Page 22 of Love in the Lab
“See,” Jonathan shouts from the steering wheel, “it’s not so bad.”
I quickly school my features. “No, it’s fine,” I say as Jonathan kills the engine.
He grins. “We’re here. The glider’s just off the starboard side.”
I stand, trying to remember which side is starboard. The right? I cross the deck and peer over the right edge of the boat. Bright yellow, the glider is easy to spot in the water. Because I haven’t done fieldwork since starting on Dr. Gantt’s team, I haven’t seen a glider up close. I work with the data they collect all the time—it’s a primary part of my job in the office.
The technology fascinates me. These self-contained vessels use an internal pump to change buoyancy, allowing them to move up and down in the water. They have propellers and an internal compass that help them move slowly on a pre-set course, and all the while, they collect data about the water and transmit the data back to shore in real time.
“How long has this one been out?” I ask, tossing a glance over my shoulder at Jonathan.
“Two months.”
“What was its mission?”
“Recording pH levels, water temperatures, and oxygen levels, among other things, at varying depths out here in the Gulf.”
I frown, thinking back over the datasets I’ve been working with in the office. “This is glider four?” Jonathan nods his confirmation. “The pH has increased slightly over the last fewweeks, especially closer to the surface, but not anywhere near dangerous levels.”
Jonathan rubs his chin. “That makes sense. Pesticide runoff from the Mississippi would be higher right now as the growing season comes to an end.”
I pause. I consider telling him my hypothesis about the effect of storms on the water temperature and pH levels, but it’s been a slow hurricane season, thankfully, and we haven’t had much impact. A couple of storms in the Gulf skirted up the coast of Florida, but none have come close enough to New Orleans that our data would be affected.
Besides, I’m not sure I can really trust him. I’ve had so many male colleagues over the years who belittle my ideas or even try to take credit for them. It’s best to keep my data model close to the vest until I know more about the findings.
“Water temperatures have stayed about the same since summer even though the water should have started cooling off already,” I add instead. My eyes are drawn back to the glider bobbing in the water. It’s as long as Jonathan is tall. I turn to face him. “How do we get it in the boat?”
Jonathan smiles. “It weighs about 140 pounds, but between the two of us, it won’t be hard to pull it in.”
I watch as he reaches a long pole with a hook on the end into the water and secures it through a handle on one end of the glider. Using the pole, he guides the glider through the water to the platform at the back of the boat.
He snaps open the gate and motions me over. “We can pull it in here, so we don’t have to lift it as high.”
One thing I reluctantly appreciate about working with Jonathan is that he doesn’t overexplain. He demonstrates the processes we need to follow, gives some commentary, but assumes I’m competent enough to connect the dots. I’ve worked with a lot of men in this field, and I’m sorry to say that most ofthem get a little too much pleasure from mansplaining concepts that I understand better than they do.
But not Jonathan. Like now, he positions himself on the edge of the platform to get behind the glider, and without conversation, I take my place near the front to pull. We don’t need to spell it out or belabor the process. We understand each other.
With just a little lifting, we easily slide the glider aboard. Jonathan is still kneeling at the edge of the platform, so I mimic his position to get a better look at the autonomous vehicle. The outside is sleek for better hydrodynamics, with the moving parts and scientific instruments safely stored inside the fiberglass hull.
“What happens to a glider when there’s bad weather?” I ask.
Jonathan keeps his eyes on the glider as he inspects it for damage. “During some of the summer storms we had gliders that went dark for an hour or two. When the storm passed, they surfaced and were able to transmit the missing data, along with their location; they were off course. They adjusted though and were able to course correct on their own.” He looks up at me, his eyes bright. “If the water’s rough enough or if it’s in shallow water with rocks or other obstacles, a glider could get damaged, but we haven’t had that happen to any in our fleet.”
I absorb this information, adding it to what I already know about the gliders and the rows of data they transmit that end up on my computer. Jonathan finishes his inspection and stands, his board shorts and long-sleeve sun-protection shirt splotched with dark spots where water splashed onto him while we were hauling in the glider. Fat droplets roll down his legs and drip onto his bare feet.
I smirk. “Looks like you got a little wet there, Dr. Stanch.”
He looks down at his clothes and grins. “You call this wet? Nah, this isn’t wet at all.”
He grabs the hem of his shirt with one hand, and before I know what’s happening, his shirt hits the deck as he plunges into the water behind him.
My mouth drops open as I wait for him to resurface. He bursts back up in a fountain of white spume and sparkling water, his bare chest shimmering in the sunlight before it dips back below the surface. Not before I ogle the firm ridges and planes of said chest and suddenly find my mouth dry and my brain incoherent.
You know he’s attractive, I remind myself.You’ve always known that. That’s why you keep your distance.
The logical part of my brain must be on break, though, because I can’t tear my eyes away from Jonathan bobbing in the water, his dark curls plastered to his forehead, his broad shoulders glistening, and the green in his hazel eyes electrified against the aquamarine waves.
He turns in the water and starts swimming farther from the boat, tossing me a carefree smile over his shoulder. “Come on, Molly Pop, don’t let me have all the fun by myself,” he goads.
