Chapter 3
Steven
I can’t get a pink, sunkissed bum off my mind until Mike and I get back to the sanctuary and the dingy chrome kitchen of our makeshift animal hospital. We place the big green on the metal bench and gently flip him onto his back so I can get a better look into his throat.
“Hold it open for me?” Mike takes over as I dig through the drawers for a torch. “I’m sorry, little guy,” I mutter and tip his mouth a bit wider as I peer into his esophagus.
“I can’t say for sure, but I don’t see a hook in there.”
“That’s a relief.” Mike grimaces. We’ve seen more than our fair share of turtles lost to swallowed hooks and it’s miserable to watch. As a small sanctuary run entirely on donations, there are limits to what we can do if a turtle is seriously injured.
The tension in the room eases, knowing he’s not in any immediate danger.
“So what did you think of her?” Mike slides his sunnies back on his head, revealing intensely blue eyes.
I make a sound that’s little more than a grunt and pretend I don’t hear him, slowly unwinding more netting from the turtle’s back flipper.
“She seemed just your type.”
I nearly stab myself with the pocketknife. I look up at him through furrowed brows and feel my chest grow tight.
It’s hard to get angry at my best friend, even when he’s purposely pressing my buttons. I glare until he mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key, then turn back to my work.
“I’m just saying, she was cute. I thought I felt some tension there. Some serious—”
I might’ve accidentally dropped something heavy and smother a smile as he hops on one foot, holding his toes.
“Fine. Reckon I can take a hint. I’ll grab the antibiotics.” Mike strokes the green’s head before he sweeps from the room to find the cream.
Mike and I fit together like a whale and a barnacle. I’m the crusty freeloader benefitting from his strength and stability. He took me in when I washed up on the shores of Gili Telu like a piece of driftwood, and now it’s been nearly four years of scuba diving and sea turtles.
As Master Instructor of the dive shop, I spend as much time underwater as possible. There’s nothing wrong with knowing you’re not good company. I haven’t been pleasant to be around since I sailed out of Sydney. Nothing makes you lose faith in humanity like other people.
I take a deep breath and stroke the shell of the green turtle. He isn’t tagged, but we’ll take photos of his head and shell markings to upload to the Internet of Turtles—an international database of sea turtles—to see if he’s been photographed and identified before.
If not, then we’ll have the pleasure of naming him. And I can’t explain why, but this little guy feels like a Jimmy.
Jimmy blinks dolefully at me as Mike comes back with the antibiotics. I throw on a singlet and we get to work, carefully applying salve to his wounds.
“How do you think the dives are going?” Mike asks over the snipping of needlenose pliers.
“Mason knows what he’s doing.” I frown. We’d been just about to head out on a tour when Jimmy washed up on the beach. The interns are experienced, but I’ve never left them completely solo with tourists before. Things run smoother when I’m there.
“A few weeks ago you said they were the most incompetent divers you’ve ever had to train.”
“A few weeks ago, they were.” I shrug, but Mike knows better. “They’re fine,” I admit.
“You always say that just as they’re about to leave. Have you looked through any of the applications for new assistant instructors?”
I groan. “Is this just an excuse to grill me? I’d rather be on the boat with guests.”
“Yeah right,” Mike scoffs. “Say that again and I’ll schedule you on the next try dive.”
Making banter with tourists who have never touched a tank is my actual nightmare. I choose to let my silence do the talking.
Jimmy’s right front flipper has some pretty severe damage, but it doesn’t look like it reached the bone; if it had, we’d have to reach out to a bigger sanctuary with better facilities. Hopefully he’ll recover with just some antibiotics and time. He’s lucky.
He blinks his eyes slowly. “Almost done, big guy.” I move my hands out of the way so that Mike can snap a picture.
“Let me know if he comes up on the database,” I say, snapping the latex gloves off my hands. It’s rare to see adult male turtles on land and I’m curious if he’s been spotted near here before. “I’ll send a volunteer to help clean up.”
“Terima kasih.” He nods in thanks. I’ve picked up some Indonesian phrases here and there, but Mike’s vocabulary is way more impressive after growing up in Bali with his Aussie parents. That’s why he’s in charge of education and outreach and I do the dirty grunt work. Well, one of the reasons.
I wipe my hands clean on a towel as I push through the double doors and into the cool relief of the small museum. It’s the only air-conditioned room in the whole place, and only when we have guests.
Sure enough, Victoria, a young English volunteer, appears around the corner.
“Steven, someone is looking for you up front.” She places a small hand on my elbow and falls into step beside me.
I grunt, trying not to encourage her. Victoria is a huge flirt, but I swore off hook ups when I turned thirty last year. The temptation is no longer there.
“She’s very pretty.” Victoria’s eyelashes flutter, dangling the bait. “Should I be jealous?”
“Mike needs some help in the kitchen.” I pull out of her grasp, not feeling the least bit guilty for throwing him to the shark. Mike needs some more excitement in his life. Her big doe eyes grow wide and she dashes off to find her favorite prey.
I turn the corner and feel the gods laughing.
Tall, blonde and beautiful is standing in the lobby, bare bum covered this time by a white dress, bare feet tapping on the floor and looking like Temptation herself.
She seems both impatient and regal as she scans the room.
I clear my throat, feeling an involuntary twitch in my shorts.
She whirls around, pouncing on me. One hand reaches out as if to grab my arm, but she thinks better of it and stops short. The hand falls awkwardly down and we both stare at it. Too bad, I might not have minded her touch as much as Victoria’s. I cross my arms over my chest.
“How is he? I haven’t stopped thinking about him all day.”
I’m tempted to pretend not to know who she’s talking about. If I get on her nerves enough, will she run back to her resort?
“Jimmy’s fine.” I clap my hands together and take an awkward step back. I reek of neoprene and mildew on a good day. I don’t want to dirty her hands or her expensive clean clothes by standing too close.
“Jimmy? He has a name? Do you really think he’ll be alright?” She takes another step toward me and I take another one back. Her personal bubble of space is nonexistent and her scent washes over me, jasmine and coconut. Screw this.
“Yeah. As you can see—” I gesture toward the heaps of turtle merch surrounding us, “it’s kind of what we do here. I’ve got to get back.”
A little abrupt, but what does she expect? I’m not a tour guide or a welcoming committee. She should’ve asked for Mike.
“Wait!”
I turn back slowly, trying not to grit my teeth. “I would love to see him. And to learn more about the sanctuary and what I can do to help. Do you take donations? Please! I’m Junie.”
She holds out her hand and I have no choice but to shake it. I grimace as my dry, cracked skin engulfs her slender fingers. She’s soft and unspoiled and it makes my stomach hurt to touch her.
“Steven.”
All my internal alarms are going off. Last year, I might’ve tried my luck at taking her to bed for a night. But that was the old Steven.
As much as I would love to just send her on her way, she’d said the magic word. Mike will kill me if I fumble a donation and turtles like Jimmy count on them. So I suck it up and try to be somewhat pleasant.
I twist my lips into a smile and bow at the waist, waving her into the museum with a flourish.
She eyes me warily but walks into the next room, sighing when she feels the aircon.
I’ve already seen the curves beneath that clinging cotton, but she somehow looks even more erotic covered up.
Her white dress kisses her golden thighs with every step.
I start sweating despite the humid air pumping in from the wall unit.
“Well Junie, we’re a sanctuary, a dive school, and protectors of the reef,” I reel off the spiel I memorized when I first arrived, before Mike banned me from giving tours. “Our mission is to save sea turtles and ensure their continued survival, which includes education and conservation.”
She seems somewhat interested in my robotic lecture, at least she never stops staring at me. I start to wonder if there’s something on my face. Uncomfortable heat prickles wherever she looks. Where is this chick’s boyfriend?
“Of course, this work would be impossible without our amazing volunteers.” I spot a nest of orange curls coming out of the employee room and nearly choke with relief. “Thomas! Get over here, mate. Junie called in that green on the beach this morning.” I wave him over quickly.
Thomas gives me a strange look—it’s probably the most he’s ever heard me speak at one time—but he takes over without missing a beat. They shake hands as he slips into his customer service smile like a glass slipper.
Somehow on an island with sun, sand, and bugs he and Mike always manage to look clean-cut and professional. I touch my own windswept mop self-consciously before remembering my escape.
“Thomas can show you around.” I should probably say more, should thank her for her time, or wish her a good day, but I don’t have time for that crap. Thomas is much better at racking up donations. His particular brand of charm could separate a woman from her dosh much easier than my sun-worn mug.
He can take her to get her selfie with a sea turtle. I’d hate for the princess to fly back to her real life without evidence of her good deed.
I walk back out to the dock where the dive boat should be arriving any minute. I know the interns are more than capable of handling the guests, but there’s always gear to break down, clean, or refill.
The work is hard with long hours. Mike schedules everyone two days off a week, but I always end up here anyway. The repetitive chores give me time to think, and lately my mind is heavy with goodbyes. I’m sick of them.
When I crash-landed here with a broken heart, I thought partying could fill the void. The drinks and the chicks were fun for a while, but the reality of living on a tourist island is that everybody leaves. Last year I made a promise. No more soulless hook ups. No more one night stands.
So Junie can take her fine ass back to the resort and enjoy her time on the island all on her own. There’s no reason I ever need to see her again.
No goodbye necessary.