Chapter Twenty-Three
twenty-three
hope
We don’t film live. You won’t have to talk to the camera. No unexpected questions.
Not promises, maybe, but clear expectations, certainly. When Adrian and I shot the intro video together, he assured me I’d just be doing shark work-ups on camera, that anything could be fixed in edits. Lies. Today was the city council meeting all over again, but with an audience of thousands, not a hundred. And while I got the facts right, I let down my colleagues just the same.
I stayed at the wheel the entire way back to the marina, ensuring no one would try to talk to me, and the drive home with Marissa was quiet, both of us gathering our thoughts. We dashed into the condo just ahead of the first lightning crack.
At the kitchen island, Marissa knocks back a glass of water like a shot, then refills it with the filtered pitcher, pouring more into my cup as well. We both chug, thirsty in the way only a day on the water can leave you.
Dabbing her mouth with her sleeve, she says, “That was a mess.”
“Which part? Me telling the public about an imaginary program or Adrian and I fighting at work?” I tip up my glass and let the ice fall into my mouth, nervous energy needing an outlet.
She leans her hip against the counter. “Please. That was not a fight.” Good to know it didn’t look as terrible as it felt to hear him basically accuse me of breaking us up. “I think the worst part was us leaving you out to dry like that. I should’ve known it would be tough for you after what happened.”
I shift the ice to my cheek and suck in a chilled breath. “I thought I could handle it. And it was fine, but then, all of a sudden, my mind went blank, and I was talking on autopilot.” I drop my head to the cool granite countertop. “How many people were watching?”
She pats my back. “You don’t want to know.” I hear the ice rattle in her cup as she takes another drink. “Fortunately, I think it’s an awesome idea, so there’s that.”
I twist my head sideways to peek up at her. “Of course it is. But Adrian’s not sure it’s feasible.”
She rolls her eyes, tugging off her stretchy headband with an audible sigh of relief. She recently took down her braids, and is wearing her hair loose today, the thick coils held away from her face with the headbands she often wears on days at sea.
“He’s the worrier in the family. And I get it. My parents moved once when I was like seven—” she squints in thought, spinning the headband on her finger “—maybe eight. Anyway, I was so thrown I wouldn’t even go to school for two weeks that fall. I can’t imagine doing it as often as Adrian did. My aunt and uncle are great parents, and they did their best balancing career and family, but I think Adrian coped with all that change by thinking three steps ahead.”
“Not always a bad thing,” I feel compelled to say.
“Who said it was?” She frowns at me, the expression so like Adrian that I grin. “But I have experience with outreach programs—”
“He said that too.” Right before he told me it might not be a good plan. “He also said you have another full-time job, and he’ll be busy with lab work and a full course load in the fall.”
“I think I know how to manage my own time,” she says. “It might not work out, sure. But worst-case scenario, you disappointed a few people. It happens.”
I roll my face back into my crossed arms, wanting to block out the memory of my failure. Failures, plural.
“Hey, it happens ,” she says. “You did your best out there, and I bet you inspired at least one person to go look up goblin sharks. They’ll wish they hadn’t, but...”
I straighten up, chuckling. “I think they’re kind of cute.”
“They’re a lot of things, but cute isn’t one of them. Cool enough to get someone interested in shark science, though. That’s for sure.”
I smile, grateful for her support. “But Adrian started the channel to be an inspiration, and getting people excited about an opportunity and then not delivering is the opposite of that.”
“You think social media is the only way he gets involved?”
“I mean, I know he’s devoted to teaching.” Even back in undergrad, he helped out as a TA.
Marissa sets down her glass. “Should’ve known he’d be too shy to tell you.”
Shy? A man with over a million followers? A man who kisses me with a boldness that makes me blush just thinking of it?
She marches to the coatrack and grabs her purse. “Come with me. You need to see something.” With a twinkle in her brown eyes, she opens the door with a dramatic flourish. “I’ll drive.”
I am never living that down.
In a flashback to middle school weekends, I find myself left standing on the curb of a public library with Marissa’s instructions to head to the children’s section. The rain let up and now the warm air hangs heavy on my skin, like a blanket left out on the line, thick with moisture.
Palmettos line the sidewalk, and though I’ve lived in the southeastern United States for most of my adult life, I’ll never get over the difference in the flora here. Even the evergreens flanking the building are different from up north—towering longleaf pines, instead of the sturdy white pines back home—though stepping into the library wraps me in a familiar feeling of belonging.
The sliding doors whoosh shut behind me and mute the birdsong, air-conditioning embracing me like I’ve entered a hermetically sealed chamber, cool and quiet. A librarian seated at the front desk turns from her computer with a smile.
“May I help you with something?”
I hesitate, glancing around the open space. “My...” I stutter to a halt. Co-worker? Ex-boyfriend? Recent make-out buddy? Yeah, won’t be going with either of the latter options. “A colleague of mine—” our agreed-upon status resounds with a discordant twang against my heartstrings “—is doing story time here. I don’t want to interrupt...”
“A friend of Adrian’s?” She breaks into a big smile. “Wait a minute. You’re the new scientist with Shark Science Crew . Hope, right?”
I appraise her with fresh eyes. Around sixty, I’d say, with the bearing of someone I’d expect to lecture youngsters on how screen time rots their brains. Obviously, I need to check my judgments. “You watch their channel?”
“Darling, we all do.” I glance around to see who the “we” is, expecting a legion of librarians to materialize, but none do. “Adrian has been incredibly generous with his time,” she says. “He does a program at least once a month at one of our branches, and it’s a huge draw for the community. Gets folks in the door and utilizing the library system.”
She adjusts her purple reading glasses. “I grew up in Charleston and never much liked the idea of sharks swimming around. But now that I’ve learned what an important role they play in the ocean—” She stops herself with a small smile. “What am I saying? You’re the expert. Don’t need me to tell you anything.”
Tipping forward in her chair, she uses a pen to point off to the side. “Children’s Services area is toward the back. Won’t be able to miss it.”
I thank her and make my way through low bookshelves toward the rear portion of the library. Sure enough, I hear him before I see him, his always-deep voice tuned to the rich, scholarly tone I remember from sneaking into the seminars he led in grad school, a lush timbre that invites you to hunker down and absorb.
I step past a glossy green shelf, and a semicircle of children seated on a rug comes into view, a smattering of adults on plastic chairs behind them. Adrian is perched on the edge of a low dais in front of the group, forgoing the armchair behind him, no doubt to get on their level. He’s swapped out his work clothes from earlier for an aqua blue polo and gray chinos, the first I’ve seen him dressed up since our night out, and I sweep my eyes away, lest he catch me staring.
Each child is holding a plush shark in their lap—or on their head, in the case of one boy near the front—and listening with rapt attention to Adrian reading from a picture book about Dr. Eugenie Clark, a pioneering marine biologist. I recognize it as the same one I bought as a present for Zuri’s kids last Christmas.
Adrian must have it memorized. He barely glances at the pages, instead making eye contact with the crowd, not rushing through, but pausing to let the text sink in, and I find myself mouthing the words along with him, throat suddenly tight.
To see a whole roomful of kids eager to hear about my personal hero, a leader in the field at a time when women were expected to stay out of science, is a huge pick-me-up after this emotional day. Adrian turns the book around to flip to the next page and glances up for the first time.
His eyes land on me and a broad smile lights up his whole face. His unguarded happiness in seeing me, despite our argument makes my eyes sting. Smile fading, his brows tug together and he mouths, I’m sorry.
A whole room full of people in front of him, and his first thought is to apologize. The smile I muster is watery but genuine. A few adults turn my way to see who Adrian’s looking at and he clears his throat, hastily returning to the book to pull attention back to him, and just like that he melts my heart all over again. Looking out for me. Shielding me from the crowd.
His next smile is for me, though he’s looking at the page. Awareness settles as I watch him, taking in the steady set of his shoulders, how he puts his all into the reading, voice clear and resonant. There’s an intangible bond between this man and I, and in this moment, I don’t want to deny it. Don’t want to reason it away or dissect it. Some things are deeper than flesh and bone. Deeper even than cells and neurons.
Love isn’t quantifiable. Hope isn’t quantifiable. And suddenly that doesn’t seem like a bad thing.
I watch the rest of his performance in a haze, caught up in the story of promise. At the end, one girl with blond curls raises her hand but doesn’t wait to speak. “Our family took a trip to the Mote Aquarium. Did you know Eugenie Clark used to train sharks?”
Adrian sets the book on his lap. “Pretty interesting, huh? Her research showed that sharks have intelligence far beyond what people thought back then.”
The girl nods, curls bouncing. “I can’t even train my puppy.”
The grown-ups chuckle and I join in, tears dry and heart full.
“Y’all want to meet another real-life shark scientist? My friend Hope just showed up, and she’s a marine biologist like me.”
Friend. First the librarian, now him. Maybe Zuri was right, and we could stay in each other’s lives. I have a feeling no platonic title will ever feel right—not friend, and certainly not colleague. But maybe I could get used to this new normal. The next moment, twenty-some pairs of eyes swivel in my direction and banish any thoughts about our relationship status.
“Do you train sharks?” a boy asks.
I shake my head. “No. The bulk of my research was based on shark migration along the Atlantic coast. I used a combination of acoustic tags, satellite imagery, and ocean monitoring to ascertain whether there’s a correlation between shifting migration patterns and extreme weather.” Eyes start to glaze over so I add, “I wanted to know if sharks are affected by changes in the weather.”
“You mean storms? I love thunder,” a girl says.
“I hate it.” Another chimes in. “Gives me the creeps.”
I smile at them, not picking sides, though I love the energy of storms. One reason I was drawn to study this behavior in sharks was my own fascination with watching blizzards blow in off the lake, the juxtaposition of angry clouds and swirling, powdery snow. The literal electricity in the air during summer thunderstorms.
“Sharks have senses that we don’t,” I explain. “Those give them a special heads-up about changes in the weather that humans wouldn’t notice without the help of technology.”
“Like spidey senses?” The question comes from a kid in a Spiderman costume, complete with a mask. I do my best not to laugh.
“In a way, yes. They can seem like superpowers to us, but in sharks they’re biological features. I bet there are a lot more books here you can check out to learn more if you ask one of the librarians.”
Adrian stands up, drawing the kids’ attention back to him. “Ms. Lucinda has free books for you to take home as well, so be sure to stop by the front desk on your way out.” He pulls a basket out from under his chair and makes his way around the room, passing out tickets to the local aquarium. A few people linger to ask questions, and he gives each of them his focus, head inclined, listening intently.
I hang back, watching him interact with the parents and caregivers. He’s effusive and kind and it’s plain to see he didn’t get over a million followers for his pecs. He got them because he cares. And he has an exceptional knack for making other people care too.
I’m on my way over to him when a boy with short brown hair zips past me and grabs Adrian’s sleeve. “My grandpa says I’m supposed to say thank you for the shark.” He pronounces it sark , and I can’t help but grin at the cuteness.
Adrian squats down to get eye-level. “You’re very welcome.” He points to the array of white spots on the stuffed animal’s back. “Know what species this is?”
The boy nods. “A whale shark. They’re filter feeders.”
“My man.” Adrian’s smile is huge, and he offers the kid knuckles. They fist bump, then the boy runs off to an elderly man who admonishes him with a gravelly, “Slow down, Cameron.” He smiles at us over his shoulder. “Appreciate you taking the time. He’s been looking forward to this all week. Storm couldn’t keep us away, but I hear there’s worse on the way. Y’all stay safe,” he says, nodding to me.
When the last of the stragglers clear out, Adrian strides over to me and wraps me in a hug, surprising me. “I’m sorry for earlier,” he says against my ear. Warmth shuffles through my body, a zing of heat from my hair follicles to the soles of my feet, so deep it sinks into my soul as well.
Until I squeezed his thigh on the boat—another embarrassing memory from today I never want to revisit—we hadn’t touched since the night at the restaurant, and this hug is like falling onto a mattress after a long day on my feet, the sting of our argument fading with the comfort of his embrace.
All too soon, he releases me, and much as I miss his touch, I can’t help but admire the sight of him all dressed up, skin glowing rich brown under the warm lights, hair pulled back, showing off the angles of his handsome face. “What happened today was my fault,” he says. “I was so worried about going live, but I let Gabe convince me. And then, well...”
“It was pretty much your worst fear, me spilling the beans about my idea.”
“Yours too,” he says. “I let you get put in a bad position, and I’m sorry.”
“You said that already.” It’s counterintuitive to make up without touching him, but I do my best. “And I am too. I got defensive, but I know I let you down.”
“You didn’t.” He shakes his head. “We’ll find a way to work. I was just...”
“Scared?” I raise my brows, and he nods. “Me too.”
“I still should’ve handled it better,” he says. “I do appreciate you making the suggestion. I just needed time to think on it. Roll things around in my mind. Consider the outcome.” His lips quirk. “How do I put this? Changes to the status quo make me anxious. It might be the best idea in the world, but if it’s new, I need some time to mull it over, or all I see are worst-case scenarios.”
I knew this about him. Heck, his response to my decision to leave was proof. But he’d never communicated it so clearly, or maybe I wasn’t in a position to listen. “Probably better than jumping into things without considering what might go wrong.”
“Leaping before you look isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” he says. “You innovate, and you’re not scared to try new things. You’ve become a big asset to the team.”
The team. It’s a reminder that despite the hug, despite the feelings stirred up by his apology, we’re colleagues, and after this summer, won’t be anything at all to one another. Not unless I can find a way to be his friend.
“Was it weird that I showed up here?” I’m self-conscious now that we’ve gotten the apologies out of the way. “Marissa brought me, but I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“If it helps any,” he says, “Gabe came along last time, so we’re solidly in co-worker territory.” Earlier today, it would’ve been music to my ears to hear we’re staying within the lines. But my feelings have shifted, and I’m not content to leave him behind at the end of the summer.
“I gotta admit that once Marissa told me you were doing a children’s story time, it would’ve been impossible not to come see for myself.” I let my smile show, not bothering to dim it. “You had those kids hanging on every word. I’ve read to Zuri’s kids enough to know that’s no easy feat. Half the time they’re asking questions or bouncing on the couch or doing handstands.” I pause. “Though maybe that’s Zuri’s genes as much as their age. Hard to say.”
He laughs. “I think having something to hold helps them concentrate.”
“Yeah, about that—you gave them those plushies?”
He shrugs. “It’s one way I use funds from Shark Science Crew . I remember begging my parents for stuff like that when we visited aquariums and museums, and they always turned me down.” I heard the same refrain from families at the aquarium where I worked. “Which I get, now. Serious sticker shock at gift shops. But I thought it might be a cool thing to offer at programs like this.”
“Cool?” I grin. “You’re basically a sharky Santa.” I expect him to groan at the alliteration, but his face lights up, and suddenly I’m pulling out my phone, scrolling through my pictures. “Remember this?” I step up next to him, angling the phone his way, trying not to notice the cedar scent of his cologne.
He lets out a laugh at seeing the snapshot of himself in a Santa hat, sporting the shark tie with his T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. “You still have that photo?”
“I’m definitely keeping it now.” I click off the screen and tuck my phone away. “You’re a celebrity. I have to have something to say, ‘I knew him when...’”
“Surely you can do better than that.” He pulls out his own phone and taps, though not long, before holding it out. It’s us at the beach in my hometown. He’s shirtless and I’ve got my arms around his waist, cheek pressed to his bare chest. “Show-off.”
“That’s from before I ever touched a weight. Nothing to show off.”
“Not from where I’m standing.” My eyes linger on the photo for another appreciative moment before I realize what I’ve just confessed. Mortified, I wonder when I’ll stop slipping up like this, letting on how I feel. “I’d better text Marissa. She was running some errands and told me to let her know when I was ready for a ride.”
“No need,” he says. “I’ve just got some holds to pick up, then I can take you back. Unless you’d rather wait for her?”
Cheeks still burning, I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. “That would be great, thanks.”
We reach the front desk and are greeted by the same cheerful librarian. A stack of hardcover novels sits next to the computer. “I went ahead and pulled your holds from the back room.” She beams at Adrian, open adoration he deflects with a lopsided smile.
“Thanks, Lucinda.” He slides a library card out of his wallet. “How are Duchess and Gracie?”
“Trouble, as always.” She scans his card and swivels toward me. “My goldendoodles,” she explains. “I bring them in here for our Read-to-a-Dog events. Great motivation for reluctant readers, and they lap up the attention.” She winks at the pun, drawing a laugh from me and a groan from Adrian.
“Keep those coming,” I tell her. “Puns are this man’s nemesis.”
“In that case maybe I ought not. We want to make sure he keeps coming back.” She slides the first book under the barcode scanner and peers at me over her bejeweled glasses. “Did you know he spearheaded an entire STEAM story time program in conjunction with the university? Convinced several of the faculty to come in every month and give a talk about their job and read a picture book related to it. Some of them even incorporate crafts and hands-on science experiments.”
He shrugs off her praise. “They were happy to do it.”
Setting the book aside, she leans her elbow on the checkout counter. “An influencer, that’s what he is.”
He sighs, but she makes a shooing motion, the gems in her acrylic nails flashing. “Hush now. It’s not a bad thing, young man. You influenced your colleagues to do good in the community. Your influence in those kids’ lives will help get them reading about science and nature. You’re wielding your influence for good, and I for one love to see it.”
“You’re not the only one.” I’ve seen how conflicted Adrian feels about his status, the unwarranted way he feels like his platform is in some way inferior to the work he does the rest of the year.
But what he’s doing is an extension of that. He’s sharing his knowledge and experience. The years of study and exams and lab work. The long hours spent hunched over a laptop. The sweaty, physical days of fieldwork with no guarantee of usable data. The professional relationships he worked to cultivate. All of it has given him the ability to do the work he’s doing online.
“And, Hope.” I’m startled that she remembers my name. “My goddaughter was thrilled to see another ‘girl’—” she makes air quotes with an indulgent smile “—join the crew.”
An unexpected zing shoots through me. There are plenty of women in shark science. Classmates and professors, the late Dr. Clark herself. But media hasn’t always done a good job of portraying that reality.
After my slip-up today, the librarian’s words are an unexpected encouragement. “I’ll tell Marissa, she’ll be thrilled to hear. And if your goddaughter ever comes to one of the story times, we’d be happy to chat with her and answer her questions about sharks.”
“She’d love that, thank you.” She slides the books across the counter. “Don’t be strangers, you two.”
We could never be strangers. But the question remains: Who are we to each other?