Page 88 of Second Tide's the Charm
Marissa hands me a sugar-dusted donut, like food might help me process this conversation. “Hope wants to be with you, even knowing firsthand what’s at stake. Why are you second-guessing things?”
“Because I can’t ignore what I’m asking of Hope when I tell her I want a future with her. There are so many variables.”
“Not ones that matter,” she says. “All it comes down to is the two of you.”
I should be annoyed by this ambush, but things are finally becoming clear. I’ve been trying to think through every scenario, to work out all the odds, but suddenly it hits me; I can’t control every outcome. I can only control my choices.
It’s time to stop sitting by and waiting for the worst-case scenario. I want to plan on a best-case scenario. I want to go back to being the guy who took a chance on a long-distance relationship with a woman I’d only known for a couple of months, a woman who turned out to be more than I ever could have hoped for. I want to take a risk, even though it might fail spectacularly. I want to believe we have another chance at forever. I want to dream again, with Hope.
thirty-six
hope
Studying great white sharks in California has been fantastic. Being away from Adrian—emotionally, as well as physically—has not. He asked for time and trusted me enough to be honest about what he’s experiencing, and I care about him enough to wait. In the meantime, I’ve been doing my best to keep him out of my mind, but it’s impossible to loosen his hold on my heart.
The bulk of our time is spent in the lab, where it’s easier to push thoughts of Adrian aside while working to decipher data or running experiments. But today we’re out on the water in a dinghy that’s only a little longer than the juvenile sharks we’re hoping to tag, and I can’t help but picture him by my side, waiting with breathless anticipation to see a familiar shape in the shallows below.
But I blink away the desire, determined not to spoil today with fantasies that might not materialize.
Keith, one of the PhD candidates working on the study, has a hand on the outboard motor, piloting the boat through the glassy water. He’s wearing a neck gaiter as defense against the sun burning off the last of the morning fog. “Anyone know a good sea shanty?”
“I’ve got a classic,” Marty says. He’s sitting in the bow, holding a tagging stick used for placing a tag from the boat. One of the senior scientists on the research team, Dr. Martin Norris has a reputation for being a great mentor, always accessible for questions or advice. “Maybe you know it. It goes like this.” He clears his throat, then sings, “Here, fishy, fishy.”
Everyone else onboard groans, though I chuckle.
“Too early for that.” Gwen’s voice is a raspy grumble, but she’s grinning, tanned face coated with a chalky sheen of zinc. “You get used to their antics,” she assures me. She’s balancing a clipboard on her knees, gaze sharp as she scans the water.
“This your first trip out to study white sharks?” Marty asks when the laughter dies down. “I recognize the look. Awe and excitement.”
“I still feel that way, and I’ve been doing this for twenty-five years,” Gwen says. “It’s a privilege to get to study these animals.”
“It is,” I say. “Being out on the water always reminds me of the first shark documentary I watched as a kid. They had all these close-up shots of sharks underwater. Cruising. Then they did a scene cut to a group of scientists on a boat, chatting and consulting a chart.” I realize the chitchat on the boat has fallen silent, and I pause. I don’t know what compelled me to share this memory, but when it becomes clear they’re all waiting for me to continue, I find my voice.
“The camera panned away again, but I remember wanting to climb in that boat with them. To look over their shoulders and see what was on the paper. What sort of data? What were their research methods? Of course, I didn’t have that sort of language yet, I was eight.” There’s a murmur of laughter, and my discomfort at being the center of attention eases.
“But I wanted to know every detail. To toss out the buoys and sort through the tackle boxes and find out the purpose for everything. And what about the sharks? What did they do when they went where the camera couldn’t follow?”
I spent the summer flipping through books and sounding out the scientific names of all my favorite sharks, stumbling over the Latin words until I got it right. My mind goes instantly to the name on the bow of Adrian’s boat, taking heart in the knowledge that he’s held on, all this time.
“The more I learned, the more I realized what I had left to learn. And I don’t know...” I shrug, shy again. “I just love how I could do this my whole life and still have more to explore.”
Marty smiles at me. “And now you’re the one in the boat.”
“I am, yeah.”
“Dang,” Keith says. “Wish I would’ve had you as an undergrad. You make our job sound way cool.” Mingled snorts of laughter and mock-indignation rise up from the group, but Keith shakes his head. “I’m serious. Students must love you.”
I bark out a laugh louder than the sea lions lounging on the beach. “Not so much. I tend to accidentally bombard people with facts.”
“Really? Because we watched you onShark Science Crew,” Gwen says, lifting her eyes from the green-blue water around us. “Seemed like a natural in explaining things.”
“You watched us?”
They all nod. “Are you kidding me? Adrian and Marissa are legit,” Keith says.
“You too,” Gwen tells me, and I have to fight to keep my mouth from dropping open at a compliment from her. “I think you’re selling yourself short. My mother, who’s never once managed to sit through hearing about my research, shared one of your videos with me. Asked why I couldn’t have explained things so clearly years ago.”
My eyes go wide. “I’m...sorry?”
