Epilogue
epilogue
hope
Adrian holds his phone up, his other arm around my waist. “Say ‘olives are a fruit’!”
“Ew.” I laugh, and he clicks the photo button. “Where do you come up with these things?”
“Facts.” He turns and enfolds me in his arms. “I think the word you’re looking for is facts.”
“Trivia,” I counter, rising on tiptoes to kiss him. Gulls swoop overhead, and a pelican has been paddling around the boat, receiving glares from Adrian all morning, but other than that, we’re alone in the muted light of dawn.
We’re gearing up for our third round of “Spend a Day with Shark Scientists” and we always document the entire day to share later. I’ve come to love the visual memory, the record of how far we’ve come and how far we’ve yet to go. Toward each other, and on this journey. Okay, so maybe the voiceovers and sappy music are what make it all feel so weighty, but regardless, the camera is no longer my enemy.
A couple hours later, the teens start arriving, some dropped off with a quick wave, others unable to detach themselves from anxious parents. Local baked goods are a staple at these events, and the orange cinnamon rolls are always the first to go, followed closely by peach-ginger muffins, which is why I stowed a few on the boat earlier. Perks of being in charge of the operation.
One mother breaks free of the group near the refreshment table and makes a beeline for me. My hackles rise. Historically, this won’t end well. I square my shoulders, ready to brave the encounter and do my best to not ignite a slew of retaliatory comments on social media.
“Are you Ms. Evans?”
With no escape route evident, I nod.
“You’re the shark woman my daughter won’t stop talking about.”
Biting back a remark about feeling like a fish-human hybrid, I crane my neck, looking for evidence of said offspring, who might be more tactful, though unlikely.
The woman turns and points. “She’s there, in the high-tops.” She points out a teenager, laughing with a group of girls. “She somehow got three of her friends to sign up, too, though I don’t know how they convinced their stick-in-the-mud parents.” She swings her gaze back toward me. “Thank you for this.”
“Uh, you’re welcome,” I stammer, realizing that this isn’t the tirade I was expecting.
“My daughter’s always loved animals, but since she discovered your channel, it’s sharks all day. She elected to take high level math courses this year. Enrolled in a biology course at our community college. She’s a force. For so long I felt like all she needed was direction.” Her eyes are shining now. “What you’re doing is about more than just the sharks. I hope you know you’re in the right place.”
She must notice that I’m having trouble finding the words to thank her, because she keeps right on talking.
“Have you ever thought of doing something like this for adults? My daughter’s made me a convert.” She looks down. “Not that it would go anywhere for me but...”
“Are you kidding?” I finally find my voice. “That’s an amazing idea. Space camp but for adults.”
“With sharks instead of stars.”
With a chuckle, I say, “Key difference.” Emotion tightens my throat, unexpectedly. “It’s definitely something I’d need to bring up with the team. It might not be feasible, but I love that you raised the question. If we ever start up a project like that or find out about another program nearby, you’ll be the first to know.”
“You bet I will. My daughter signed me up for your emails.” She shakes her head at the audacity, but she’s smiling. “Take care, and I’ll see you at five p.m. sharp,” she says, leveling a maternal look that so resembles Zuri I have to bite my tongue not to smile. She walks off and I inhale deeply through my nose, catching the scent of seaweed and gasoline from the nearby pumps. A shadow falls across me and I open my eyes. Adrian.
He leans down to ask, “Are you crying?”
I shake my head. “I’m...” I huff out a laugh and dab a knuckle at my eye, turning away from the inquisitive teens. “Yeah, maybe I’m crying. That woman...” I trail off. “She told me I was in the right place. Even though I already knew that, it was really nice to hear.”
“Why are you surprised? You’re doing amazing things here, Hope.”
“We’re doing amazing things, together.”
He steps closer, like he’s getting ideas, and I narrow my eyes. “I love you, but you do realize the parents are watching.”
“Platonic and professional, at least until we get home,” he says, and puts his hands in his pockets. “But you know that I couldn’t do this without you, right? I absolutely could not handle a boat full of kids without your help.”
“They’re pretty cool, once you get used to them.”
“I think you mean, once they get used to you .”
I shoulder-bump him.
“Just saying,” he says, a twinkle in his gorgeous dark eyes, “it helps our cause that you’re way more intimidating than any shark we’ll encounter.”
“All part of my plan.” I tap my temple, then turn to the crowd and cup my hands around my mouth. “Okay, young scientists, circle up. Guardians, you’re free to disperse. My co-captain and I will have these youngsters back at the dock by five o’clock. If you need to get in touch, call our office and they’ll radio the boat.”
“I thought you were my co-captain,” Adrian grumbles loudly enough for the kids to catch.
“My name’s on the boat, so I think that’s pretty conclusive,” I say, and several of the teens chuckle, but some are scowling. Those are Adrian’s people. The ones here for the science and not the corny jokes. And the ones craning for a look at all the equipment lined up, with hands already half-raised to ask a question? That’s me as a kid. Thinking life was all or nothing, wanting to skip the nonessentials to get to the good stuff. Little did I know, that was the good stuff.
Life is about taking it all in. Making space for the people I love. Changing the world by chasing what I’m passionate about. Am I lucky my soulmate loves sharks? Of course. But we’ve worked hard every day to build this life. Learned to lean into each other when the storm comes and keep right on loving one another when it passes.