Page 32 of Falling for the Recluse

I stop on my way back from the food storage shed, my arms loaded with boxes of cereal and powdered milk. I squint against the sun as the Zodiac carves a path to the dock. There are two men aboard, both dressed in bright orange parkas, and they tie up the boat with practiced ease before striding up the rocky incline to the house.

There’s something familiar about them. Must be a couple of glaciologists from Hamilton station. Gavin hasn’t mentioned getting any radio communication about a visit, but maybe they sometimes arrive without prior notice.

I continue toward the house, deflecting a rustle of unease. My anxiety is understandable. Gavin and I have been the only people on Needle Island since I first arrived, so it’s strange to see other men—

Oh, my god.

My heart plummets like a stone. Thornwall and Kasper. The skipper and crewman of the boat that brought me to the island…a month ago?

No. It hasn’t been that long.

I quicken my pace, almost running up the incline. My breath puffs out in clouds of white. I enter the house through the back door, dumping the boxes on the kitchen counter. Deep male voices, one of them Gavin’s, echo from the front door.

Without bothering to take off my boots, I hurry into the foyer. Gavin’s back is to me. The two men look past him and smile at me uncertainly. They’re both in their forties, longtime Antarctica workers and sailors. Their skin is sunburned and ruddy, their eyes creased under their knit caps.

“Hey, Josie,” Thornwall says, glancing from me to Gavin and back again. “How’ve you been? Sounds like you didn’t get the message. No surprise with the crappy internet.”

I stop beside Gavin, my hand rising automatically to touch him somewhere, anywhere. But I don’t want the other men to know anything about us, so I unfasten my parka instead.

“What message?” Though I try to keep my tone casual, the strain makes it sound thin and high.

“About the storm.” Kasper pulls off his cap and runs a hand through his sparse, wiry hair. “Big one’s coming in tomorrow. Condition three. Expected to last a while. That’s why we’re here early. We…uh, we thought you’d be ready to go.”

I shake my head. Although I hear what he’s saying, I can’t process it. “You’re here for me? To take me back to the continent?”

They both nod. Gavin is as silent and still as…well, a block of ice.

“We reported the storm, and the Penguin Research Group made the call to bring you in early so you won’t get stuck out here.” Kasper shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Professor Rainer said he’d email you. Our operator at Hamilton also radioed in our arrival time. You didn’t get that message?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Gavin shakes his head, not looking at me. “Josie, go get your stuff together. I’ll bring it down to the boat.”

His voice is so flat he might as well be talking about algae.

“Leave any nonessentials, and we’ll ship them to you,” Thornwall tells me. “We need to get you back to Hamilton. Your flight to New Zealand leaves on Friday. Trust us, you don’t want to get stuck in the upcoming storm. It’s going to be brutal.”

Somehow, I find the strength to move and speak. “I’m sorry, but this is quite unexpected. Why don’t you come into the kitchen and have some coffee? I’m going to need a few minutes to get organized.”

They glance at each other again and nod. After I get them settled in the kitchen, I hurry to my bunk, certain that Gavin is waiting for me. Obviously, we have to talk and figure out what the hell is going on.

He’s not here. I look at the paper calendar on the wall of my room. There’s a blue circle around Friday, November 25th. My departure date. A week from today.

I’d marked it the day after I first arrived so I could keep track of the month and manage my time well, but with Gavin, the actual meaning oftimehas fallen away. The sun shines twenty-four hours a day unless there’s a storm. He only has one clock in the kitchen. We follow a loose schedule, but it’s frequently broken up by spontaneous touching or kissing, and there are no deadlines.

Except for one. My deadline. Which just slammed against me like a bulldozer, scraping up and throwing away my final week with Gavin.

I go into his room across the hall. He’s not there either.

Irritation stings me. Two men arrive unexpectedly to cut short my stay on Needle Island, and Gavin goes missing?

I hurry into the workroom. Outside the window, he’s stalking toward the food storage shed with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his parka and his head down.

I grab my parka and run after him, slamming the door shut behind me. “Gavin!”

He keeps walking, so I run faster. He disappears into the shed.

Goddammit.

I yank open the door. The cabin is temperate but not warm, the shelves lined with crates of canned and boxed foods.

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