Chapter 5 Duoverse #6
He took her in his arms. With her nose to his neck, she inhaled his scent, and when she could not stand it anymore, she pulled him onto the couch.
The door was open; a warm breeze drifted over them, and he was kissing her, kissing her, using his thumb to slide the strap of her camisole off one shoulder.
Her brain was an abstraction; there was only Eli, his chest and thighs, the hardness that made her own longing rear up.
When he said her name, his voice was torqued, as if he were begging for something—and if she closed her eyes, it was because she would allow him anything, a submission both ecstatic and unbearable.
On the floor, hip to hip, the past and future blurred.
She held his body, hot with life, and entangled now with hers.
Laurel runs from Miles’s room to the triple.
Her shift starts at ten, and it’s nine forty-five: no time to shower, so she pulls on her uniform and covers her hair with a galley baseball cap.
She’s scheduled to work the floor, but if she can get to the kitchen without seeing Eli, she’ll beg someone to swap with her for dish duty.
Having a plan makes her feel somewhat less frantic—until she spots him, standing at the entrance to the galley with the ANITA physicists.
Nita, Louis, and Charlie are leaving breakfast. Laurel pulls them into a supply closet.
“Eli is here,” she says. “My ex-husband.”
In the dark, Laurel hears Nita. “Can you clarify what you mean by ‘here’?”
“Here!” says Laurel, with unrestrained hysteria. “Here, at McMurdo!”
“Sweetheart,” says Louis, “you’re still high.”
“Not that high.”
“Can we turn a light on?” asks Charlie.
“No, don’t. It’s much more dramatic this way,” Nita says. “Why would your ex-husband be in Antarctica?”
“He’s a physicist.” Laurel puts the pieces together as she speaks. “He’s working on—he has this theory, this theory of—parallel universes—one moves forward in time, and one moves…”
She can’t bring herself to say it.
“Oh my God,” Nita says. “You think he’s come to work on the Arc?”
Laurel hides her face in her hands. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Why not?” asks Louis.
“Because we’re divorced!” Laurel says. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Really, we should turn a light on,” says Charlie.
“Don’t bother,” Louis says. “It’s going be exactly this dark for the next six months.”
But Charlie finds a chain and pulls.
“What does he look like?” Louis asks, in the interrogatory light of the bulb.
“Don’t be so loud,” says Laurel. “He’s right outside. Curly brown hair. Brown eyes.”
Louis cracks the door and peeks out.
“Wow,” he says, closing it.
“Not relevant,” says Charlie.
“Breathe,” Nita says, and Laurel tries.
“Not like that. The way Miles showed you.” Louis winks. “Remember him?”
Laurel braces her hands against her knees. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“It’s not too late to fly out before winter,” Charlie says, putting a hand on her back.
“But I want to be here. I won’t let him take that away from me.”
“That’s the spirit,” Louis says. “But I would stay in the dish pit today if I were you. You look like you’ve come straight from someone else’s bed.”
When Louis leans against the door, Laurel realizes that he must not have shut it completely. She watches in horror as it creaks open. The physicists peer in.
Nita and Charlie step in front of Laurel, who shrinks behind an industrial mop. Louis grabs a bucket and a spray bottle.
“Excuse us,” he says, with dignity. “Someone threw up in the library.”
Charlie pulls the light switch, hiding Laurel. Louis looks at Eli.
“Good day,” he says, before Nita shuts the door.
—
Laurel does stay in the dish pit, trading with Charlie, who offers to gather intel on the floor.
“Why don’t I get to be the spy?” whines Louis.
“Because I don’t trust you.” Laurel throws a sponge at him. “ ‘Good day’?”
“Everyone deserves a warm welcome to the continent,” he says. “Even your ex-husband.”
Charlie doesn’t see Eli all day. At eight, she and Louis return to the dorm, but Laurel decides to stay: Bertha, the dishwasher, has doused the floor with slime, and the cleanup will buy her time.
Laurel strategizes while mopping. She’ll feel more like herself after a shower; then she can figure out which room is Eli’s and make sure to avoid it.
Laurel pulls her cap low and leaves the galley at a clip. As she enters the hallway, Eli approaches from the other direction.
At first, he only opens his mouth.
“Laurel?” he asks, as though he doesn’t trust his eyes—as though he would be less surprised to find a doppelganger here than his own ex-wife.
Laurel lifts a shoulder.
“Eli,” she says, helplessly.
“What are you doing here?” asks Eli. “Did you—follow me?”
“I’ve been here since October,” says Laurel. “Did you follow me?”
“They brought me in,” Eli said. “To work on the…”
Laurel knows he trails off when he’s tired, and she can see the exhaustion in him now. He holds a bowl of chili, and when he shifts his weight, it lurches.
“Can we talk tomorrow?” he asks. “Lunch?”
“I’m on shift during lunch,” Laurel says. “I work in the galley.”