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My Last Continent(86)

By:Midge Raymond


So it wasn’t a dream but a memory, and still hazy. “Tell me.”

He eases me back into the narrow berth and sits beside me. Though it hurts my still-warming hands, I can’t stop touching him, afraid he might vanish.

“I was stranded on the ice,” he says, “and saw a Zodiac weaving around—really erratic. I thought some Australis passenger had commandeered it, but it was crew, someone in an orange parka. I tried flagging him down. He ignored me at first—it seemed he was looking for someone—then finally came over.”

Keller’s voice is raspy but strong. “Turned out the guy wasn’t a crew member at all—he was a passenger. From here.”

“Richard,” I manage to say. How the hell had he gotten back out on the water?

“How’d you know that?”

“He nearly killed himself—and me—earlier. He’s crazy on seasick meds.”

“That may be, but he’s a hero in my book,” Keller says. “He picked me up, and it’s thanks to his delusion about someone else being out there that we found you. He wouldn’t give up the helm, was going in circles, and I was just about to take him down and tie him up in the Zodiac when he spotted you.” Keller grins. “He seemed disappointed it was you, not who he was looking for, whoever that was—he wouldn’t say. But if we hadn’t found you just then—”

“I was out looking for you.”

“I know.”

There’s so much to ask, and so much to say—and even as I begin to repeat what I’d told him on the phone, he’s smiling, his hands coming to rest softly on my belly, and I stop. “So you did hear me. You didn’t hang up on me.”

There are more wrinkles around his eyes than I remember, or maybe it’s because he’s smiling in a way I’ve never seen before. “No, I didn’t hang up on you. Communications went down.”

“Am I okay?”

“You’ve fractured at least one bone in your ankle and have four stitches in that thick head of yours. But Susan says there’s no evidence anything’s wrong with the baby. Nothing she can see. She’s eager to get you to a hospital, though.”

“I’m glad you two have talked this over. Apparently you’re both assuming it’s yours?”

He laughs, and I squeeze his hand, tightly, despite the pain that shoots up my arm. Now that we’re sitting here together, it all feels more real. “You’re okay with this? You really do want this baby?”

“Don’t you?” he says.

“Yes, of course, but—how do we manage it? Between our work, and coming down here, and—” I’m rambling, thinking aloud.

He puts a finger to my lips. “Later, Deb. There’s plenty of time to figure it all out. Now’s not the time.”

“Why not now?” I ask. “It’s not as if we’re going anywhere.”

I stagger to my feet and limp to the porthole again. Over on the island, a long and narrow hut built by the British Antarctic Survey is serving as a temporary refuge for rescued passengers. I’ve been inside enough times to remember its weathered gray walls, its cold bareness but for a few remnants: the tins of Scotch oats, rusted cans of sardines, shelves of books, long underwear and socks still strung above the stove to dry—and I try to picture this small snapshot of history crowded with twenty-first-century survivors.

As I watch, another Zodiac full of passengers lands on the beach, and the porthole becomes a panorama of Detaille’s past: the ghosts of the British researchers, the skeleton of their shelter, the tracks of nearby Adélies in the snow—and now, this scene from the island’s gruesome new history as a temporary home for survivors.

“What a nightmare,” I murmur, and I feel Keller behind me, his arms gently sheathing my shoulders.

“You need to rest,” he says. “Another cruise ship just arrived, and more boats are on the way. We’ll be heading north soon.”

I ease myself back down on the bed, with Keller’s help, but this time he doesn’t join me. I look up at him. “Aren’t you staying?”

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “They need extra hands—”

I sit up straight. “Are you kidding? You almost died out there.”

“I’ll be careful. I always am.”

I struggle to stand again, galvanized by fear, by hormones, determined not to let him go.

“Don’t worry,” he says. He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there, and then he’s turning to leave.

I grab his arm, holding fast through the sting. “No, Keller. Don’t even think about it.”