I tried to stay away. I tried to protect us both. But she kept pushing me, kept showing up, kept getting under my skin. And now she’s here to stay.
A month, anyway.
It will have to be enough.
We lie on our bellies for hours, scanning the beach in silence. The sunset fades into a dusky purple. The crash of waves and the distant beat of dance music floats over the water. I’m drunk on being near her.
I use the time to plan a real date with Junie. I want to hear more about what brought her here and why she decided to stay. Maybeit won’t hurt like hell when she leaves if I always remember that it’s coming—if I never let that fact slip my mind.
There’s no point in ignoring reality. Projecting my fantasies onto other people has only hurt me. Maybe there’s value in facing this with unflinching honesty. I’ll need tomorrow to pull everything together, but the day after, I’ll get her alone and we’ll discuss it like adults. No more games.
For a while after our kiss I could feel her rapt attention, but as the hours pass, she looks sleepy. I don’t bother to wake her. There’s no chance of me resting any time soon.
Finally, there’s movement—a black silhouette crawling up the beach. The massive creature scuttles toward the shadows cast by the mangrove trees as I squeeze Junie’s hand.
“Look,” I whisper as she gently stirs. I pass her the binoculars and point to the gnarled roots where the big green turtle is digging her hole. I flick on a red torch so we can watch without disturbing her. If she doesn’t feel safe, she could trample her eggs, or return to the ocean without laying any.
The whole process will take hours, but it always feels like magic. We hear the scrape of sand and a strange gasping as the new mother prepares her nest.
When the hole is about a meter deep, she turns and faces the ocean, her face serene. She’ll lay around 100 eggs, but only 1 in 1000 will ever make it to adulthood, which is why we occasionally risk moving them in this high predator environment.
She moves like an ancient dinosaur, performing a ritual as old as life itself. When she begins the process of expelling the eggs, I nudge Junie and lead her closer. As long as we stay out of the turtle’s sight and don’t make noise, we can observe the drop ofthe sticky, ping pong sized sacs. I shine the small red light on her tail, careful not to disturb her.
Junie’s lips part in a silent, “Wow,” and she looks up at me with glittering eyes.
She understands.
I gave up everything and made a home on this island to protect these creatures. To swim with them, observe them, and give them the best chance at life. I’ve devoted the last three years to it. I’ve thought about moving on, getting a new boat and exploring other shores, but the birthing and hatching season always pulls me back.
Adult sea turtles give birth every three to four years, and they almost always return to the beach where they hatched. Nesting season always makes me feel close to nature, and very far from home.
In all their years of exploration, didn’t they know that there are safer waters? That there are islands and beaches where their nests stand a better chance of being left alone? But their instincts always bring them back here, and as long as they consider it home, I want to keep it safe for them.
I’ve seen thousands of baby turtles march off into the big ocean, and no matter how much I want to, I can’t save them all. But I’m here, now, with Junie. We’re watching this mother bury her eggs like planting seeds of a tree she will never enjoy the shade from, and I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
Chapter 15
Junie
Okay, so he doesn’t hate me.
When he drops me off outside volunteer housing at sunrise, I think about asking him to come inside, but then I remember my squeaky bunk bed and the shared sleeping arrangements, and realize how silly that would sound.
I drag the toe of my flip flop through the sand, hovering inches away from him. The sun is just peering over the horizon, painting the sky in pinks and golds. He looks devastatingly handsome, a soft breeze blowing his hair. I wonder what changed for him. A thousand words form on the tip of my tongue.
I want to talk about the turtles. I want to talk about the kiss. I want to keep our mouths shut and let our bodies do the talking. For once, I’m tongue-tied. Where do we go from here?
I’m relieved when he takes the lead, but his words drop like stones in my gut, sending disappointed ripples throughout my body.
“I should go check in with Mike about the new nest.” The way he elongates his vowels makes me want to taste them on his tongue.
“I’ll go with you,” I say, fighting back a yawn.
“No, get some shut-eye. It won’t take but a minute and we both need some sleep.” As disappointed as I am, the rejection doesn’t sting this time. We’re stuck on a tiny island together. He doesn’t hate me. He kissed me like it was the last day of his life. I’m teetering so close to the edge of sleep, I can’t even be certain this whole thing isn’t a dream.
Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of—waking up alone and realizing this never happened. I don’t live the kind of life where I stay up all night, witnessing miracles of nature. I don’t live a life where sexy Australian dive instructors reach out to cradle my face in one big, warm hand.
But he does. His thumb tucks under my chin, his fingers wrap around my neck, and he tilts my head up toward his. My lips part involuntarily over a shuddered breath as his eyes seem to drink me in.
