "Hi Jake."

He looked up briefly and scowled at me, before resuming the battle amongst his action figures.  I could see from his red rimmed eyes that he’d been crying, although at the moment no tears were in evidence.

"Jake, will you come outside with me for a minute?  I want to talk to you."  I needed to do a better job of explaining why Blake was in my tent.  Although based on the smirks passing back and forth around the coffee table, Jake had already made good on his threat to tell everyone what he’d seen.

"No," Jake said without looking up.

"C’mon, Jake, please.  I really want to talk to you."

"I’m not a pit bull!" he yelled, and ran into the kitchen, where he threw his arms around Jill’s waist and buried his face against her side.  Jill set down her knife and rubbed the back of his head.

"So I guess he told you," I said, joining them in the kitchen.

"Afraid so," she replied.

I bent down next to Jake so we were eye level, even though he still refused to look at me.  "I’m sorry, Jake.  I know you’re not a pit bull.  It’s something grown-ups say about someone when they’re really tenacious.  Blake meant it as a compliment."

"What’s ten-a-shus?" Jake asked, peeking out from Jill’s waist.

"It means you never give up."

"And that’s good?" he asked.

"Very good.  It means some day you’re going to get everything you want."

"Like a real polar bear?" he asked, finally looking at me.

"That’s exactly what I mean."  Then I held out my hand to him.  "Friends?"

He ignored my hand but smiled, showing off his newly sprouted top tooth.  "Mommy says Blake’s your boyfriend and that’s why he was in your tent."

The conversation in the living room, which had resumed, suddenly fell silent again.  I looked up at Jill, but she seemed more amused than concerned.

"Well if your Mommy says it, it must be true."

"Do you want to see my helicopter?" Jake asked, already running back to the dining room table.  "Ethan gave it to me and it flies by itself and everything.  But Mommy says I can only play with it outside when I’m with an adult."

"Sure, Jake.  Sounds like fun."

If I had any doubt that they were all listening, it was put to rest when everyone but Ethan stood up.  It seemed the big boys wanted to play with the remote-controlled helicopter too.

After ten minutes watching Jake repeatedly crash the helicopter into the ground, Sean cajoled him into letting everyone else take a turn.  Tony narrowly missed decapitating Jill when she popped her head outside the cabin to remind us all that we still had to assemble Blake’s and Guy’s tent.

I found the box with the new Eureka X-80 among the rest they’d stacked in the corner of the living room.  I managed to drag it to the cabin door myself, but I’d need help carrying it down to the campground, not to mention assembling it.

"Anyone want to help build a tent?" I called out from the doorway of the cabin.

"I will, I will," Jake said and ran to my side.  Even he must’ve realized the odds of getting that helicopter back was nil.  Sean, Tony, Duncan, Guy, and Blake were having a contest to see who could fly it the highest and farthest before crashing it into the ground.  Guy was currently in the lead, but Sean hadn’t had his turn yet.

To my surprise, Brie volunteered as well.

"You could’ve told me," she said, as we lugged the heavy box between us down the trail.  "About Blake," she added in response to my questioning gaze.

I gave her an embarrassed smile.  "We were trying to stay under the radar."

"Well, you can’t get much farther under the radar than Wilde Island."

I had to agree. "It’s a habit I guess.  In L.A. you never know who might call the tabloids with a tip.  That’s how the paparazzi always know where to find the celebrities."

"I don’t think you have to worry about the paparazzi showing up here."

True.  But I still wasn’t letting any of them borrow my sat phone until after Blake left the island.

Although there was plenty of space next to my tent, Brie dragged the empty platform to a clearing twenty yards away.  "I figured you and Blake would want your privacy," she said.

I hadn’t even thought of that, but of course she was right.

Brie read the instructions while Jake and I pulled the pieces out of the box.

"So how are things with you and Duncan?" I asked, as I handed her a handful of stakes.

"Fine," she said, as she hammered the first one into the ground.

"Fine?"  I would’ve thought things between them would’ve improved once Ethan and I were both gone and she had Duncan to herself.

"It’s funny," she said, joining me on the platform.  "I used to love just listening to him talk."

"The accent?" I asked, and she nodded.

"But lately . . . ."  She shook her head.  "I’m starting to wonder why I’m even here."

By the time the three of us returned to the cabin, Sean had started a fire for the makeshift grill.  The rest of them—Tony, Duncan, Guy, and Blake—just stood around him drinking beer.  I didn’t know where Ethan had disappeared to, but I found Jill in the kitchen pressing out hamburger patties.

"Need some help?" I asked.

"I don’t know.  Can you peel a potato without slicing off your finger?"  But she smiled so I tried not to take it personally.

Since there were ten of us now and only eight dining room chairs, dinner was a buffet.  I grabbed a burger and a handful of French fries and joined Blake on the couch.

"Sorry about the food," I said, nodding at his plate of sliced lettuce, tomato, and pickles.  "They don’t do macrobiotic diets in Alaska, or at least not on Wilde Island."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out when I asked Jill if she had any raw vegetables and she handed me a can of peas."  Then he smiled and grabbed my burger off my plate.  "When in Rome . . .," he shrugged and took a huge bite.

After dinner I suggested to Blake that he, Guy, and I read through the script, then spend the rest of the evening scouting locations so we’d be ready to start shooting the next morning.

"What’s the rush?" Ethan asked, setting an unopened bottle of whiskey in the center of the dining room table.

"Nice," Sean said, inspecting the label.

"Very nice," Blake agreed.

I picked up the bottle and read it too, but the name "Highland Park" had no meaning to me.  "I thought you finished all this stuff on the boat?"

"Different stuff," Ethan said, grabbing the bottle from my hand and placing it in front of Blake.  "Care to join me?"

"Sure," Blake replied.

"Blake, we’ve got work to do."

"C’mon, Syd.  I’ve been traveling for two days straight.  I could use a drink."

"Or two or three," Ethan said.

I ignored his malicious grin and turned my attention back to Blake.  "I know, but you’re only here for three days.  Can’t you save that for later?"

Blake turned to Guy, who nodded slightly then said, "It’s okay, Syd.  We toured the island before you got back.  We can do a quick scout in the morning and still be shooting by noon."

A quick scout?  This was important, damnit.  "I know but wouldn’t it be better to do it tonight?  Then we wouldn’t have to rush."

"Christ, Syd, it’s a fucking ten-minute documentary about a bunch of stupid walruses.  Lighten up already."

Lighten up?  I’d put my career on the line for him and he wanted me to lighten up?  I glanced around the table for support but Sean and Tony stared down at their hands, Guy took a sudden interest in a nick in the wood surface of the dining table, and Duncan and Brie, who had been listening to our exchange from the kitchen, returned their attention to the soapy dishes.  Only Ethan made eye contact.

"Then it’s settled," he said. "Sydney, why don’t you go get us a couple of glasses?"

"Why don’t you go get them yourself."

"She must be saving all her charm for you," he said to Blake, as I stomped out of the room.

I slammed the office door so hard the bookcase shook.

"Problem?" Jill asked, swiveling her desk chair to face me.

"I thought you went to bed with Jake?"

"I tucked him in," she said, "then I came back down to work.  What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, as I threw myself into the other desk chair and folded my arms across my chest.  "Everything’s fucking wonderful."

"Not just wonderful but fucking wonderful?"

That was the first time I’d ever heard Jill curse, and it sounded odd.  She looked at me expectantly, waiting for the inevitable explanation, and I didn’t disappoint.

"So are you upset because Blake disagreed with you or because he did so publicly?"

"I’m upset because he doesn’t give a damn!"  Clients yelled at me all the time.  I stopped getting upset over that years ago.  "He’s the one who wanted to save the walruses to begin with, and now it’s like he doesn’t even care."

"And the problem is now you do?"

"What do you mean now?  I always cared."  She was as bad as Ethan.  "Just because I didn’t come to the island with a deep and abiding love of walruses, doesn’t mean I haven’t always been one hundred percent committed to this project’s success."

"I know but—"

"But what?"

She gave me an odd stare.  "I don’t know.  You seem different since you got back.  You and Ethan."

"Ethan’s no different.  He’s exactly the same jerk he’s always been."

Jill smiled.  "Maybe.  So where is this script of yours?"

"Why?  You want to read the world’s worst screenplay?"  Too bad they didn’t give out Academy Awards for that.  We’d be a shoo-in.

"If you and Ethan wrote it, I’ve no doubt it’s wonderful.  But I assume we’ll need it to—what did you call it?  Scouting?"

"I told you, they already started drinking.  The evening’s shot."

"Sydney, you certainly don’t need Blake’s help to find the best places on this island to shoot."

Chapter 49

I hung back by the cabin door, but even from twenty feet away I could see that they’d already reduced the level of whiskey in Ethan’s bottle by several inches.  Sean was dealing a hand of cards around the dining table, whose ranks had now swelled to include Duncan and Brie too, when Jill said, "Would you mind keeping it down?  I’ve got a little one sleeping upstairs."

"Consider it done," Blake stage whispered and gave her his million dollar smile, which, for some inexplicable reason, caused Duncan to burst out laughing, which quickly spread to Guy, then Tony, and finally Sean too.  Brie merely smiled and shook her head, which probably meant she’d passed on the shots and was content with her beer.

Jill sighed and turned to Ethan.  "I’m going out for a walk with Sydney.  Can you keep an ear out for Jake?"

"Of course."  I was sure he’d had as much to drink as anyone else but there was no slur to his words.  He looked over at me and I glared in return.  Blake had spent forty hours traveling to get here, so I could forgive him his moment of pique.  Ethan, on the other hand, had no excuse.  Nor did I believe for one second his offering Blake that bottle was some sort of spontaneous gesture of good will.  Ethan had a reason.  I didn’t know what it was yet, but I intended to find out.

"C’mon," Jill said, grabbing my arm and pulling me out the door.  "You can ream Ethan later."

It was eerie how she could read my mind sometimes.

We circumnavigated the island in the gray evening light, Jill pointing out her favorite spots—those with the prettiest views of the island, and the ones that offered the most visibility of the walrus haul-out sites below.  By the time we completed the loop, I’d chosen locations for every scene but one, which would depend on the weather.  If the sun came out for a few hours, I wanted to shoot Blake on the lookout point above the sea lion beach to take advantage of the wild flowers and the stunning ocean view.  But if it started raining the mud would make it too hard to reach and we’d have to find another spot closer to the trail.

"Do you think they’ve all gone to sleep?" Jill asked, as we approached the silent cabin.

"Not all of them," I said, as I pushed open the door and surveyed the scene.  Guy was lying on the couch, drool dripping from his open mouth, Tony was curled up in the recliner, and Duncan was passed out on the rug in the middle of the living room floor.  I didn’t see Brie, so I presumed she’d gone to bed.  Blake, Sean, and Ethan were still sitting at the dining room table playing cards and drinking beer.  From the mountain of chips in front of Blake he appeared to be winning.  Sean still had several stacks of reds and blacks, but Ethan was down to his last few.

As I approached the table, Blake smiled at me through glassy eyes.  "Hey, babe.  How was your walk?"

"Productive.  How’s your game?"

His eyes narrowed into slits as his smile widened.  "I’m up three hundred bucks."

"Good.  You can donate it to the foundation."

Blake smiled again.  "That’s what I love about you, Syd.  You always know the right thing to do."

Ethan coughed loudly, but I ignored him.

"I’m glad you think so, because the right thing for you to do now would be to go to bed."

He reached out and hooked his finger through my belt loop and gave my jeans a tug.  I stood firm so instead of pulling me closer, he fell off his chair.  Sean burst out laughing and even Ethan smiled and shook his head, but Jill came running to my side.  "Is he okay?"

Since Blake was still smiling and I didn’t see any blood, I said, "I assume."

"Syd, you gotta get down here.  You’re huge, like one of those Amazon women."

Jill sighed and turned to Ethan.  "I expect you to clean up this mess, and that includes getting everyone to their respective tents."  When he nodded his assent, she said, "Good, then I’m going to bed."

I helped Blake off the floor while Sean woke Guy and Tony, and the three of them roused Duncan and pulled him to his feet.  I held the door open as the four of them staggered outside, but when Ethan tried to follow, I blocked his way.

"You’ve got some explaining to do first."

"Moi?"

"Yes, you.  What exactly was the point of all this?"

"No point," he said, but gave me a mischievous grin.  "Just a bunch of guys kicking back."

"Oh right.  Since when are you Mr. Sociable?"

"I thought you’d be happy I was being nice to your boyfriend."

"You weren’t being nice.  You just wanted to get him drunk.  The why is what I don’t understand."

He smiled again and leaned in.  I was sure he was going to kiss me, but at the last moment he moved his lips to my ear and whispered, "You will."  I shuddered involuntarily, which only seemed to amuse him more.  "Good night, Sydney," he called out to me as he disappeared into the starless gray night.

Half an hour later, when Blake and I were naked and he swore this was the first time such a thing had ever happened to him, I finally understood.

The next morning after Blake promised not to spend any more nights drinking with Ethan, I agreed to hike up to the cabin to get him a handful of Tylenol and two cans of Coke.  I found Jill in the office talking on the VHF radio.

I waited until she signed off before I asked, "Can I steal a few aspirin from you?"

"That depends," she replied.  "When were you going to tell me you invited two more people to the island?"

Chapter 50

"Excuse me?"  I said.

"That was Captain Lyle," Jill said, motioning toward the radio.  "Your colleagues will be here within the hour."

"My colleagues?"  I had no clue who she could possibly be referring to since all of my co-workers were thousands of miles away.

"We had a deal, Sydney.  It was only supposed to be the three of you."

"Jill, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about."

"You mean you don’t work with someone named Lindsay Holt?" she asked before stomping off towards the kitchen.

"I do," I said, following her, "but I never asked her to come here.  Lindsay would be the last person I’d invite to Wilde Island."  Or anywhere for that matter.

"Well, if you didn’t, then who did?"

I unzipped the flap of my tent and found Blake still dozing in our combined sleeping bags.  I nudged his foot until he opened his eyes.  "Tell me you did not ask Lindsay to come here?"

He looked around the tent as if he didn’t know where he was then said, "Who’s Lindsay?"

"Lindsay Holt.  You’ve only met her a dozen times."

His blank stare told me he still had no clue who I was talking about.

"From my office.  Tall, blond, big boobs."

"Oh right."  He smiled.  "Lindsay."

I kicked him again, harder this time.  "Why on earth would you ask her to come here then not even tell me?  You know I can’t stand her and now Jill’s pissed too."

"I didn’t ask her to come here.  I didn’t even remember her name."

"Then who did?"

"How the hell should I know.  Hey, did you get my aspirin?  My head is killing me."

After I questioned Guy, who claimed he’d never met Lindsay, which I believed since he was only a cameraman and therefore not worthy of her schmooze, the three of us traipsed up to the cabin together.  After I handed out aspirins and cans of Coke, I introduced Blake to the island’s outdoor shower.  When I returned to the cabin Guy, with assistance from Duncan and Brie, had located the cereal and coffee.

"Anybody seen Jill?" I asked.  She wasn’t in the office or the loft.

"She went down to meet the new campers," Duncan said.

"Already."  I thought I’d at least have time to change my clothes and brush my teeth.  I ran to the kitchen sink where I splashed water on my face and pulled my unwashed hair into a pony tail.  I was about to head to the office for my sat phone (maybe Megan could tell me why Lindsay was here) when the door swung open and a blast of cold air rushed in, followed by Jill, Lindsay, and a stunning redhead who I’d never met but looked familiar anyhow.

"Surprise!" the two women screamed.  Then the redhead, who was more auburn than carrot top, glanced around the small cabin and asked, "Where’s Blake?"

I ignored her and focused on Lindsay.  "What the hell are you doing here?"  I wasn’t happy to see her, but I couldn’t help but take some pleasure in her inappropriate attire.  Her previously beige Ugg boots were stained black, and even if she did have the forethought to wear socks, her feet had to be freezing.  I was also positive she had no room for long underwear beneath those skin-tight jeans.  Her puffy white winter jacket looked like it might be waterproof, but since it barely covered her midriff, I knew that if the lower half of her body wasn’t numb with cold already, it would be soon.

"Nice welcome," Lindsay replied.

"I’m serious, Lindsay.  Why are you here?"

"Lindsay told me you asked her to come."  It was obvious from Jill’s hostile tone that she believed her.

"No," I replied through gritted teeth, "I most definitely did not.  Lindsay?"

Lindsay turned to Jill and shot her a fake smile.  "Did I say Sydney?  I meant to say Sydney’s boss."

"You expect me to believe that Rick asked you to come here?"

"Yes," Lindsay answered calmly, "because he did."

"You’re so full of it.  Why would he do that?"

Before she could answer, the door whooshed open again, and a shivering, wet-haired Blake rushed in.  "Syd, you—" was all he managed before he spotted the redhead, or before she spotted him.

"There you are you silly bastard," she said, in an Australian accent so thick she left no doubt where she was from.  Blake remained rooted in place and she added, "Well are you going to stand there like a wanker or come over here and give me a proper hello?"

That seemed to break him from his reverie.  "Sheena, I’m just surprised to see you," he said, as he walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, which seemed to surprise her too.

I’d never met Sheena Tyler before, but her face had graced the cover of countless magazines.  She was even more stunning in person.  Sculpted cheekbones, puffy lips, and a long, lean body that looked good in anything, including the pink and brown polka dot rubber boots she wore with leggings, a chocolate mini-skirt, and matching coat, scarf, and beret.

The next few seconds passed in awkward silence until Blake realized we were waiting on him.  "Sheena’s my co-star," he said, as if I didn’t already know.  When they’d met he’d described her as a "stuck up bitch."  Obviously their relationship had improved.

"Nice to meet you, Sydney," she said, as she slipped her arm through Blake’s.  "I’ve heard a lot about you."

"Really?" I said, and turned to Blake, who managed to subtly disengage his arm from hers by pushing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.  "What did he tell you?"

She gave me an odd look and seemed on the verge of answering when Blake said, "I’ve really got to get out of these dirty clothes," and practically sprinted for the door.

I started to follow, but Jill said, "Sydney, I need talk to you."

"Can it wait?"  Blake had a lot of explaining to do.  A LOT of explaining.

"No," she said in a tone that let me know it wasn’t up for debate.  "Duncan, would you mind taking our new guests on a tour of the island?"

He was out of his chair before Jill had even finished asking.  "Love to," he said, and ran to Sheena’s side.  Surprisingly, or maybe not, Brie didn’t follow.  She stayed seated at the table with Guy, who’d developed a sudden fascination with the inside of his cereal bowl.

"Can we stop at the ladies room first?" Lindsay asked.

"Of course," Duncan answered, as he held open the door.

If Jill wasn’t so angry I would’ve followed them.  I was dying to see the expression on Lindsay’s face when Duncan showed her the outhouse.  But I waited for the cabin door to shut behind them before I turned to Jill.  "You can’t be mad at me for this.  I didn’t invite them."

"Your boss sending them here really isn’t much better," Jill replied.

"Don’t assume that’s true either.  I’m going to call my office right now and find out what’s really going on."  Cheryl would tell me the truth.

"What about the permits?  We charge extra when you don’t obtain them in advance."

"Don’t worry, Lindsay never leaves home without her check book."  As I said it, I realized there was another solution, one that solved both of our problems.  "Actually, I have a better idea."

"What?" Jill asked.

"Don’t issue the permits.  Tell them the quota’s been filled.  Then they’ll have to leave, right?"

"Sydney, I can’t do that."

"Why not?  Lindsay knows the supply’s limited.  She’d believe you if you told her there were none left.  Besides, there’s nowhere for them to sleep.  We’re out of tents."  They probably could’ve squeezed in with Guy, but I wasn’t about to offer that up.

"For one thing, they don’t need camping permits, just day passes."

"You mean they just came for the day?"  It hardly seemed worth it with all the travel time involved.

"No, because they’ll be sleeping on the ship."

"What ship?"

Chapter 51

I followed Jill down to the boat cove.  I didn’t need her binoculars to see the yacht anchored a hundred yards off shore.

"That boat must be fifty feet long."

"Sixty," Jill replied.  "It sleeps six, and that’s not including the crew."

"It comes with its own crew?"

"Of course," Jill said.  "You need one for a boat that size."

"And people sail out here just for the day?"

"Some people," she said.  "Usually it’s an organized tour, but occasionally we get charters too."

"How come you didn’t tell me about this when I got here?"  The foundation never could’ve afforded a boat like that for a whole month, but I might’ve been able to rent it for a few days when Blake was here.

"Because yacht charters start at $12,000 a week, and that’s just for the ship.  The food, fuel, and crew are all extra."

Okay, maybe not.  "Then who’s paying for this one?"

We caught up with Sheena and Lindsay on the trail.  Sheena had her scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth.  Duncan had given Lindsay the bandana he’d previously been using as a sling, and Lindsay had it tied around her face bandit style.

"Oh my God," Lindsay said when she spotted me.  "How do you stand it here?"

I’d smelled worse days.  "You get used to it."

"I doubt that," she said and turned to Duncan.  "Can’t we go back to the cabin?"

"I’ll take you," I said, before Duncan could.  It was time the two of us had a chat with our boss.

I pushed the speaker button on the sat phone.  "Rick, it’s Sydney, and I’ve got Lindsay here too."

"Good," he said, after a two second delay.  "You made it."

"Told you," Lindsay mouthed so Rick couldn’t hear.

I clicked the speaker button off and held the receiver to my ear.  "I can’t believe you sent Lindsay here to check up on me.  And who’s paying for that boat?  There’s no way the foundation can afford that."

"You let me worry about that," he said.  "And I didn’t send her to check up on you.  She’s traveling with Sheena."

"Why is Sheena here?"  I had intended to ask Blake that question, but he ran out of the cabin too fast.

"Because she wanted to go.  That’s our job, Sydney, to give the clients what they want."

"Since when do we represent Sheena Tyler?"  I didn’t even know her name until three months ago when she was cast opposite Blake.  Before that she was just another model.

"You might try reading the trades every now and then.  As of last week, she’s the new Bond girl."

Rick left us for another conference call, so Lindsay filled me in on the rest of the story.  At least her version of it, which was that Blake told Sheena about the documentary and asked her to star in it too.  When Rick found out, he was only too happy to arrange things to get Sheena to sign with BB&L.  Every P.R. firm in town was wooing her once she landed the Bond girl role.  That part I believed.  Those films generated massive amounts of publicity, and massive amounts of publicists’ fees.  It was the rest of the story I questioned.

"Blake would never have asked Sheena to participate without discussing it with me first.  I’m the producer."

Lindsay nodded toward the lone figure hiking up the trail.  "Don’t believe me, go ask him yourself."

Then she grabbed the sat phone from my hand and headed inside the cabin, while I ran down the trail to meet Blake.

"I’ve been looking all over for you," he said before I could.  "Don’t we need to start shooting?  You know I’m only here for three days."

Amazing, this ability he had to act as if nothing had changed.  "Did you ask Sheena to be in the documentary?"

"Of course not," he said.  "Why would you think that?"

Truly, the man had a gift.  "Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe because she just happened to show up on the same remote island where you and I just happen to be shooting a documentary.  Then there’s that little matter of her telling my boss that you did!"  I wasn’t taking Lindsay’s word for it.  If Rick was shelling out $12,000 a week for a charter, there had to be a reason.

"Syd, it wasn’t like that."

He might as well have dealt me a body blow, since I felt like I’d been sucker punched.  "Jesus Christ, Blake, what were you thinking?  Did you think I wasn’t going to notice?  That she was just going to show up here unannounced and I was going to say ‘Sure, join us, the more the merrier?’"

"Actually—"

"And what was that fucking kiss all about?  Are you sleeping with her too?"

"Hey," he said, pointing his finger in my face.  "I kissed her on the cheek."

"Yeah, and she looked like she was expecting a lot more."

"That’s her problem, not mine."

"Well, it’s yours now, genius, because you’re the one who invited her."

"I didn’t invite her," he said through clenched teeth.  "I just told her I’d like to work with her again and she took it the wrong way.  What’s the big deal anyway?  If she wants to be in it, just let her."

"For starters, the foundation only approved you."

"Why would they say no to Sheena?" he asked, honestly bewildered, or at least convincingly pretending to be.  "Did you know she’s going to be the next Bond girl?"

"Yeah, I heard."  Only the third time in the last ten minutes.

"Then you know how much publicity she’ll get.  They should be grateful.  So should you."

Grateful?  He expected me to be grateful that he asked another woman, one he might be cheating on me with, to participate in a film I was jeopardizing my job to produce all because he woke up one day and decided he wanted to pretend he was a goddamn humanitarian?  "Sure Blake.  Any more bimbos you’d like to invite?  Perhaps an ex-girlfriend or two?"

"I told you," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.  "There’s nothing going on between us."

"Forgive me if I don’t just take your word for it.  I’m having a little déjà vu here.  Wasn’t that scene partner you were just friends with a redhead too?"

"That was years ago, Sydney.  Let it go already."  Then he stalked off in the direction of the cabin.

I went back to my tent, zipped the flap shut behind me, which isn’t nearly as satisfying as slamming a door, and screamed.  Then I hurled myself onto my sleeping bag, momentarily forgetting that it was hard wood and not a mattress underneath.  I was still cradling my arm, which wasn’t broken but was definitely bruised, when Guy stuck his head inside a few minutes later.

"Syd, it’s almost noon.  Don’t you think we should start shooting?"

"Haven’t you heard?  We have two stars now.  I have to rewrite the whole fucking thing."

"No, you don’t.  They can split the lines."

"But Sheena hasn’t even read the script yet."  Or maybe she had.  It’s not like Blake would’ve bothered to tell me.

"Syd, it’s ten pages.  She can memorize them while we’re setting up.  Or we’ll put her lines on cue cards."

"Good luck finding cue cards on Wilde Island."

"Then we’ll improvise.  You need to go with the flow on these things.  Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘There’s your plan and there’s God’s plan, and God’s plan is the only one that counts?’"

Yes, but this wasn’t God’s plan, it was Lindsay’s.

Jill insisted we all eat lunch before we started shooting, which worked out well since it gave Sheena time to read the script.  It also gave her an opportunity to flirt with every male in the room.  When Sheena wasn’t teasing Blake about his attempts at an Aussie accent, she was quizzing Sean and Tony about Juneau, asking Duncan his opinion about Irish lagers, and telling Ethan every other word out of his mouth was "brilliant."  And they all fell under her spell, even Jake.  By the time we finished our sandwiches he wanted to "shoot a movie too."

"No Jake," Jill told him.  "Sydney’s going to be too busy to play with you today."

"Actually, I don’t mind if Jake comes along."  I needed someone to hold the reflector screen while I managed the mic.

"Are you sure?" Jill asked.

"Absolutely."  If Jake hadn’t volunteered I would’ve had to ask Lindsay.

When the sun peeked through the clouds for the first time in two days, the six of us (Lindsay insisted on coming even though I told her she wasn’t needed) headed up to the lookout point above the sea lion beach.  There were no whales today, but the wild flowers were in full bloom and the ocean was shimmering in the afternoon light.  Guy positioned Blake and Sheena with the blossoms in the foreground and Bristol Bay behind for maximum effect, while I stood to the side holding the boom mic over their heads, and Jake and Lindsay were stationed on either side of the camera, propping up two-foot-wide reflector screens.

Guy hadn’t even begun recording yet when Jake started complaining.  "This is boring."

"It’ll get better," I promised, even though I knew it wouldn’t.

Only five minutes had passed before Jake said, "I’m tired.  I want to go back."

"Please, Jake, just a little bit longer."  I couldn’t hold the mic and his screen, and Lindsay couldn’t be on both sides.

He gave us two more minutes, enough time to record one take, before he walked off the set.  But that was long enough for me to realize we had a potential disaster on our hands.  I waited until Guy called for a break to reposition the camera before I wandered over to him.  "Any ideas?"

"About?" he asked, bending down to tighten the knobs on the tripod’s legs.

I knelt down next to him.  "You didn’t notice anything odd about Sheena’s performance?"

"You mean besides the fact that she totally sucked?"

I let out the breath I’d been holding.  "Thank God you agree."  It wasn’t that Sheena hadn’t learned her lines, she had, and in record time.  The problem was her sultry voice and her longing gaze when she spoke.  I would never have believed the phrase "sharp tusked behemoths" could be so sexy if I hadn’t witnessed it myself.  "So what are you going to do?"

"What do you expect me to do?"

Wasn’t it obvious?  "Fire her!  You’re the director."

"You’re the producer.  You fire her."

"You know I can’t.  Blake will just think it’s because I’m jealous."  Which of course I was.  He was returning some of those longing gazes with meaningful glances of his own.

"Syd, this is your baby, not mine.  Either you get rid of her or I’ll work with what I’ve got."

I had to give him credit for trying.  Guy shot the scene three more times, with each take gently suggesting to Sheena that she alter her inflection or change her stance.  Although she followed his directions, the result was essentially the same.  She talked about the walruses, but her voice and her body said you want to have sex with me.  And it was obvious that Blake did.  I practically did too and I’d never had so much as a lesbian fantasy before that day.

One thing was clear though:  Sheena had to go.

Chapter 52

"Are you out of your mind?" Ethan said.

Maybe, but he was still my best shot at getting rid of Sheena.  I’d waited until we finished shooting the scene and were changing locations before I asked Lindsay for help.  I didn’t want to, and she didn’t want to oblige, but eventually she agreed to hold the mic over Blake’s and Sheena’s heads for half an hour in exchange for a co-producer credit on the documentary.  I figured thirty minutes would be more than enough time to find Ethan and convince him to help me.  I may have overestimated my powers of persuasion.

"Ethan, I’m begging you," I said, and sank down to my knees with my hands clasped in front of my chest.

He finished pouring coffee into his mug, then walked over to me, leaving just inches between my face and his crotch.  "This is a good look for you.  But next time take your clothes off, or at least strip down to your underwear."  Then he stepped around me and headed back to the office.

"Ethan, I’m serious," I said, following him inside.

"So am I."  He sat down at the extra desk, which had formerly been mine but from the mounds of books and paper spread across it, appeared to now be his.

"I thought you cared about this film.  Isn’t that why we’re all here?"

"No, that’s why you’re here," he replied, and folded his pad of paper to a clean sheet.  "Or at least that’s your excuse.  I’m here to count walruses."

"Yes, but we’re on the same team.  We both want to help the walruses and this documentary can do that.  At least it can if it’s any good."

Ethan ignored me and started writing.

I grabbed the pen from his hand and threw it across the room.  "Why won’t you help?"

Ethan sighed and pushed his reading glasses to the top of his head.  "What do you want me to say to her, Sydney?  You’re ruining the documentary?  She’ll just get upset and leave."  He stared at me a moment before he cracked a smile.  "Or is that the point?  Eliminate the competition so you can have lover boy all to yourself."

"This is not about Blake!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure.  If you don’t believe me, then come watch her and decide for yourself.  If you think Sheena’s good, then we’ll keep her.  If not, then you tell her it’s not working and she has to go."

"Why would she listen to me?  I’m not the producer."

"Because you’re the world’s foremost expert on walruses and we all know this documentary won’t succeed without your support."  He preened, confirming my suspicion that his ego really was bigger than his brain.

"Remind me again why I should help you."

"You’re not helping me.  You’re helping the walruses."

"I don’t know, Sydney," he said, his voice oozing sarcasm.  "I wouldn’t want to upset the poor girl."

"Yeah, Ethan, everyone knows you’re all about sparing other people’s feelings."

Ethan insisted on making me wait.  His excuse was that it would be less obvious if he and Duncan happened upon us while they were out counting walruses.  I wasn’t happy about wasting hours shooting footage I knew we’d never use, but I also realized I didn’t have a choice.

If I could’ve gotten Guy alone I would have filled him in on the plan, but Blake, Sheena, or Lindsay were always with him.  All I could do was keep us shooting close enough to the trail that eventually Ethan would have to pass us.  Two hours later he did.

We were between takes when Ethan wandered by, his binoculars draped around his neck and Duncan at his side.  Blake and Sheena were standing near the edge of the cliff, and I was a few yards away giving my arms a rest from holding the mic over their heads.  Lindsay was hovering behind Guy, who was holding a light meter up to the sky.

"What are you doing?" Ethan asked, stepping off the trail and stopping directly between Blake and Sheena and the camera.

"We were about to start shooting," Guy said, taking his place behind the lens.  "If you wouldn’t mind."

Ethan circled around so he was now in back of Blake and Sheena instead of in front of them, and motioned for Duncan to follow.  "Don’t mind us.  We just need to count the walruses, and we’ll be out of your way."

I grabbed Ethan by the arm and walked him out of the frame.  "Maybe you can wait a few minutes.  We’re almost done here."

Ethan sighed heavily and rolled his eyes at me, seriously overplaying his part.  I had no choice but to work with what he gave me.  "Blake, did I tell you Ethan agreed to an on-camera interview for the documentary?"

"That’s great," Blake said, his eyes never straying from Sheena’s perfect body.

"Hey, since you’re here anyway," I said, turning back to Ethan, "why don’t you give us your opinion.  Guy, did you know we’re making this documentary on behalf of Ethan’s foundation?"

Ethan’s eyebrows shot up and I mouthed, "Go with it."  He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t contradict me.

Duncan, who was taking advantage of the opportunity to chat up Lindsay, turned around.  "I didn’t know you founded Save the Walrus.  How come you never mentioned it?"

"I didn’t found it," Ethan said, and shot me another angry look.  "I’m just on the board."

"If everyone’s done chatting," Guy said, "we’re ready to shoot."

I hurried back over to Blake and Sheena and held the mic over their heads while Blake ran his fingers through his hair and Sheena checked her makeup in the compact she kept in her back pocket.  When they were both done primping, Guy called "action" and the two of them turned toward the camera.

"These walruses have a new enemy," Sheena said, before turning to face the beach so Guy could shoot her at a three-quarter angle.

"And it’s us," Blake said into the camera before following Sheena’s lead.

After they each gave the walruses a wistful gaze they turned back to the camera.

"Walruses just like these are dying every day," Blake said.  He gave Sheena a quick glance before facing the camera again.  "The unseen victims of global climate change."

Sheena wrapped her arm around Blake’s waist and stared at him with adoring eyes before she too faced the camera.  "Their habitat is literally melting out from under them."

"Cut!" Ethan yelled.

"Hey, buddy," Guy called out to him, "that’s my job."

"Then you should do it," Ethan replied.

Guy made sure the camera was secure on the tripod before stomping across the soggy grass.  "Listen, man, if you want to stay and watch I’m cool with that, but there’s only one director.  If you think you can do better than me, you’re welcome to try."

"Maybe I will," Ethan said.

I shoved the mic into Blake’s hand and ran over to them.  "Guy, just ignore him.  You’re doing a great job."  Then I glared at Ethan, hoping to telepathically remind him that he was supposed to chase Sheena away, not our director/cameraman.

"Excuse me," Lindsay said, strutting up to Ethan, "but have you ever directed a film before?  Or anything for that matter?"

"You don’t have to be a director to know when something’s a piece of crap.  Am I right, Sydney?"

I was sooo going to hurt him for this.  I slipped my arm through Ethan’s and pulled him to the side.  "Of course we want you to be happy with this film," I said loudly and turned to Guy to make sure he was listening before I fixed my angry stare on Ethan again.  "After all, you are the client.  But telling us it’s a piece of crap isn’t constructive.  Perhaps if you told us specifically what’s bothering you then we can try to fix it."

Ethan shook me off and pointed at Sheena and Blake.  "For one thing, you’re cluttering up the shot with those two when you should be focusing on the walruses."

"Don’t worry," Guy replied, showing remarkable restraint, "we’ll be shooting plenty of walrus footage before we leave."

"And the acting," Ethan continued, shaking his head.   "He’s not bad, but she’s got to go."  Then Ethan turned to Sheena and said, "Sorry, honey, there’s no denying you’re gorgeous, but you need to rethink your career."

It sounded like a giant vacuum as we all sucked in our breath at once.

"Ethan," Duncan said, running up to him, "what are you doing?"

"Exactly what Sydney asked me to," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

Thankfully I was the only one who understood the double entendre.  But before I had time to react, Blake shoved the mic back into my hands and marched over to Ethan.  "Hey, man," he said, his face only inches from Ethan’s, "I’m sorry you’re not happy with our work, but that doesn’t give you the right to be rude.  I think you owe Sheena an apology."

We all held our breath as Ethan shifted his inscrutable gaze from Blake to Sheena.  "Honey, with a body like yours I could think of dozens of films you’d be perfect in. But if you’re planning on keeping your clothes on, then you need to keep your mouth shut."

"Blake, don’t!" I screamed, but his fist had already landed on Ethan’s cheek.

Chapter 53

I ran to Ethan, who was down on the ground but still swinging, while Guy struggled to pull Blake off of him.  "He’s not worth it, man," Guy shouted over and over.  "Just let it go."  Eventually the combination of Guy’s tugging, my screaming, and Sheena’s cries penetrated, and Blake stood up and allowed Sheena to pull him away.

"What an ass," Lindsay said, looking down at Ethan before sidling up to Blake and Sheena in a show of support.

Duncan joined me, kneeling on the wet ground at Ethan’s other side.  "What the hell were you thinking?  He could’ve beaten you to a bloody pulp."

Ethan sat up, a pink welt already forming under his left eye.  "Ask her," he said.

Duncan stared at me, but I ignored him.  "Would it have killed you to be a little diplomatic?" I whispered, as I offered him a hand up.  "Now he’s so mad he’ll probably want to leave too."

"Yeah, that would really be awful," Ethan replied, ignoring my outstretched hand and rising to his feet himself.  "Though I’m confident you won’t let that happen."

He was right, of course.  But it was still going to require major damage control.  I gingerly placed my fingers on the pink spot on Ethan’s cheek, and he winced.  "You should put some ice on that.  Duncan, why don’t you take Ethan back to the cabin."

"I’m not an invalid," Ethan said, swatting my hand away.  "Go finish the walrus count, then find me when you’re done."

"Are you sure?" Duncan asked.

"Yes, I’m sure.  Now go!"

Duncan rolled his eyes at Ethan behind his back before he grabbed his clipboard off the ground and stalked off.

"Get out of here," I whispered to Ethan when I saw Blake walking toward us.  He was cradling his fist in his other hand, but thankfully his face looked okay.

"I’m so sorry about this, Blake," I said, intercepting him before he could reach Ethan.  "I feel like this is all my fault."

"That guy’s the problem," he said, nodding at Ethan’s retreating back, "not you."

"Tell me what I can do to make this better," I said, grabbing Blake’s hands, thereby forcing his attention back to me.  "Do you want to keep shooting, or do you want to take a break?  And, Sheena," I added, grabbing her free hand, the one that wasn’t encircling Blake’s waist.  "I’m so sorry about this.  Please know that I completely disagree with everything Ethan said.  I think you’re a fabulous actress."  That last part was true.  I had no doubt she’d be a great Bond girl, she just wasn’t right for the documentary.

"It’s okay," she said.  "I’ve known blokes like him my whole life.  They just put women down to make themselves feel better."

"I think we could all use a drink," Lindsay suggested.

For once I agreed with her.  "There’s probably some beer left at the cabin."

Lindsay shook her head.  "No, I’ve had enough of this island."

"You’re leaving?"  This had worked even better than I thought.

"Of course not," she said.  "I’m going back to the ship, where we have a fully stocked bar."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Blake said, and turned to Guy.  "You in?"

Guy looked up at the darkening sky.  "I need to store the gear first."

Blake looked up too.  "You want us to wait?"

"No, you go.  Sydney can help me with the equipment.  We’ll meet you out there."

Blake nodded, and the three of them walked off in the direction of the boat cove.

Guy waited until they were out of hearing range before he turned on me.  "What the hell was that about?"

"Well you wouldn’t fire her.  I had to do something."

"You actually think that was an improvement over talking it over with Blake?"

"Yes.  He can’t write Ethan off as just another jealous lover."

He shook his head.  "I sure hope you know what you’re doing."

Me too.

After Guy and I secured the equipment in his tent, we followed the trail down to the boat cove where Miguel, an Alaskan Sun crewmember according to the white stitching on his navy windbreaker, was waiting in a dinghy to ferry us out to the yacht.  Five minutes later we stepped down into the Alaskan Sun’s main cabin, which housed a full-sized kitchen, a dining table that sat ten, and a living room with a sectional sofa, a DVD player, and a 42-inch plasma TV.  We found Lindsay seated on a bar stool digging into a bowl of chips and salsa, Sheena next to her nibbling on a carrot stick, and Blake behind the counter whipping up a batch of margaritas.

I waited until everyone had moved into the living room and was well into their first drink, or in the case of Blake and Guy, already on their second, before I dared broach the subject of the documentary.  "If you guys don’t mind working late, we can probably wrap tomorrow night, and then you can spend the weekend in L.A."

"I’d rather not," Sheena said.

"We can wait until tomorrow morning if you want, but that means we’ll have to shoot a third day."  I doubted the prospect of a longer schedule would turn her off the project if Ethan’s comments hadn’t, but it was worth a shot.

"No," Sheena said, "You don’t understand.  I no longer want to participate."

"What!" Blake shouted, at the same time I silently thanked God, and Lindsay said, "You can’t let that idiot shake your confidence."

"Lindsay’s right," Blake said.  "He doesn’t have cast approval, does he, Sydney?"

"No, but we do need his support.  We have to have at least one on-camera expert."

"Then we’ll find another," Blake said, and slammed his margarita glass down so hard half of it sloshed onto the table.  "Or we can just forget this whole thing.  Doesn’t that asshole know we’re all working for free?"

I turned to Guy, hoping he’d back me up, but he just sipped his drink.  "Blake, I’ll do whatever you want.  But I thought you really cared about this project.  If that’s true, then please don’t throw it all away over Ethan.  It’s not the walruses’ fault he can’t hold his tongue.  Don’t make them suffer for his stupidity."

"She’s right," Sheena said, and grabbed Blake’s hand.  "You shouldn’t quit just because of me."

She was taking my side, but I still wanted to throttle her.  I grabbed Blake’s other hand, forcing him to look at me instead.  "It’s been a long day, Blake.  Why don’t we go back to the island for a nap then see how you feel?"  I followed up with what I hoped was a seductive smile.

"You don’t have to go back to the island," Sheena said.  "We’ve plenty of beds here."

Blake looked from Sheena to me and dropped both of our hands.  "You’re right," he said, jumping up from the couch.  "I’m a professional.  Let’s go finish this thing."

We worked straight through until eleven o’clock that night.  I think Blake would’ve kept going until we’d finished shooting every scene, but the light was fading and Guy was afraid even if he could jury-rig one of the lamps he’d brought, the shots wouldn’t match up.

As the three of us hiked back to the campground lugging the equipment between us Guy spotted the yacht off in the distance.  "You know, I bet they’ve got some extra beds on that ship."

"Go for it."  Blake grinned.  "Without me there you might even have a shot."

"Since when would you rather sleep in a tent than on a yacht?" Guy said.

I was going to ask the same thing, and suggest we all trade in our sleeping bags for a night on the ship when Blake laughed and said, "It’s not worth the complications."

I stopped short, forcing Blake to stop short too since he was carrying the other end of my equipment case.  "What complications?"

Blake only paused for a second before he said, "Lindsay.  I assumed you’d want to keep this, us," he added, motioning from himself to me, "from her.  Wasn’t that what we agreed?"

"Oh, right.  I forgot."  Once Jake had outed us, we’d stopped pretending.  But that was before Sheena and Lindsay had arrived.  Since they’d landed we’d both been hands off.  I wanted to believe Blake, and yet . . . "Are you sure this has nothing to do with Sheena?"

"I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer," he said, then started walking again, forcing me to follow him.

The next morning Blake and I both agreed that just because we hadn’t slept on the ship, didn’t mean we couldn’t shower there.  I ran up to the cabin to radio the captain and by the time we walked down to the boat cove, Miguel was already waiting for us in the dinghy.

The ship had three staterooms, each with its own bath.  We didn’t want to disturb Sheena or Lindsay, so we both used Guy’s.  The stall was too small to share, so I showered first and blew dry my hair while Blake showered after me.  Then we relinquished the tiny bathroom to Guy while we went in search of food.

Blake and I were helping ourselves to the enormous breakfast buffet the crew had laid out in the kitchen when Sheena sauntered in wearing nothing but a short black kimono.

"We missed you last night," she said, as she ignored the food and dropped a teabag into a mug.  Then she slid into the seat next to Blake.  "I waited up for you, but you never came."

"Where’s Lindsay?" Blake asked, not so subtly changing the subject.

Sheena shrugged.  "Still sleeping, I suppose."

"No, I’m not," Lindsay called from the stairwell.  She appeared seconds later wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe with the ship’s insignia on the chest, and a magazine in her hand.  She tossed it onto the table as she helped herself to bacon, hashbrowns, and scrambled eggs.

"Since when do you read Alaska Today magazine?" I asked, as I stared at the cover—a photo of a pristine white glacier under the heading ‘Will they be here in fifty years?’

"I finished my book last night and this was the only other reading material in my cabin.  But," she added, as she sat down across from me, "it gave me an idea for what we can do today."

"Lindsay, this isn’t a vacation.  We have work to do."

"Not you," she said, then folded open the magazine and slid it in front of Sheena.  "How would you like to be the guest of honor at the Northern Lights International Film Festival?"

I spit my coffee all over my plate, but I was finished eating anyway.  "Boy, you’ve really hit the big time now.  What’s next, Lindsay?  Grand marshal of the Wisconsin Dairy Parade?"

"It is big time," Lindsay replied, "for Alaska.  Every major corporation in the state is a sponsor, and as luck would have it, the festival’s this week."  She turned back to Sheena.  "You don’t have to go.  I just thought since we’re here anyway, it might be fun.  I doubt they get many real celebrities up here, so I’m sure they’d be thrilled to have you.  But it’s completely up to you."

Blake kicked me under the table.  "How come you didn’t hook me up for that?  I’m a real celebrity."

Sheena set the magazine in front of him.  "Look, it says here they’re awarding the coveted golden bears at tonight’s ceremony.  Do you think they’d let us walk the plaid carpet?"

"They do not have a plaid carpet."  I assumed she was telling the truth about the statues.

"They most certainly do," she said, and handed me the magazine.

She was right.  Above the text of the article was a photo of a 1950s vintage movie theater with a long plaid carpet out front set off by velvet ropes.  "Where did they even find a plaid carpet that long?"

"Read it and weep," Lindsay said, before she pulled the magazine out of my hand.  "What do you say, Sheena, you game?"

"As long as we can leave early if it’s boring."

"How about you, Blake?" Lindsay asked.  "You want in on this too?"

"Hmmm."

I couldn’t believe he was even considering it.  "Blake, we haven’t finished shooting yet."

"I know," he said.  "But you only need me for two more scenes.  The rest is B-roll."

"The ceremony’s not until eight," Lindsay said.  "If you want to come we can wait until you’re finished and leave this afternoon."

"What the hell," he said.  "Sounds like fun."

"Great," Lindsay said.  Then she leapt from her seat and raced to the bridge shouting, "Miguel, I need a phone."

Sheena stood up too and stretched her arms overhead.  Her black silk robe clung to her body, highlighting every curve, which undoubtedly was her intent.  Blake couldn’t take his eyes off of her.  "I better go see if I have anything to wear," she said, as she sashayed out of the room.  "It’s not every day a girl gets to walk a plaid carpet."  Then she disappeared down the steps, bumping into Guy along the way.

"What’d I miss?" he asked, after he’d stopped staring after her.

Chapter 54

"I can’t believe you’re going to leave me to go off with Sheena," I said, as we climbed back into the dinghy.  I didn’t care that Guy and Miguel were listening.  I was too angry to wait until we were alone.

"I’m not leaving you to go off with Sheena.  I shouldn’t have to tell you that publicity’s work too.  Did you know Alaska’s the biggest state in the country?"

"Geographically, not population-wise."

He shot me his million-dollar smile.  "C’mon, Syd, don’t you think it sounds like fun in a kitschy, Annie Get Your Gun kind of way?"

"No, Blake, I think it sounds stupid and pointless."

He sighed as Miguel shut the engine.  "Listen, Syd, I haven’t had a weekend off in months, and as soon as we wrap in Australia I have to fly to New Mexico for Desert Sun.  So don’t bust my chops because I want to have a little fun every now and then."

"Fine, Blake.  Go have your fun.  I’ll just be here producing your movie."

We shot the last two scenes in record time then returned to the cabin so Blake could watch the video I’d taken in the Arctic before he had to leave.  With Guy in the center holding the camera, and me and Blake on either side of him, we viewed the footage on the camera’s two-inch screen.  They laughed when they saw me dressed up as Darth Vader, which I’d forgotten was on the beginning of the tape, and insisted on seeing the entire duel before allowing me to fast forward to the important part.

"What’s this?" Guy asked when Ethan’s footage of the polar bear devouring the walrus appeared.

"Exactly what it looks like."  I turned away, but they were just as enthralled as Ethan and Mac had been.

Next up were the ice pads, which they both agreed were "very cool," but after ten seconds of watching them float, Guy fast forwarded.

"Ugh, not him," Blake said, when Ethan’s face popped up on the screen.

I smiled as I watched Ethan imitate a walrus digging for clams.  Then the guilt took over.  "You really shouldn’t have hit him.  He has a right to his opinion."

"I thought you disagreed with him?"

"I do," I said, remembering my part, "but the man still has the right to speak his mind without being punched in the face."

Guy reached for the fast forward button but I stopped him.  "No, this interview needs to be in the final cut."

"I can’t use this," Guy said.

"Why not?"

"Sydney, the camera’s jumping all over the place, plus your background’s moving.  You should always shoot interviews with a static background."

"Well, how was I supposed to know?  And it’s not like I had a tripod with me."

"I can’t use any of this," Guy said, and handed me the camera.

"Not even the scenery?"  I thought some of the footage I’d shot was actually pretty good.

"Maybe a few seconds, but definitely none of the interview."

I fast forwarded until Brutus appeared on the screen and shoved the camera back in Guy’s hands.  "You have to use this."

Guy shook his head.  "Too shaky."

"But look at him.  Isn’t he the cutest walrus you’ve ever seen?"

Blake leaned in.  "That’s a walrus?  It looks like a giant penis with flippers."

They both laughed.

"Forget it," I shouted, as I grabbed the camera out of Guy’s hands and jumped up.  "You don’t deserve this video.  And you," I turned to Blake, "I don’t know why you even wanted to make this film.  You obviously couldn't care less about the walruses.  All you care about is your goddamn image."

"Oh come on," Blake said.  "I was just kidding."

"It’s not funny, Blake.  This walrus was stranded in the middle of the Arctic.  We tried to rescue him, but we couldn’t.  He probably drowned."

"I’m sorry, Syd.  Really.  I didn’t know."

I used to think I could forgive Blake anything.  But that turned out not to be true.

Chapter 55

After Blake left for the film festival, Guy and I roamed the island shooting B-roll.  I held the mic and reflector screens while he filmed the walruses from every possible angle, then started on the birds and the sea lions too.

"So we’re done?" I asked hours later when we had footage of every animal that lived on the island.

"Almost."

"What’s left?  You want a close-up of the flowers too?"

Guy smiled as he folded up the tripod.  "Just your pal Ethan."

As soon as I walked into the office my guilty conscience returned.  Ethan’s cheek was no longer swollen, but the bruise Blake had given him had morphed from a pink welt into an ugly purple crescent.  I’d been telling myself it was Ethan’s fault for being unnecessarily mean but I knew that wasn’t true.  He’d only gotten involved because I’d asked him to.

I waited for Ethan to finish writing and look up.  "How’s your eye?"

At the mention of it he stiffened.  "Fine."  Then he reached for a book.

"Guy says we need to re-shoot your interview.  The one from the boat’s too shaky."

I was expecting an argument, or at least a sarcastic remark about my shoddy camera work, but he nodded and said, "Where do you want me?"

It was Guy’s idea to position Ethan in front of the bookshelf.  He thought it would make him look more professorial.  "Do you want me to cover that bruise?  I’ve got some make-up in my tent."  I just hadn’t bothered to apply any since the day I’d arrived.

"Sydney, real men don’t wear make-up."

That was the Ethan I knew.

He was halfway through his speech about why the walruses were so important to the Arctic ecosystem when the cabin door banged open and Jake ran in shouting, "Ethan, look what I found!"

As soon as I saw the long hairy tail snaking out of Jake’s cupped hands, I hopped up onto Jill’s desk.  "Get that rat out of here!"

"It’s not a rat," Ethan said, examining the fuzzy brown creature with the beady eyes and twitchy mouth.

"It’s a field mouse," Guy said, although I noticed he kept his distance too.

"It’s a vole," Ethan announced.

"I don’t care what it is.  Just get it away from me."

"Sydney’s right," Ethan said to Jake.  "You know you’re not supposed to touch the animals."

"Mommy said it was okay because he’s hurt."

"I did," Jill said, as she appeared in the doorway.  In response to Ethan’s questioning gaze she said, "I know, but I just couldn’t stand by and watch him get eaten."

"Can you fix him?" Jake asked.

"I don’t think so," Ethan said, gingerly examining the animal’s back foot, which even I could see was twisted at an odd angle.

"But you have to," Jake cried.

Ethan looked up at Jill, but she just shrugged, and he sighed.  "Do we still have any of those popsicles left?"

"I think so," Jill said.  "Why?"

"Maybe I can use the stick to make a splint."

Jake cheered while my jaw dropped open and Guy said, "This I gotta see."  The three of them followed Ethan and the vole into the other room but I had no desire to watch animal surgery, so I stayed behind.  But as the minutes ticked by my anger grew.  Why was Ethan willing to help an ugly rodent but not an abandoned walrus pup?

"I thought they were supposed to survive on their own or die," I said, when he and Guy returned, minus one mouse-like vole.  "Isn’t that your mantra?"

"That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t help when you can," he said as he sat down in front of the bookcase again.

"So it’s okay to help mice but not walruses?"

"Sydney, I took a fist to the face for you.  I think that buys me the benefit of the doubt.  And it’s not a mouse, it’s a vole."

After Jake and Jill had set the vole free outside the cabin, Jake returned to the office and insisted on watching Ethan’s interview.  Initially Guy agreed, but after he called "cut" for the third time because Jake knocked over a book, after talking the first time, and belching loudly the second, I said, "Jake, did I ever show you my video from the Arctic?"

"No, and you promised."

I grabbed Jill’s camera and hustled Jake out of the room.

The three of us sat at the dining room table and watched the video on the camera’s small screen.  Jake was mesmerized by the polar bear, but Jill fast forwarded when it got too bloody.  Jake lost interest after that.  By the time Brutus appeared, Jake had long ago abandoned us for his action figures.

I told Jill what happened, leaving out the part where I made that horrible comment to Ethan and our subsequent kiss, and focused on the fact that Ethan refused to help.  "Even though he apparently has no problem making splints for mice."

"Surely you realize that was for Jake’s benefit," Jill said.  "I doubt that vole will survive to the end of the day."

"I know.  And it was sort of sweet.  But it still pisses me off."

Jill smiled and shook her head.  "So how much more do you have to shoot?"

"This is it.  Once Guy wraps up Ethan’s interview we’re done.  He still has to edit it together and add the music, but he can do that from home."

"So you’re finished on the island?"

"Guy is.  Obviously, I’m still here until the end of the month."

"I’ve been thinking about that," Jill said, and went to the kitchen to refill her coffee cup. "I’m not sure we really need you to stay."

"What about the radio?"  Not that I’d monitored it even once since I’d returned from the Arctic.  But now that Blake was gone and Guy was leaving in the morning, I intended to.

She pressed her lips together to try to hide her smile.  "I appreciate your commitment, Sydney.  And you’re welcome to stay if you want.  I just thought you’d prefer to go home, back to your job and your friends in L.A."

Of course that’s what I preferred.  But Jill had kept up her end of the bargain despite all of the trouble I’d caused her, the least I could do was keep up mine.  But after I offered twice more and Jill assured me that between the six of them plus Jake they could monitor the radio just fine without me, and a third time when she said, "Sydney, you weren’t really that good at it anyway," I gratefully acquiesced.

The next morning I woke up early and packed everything but my tent.  It didn’t take long since every item of clothing I’d brought with me either smelled like walrus or was filthy.

I was shocked when Guy and I walked into the cabin and everyone but Ethan was sitting at the dining table.  They were usually all up and out before I’d even had my first cup of coffee.  "What’s going on?"

"Your bon voyage party," Duncan said.

"Wow, I’m really touched."

"Don’t be," Brie said.  "When Jill makes pecan pancakes, you can’t keep us away."

"Brie!" Jill admonished.

"Oh come on, she knows I’m kidding."

After we’d all consumed more than we should have, Tony and Sean announced they had a trail to build and kissed me goodbye.  Tony promised the next time they were in L.A., they would look me up and I promised to do the same if I were ever in Juneau.

"Jake, you coming?" Sean asked, as he pulled on his jacket.

But Jake ran to me instead.  "Sydney, I don’t want you to go," he said, as he threw his arms around my waist.

"Well, I’m not leaving yet."

He looked up at me through big brown eyes.  "You’re not?"

"No, I still need to take down my tent."

"Duncan can do it," Jill said, as she carried the dirty dishes to Brie, who was already filling the sink with soapy water.

"It’s my tent, I’ll do it."  I assumed it was easier to take one down than put one up.

"Don’t worry about it, Sydney," Duncan said.  "I’ll take care of it."

"Why?  Are you afraid I’ll mess it up?"

"Yes," he and Brie answered in unison.  Then Jill said, "We just want to make sure all the parts stay together for the next time."

"C’mon, Jake," Duncan said, heading to the door.  "You can help me."

"Wait, I’ll come.  I’ve got to get my luggage."

"I’ll get it," Guy said, heading to the door with Jake and Duncan.  "I have to carry the equipment down anyway."

That left me, Brie, and Jill alone in the cabin.

"So I guess this is it?" I said, trying not to get emotional.  If anyone would’ve told me three weeks ago I’d be upset to leave this place, I never would’ve believed them.

Jill put down her dish towel and hugged me.  "You realize you’re not the same person you were when you came here, don’t you?"

"I’m not?"

"No," Brie replied, scrubbing maple syrup off a plate.  "The old Sydney was . . . let’s just say we like the new Sydney better."

I knew they meant it as a compliment, so I tried to take it that way.

"You better go," Jill said, letting go of me.  "You know Captain Bailey doesn’t like to be kept waiting."

"True," I said, fighting back tears.

"Don’t you cry," Jill said, "because that’ll just get me going."

"I’m not," I said, wiping my eyes.  "And you’re going to come visit me in L.A., right?"

"Yes, I already promised Jake a trip to Disneyland next year."  She was crying now too.

"And you’ve got all my numbers, right?"

"Yes," she said, nodding at the scrap of paper with my contact information she’d hung on the fridge.

"Good, then I’ll see you in L.A."  We hugged one more time and I walked over to Brie, who was up to her elbows in soapy water.

"I guess I can’t give you a hug."

"Sure you can," she said, spreading her wet hands out on my back.

"Thanks," I said, and pulled away from her.

"You know you can count on me."  But in a more serious tone she added, "If you’re ever in Seattle, please do look me up."

"I will.  And same to you if you’re in L.A."

"Like I’d ever go there.  The town’s probably crawling with people like you."

I smiled and she did too.  "Nice seeing you again, Sydney."

"You too, Brie."  To my amazement, I actually meant it.

By the time I returned to the campground, Duncan and Jake had disassembled my tent and were already working on Guy’s, which I told Jill I was donating to the refuge whether or not I had the authority.  I borrowed Duncan’s binoculars and spotted Guy hauling my luggage down the last flight of steps.  The equipment cases were already stacked on the beach but there was no sign of Captain Bailey’s skiff, so I knew I still had a few minutes.

"Have you seen Ethan?" I asked.

Duncan shook his head but Jake said, "Yes you have.  He’s in your tent."  Duncan smiled sheepishly.  "He must’ve snuck in when I wasn’t looking."

"Do me a favor," I said, handing Duncan back his binoculars.  "If Guy comes looking for me, tell him I’ll be right down."

There was still one more thing I had to do.

Chapter 56

Ethan looked up from his book as I stepped inside his tent, but said nothing as I zipped the flap shut behind me and sat down on Duncan’s cot.

After an uncomfortable silence I said, "I’m leaving."

"I know," he replied.

"So this is goodbye then."  I stood up and waited for him to stand too.  When he didn’t I said, "It’s been—" I paused to find the right word but settled for "interesting."

He gave me a half smile.  "Yes, it has been that.  Goodbye, Sydney."

I stood in the middle of the tent waiting for him to give me a hug, or a handshake, or at least walk me out.  But he just leaned back against his pillow, pulled his reading glasses down from his head, and his attention back to his book.

"That’s it?  That’s all you’ve got to say?  You’re not even going to tell me it was nice meeting me or wish me luck?"

He sighed and slammed the book shut.  "Sydney, what do you expect me to say?  You’ve made it very clear where your interest lies and it’s not with me."

"So?  Does that mean we can’t be friends?"

He let out a laugh.  "Sure, Sydney, we’re friends.  Feel better now?"  Then he opened his book again.

"God, you’re so . . . infuriating!"

"Infuriating?"  He finally stood up.  "Is that really the best you can do?"

"Excuse me if I don’t have my thesaurus handy.  I’m sure if I had more time—"  I didn’t get to finish my thought because he started kissing me.  It was just like on the ship—more than a kiss, it was instant intimacy.  Until he suddenly pulled away.

I stared up at him, at first too stunned to speak, then "wow, that was . . . wow."

"Good."

But I could tell from his sharp tone that he wasn’t just confirming my description. "Good?"

"Now when you’re sleeping with him, maybe you’ll be thinking of me."

"That’s why you kissed me?  You want to ruin my sex life?"

"Ruin it?"  He took a step back and smiled.  "I guess I’m better than I thought."

I was at a loss for words, again.  I couldn’t believe how malicious he was being.  All we’d ever shared was a kiss, and even then he knew about Blake.  Did he really expect me to throw away a relationship with a man I’d been in love with for ten years so I could spend the night with someone I’d known for all of three weeks?  I didn’t even try to explain any of this to Ethan.  I just stormed out of his tent, leaving the flap blowing in the breeze.

* * *

Twenty-eight hours later I shoved my key into the lock, and pushed open the door to my apartment.  It looked exactly the same as it had before I’d left for Alaska, only dustier.  I headed straight for the bathroom.  It was nothing special—white tile with a shower/tub combo and a dingy linoleum floor—but it came with a flush toilet and an endless supply of hot water.  "Boy, am I happy to see you."

I was too tired to unpack, so I left my luggage stacked next to the door and listened to the thirty-two messages on my answering machine while I ran a bubble bath just because I could.  I soaked in the tub until my fingers pruned, then I crawled into the bed I hadn’t slept in for three weeks, which was just as soft and comfy as I remembered.  I fell asleep almost instantly and didn’t wake until eight o’clock that night.

My first thought was to call Blake.  I was still angry at him for abandoning me on the island and his lackadaisical attitude while he was there, but I didn’t want to be one of those women who held a grudge indefinitely.  Plus he was returning to Australia in thirty-six hours, which left us very little time to make amends.  Yet I wasn’t shocked when a female voice with an Aussie accent answered his phone.

"Hi, Sheena, it’s Sydney.  Is Blake around?"

"He just stepped into the shower.  Can I give him a message?"

"Yeah, tell him I’m home."

When my phone rang ten minutes later, I didn’t need to look at the caller I.D.  "You’re back!" Blake shouted, as if he thought that was good news.

"I bet you can’t wait to see me."

"You know I do," he said, then lowered his voice.  "But it might be a little awkward right now with Sheena here."

"She’s staying at your house?"  I don’t know why that surprised me, since she’d answered his phone, yet it did.

"Syd, what did you expect me to do, send her to a hotel?  I’m the only person she knows in L.A."

"She knows Lindsay!"

"Lindsay’s still in Alaska."

"What is Lindsay doing in Alaska when Sheena’s in L.A.?"  They were supposed to spend one night at the film festival then all fly back together.

"I don’t know.  Some work thing.  The point is Sheena’s here and I can’t just invite you over.  Even though I really want to," he added in the sultry voice he’d perfected playing a male prostitute in his first feature film.

"Why not?  We can have a threesome."

"Seriously?"

"No, not seriously!  What the hell is wrong with you?"

"All right.  Calm down.  You’re the one who suggested it."

"It was a test, Blake.  You failed, by the way."

"Yeah, I got that.  What are you doing home now anyhow?  I thought you had to stay on that island for another week."

"Jill let me leave early because she knew I wanted to come home and see you."  I didn’t think he’d call her to corroborate.

"Syd, I’m sorry.  I wish I’d known."

"Why?  You wouldn’t have fucked Sheena this morning if you knew you could’ve fucked me tonight?"

He sighed into the phone.  "Do we have to do this?"

"What do you think?"

"What do you expect me to say?"

"Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe something along the lines of: ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Sydney.  I would never cheat on you.  Again.’"

"I didn’t sleep with her."

"But you did other things."  I knew Blake subscribed to the Bill Clinton school of linguistics where "sex" meant intercourse and blowjobs didn’t count.

"It didn’t mean anything."

"Wow, that really makes me feel better.  You cheated on me for meaningless sex."

"Hey, we never said we were exclusive."

"Blake, you said you wanted us to date.  What do you think that means?"

"It means we have sex.  It doesn’t mean we’re exclusive."

"In the ten years you’ve known me have you ever heard me say I was sleeping with two people at the same time?"

"Maybe it’s time you did."

I threw the phone at the wall so hard it chipped the sheetrock before it fell to the floor in pieces.  I assumed that disconnected the call.

"You don’t look like you just broke up with the love of your life," Nicole said when I walked into Toast Café the next morning.

"What were you expecting?" I asked as I gave her a hug.  "I’d show up with tears streaming down my face?"

"Of course not," she replied as she hugged me back.  "I assumed you’d have the good sense to hide your misery behind dark sunglasses and a stylish hat."

I smiled and took off my baseball cap, which I’d been using to keep the sun out of my eyes and my hair piled on top of my head.  After three weeks in Alaska, I was no longer used to ninety-degree weather, and I’d lost my Ray-Bans somewhere between Anchorage and L.A.

"I guess breaking up with Blake gets easier the more times you do it," I replied, then sat down.

"Perhaps."  She handed me one of the menus the waiter had left in the center of the table, but neither of us bothered to read it.  We ordered our usual—an egg white omelet with a side of fresh fruit for her, and berry French toast for me.

I waited until the busboy dropped off our drinks before I said, "Feel free to say ‘I told you so’ anytime now."

She smiled as she stirred two sugars into her tea.  "I don’t want to compound your misery."

"Actually, I’m not that miserable," I said as I added cream to my coffee.  Not that I was happy, I wasn’t.  I just wasn’t as devastated as we both assumed I’d be.

"Good drugs?"

"No, it’s just . . . ."  It was hard to admit.  Blake, or the fantasy of Blake, had been such a huge part of my life for so long.  "Have you ever noticed how selfish Blake can be sometimes?"

"Sometimes?"

I smiled.  "I know they all have to be a bit narcissistic or they wouldn’t survive."

"And we wouldn’t have jobs."

"But Blake’s supposed to be my friend.  My boyfriend even.  I was willing to do anything for him.  Anything.  And he can’t even be faithful to me for one weekend.  And don’t even get me started on the walruses."

"You mean he cheated on them too?"

I had to laugh.  "Be serious.  You have no idea what those walrus people are like, how committed they are.  They’re actually willing to make sacrifices for the greater good, unlike Blake who’s just in it for the photo op."

"Wow," she said, and sipped her tea.  "I’m sending you to Alaska more often."

"You’re the one who told me not to go in the first place."

"I was wrong.  Obviously sitting around the campfire singing Kumbaya with all those tree huggers actually did you some good."

Chapter 57

"What are you doing here?" Megan asked, as I passed her cubicle.  "You’re not supposed to be back for another week."  She was probably upset because my coming home early meant she’d lost the office pool.  I’d told her it was safe to bet I’d remain in Alaska until the end of the entire month.

"Sorry, they let me off early for good behavior.  But I brought you these," I said, and handed her the Native Alaskan earrings I’d picked up for her at the airport, which seemed to appease her somewhat.  In return she handed me a wad of pink paper message slips, which I flipped through as I unlocked my office door, dropped my purse and briefcase on my desk, and turned on my computer.

"So what’d I miss?" I asked, as she hovered in my doorway.

"Nothing," she answered, a little too quickly.

"Nothing?  In three weeks?"  Besides the fact that it wasn’t possible, she was biting the gloss off her lower lip.  A sure sign of trouble.

"You want some coffee?" she asked.  "I was about to send one of the interns on a Starbucks run."

I yanked her inside and slammed the door shut.  "The coffee can wait.  Spill."

"Well, I don’t actually know anything.  It’s just a rumor."

As if that mattered.

She lowered her voice and continued.  "You know Lindsay went up to Alaska, right?"

"Yeah, Megan, I was there."

"But not at the film festival."

"No.  Why?  What happened at the film festival?"

"Blake and Sheena came back to L.A., but Lindsay stayed behind."

Apparently Blake had been telling the truth, at least about Lindsay.  "Why?  Did she meet someone?"  How fabulous would that be if Lindsay fell for someone in Alaska?  She could move there and be out of my life for good.  I couldn’t help but smile.

"That’s what I thought too, at first.  But according to Christine, that’s Greg’s new assistant by the way, Rick flew up there this morning."

My smile disappeared.  "Why would Rick go to Alaska?"

"We don’t know," she said.  "And Cheryl’s not talking."

"Did you bribe her?"  You could get a lot of information out of Cheryl with the right combination of food and gossip.

"You didn’t think that Starbucks run was for you, did you?"

I went over the possibilities in my head while I waited for my mochaccino to arrive.  Rick wouldn’t have gone to Alaska on business because we had no clients there, at least not since Blake and Sheena returned.  It couldn’t be for vacation because Rick hated cold weather.  Which left an affair.  But if Rick and Lindsay were sleeping together, they’d be having their trysts at The Beverly Hills Peninsula, not meeting at a random hotel in Anchorage thousands of miles away.  It didn’t make sense.

I decided I couldn’t wait for the intern to arrive with Cheryl’s non-fat iced café latte and double chocolate muffin.  I had to know now.

"Walrus girl returns," Cheryl said, as soon as I knocked on the open door to Rick’s office suite.  "We weren’t expecting you back until next week."

"Slight change in plans," I said, as she stepped out from behind her desk, enveloping me in a cloud of red silk crepe and Chanel No. 5.

"Is that why you haven’t returned any of my calls?" she asked, then let go of me to answer Rick’s phone.

I checked my BlackBerry while she wrote down the message but it didn’t list any new missed calls.

"I tried your satellite number," she said, as soon as she hung up.

That explained it.  "Sorry, I shut it off as soon as I had cell service again.  What did you need?"

Both of Rick’s lines started ringing simultaneously, so I settled into the black leather sofa across from her desk with my BlackBerry and last week’s Variety’s.  I was still three days behind when Megan arrived with Cheryl’s muffin and coffee.

"For you," I mouthed, and set the food down on her desk.

She whispered a thank you and popped a chunk of double chocolate chip crust into her mouth.  By the time she took off her headset, she was down to half a muffin and two swallows of iced coffee.

"So why were you trying to reach me?" I asked.

"It doesn’t matter anymore," she replied, and broke off another hunk of chocolate.  "You want some?  It’s really good."

I shook my head.  "Tell me anyway.  I’m curious.  You know I can keep a secret."  I smiled and Cheryl smiled back, showing off a chocolate coated incisor.

"Sydney, the muffin’s good, but it’s not that good."

"But if you’d reached me I’d already know, so it’s not like I’m asking you to tell me anything you weren’t already planning to."

She sucked the chocolate off her tooth with her tongue and smiled back.  "I’m under strict orders."

"I’ve got Blake gossip for you."  My secret weapon.  Cheryl loved him almost as much as I used to.

"If you’re going to tell me about him and Sheena Tyler, I already know."

Clearly she didn’t approve, which made me feel better somehow.  But since I’d been out of town for so long I had no other news to share.  I was reduced to squeezing my lips together in a forced pout, hoping to appeal to her maternal side.  Her eldest daughter was only a few years younger than me.

"That face stopped working on me a long time ago."

"Isn’t there anything I can bribe you with?"

"Sorry," she said, and shook her head.  "But he’s taking the red eye home tonight."

I had so much work to catch up on I didn’t have time to obsess about what Rick and Lindsay might or might not be doing together in Alaska.  And Rick didn’t keep me in suspense when he got back.  He had Cheryl summon me to his office the next morning before he’d even arrived.  I’d been sitting on the black leather couch for ten minutes when he strode into the suite with Lindsay by his side.  They were both dressed in summer suits but she was still carrying her trench coat over her arm, so I knew they’d come straight from the airport.

"We have a new client," Rick said, but I couldn’t tell if he was talking to Cheryl or to me.  He hadn’t yet acknowledged my presence, even though I’d jumped up the second he’d walked in the door.

"Great," I said.  "Who?"

He motioned for me to follow him into his office.  Naturally Lindsay came too.  We each sat in a guest chair as Rick settled in behind his massive steel and glass desk.

"You’re back early," he said, as he logged onto his computer.

"Once we finished shooting, there was really no reason for me to stay."  Clearly three weeks of not schmoozing had left me out of practice.  I should’ve told him I left because I was dying to get back to the office.

Rick nodded and continued typing.  I stole a glance at Lindsay, but she stared straight ahead, giving nothing away.

"So who’s the new client?" I asked again.

"William Rush," Rick said, still scanning his e-mail.

I’d spent yesterday evening reading all the celebrity gossip sites and back issues of Variety, so I knew he wasn’t a hot new rising star.  Therefore I thought it safe to ask, "Who’s William Rush?"

"Only the man who’s going to buy me my beach house," Rick said, finally turning around.  "With his fees," he clarified, presumably in response to my obvious confusion.

"He’s the CEO of Rush Oil," Lindsay added, in her most condescending tone.

Unfortunately that name I knew, but I tried not to panic.  Maybe William Rush had been arrested for drunk driving or soliciting a prostitute.  "We’re representing him personally?"

"Nope," Lindsay said, unable to contain her glee.  "Rush Oil’s hired us for a full on publicity campaign.  Print, TV, and new media."

Ethan’s pronouncement—Rush Oil was the worst of the worst—rang in my head.  "Rick, do you have any idea what this company does?  What it’s already done?"

"Yes, that’s why they hired us," Lindsay said.  "They love the new slogan we pitched them.  Rush Oil," she punched the words into the air with her hands, "solving America’s energy needs one gallon at a time."

"More like killing America’s wildlife one species at a time."

"Those geese died of natural causes," Lindsay shot back, as if I’d accused her personally of slitting their slender feathered necks.  "The autopsies proved it."

"Yeah, if you consider drowning in an oil slick a natural cause."

"This is exactly why they need a publicity campaign," Rick said, as he abandoned his computer to join the conversation.  "I’m putting Lindsay in charge, but I want you to work on it too.  You just spent a month with a bunch of those crazy tree huggers, so you know how they think.  That’ll be an asset."

"First of all, I was only there for three weeks, not a month.  Second of all, they’re not crazy.  They’re just trying to preserve what’s left of the Arctic before it disappears."

"See Rick, I told you she’s one of them now."

"I am not!" I shouted at Lindsay, then turned back to Rick.  "The ice really is melting.  I can prove it.  I’ve got video."

"Sydney, it’s July.  The ice is supposed to melt."

"Not all of it.  Not there.  The animals need that ice to survive."

"Let me get this straight," Lindsay said.  "You think we should all pay ten dollars a gallon for gas rather than risk losing a handful of birds every now and then?"

"It wasn’t a handful, Lindsay, it was thousands.  If you think you can kill off an entire species without it affecting everything else, you’ve got rocks in your head.  It’s all connected, you know."  I bit my lip to keep from smiling as I remembered all the times I’d rolled my eyes at Ethan, like Lindsay was rolling her eyes at me.

"Irrelevant," Rick said.

"Irrelevant?  You want to whitewash a company that’s destroying the planet?"

"It’s greenwash," Lindsay said, "not whitewash."

"And if it’s good enough for the former head of Greenpeace," Rick said, pointing his finger at me, "then it’s good enough for you."

Chapter 58

I was sure Rick was lying, but when I went back to my office and Googled Greenpeace and public relations, I found out he was telling the truth.  I also found out there were lots of other people doing the same thing.  It was a raging battle in the environmental community—the "realists" who wanted to work with the offenders in an attempt to get them to curb their worst practices, and the "radicals" who claimed the "realists" were just selling out.

"You’re definitely a realist," Nicole said, when I called her that afternoon.

I agreed.  Still.  "Don’t you think it sounds a little bit like selling out?"

"Sydney, are you looking to get fired?"

"Of course not!"

"Then let it go."

"I can’t," I said, closing the photo of Brutus that Patti and Joe had e-mailed me.  "Maybe if it was just Lindsay’s project—"

"It is Lindsay’s project," Nicole said, then parroted back to me what I’d told her five minutes before.  "Lindsay met William Rush at the film festival, she recognized a golden opportunity, and she seized it.  This has nothing to do with you."

"Except Rick wants me to work on it too.  He thinks spending all that time with the walrus nuts, his term, not mine, has given me some sort of insight."

"He’s right," Nicole said.  "Otherwise you wouldn’t be feeling so guilty."

"Exactly!  I can’t use what they told me against them.  I don’t care how much Rush Oil is paying us in fees."

"Can you afford to quit your job?"

"No!"  As of this morning I had $361 in my checking account, and that was only because the payment I’d sent Visa hadn’t yet cleared.  I couldn’t survive more than a month without my paycheck.

"Then you don’t have a choice."

"You always have a choice," Jill said, when I finally reached her on her sat phone later that night.

I knew she paid by the minute, so I got right to the point.  "Then tell me what to do."  I’d thought of nothing else all day and still couldn’t decide.  I didn’t want to work for Rush Oil.  But I didn’t want to be unemployed and homeless either.

"I can’t tell you what to do, Sydney.  This is a decision only you can make."

"Then tell me what you would do if you were me."  If Jill thought working with Rush Oil to try to get them to change their evil ways was a good idea, or at least if it was okay to work with them until I could find another job, then I wouldn’t have to feel guilty.

"I’m not you."

"Pretend.  It’s no different than me pretending to be Darth Vader.  Compared to Wilde Island, L.A. might as well be a different galaxy anyway."

She laughed.  "Okay, if I were a big time celebrity publicist who just discovered her inner environmentalist and I was forced to either work for one of the world’s worst polluting oil companies or quit my job—"

"Which you can’t afford to do," I added.

"Which I can’t afford to do," she agreed, "then I would try to find some sort of compromise."

"You mean you’d work with Rush Oil and try to get them to improve like the realists say to do?"

"Oh no, I could never work for an oil company.  But that’s me," she quickly added.

"You’re supposed to be me!"

"I’m sorry, Sydney.  Truly I am.  But I can’t make this decision for you."

"Don’t you have any advice?"  The only person left to call was my mother, and I already knew what she’d tell me:  You can’t quit your job until you have another, so start sending out your resume.  It was the same thing she’d told me five years ago when I wanted to leave Golden State Bank.

"Find a compromise," Jill said.  "One you and your boss can both live with."

"Which would be?"

Then the line went dead.  I redialed Jill’s satellite number over and over again, but I only succeeded in reaching the refuge’s voicemail.  I was on my own.

Inspiration struck at one a.m.  This wasn’t about Rick wanting to represent an oil company, this was about money, same as it always was.  All I had to do was figure out a way for the firm to make up Rush Oil’s fees in some other way.  The answer came to me in a flash.  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it sooner.

I arrived at the office at eight and ran into Cheryl in the lobby.

"Isn’t this a little early for you?" she said, looking at her watch.

"I need to talk to Rick," I said, and pushed the elevator button even though it was already lit.

"Sydney, you know he doesn’t take meetings before ten."

"Yes, and I also know he gets in early sometimes to work undisturbed."  I’d seen his car in the parking garage so I knew he was already in the building.

"Undisturbed, being the key," she said as the elevator doors opened and we both stepped inside.

I punched the button for the fifth floor and started begging.

"You know I can’t," she said, as the doors opened and we both stepped out.

I followed her down the hallway to the left even though my office was to the right.  "I swear, Cheryl, if you do this for me I will never ask you for another favor as long as I live."

She let out a laugh.  "You have a bridge in Brooklyn you’d like to sell me too?"

I smiled for the first time since I’d heard the name Rush Oil again.  "Okay, forget that.  I really, really need you to do this for me.  It’s a matter of life and death."

"Whose?" she asked, as she unlocked the door to Rick’s suite.  His inner office door was shut but I could hear him talking on the phone.

"Mine."

She shook her head.

"Please, Cheryl," I said, getting down on my knees in what was beginning to feel like a habit.  "I’m begging."

Her reaction was nicer than Ethan’s.  She grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet.  "Get a hold of yourself.  Do you want him to see you like this?"

"Then you’ll get me in?" I said, plucking carpet fuzz off my knees.

"Five minutes," she said.  "After ten o’clock."

"As long as it’s before noon."  That’s when Lindsay had scheduled our first conference call with Rush Oil’s marketing team.

I was only fifteen seconds into my pitch for BB&L’s new practice group focusing on celebrities and their causes when Rick cut me off. "Is this a joke?"

"No," I said and reached for my laptop, which I’d placed on his desk with the screen facing him.  I’d worked all night creating tables, graphs, and a five-color pie chart highlighting the different philanthropic areas BB&L could focus on, but I figured he’d respond best to the diagram displaying projected revenue growth.  "Rick, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but I absolutely believe we can make up the lost fees from Rush Oil within six months.  Sooner if the walrus video goes viral.  And that’s a conservative estimate," I said, pointing to the first bar on the screen.  "We might even make more."

He laughed and called out to Cheryl, who appeared in his doorway seconds later.  "Do you need me for something?"

"Did you put her up to this?" Rick asked.

"No, she did not put me up to this," I replied, as I ushered Cheryl out and shut the door.  "Now where were we?"

He took his feet off his desk for the first time that morning.  "This really isn’t a joke?"

"Rick, representing Rush Oil would be a huge mistake, especially since we can make up the fees in other ways.  Better ways.  Ways that will bring in more clients instead of losing us existing ones."  That was my fourth talking point.  Some of BB&L’s clients already were actively involved with environmental causes.  Surely they wouldn’t be happy if we started representing the world’s worst oil company, even if Lindsay was successful in positioning them as ‘the environmentally friendly energy company of the future.’"

He slammed my laptop shut and tossed it at me as if it were a Frisbee.  "Get out of my office."

"Rick—"

"I’ve been more than patient with you, Sydney.  You wanted to make a documentary, I let you make a documentary.  You wanted to go to Alaska for a month, I said okay.  But this—" he threw up his arms—" I don’t even know what this is."

"If you’ll just—"

"And I don’t care," he said.  "I just want it to end.  Now."

I wasn’t sure how I’d gone from pitching a new practice group to defending my job in the space of thirty seconds but somehow it happened.  I swallowed hard.  I could feel my lower lip quivering, but I managed to keep my voice steady.  "What exactly are you saying?"

"I’m saying you get on that fucking conference call with Lindsay, and you start sucking up like you’ve never sucked up before.  Here’s a tip for you.  If you can still see daylight, then you know you don’t have your head far enough up their asses."

I felt the sweat soaking right through my shirt and onto my suit jacket, but I tried to at least remain outwardly calm.  "What if I said I couldn’t?"

"I don’t think that’s something you want to say."

Of course I didn’t want to say it.  I liked being able to buy food and have a roof over my head.  "But if I had to?  If I told you I couldn’t in good conscience work for an oil company, especially not that oil company?"

"Then I would tell you and your conscience to get the fuck out."

I didn’t know what to do.  I had no Plan B.  "Can I have a little time to think about it?"

He pulled his Rolex out from under the cuff of his pristine white shirt.  "You’ve got ten seconds."

He could’ve given me ten days and it wouldn’t have mattered.  I couldn’t get the image of Brutus, crying and alone, out of my head.  "Rick, you’re not leaving me much of a choice."

"You always have a choice, Sydney.  You’ve obviously made yours."

Chapter 59

"I’m so sorry," Jill said, when she returned my call the following week.

"It’s not your fault," I replied, and set aside the press release I’d been working on for the Westside animal shelter.  They weren’t paying me, but it was a good cause.  Plus I suddenly had a lot of free time to fill.

"I know it probably doesn’t feel like it at the moment, but you did the right thing."

"I know."  Though I still sighed when I let my eyes wander to the boxes stacked up in the living room.  Without my BB&L salary, I could no longer afford my one-bedroom apartment so I was moving to a studio a few blocks away.  I could only manage the reduced rent because I’d traded in my Audi convertible for a used Honda Civic in order to buy myself six months of living expenses.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I’ve started my own PR firm."  To be honest, that wasn’t my first choice.  I didn’t know anything about running a business.  But after I’d sent out resumes to every agency in town and couldn’t even land an interview (absolutely no one was hiring), I came up with this plan.

"That’s great!  Do you have many clients?"

"At the moment, only one."  I’d called my entire list the day after I left BB&L.  A few said to let them know when I landed somewhere else, but most told me Rick or Lindsay had already contacted them and convinced them it was in their best interest to remain with the firm.  Only Blake had been unequivocal—"Those assholes!  Of course I’m staying with you."

It had been our first non-text conversation since we’d broken up.  I was afraid it would be awkward but Blake acted as if nothing had changed.  Under normal circumstances I might’ve been offended, but now I was happy to pretend too.  I couldn’t afford to lose Blake as a client.  I planned on using his monthly fee to pay my rent.

"Maybe I can help," Jill said.  "Make a few calls."

"You mean you’ve been holding out on me all this time?  You really have a rolodex filled with celebrities’ phone numbers?"

"No, but non-profits have publicists too, don’t they?"

I quickly learned that although non-profits do sometimes hire freelance publicists, they pay much lower rates than big corporations and celebrities.  But the work was spiritually rewarding if not financially, and I wasn’t in a position to be choosy.  I took whatever odd jobs came my way.

Three months later when I received a voicemail from an Emily Corus at the Arctic Preservation Society I assumed it would be another single issue press packet or e-mail fundraising campaign.  But I was wrong.

"We want to present Blake McKinley with the Arctic Citizen of the Year Award," Emily Corus, chairperson of the Society’s fundraising committee, told me when I called her back the next day.

"Excuse me?"

"You are Blake McKinley’s publicist, are you not?"

"Yes, and I know he’ll be thrilled, as am I.  If you don’t mind my asking, how exactly did you decide on Blake?"  I would’ve thought they’d have chosen someone who had at least been to the Arctic and actually gave a damn about preserving it.  I wasn’t being disloyal.  Blake agreed.

After Guy decided he was too busy to edit the walrus documentary, I finished it myself  then uploaded it to YouTube with a link to Blake’s Facebook page and Twitter account where anyone could ask him a question about walruses, which I dutifully answered on his behalf every day.  I also tweeted about the documentary in Blake’s name at least once a week, and posted on several blogs and message boards.  In three months, the video had been viewed over four-hundred thousand times, and the Save the Walrus Foundation had received more than thirty thousand dollars in donations.

I knew Blake was the documentary’s biggest draw but he was also an impediment.  Despite my endless prepping, Blake often forgot to mention the project during interviews until the host brought it up, then he’d inevitably flub at least one of his talking points even though I’d gone over them with him so many times I was reciting them in my sleep.  I only knew that last part from Nicole, whose couch I’d crashed on the week my new apartment was being fumigated.

Under tactful questioning Emily Corus admitted that the Arctic Preservation Society often chose to honor a celebrity, along with several non-celebrities, to increase attendance at their annual fundraising dinner.  The celebrity honoree was expected to appear in person to accept the award.

"The dinner’s in San Francisco?"  I knew from their website that was where the group was headquartered.

"Yes, and of course we’ll pay Mr. McKinley’s hotel and airfare from L.A."

"What if he wants to bring a guest?"

"He’s welcome to bring a companion if he likes, but we only cover expenses for the honoree."

I called Blake that evening to deliver the news.

"Syd, I don’t know anything about these people."

"They do good work, Blake.  You should say yes."  I’d decided he should accept the award the moment Emily Corus told me she’d watched the documentary and found it very moving, "especially that part with the poor little walrus calf."

"Maybe.  Where did you say it is again?"

"San Francisco.  C’mon, you have to say yes.  You only have to go for the night and I got them to agree to comp you a suite."  I figured I could sleep on the sofa in the living room, then I’d only have to pay for my airfare.

He let out a sigh but said, "All right, so long as you promise to go too."

"Guaranteed."  I wasn’t letting him pick up an award for all of my hard work without at least being there to witness it.

It wasn’t until after I’d called Emily Corus back and told her Blake would be honored to accept their award that I found out Ethan would be receiving one too.

Chapter 60

I decided not to share that information with Blake.  For the past three months, whenever Ethan’s name came up Blake inevitably groaned and spent the rest of the conversation referring to him as "that asshole" or "the walrus prick."  I wasn’t going to give him an excuse to back out of accepting what I considered to be our Arctic Citizen of the Year Award.  Especially since I’d already started talking it up all over the internet.

Six weeks later I took the super-saver flight to San Francisco and checked into Blake’s hotel suite.   I’d purposely arrived early to guarantee myself plenty of time to shower and dress before Blake showed up at six-thirty that night.  Yet I still managed to almost give myself a concussion when he appeared in the bathroom’s doorway.  I had U2 blaring on my i-pod, so I didn’t hear him come in.

I screamed and jumped backwards, smacking my skull against the shower door.

"Are you okay?" Blake asked, as I grabbed the back of my head.

"I will be."  The bump was small, and the pain was already subsiding.  When I looked up he was staring at my chest.  I reached for the hotel bathrobe and wrapped it around me.  Obviously Blake had seen me wearing much less than my black lace bra and panties, but not in many months.  "What are you doing here?"

"I thought we were sharing," he said, then strolled into the bedroom and launched himself onto the king-size bed.

"I meant what are you doing here now?" I asked, as I followed him in.  The red digits on the bedside clock radio glowed 5:35.  "You’re not even supposed to be landing for another ten minutes."

"They cancelled the five o’clock, so they hustled me onto the four-fifteen."

"Where’s your bag?"  Blake promised me he’d carry his tuxedo onto the plane after I’d had a nightmare that the airline lost his luggage and he had to accept his award in his de rigueur travel ensemble—faded t-shirt, leather jacket, and torn jeans.  They never did find my lost bag, which presumably had found another home somewhere in Alaska.

"I hung it up.  Why are you so jumpy?"

"I’m not jumpy," I said, as I returned to the bathroom so I could finish applying my eye shadow.  "I just want everything to go smoothly tonight."

"Why wouldn’t it?"

"No reason," I said, suddenly rethinking the wisdom of not telling him that Ethan would be receiving an award tonight too.

After I finished my makeup, I turned the bathroom over to Blake to shower, while I dressed in the living room.

Forty minutes later Blake emerged from the bedroom with his hair slicked back and his French cuffs peeking out from the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket.  "How do I look?" he asked.

Like he stepped out of the pages of GQ.  "You’ll do."

"Well, you look amazing."

I couldn’t help but smile.  I’d worn this dress many times in the last five years but I still loved it.  The shirred top made my breasts look bigger than they actually were, and the crisscrossed waist and slightly flared skirt meant I didn’t have to wear control top pantyhose.

Blake checked his watch.  "We’ve got some time to kill.  Any ideas?"

He followed up with a seductive smile but since "the Sheena incident" as Nicole and I referred to it, I’d developed an immunity.  I shut the TV and grabbed my tiny purse.  "We’re going downstairs for a drink, and you’re buying."

Blake steered me through the crowded bar with one hand on my back, and even pulled out my chair for me when I snagged us the last available table.  I didn’t know we had an audience until he left to find a waitress to take our order.

At first all I saw was the hand on the back of the chair.  "Sorry but that seat’s—" I looked up into piercing blue eyes—"Ethan."

"Hello, Sydney."  He set his martini glass on the small cocktail table between us and sat down.

"Blake just went to find a waitress," I replied, as I tried not to stare at the clean-shaven, tuxedo-clad man sitting across from me.  This was the first time I’d seen Ethan without a three-day beard and wearing something other than an ugly orange jumpsuit or faded jeans.

"That ought to give us plenty of time," he said, as he glanced around the standing room only bar.

Obviously he’d never seen Blake in action.  I was betting he’d be back in less than two minutes.

"How are you?" he asked, as he reached for his glass.  He didn’t drink it; he merely twirled the stem in his hand.

A complicated question.  Or maybe just the answer was complicated.  Blake, who I’d been infatuated with for most of my adult life, and who’d I’d finally gotten over, suddenly seemed interested in me again, at least for sex if not for dating.  And Ethan, a man I hardly knew and hadn’t spoken to in months, one for whom my feelings had ranged from generally disliked to actively despised, was sitting across from me looking somehow appealing.  It had to be the kiss.  Or kisses.  The first on the boat, and the second in his tent the day I left Wilde Island.  Although the tuxedo probably didn’t hurt either.  What man didn’t look more attractive in a tuxedo?

"I’m good," I said, wishing I had a martini, or any beverage, to play with too.  I was desperate to find something to do with my hands.  "And you?"

The next voice I heard was Blake’s.  "What the fuck is this asshole doing here?"

Ethan sighed.  "Mr. McKinley, a pleasure, as always," he said in a voice oozing with sarcasm.  "Please, take my chair," he added, as he stood up.  Then he turned back to me.  "I’ll see you upstairs."

"What was that about?" Blake demanded when Ethan had disappeared into the throng of dark suits and fancy dresses.

"Didn’t I tell you?  They’re honoring Ethan tonight too."

Blake’s anger had cooled by the time we entered the hotel’s glass elevator and pushed the button for the thirty-second floor.  I told him by the time I’d found out about Ethan’s award, it was too late to cancel, which was technically true.  My mother always said it was rude to back out of an invitation after you’d accepted.  The mojitos Blake downed at the bar probably helped.

As we walked into the ballroom with its huge red and orange floral arrangements adorning each table, and hundreds of tiny spot lights casting everyone with a warm pinkish glow, a well-coifed older woman approached.  I instantly recognized her from her online photos.  The Arctic Preservation Society was one of many philanthropic organizations Emily Corus supported.

"The guest of honor has arrived," Emily Corus said, then introduced herself to Blake.

His million dollar smile probably would’ve been enough to make her night, but when he kissed her hand instead of shaking it, she practically swooned.

"I’m Sydney Green," I said, forcing her to reluctantly look away.  "We spoke on the phone."

"Of course," she said, and gave me a limp handshake before turning her attention back to Blake.  "If you don’t mind," she continued, then slipped her arm through his and dismissed me with a nod, "I have some friends who are absolutely dying to meet you."

Blake didn’t have an opportunity to object, as she immediately led him into the throng at the center of the ballroom.  I found our place cards and made my own way to the table, where Ethan was already seated with a cocktail in hand.

"You’re at our table," I said, "What a coincidence."  Yet secretly I was pleased.  I knew the evening wouldn’t be dull with Ethan around.  The only problem would be keeping things civil between him and Blake.

"Why wouldn’t I be?  Lover boy’s not the only one being feted tonight."

I smiled.  Despite the change in appearance, he was still the same old Ethan underneath.  I draped my wrap and purse over the back of an empty chair two seats away but sat down next to Ethan.

"Drink?" he asked, holding up his high-ball filled with amber liquid over ice.

"Vodka martini."  I was limiting myself to one since this was work for me.

Ethan returned with two.  "I hope one of those is for you."

"Of course," he said, as he handed me mine.  "Although I’d be happy to get you another."

"I bet you would," I said, then took a sip of the icy liquid, which went down very smooth.

"Why are you always impugning my motives, but lover boy gets a free pass?  He’s the one you should be worried about, not me."

I followed his gaze to where Blake was standing two tables away.  Emily Corus was still at his side, along with three other women ranging in age from late twenties to late sixties, all of whom were giving him their undivided attention.

I turned back to Ethan.  "It looks like lover boy is doing just fine, thank you."

"You don’t mind?"

"Why would I mind?"  Blake’s only task this evening was to be handsome and charming.  From my vantage point, he was performing admirably.

Ethan shook his head.  Then he went in for the kill.

Chapter 61

"How’s Sheena?" Ethan asked with a purposeful air of casualness, before he took a sip from his martini.

"You really are an ass."

"Why are you getting mad at me?  I’m not the one who cheated on you."

I decided for purposes of this discussion I would accept Blake’s definition of sex, which didn’t include blowjobs. "Blake did not cheat on me."

"People magazine begs to differ."

"Since when do you read People magazine?"  This was the man who claimed there was a direct correlation between tabloid consumption and low IQ.

"I have to read something while I’m standing in line at the liquor store."

"Then you must be consuming less alcohol than usual because Blake and Sheena are old news.  If you kept up on your Us Weekly you would know he’s been romantically linked to two other women since they broke up.  Claudia Tate, his co-star from Desert Sun, and some art director whose name I can’t recall.  Neither relationship lasted, and Blake McKinley is still searching for that ‘special someone,’" I added with the air quotes.

Since our brief relationship ended, Blake was being much more discreet, at least with me.  When it came to other women, I was on a need-to-know basis.  But when paparazzi photos and magazine covers were involved, I needed to know.

"Would you like any more Blake gossip?  His next film role?  His favorite color?  What brand of toothpaste he prefers?"

"No, I don’t find lover boy’s personal grooming habits nearly as fascinating as the rest of you do."

"Good!"  I was over Blake, but Sheena was still an open wound.  I took a long swig of my martini, leaving barely an inch of liquid at the bottom of the glass.

"Another?" Ethan asked.

"No."  Although I dearly wanted one.

"Then how about a dance?"

"Since when do you dance?"

"I’m an excellent dancer," Ethan said.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Then I guess I’ll have to prove it to you."

Ethan wasn’t lying.  He really was an excellent dancer.  Much better than me.  While we swayed and sashayed, he asked what I’d been doing since I left Wilde Island, and I told him the circumstances under which I’d quit BB&L and started Green P.R.

"I always knew you’d do the right thing," he said, "in the end."

"You did not!"

"I did too."

I pulled away from him and stood rooted to the dance floor until he admitted the truth.

"Okay, maybe not those first few days on the island.  But once you lost it over Brutus, I knew."

"I didn’t lose it over Brutus, which was your fault by the way.  I still can’t believe you refused to help him."

"Not this again," he said, as he put his arm around my back and we resumed our swaying.  "How many times do I have to tell you, Sydney?  Scientists observe, we don’t interfere."

"You interfered for the vole."

"For the what?" he said, sliding us out of the path of an energetic older couple who appeared to be auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance.

"That mouse-thing Jake found.  You made a splint for it but you wouldn’t even make a phone call for Brutus."

"I didn’t have a phone."

"You could’ve borrowed mine."

He stopped swaying, which I thought meant we were going to take a break, but he dipped me instead.  Then before I could recover from that shock, he leaned in and said, "I’m sorry I couldn’t save Brutus."

I was still speechless when he pulled me upright and started swaying again.  When my composure returned I said, "Did you just apologize to me?"

He shrugged as he steered us toward the floor to ceiling windows at the far end of the dance floor.  I think he was trying to distract me with the spectacular view of the city’s twinkling lights and Sausalito across the Bay.  It worked, but only temporarily.

"Ethan, you don’t believe in apologies," I reminded him a few minutes later.  It was as if he considered them an act of faith instead of a social nicety.

"True."

"Then why did you apologize to me?"

"Because you do."

At first I was flattered, then I remembered who I was dancing with.  "You’re just telling me what I want to hear, aren’t you?"

He couldn’t quite suppress his grin.  "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!  It doesn’t count if you don’t actually mean it."

He leaned down and whispered in my ear. "What if I said I meant it?"

Lightning shot through me, but before I recovered enough to ascertain his sincerity, Blake appeared at my side.  "May I?" he asked, but didn’t wait for a reply before grabbing my hand and cutting in.

"Apparently you haven’t read this script yet," Ethan said, pulling my hand back from Blake’s.  "It’s not the gentleman’s choice, it’s the lady’s."

They both turned to me.  "Actually, Ethan, I need to talk to Blake anyway."

Blake gave him a smug smile and Ethan walked away shaking his head.

"What was that for?" I asked Blake, angrier than I intended.

"Shouldn’t you be thanking me?" he said, as we shuffled in place, "Seeing as I just saved you?"

"Saved me?  From what?"

"From that," he said, nodding in the general direction where Ethan had stormed off.  "I know that look, Sydney.  Walrus prick wants more than a dance."

"So?  Maybe I do too."  To be honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about Ethan.  One minute I was attracted to him and the next minute I wanted to wring his neck.  Either way, it was my decision not Blake’s.

He stopped shuffling.  "You can’t possibly be interested in walrus prick."

The bandleader announced they were taking a break, saving me from having to answer.

The competition, however, was on.

Chapter 62

When we returned to the table, I noticed Ethan had rearranged our seats.  He’d placed himself between me and Blake instead of on my other side.  He’d also procured two shot glasses and a bottle of Grey Goose on ice.

"It’s going to be a long evening," he said to Blake as we sat down.  "I thought you might enjoy a game to pass the time."

"Absolutely not," I said, and reached for the shot glasses.

Blake smiled.  "You think you can out-drink me, old man?"

"Only one way to find out," Ethan replied.

By the time Emily Corus took the microphone to present the evening’s awards, Blake and Ethan had consumed almost half the bottle.  Ethan appeared unfazed.  Blake, unfortunately, did not.  He could still walk, but his glassy eyes and sloppy demeanor confirmed he was in no condition to give an acceptance speech.

"Do something," I hissed at Ethan when Emily called Blake’s name and he stood up on wobbly feet.  I considered walking with him to the microphone, but I thought that would only make it more obvious.

"What do you expect me to do?"

"I don’t know, but if he goes up there and makes a fool of himself I’ll be the one who ends up living on the street."

Ethan sighed but stood up too.  "You owe me for this," he said, as he buttoned his jacket.

"I owe you?  You’re the one who got him drunk!"

He folded his arms across his chest and watched Blake attempt to make his way to the bandstand before he turned back to me.  "Do you want my help or not?"

At that moment I wanted to strangle him.  "Yes.  I’ll owe you one."

"An appealing proposition."

Before I could think of a snappy come-back, he already had his hand on Blake’s shoulder and was steering him through the maze of tables toward the front of the room.  Emily Corus quickly sized up the situation (she’d seen Blake and Ethan drinking all through dinner) and as the two men approached, she announced Ethan’s Distinguished Service Award too.

Ethan did all the talking.  He thanked the crowd on both his and Blake’s behalf, then told them that although he’d initially had his doubts about a movie star who wanted to make a documentary about the plight of the Pacific walrus, "Once I met Blake, his true colors showed through."

The guests applauded, and even Blake didn’t seem to realize Ethan hadn’t meant it as a compliment.  He spoke passionately about the dangers the walruses faced and his hopes that events like this one would bring greater awareness to their cause.  And just when I thought disaster had been averted, Blake reached for the microphone.

"I would like to thank the Academy for this great honor."

A hush fell over the room as Ethan grabbed the mic back and put his other arm around Blake’s shoulder.  "He’s such a kidder, isn’t he?"

Blake took a bow and everyone laughed.

"Thank you for reminding me," Ethan continued.  "We almost forgot to acknowledge the one person whose hopes, dreams, and single-minded determination really made this film a reality.  I can assure you all that I would not be standing here with Blake McKinley if not for her.  Sydney Green."

Five hundred sets of eyes scanned the room until I stood for half a second, waved my hand, and sat back down.

Ethan thanked everyone again for their continued support for the Arctic Preservation Society, then handed the microphone back to Emily.  I watched in surprise as the two of them left the bandstand, looking more like old friends then new enemies as Ethan leaned over and whispered something in Blake’s ear.  I was even more shocked when Blake smiled and whispered something back, and they both laughed.

"What did you say to him?" I asked Ethan, as he set two Lucite globes down on the table.  I would’ve asked Blake, but he bolted past me and rushed out into the hall.

"Nothing," Ethan said, and poured himself another shot of vodka, which he downed in one gulp.

"If it was nothing then why did he leave?"

"Men’s room, I assume.  He had a lot to drink."

Fifteen minutes later when Blake still hadn’t returned, I got up to search for him.

"Sydney, he’s fine.  Leave him alone."

"Ethan, no one takes that long to pee."

Since I couldn’t go into the men’s room, I asked one of the bartenders to look for me.  He came out shaking his head.  After I handed him a twenty-dollar bill for his trouble he suggested I try the coatroom.

"Why would he be in the coatroom?"  Neither one of us had checked a coat.

He merely shrugged and returned to his post behind the bar.

Since I didn’t know where else to look, I took his advice.  Someone had taped a handwritten Back in five minutes sign to the outside of the closed door.  I was about to return to the ballroom when I heard the voices. I turned the doorknob, which no one had bothered to lock, and ventured inside.

In hindsight, I should’ve waited.

Chapter 63

I found Blake and a blonde, who was partially dressed in a server’s uniform, pushed up against a wall of fur.  Her plain white shirt was unbuttoned down to her waist, but she was still wearing her red push-up bra.  Blake was fully clothed, except his fly was undone.

"Tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing."

They both froze.  The blond was the first to speak.  She removed her leg from where she’d wrapped it around Blake’s waist and said, "My break’s over anyway."  Then pushed down her skirt, buttoned her blouse, and walked out of the room.

Blake zipped up but was still tucking his shirt in when he turned around.  "Syd, what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

He gave me a drunken smile.  "Well, you found me.  I could really use a drink."  Then he slid past me without another word or a backward glance.

I sighed at the minks and the foxes, which I hoped were fake.  I’d seen plenty of inappropriate behavior in the last five years, but this was a first.  I prayed the girl was at least eighteen and the coatroom wasn’t equipped with a video camera.  I was still searching for a hidden recording device when Ethan appeared with his Lucite globe in one hand, and my purse and wrap in the other.  "You look like you could use a drink."

"Or two or three."  The buzz from the martini had worn off and all I had left was the headache.

Ethan smiled.  "As you wish.  There’s a great jazz club a few blocks from here, or the bar downstairs if you prefer."

"Maybe later.  I’ve got to get Blake into bed first."  I’d never leave him alone this drunk, even though at the moment I very much wanted to.

"After what you just witnessed?"

It took me a few seconds to realize what he meant.  "Not with me, you idiot, alone!"

Ethan helped me extricate Blake from his adoring fans and cajole him back to the suite.  "Come find me when you’re done babysitting lover boy," he said.  "I’ll be downstairs at the bar."

I was about to shut the door behind him when I finally realized what had been gnawing at me since I’d discovered Blake and his latest paramour.  "Ethan, how did you know where to find me?"

He stopped in the doorway and turned around.  "What are you talking about?"

"You knew I was in the coatroom, and you knew Blake had been there too.  You also knew what he’d been doing.  How?"

"I know lover boy."

"Not that well," I said, when it hit me.  "Oh my God, you set him up."

He didn’t deny it.

"Why would you do that?  Ethan, do you know what could happen if that girl’s underage?"

"She’s serving alcohol, Sydney.  She’s at least twenty-one."

"Really?  You checked her I.D.?"  Even a statutory rape charge could be overcome with time and an effective P.R. campaign, but it wasn’t easy.

"Is she complaining?  No.  And neither is he.  You’re the only one who’s upset about this."

This was so wrong on so many levels, I didn’t even know where to begin.  Nor did I want to.  I just slammed the door shut in his face.

I maneuvered Blake into the bedroom and laid down next to him while I waited for him to fall asleep.  I heard the knock at the door to the suite but assumed it was Ethan, so I didn’t answer it.  When the knocking turned to pounding and Blake started stirring again, I had no choice.

"What the hell do—"  Instead of Ethan I found myself face to face with the blonde from the coatroom, and she’d brought a friend.

"Hi," the blonde said, and craned her neck so she could see around me.  "We’re looking for Blake McKinley."

"He’s sleeping."  I started to close the door when the blonde’s brunette friend put her hand up and stopped me.  Carrying heavy trays all night must give a person strong arms.

"He told us to stop by," the brunette said.

"I don’t care what he told you, you’re not—"

"Ladies," Blake said, stumbling out of the bedroom with his shirt half unbuttoned and pulled out at the waist.  "I’ve been waiting for you."

The two women took that as their cue to push past me.

"It’s cool, Syd," he said in response to my apparently not-so-withering gaze, then stage whispered, "you won’t even know they’re here."

I couldn’t stop it from happening, so I resigned myself to checking their I.D.  The brunette was twenty-three and the blonde was twenty-two.  After I confiscated the brunette’s plastic baggy filled with little blue and white pills (she swore they weren’t hers, she was only holding them for a friend), I slammed the bedroom door shut behind them and turned on the TV.  But no matter how high I set the volume, I couldn’t drown out their giggling voices, at least not from the inside of my head.

Fuck Blake McKinley!

I slumped in a comfortable wing chair in the hotel’s lobby, debating whether I should pay for my own room or wait an hour and hope by the time I returned to the suite Blake and his new friends will have fallen asleep, when I spotted Ethan leaving the bar.  I considered moving—he had to pass me to get to the elevators—but it seemed like too much effort.

Instead of walking past me, he sat down too.  "Lover boy’s finally asleep?" he asked, as he unknotted his bow tie and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

"Not exactly."  Compared to Blake’s latest escapade, Ethan’s behavior seemed almost harmless.

"You left him alone?"

"He has new babysitters.  The blonde from the coatroom, and she brought a friend."

"You’re kidding?"

"I wish I were."

Ethan smiled and shook his head.  "In my next life I want to come back as a handsome young movie star."

"Me too."  I wasn’t smiling.

"Well, you’re welcome to spend the night with me."

I leveled my not-so-withering gaze at Ethan but this time it had the intended effect.

"Sydney, we’ve shared a room before."

"Never a bed.  Or do you have a double?"

"No, but I have a sofa."

It was really more of a divan.  It wasn’t large, but it was big enough to hold me I determined as I stared at it from where I’d laid down on the very edge of Ethan’s king-size bed.

It hadn’t grown any larger overnight I discovered as I glanced at it the next morning from the very same spot.  I was fully dressed, except for my shoes, which were laying on the carpet next to me.  Ethan was laying next to me too, his face buried in my hair and his arm draped over my waist.  He was fully dressed also, except for his jacket, tie, and shoes.

I tried to get up without waking him, but as soon as I moved so did he.

"You didn’t need to sleep in your clothes," I said, reaching for my strappy heels.  "It’s not like I haven’t seen you shirtless before."

His eyes were half-closed but he still smiled up at me.  "And I’ve seen you in a lot less than that."

I smiled back, remembering the day he’d caught me shaving my legs in the cabin’s kitchen sink.  It was hard to believe that was only five months ago.  It felt like another lifetime.  "I suppose you have."

He yawned and stretched his arms overhead.  "What do you want to do today?  The concierge recommended Alcatraz, but that sounds a little touristy to me."

"Ethan, I’m not staying.  I only came for the night."

"Then change your plans."

"I can’t, I’ve got work to do.  I’m also booked on a one o’clock flight back to L.A."

"Take a later one.  If it’s the money you’re worried about, I’ll pay the fee."

I leaned back against the pillow and closed my eyes.  The money was the least of my concerns.  As much as I knew I’d enjoy spending the day in San Francisco, I also knew it was a bad idea.  "Ethan, it’s not that simple."

"Of course it is," he said, and began stroking my bare arm, which he merely used as a gateway to more interesting body parts.

"Seriously, Ethan," I said, and pushed his hand away before it reached my breast.  "I don’t do friends with benefits."

"Who said we were friends?"

"You did.  The day I left Wilde Island."

"Oh that," he said, and smiled at the memory as his hand returned to my waist.  "I only said that because I was trying to get you into bed."

Chapter 64

I’m sorry to report that it worked.  Actually, I’m not sorry.  The sex was great.  Not as energetic as with Blake, but definitely more intimate.  I left Ethan’s room only once that day—to retrieve my bag from Blake’s suite.

In the two days we spent together we never overtly agreed not to talk about the future, we just didn’t.  I didn’t see the point, and apparently neither did he.  All I wanted was to enjoy a romantic weekend in San Francisco, even if it happened to be in the middle of the week.

But we couldn’t avoid "the talk" forever.  Ironically, it was Blake who prompted it.  He called me on my cell our last night in San Francisco, just as Ethan and I were climbing into bed.

"Finally," Blake said, when I picked up on the fourth ring.  "I’ve been trying to reach you for days."

Evidently answering all twelve of his text messages ranging in importance from had I seen his toothbrush to the brunette wanted to know when she could get her pills back didn’t count.

"I told you I was taking a few days off."

"Right," he said.  "I forgot.  When are you coming back again?"

"Tomorrow."

"Who is that?" Ethan mouthed.

"Blake," I whispered, as he began to tell me about the call he’d received from an avant garde director who wanted him to star in his next film.

"Who are you talking to?" Blake asked.

"A friend."

"Why won’t you tell him it’s me?" Ethan said, much louder than was necessary.

"Who is that?" Blake demanded.  "That voice sounds familiar."

"No one you know," I replied, my angry tone meant more for Ethan than for Blake.

"No one he knows," Ethan shouted.

"Wait a minute," Blake said, "Is that the walrus prick?"

I carried the cell phone into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, then explained to Blake that even if he didn’t like Ethan, obviously I did, so he needed to stop calling him "the walrus prick."

"You prefer that asshole from the island?"

"Blake!"

"Okay, okay.  Now do you want to hear my news or not?"

"Of course I want to hear."  I did, just not at that moment.  But Blake wasn’t good with "no," so I spread a bath towel onto the cold marble floor and settled in.  After Blake relayed his conversations with both the director and his agent, who told him to ignore the director and sign on for the big budget action movie instead, Blake’s call waiting beeped in and we hung up.

I ventured back into the bedroom and found Ethan exactly where I’d left him—laying on top of the blanket shirtless, flipping through one of my "mind-numbing magazines."

"What did lover boy want this time?"

"Do you really want to spend our last night together talking about Blake?"  I sure as hell didn’t.  This could be my last opportunity to have sex for who knew how long.  Before Blake I’d gone almost a year.  I laid down next to Ethan and began tracing the scar on his abdomen with my fingertip, my obsession these past two days.

"Why didn’t you tell him it was me?" he said as he pushed my hand away.

"I did tell him," I said as patiently as I could, "when I went into the bathroom."

"What did he say?"

"Jesus Christ, Ethan, who cares?  I’m starting to think the only reason you even asked me to stay was to prove something to Blake.  He’s the young, handsome movie star, but you got the girl, so somehow that means you won."

He finally shut the magazine.  "You do not think that."

"Yeah, Ethan," I said, turning my back on him, "sometimes I do."  Not often, but at moments like these.

That’s when he snuggled up behind me and started rubbing my shoulders, before moving his hands down my back and below my waist.  He waited until he felt me respond before he pulled me around to face him.  "You know that’s not the reason I asked you to stay.  Lover boy has nothing to do with this."

"Are you sure?" I asked, even as he slid his hand between my legs.

"Definitely," he said, pulling me on top of him.

"Then just so we’re clear," I said, as I unbuttoned the teddy I’d purchased at the Victoria’s Secret across the street. "You’re only with me for the sex.  Blake has nothing to do with it."

"Not only the sex," he said, as he lifted the silk camisole over my head.  "Although I’m certainly enjoying that too."

"Oh right.  It’s not about the sex.  You really love me for my mind."

We both froze.  I never meant to utter the forbidden L-word, but it slipped out and I couldn’t take it back.  Neither one of us was smiling anymore, but Ethan was the first to speak.

"What if I did?"

Epilogue

"Happily ever after?  With Ethan?  Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You’re in denial," Nicole said, then took another bite of her omelet.

Ethan usually joined us for our Sunday brunches, at least the weekends he was in town.  This morning he’d begged off to have breakfast with a friend, a former colleague from North Carolina who’d recently moved to L.A.

"You’re in love with him," Nicole announced.

"In love with him!  Need I remind you the man has enough emotional baggage to fill an eighteen wheeler, he’s twelve years older than me, drinks too much, and lives a thousand miles away."

"Yes, but the good news is he’s crazy about you too."

I passed on Nicole’s offer of a post-brunch movie because I wanted to get home before Ethan.  Although it really wasn’t necessary since I’d already given him a key.  I didn’t see it so much as a sign of commitment as a practical necessity.  We’d been dating for six months—every other weekend he’d fly down to L.A. or I’d fly up to Seattle—and sometimes we’d arrive before the other got home.  It wasn’t a perfect arrangement but I thought it was going pretty well until one day Ethan decided I needed to move up to Washington.  I refused, of course, and Nicole backed me up on that even though she usually sided with Ethan on everything.  She may have been my best friend, but she was Ethan’s biggest fan.

No matter how many times I explained that I needed to stay in L.A. since that was where all of my clients lived, Ethan refused to believe me.  And every time I suggested he move closer to me, he’d remind me that he was a tenured professor at a major university and couldn’t relocate on a whim just because I wanted him to.  Lately every time he mentioned it I’d change the subject.  Otherwise we’d end up in a huge fight and the entire weekend would be ruined.

I was working on a proposal for a new client—she wanted to set up a foundation to stop abandoned pets from being euthanized—when Ethan returned.

"How was your breakfast?" I asked, barely glancing up from my laptop.

"Productive."

Since it wasn’t the answer I was expecting, I stopped typing and turned around.

"I wasn’t really having breakfast with a friend," Ethan said, joining me on the couch.

"Then what were you doing?" I asked, bracing myself for I didn’t know what.

He rubbed his hand across his three-day beard. "Call it an informal interview.  Patti set it up."

"Interview for what?"

"A teaching position at UCLA.  They’re looking for a visiting professor for the fall quarter."

"Isn’t that a temporary gig?"  Not that it wouldn’t be nice to have a few months off from the biweekly commute.  The airfare was getting outrageously expensive.  Ethan usually paid, but I still felt awkward about it.

"Not always.  Often they’re trial runs.  If it works out they offer you a permanent position."  He glanced around my combination living room/bedroom/office.  "I thought we could rent a bigger apartment together, closer to campus."

"Um.  Yeah.  Maybe."

"Maybe?" he said, his voice rising at least an octave.  "I thought this is what you wanted."

"It is," I answered honestly.  Although I’m not sure I believed it would happen, or at least not so soon.  "It’s a little sudden, don’t you think?"

"Sudden?  Sydney, we’ve been talking about this for months."

"I know.  But moving in together . . . .  Ethan, that’s a huge step."

"So you thought I’d uproot my entire life for you, but we’d still live in separate apartments?"

"I didn’t—"

"Enough, Sydney."  He jumped up from the couch.  "Enough.  I’m too old to play these games."  He stopped pacing and turned around.  "Tell me the truth.  Do you love me or not?"

"Ethan, it’s not that simple."

"Yeah, Sydney, it is."

He stared at me until I gave him an answer.

"Yes, I love you.  Happy now?"  If the smile on his face was any indication, he appeared to be.  "But, Ethan, you drive me crazy!"

The smile widened.  "Of course I do, Sydney.  What do you think love is?"

# # #

Note to Readers:

We hope you enjoyed this book.  If you would like more information about the author or her other books, please visit her website at http://www.bethorsoff.com.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64