Page 17 of Falling for the Recluse

I go in and pick the penguin up. It’s soft plush with big, sparkly plastic eyes and an apparent grin. It’s a little worn around the edges—some of the fur is rubbed thin in places—but it looks oddly happy and well-loved.

Oswald. She’s held on to him for over a decade.

I put him back on the bed and cross the hallway to my room, still trying to ignore the strange feeling in my chest. The one telling me I can’t imagine returning to a life devoid of Josie Bennett.

She’s waiting by the door when I come out, dressed in all her outerwear and carrying her loaded backpack. Her eyes are bright, excitement radiating from her like an aura.

Though I’m not a penguin researcher, I understand her anticipation. The moments before going onto the ice are always loaded with the possibility of new discoveries.

I scan her from head to toe, ensuring she’s not only dressed well but that her boots are good for the forty-five-minute hike over rocky terrain.

“Where’s your gaiter?” I ask.

“My gaiter?”

“Neck warmer.” I indicate her bare neck. “It’ll protect your neck and the lower part of your face, plus it stops snow and wind from getting into your clothes.”

“I don’t have one.” Her forehead crinkles. “Well, crap. Did I seriously forget something?”

“You can use one of mine.” I dig through the front closet and produce a blue fleece gaiter. I tug it over her head and arrange it around her neck, unable to stop myself from twisting the white streak in her hair around my finger.

“Black and white,” I remark. “Is this also an homage to penguins?”

She nods. “I love them.”

Lucky penguins.

“Then you’d better hurry up and meet them.” I take her heavy backpack and push open the door.

Despite the cold, the sun is shining, and only a few clouds skim the horizon. But the clear weather doesn’t promise anything. I know from experience that we could get hit with a bad storm in fifteen minutes.

We slowly make our way over the rocks to the shore housing the penguins’ breeding grounds. Josie’s breath comes fast, her attention focused on avoiding hazards.

“Don’t go to the colony without me,” I tell her. “It’s dangerous for you to be out here alone.”

She shoots me a glance. “But you go on the ice alone.”

“Only here on the island, and I’m never without communication. I do a lot of fieldwork with other scientists on the continent. There are always researchers at Hamilton station during the summer.”

She climbs over a large pile of rocks. I grab her elbow to keep her steady.

“From the way it sounds, and like I said, I really try not to believe gossip,” she says, “but the consensus is that you don’t work with anyone.”

“Not entirely true.” As we walk up the last slope to the beach, the sound of the penguins squawking and rustling gets louder. “I do my own research, but I’d be a lousy scientist if I didn’t collaborate to some extent. And I’d be an idiot if I went too far out on the ice alone.”

“So if you do any fieldwork while I’m here…” She takes hold of my arm as she balances on the ridge. “Do you think I could go with you?”

I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been too comfortable with other people in the field. Even though I work with other scientists, I’m not really part of a team.

But Josie…I can see her there, peering over my shoulder as I service the GPS units, asking endless questions about the geophysical surveys, exclaiming over the beauty of the ice stream. I see her stripping down to her non-regulation underwear in the tiny field tent, her skin rosy, her eyes getting hot as she waits for me to—

I clear my throat. “Maybe.”

She starts to respond, then stops and stares over the ridge. Her eyes widen, and her mouth drops open.

Hundreds of penguins are spread over the rocky, barren beach—waddling, squawking, pecking, eating. A few are swimming in the metal-gray water, and the air is alive with the sound of the animals chirping, honking, and braying.

Josie brings her hand to her mouth. Her eyes are brighter than usual, glassy with tears.

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