How I Learned to Love the Walrus

by Beth Orsoff

  "They like it when I help them," Jake replied.

  Jill looked to the two men for approval before she nodded. "Okay, but don’t be gone too long. I’m making hot dogs for lunch."

  "Yummy." Jake waved goodbye to me before following Sean and Tony out the door.

  Jill poured two cups of coffee from the vintage percolator sitting on the stove, and led us into the office.

  The only wall without a window was covered almost entirely with maps—one of the world, one of Alaska, and a smaller hand-drawn image of a place I didn’t recognize. The rest of the room was taken up with two scarred desks, a cinderblock and plywood bookcase, and an assortment of mismatched metal file cabinets.

  "This is us," she said, pointing to the sketch similar in shape to a bunch of grapes but with a long, pointy tip. "The solid line is the current trail, and the dotted line is where we’re extending it."

  "Shouldn’t I go back for my luggage?" It was too soon after the outhouse discussion to have the "I didn’t come here to build a trail" conversation.

  "We should probably figure out where you’re going to sleep first. I assume you want one of the tents," she said as she sat down at the desk with the outdated computer and motioned for me to have a seat at the other.

  "I’d rather have one of the cabins if that’s okay." I would’ve thought by this point she would’ve figured out I wasn’t a tent sort of girl.

  I assumed from the way she was chomping her lower lip that wasn’t the answer she was hoping for. "The thing is, I’ve already given Brie half the loft. Although I suppose if you’re set on sleeping here, I can convince her to share."

  "No, I mean the other cabins. The ones for the campers." Was that not obvious?

  "Sydney, there are no other cabins. The campers sleep in tents. You really should’ve read the guidelines before you came."

  "I did read them. It said all volunteers had to bring their own sleeping bag and pillow, but it never said anything about a tent." I would’ve remembered that, and possibly reconsidered. My first and only experience with tents, a forced camping trip with my father when I was eight years old, ended after one night when I discovered we were sharing our lodging with a family of giant, hairy spiders.

  "Because we provide them for the volunteers," Jill said. "And you’re welcome to sleep here in the cabin if you want, it’s just that you’ll have more privacy in one of the tents."

  Jill led me upstairs to the loft so I could decide. It was eight feet wide by fifteen feet long, and someone had hung a sheet down the center.

  "Jake and I are sleeping over there," Jill told me, pointing to the slightly larger area to the left of the ladder. "And Brie’s got this side."

  The floor was barely visible under the sleeping bag, scattered books, and piles of discarded clothes. If we pushed the laundry into the corner, I might be able to squeeze in a bed for myself, although I wouldn’t be able to roll over without bumping into someone. But I forced my mouth into a smile before I turned back to Jill. "So tell me about the tents."

  They weren’t as bad as I thought, at least the way Jill described them. Windproof, waterproof, and standing on elevated platforms. "How high up would you say they are?" I hadn’t seen any spiders since I’d arrived, but that didn’t mean they weren’t out there, just waiting for the opportunity to strike.

  "High enough to keep you dry when the ground floods."

  That was a plus. "And how big would you say they are?"

  She gave me a once over glance. "I think you’ll fit."

  "I know, but I like to spread out." I also liked breathing, which was sometimes problematic for me in small, confined spaces.

  "It sleeps four," she said, an edge creeping into her voice. "Is that big enough?"

  I smiled sweetly, hoping to defuse her budding anger.

  "I’ll take you down to the campground after lunch," she continued, "and you can decide for yourself."

  Jill was showing me how to use the VHF radio when the cabin door whooshed open and a noisy group shuffled in. I followed her into the front room where Jake, Sean, Tony, and two newcomers, a man and a woman who appeared to be about my age, were peeling off their wet jackets.

  I greeted the three I knew before turning to the woman openly staring at me. "Hi, I’m Sydney."

  The stocky blond ignored my outstretched hand. "Sydney Green?" she asked incredulously.

  Her husky voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place her pink-cheeked face. "I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to help me out here."

  "It’s Brie Gardner," she said, "but I used to go by Gabby."

  "Gabby Gardner!" Once she told me her name I knew exactly who she was, but without it I never would’ve made the connection.

  "It’s Brie now," she said coolly. "And what I want to know is how a girl who almost flunked biology ends up volunteering at a walrus refuge?"

  "You two know each other?" asked the still unidentified man in a charming Irish brogue.

  "We used to," Brie aka Gabby said.

  "We were lab partners," I added, but they all turned to Brie for an explanation.

  "Sydney and I went to junior high school together back in Michigan," she told them as she pulled off her boots, "Before she moved away."

  "It must be fifteen years," I said, still shaking my head. Her face was the same, otherwise she’d morphed into a completely different person. She was even taller now, but her gangly frame had filled out to the point where she was bordering on overweight, and her formerly long straight hair was now short and spiky. Brie and I had never really been friends (she was a jock and I hung around with the artsy clique), but when Mr. Torrey assigned us as lab partners, we bonded over paramecium and our shared hatred of Matt Kalavettes, the most obnoxious kid in our class.

  "Sixteen," she corrected me.

  "And you two haven’t seen each other since?" the Irishman asked.

  "No," Brie and I answered simultaneously.

  "What are the odds?" Tony said, turning to Sean, who, from the way they were constantly touching each other, appeared to be more than just friends.

  "A million to one," Sean said, shaking his head.

  At least.

  Chapter 4

  When all the wet boots and jackets had been discarded, the group of us followed Jill into the kitchen. With so many people in such a small space my heart instantly began to race. Before the panic could overtake me I stepped back into the dining room. The Irishman followed.

  "Duncan Foster," he said, holding out his hand. He had shaggy hair and a bad goatee, yet there was something appealing about him. Probably the accent. Not that I was looking. Really. No mere mortal could compare to Blake McKinley.

  "Sydney Green," I said, shaking his.

  "I think it’s amazing that on an island of eight people, you could run into someone you know."

  Beyond amazing. It was borderline freaky.

  Brie tossed him a can of Coke from the fridge, then appeared at his side. Even barefoot she was taller than everyone on the island except Sean. "Sorry, did you want one?" Brie asked, cracking hers open.

  "No, I’m fine." Less liquid consumption meant fewer trips to the outhouse.

  Brie took a sip and turned her attention back to me. "So you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here."

  I looked to Jill first, who nodded, so I told her the truth. "I’m here to shoot a documentary about the walruses."

  "Wow, you’re a cameraman? I never would’ve guessed that."

  Brie always did take everything literally. "No, I’m just the producer. Someone else is doing the actual shooting."

  "A producer, huh. I always thought you’d end up a lawyer."

  "A lawyer? Why on earth would you’ve thought that?" I never considered myself particularly argumentative, although I could think of one colleague who would probably disagree.

  "Because you never shut up."

  I smiled at the memory. I’d logged a lot of hours in detention for talking in class. "I’m not really a produce
r either. I’m actually a publicist."

  "A publicist?" Duncan said. "As in Hollywood celebrities?"

  "Yeah, that’s me. Sydney Green, publicist to the stars."

  I waited until the downpour let up before I broached the subject of my luggage again. I assumed my suitcases were water resistant, but they weren’t waterproof.

  "You’re probably right," Jill said, and turned to the three men lounging on the faded threadbare sofa. "Would you mind helping Sydney with her bags? We left them on the beach."

  Jake looked up from the rug, where he was surrounded by a sprawl of Legos. "I can help too."

  Duncan was the first to stand. "No need, mate," he said, mussing Jake’s hair, "we’ve got it covered."

  Brie, who had ensconced herself in the living room’s sole recliner, snapped upright. "Duncan, you promised to help me with lunch."

  "I’ll help," Jill said, crossing into the kitchen. "If they all go then they’ll be able to make it in one trip."

  Brie turned to me. "How many bags did you bring?"

  For some reason I felt the need to defend myself. Perhaps it was her accusatory tone. "Winter clothes take up a lot of space."

  After we’d retrieved my luggage and the seven of us were seated around the heavy wood table Jill had instructed me to set for eight, I realized we were still missing one. "Shouldn’t we wait for your dad?" I asked Jake as he bit into his hot dog.

  "No," he said, with his mouth full. "He lives in Fairbanks with his girlfriend."

  "Oh." I bit down on a potato chip before I could say something stupid again.

  "We’re divorced," Jill explained, and nodded at the empty place setting. "That’s for Ethan. I thought he was joining us."

  "Who’s Ethan?" It seemed like a safe question, but from the number of groans it elicited, clearly not.

  "He’s my boss," Duncan replied.

  "Just yours?" It was obvious the four of them knew each other. I thought they might be colleagues.

  "God, yes" Brie said, between bites.

  "And none of you like him?" I turned from Brie to Sean to Tony, happy to have finally found a topic of conversation everyone seemed interested in. This bunch didn’t see many movies or watch much TV, and they definitely had limited interest in celebrity gossip.

  Sean nodded, still chewing, while Tony said, "Can’t stand him."

  "No one can," Brie added.

  "I like him," Jake said.

  "That’s because you don’t know any better," Brie replied.

  "Brie!"

  "I’m sorry, Jill," she said, as she reached across the table for the mustard, "but you know it’s true."

  Jill sighed, but Brie was not so easily rebuffed. According to Brie, Ethan was an arrogant jerk who, although admittedly a good scientist, wasn’t half as good as he thought he was. At this last point, Duncan objected.

  "Brie, the man wrote the book on aquatic mammals." Duncan turned to me. "Literally wrote the textbook."

  Brie rolled her eyes. "Just because he wrote the textbook doesn’t mean he’s not a raving egomaniac with a God complex to boot."

  Sean and Tony laughed, and even Jill smiled at that one.

  "Mommy, what’s an egomaniac?"

  Before Jill could formulate an age-appropriate response, Brie said, "Duncan, tell her about the—"

  The cabin door banged open, and the conversation ceased. We all turned and watched as the tall, thin man cloaked in rain-splattered black nylon shut the door behind him and approached the table. He stopped behind Duncan’s chair and pushed back his hood, revealing a three-day beard and close cropped dark hair sprinkled with gray. "Thanks for waiting."

  Duncan sat up straighter in his chair. "Ethan, we were just wondering when you were going to show up."

  "No, we—"

  "Jake!" I remembered that tone from childhood, and Jill’s voice had the same effect on her son that my own mother’s had had on me. Jake’s eyes pleaded, but he kept his mouth shut.

  "And here I am," Ethan said, ignoring the palpable tension in the room. He leaned over Duncan’s shoulder, indifferent to the water that dripped from the jacket he hadn’t bothered to remove onto Duncan’s flannel shirt, and sighed. "Have you learned nothing from me?"

  While Duncan stammered, Ethan turned in my direction. "Some day I’m going to break him of this awful habit of putting ketchup on everything, but in the meantime . . . ." He reached across Duncan’s plate and grabbed my half-eaten hot dog topped only with mustard. "Do you mind?"

  Before I had time to even think about an answer, he bit into it, which he followed with a second huge bite, leaving nothing behind but the heel of the bun, which he tossed back onto my plate. Then he swallowed hard, rubbed his hands together to dislodge the crumbs, and extended a clean one to me. "Ethan Eckert. And you would be?"

  "Sydney Green," I said, too stunned to do anything but reciprocate.

  "You don’t have any brothers, do you." It wasn’t a question.

  "No, how did—"

  "The name. Obviously your father wanted a son."

  Chapter 5

  Now it was my turn to stammer.

  "It’s just his sense of humor," Duncan said, assuaging my bruised ego. "You should’ve heard what he said to me at my interview."

  "And I was right, wasn’t I?" Ethan replied.

  Jill stood up from the table. "Ethan, can I get you a hot dog?"

  "No thanks. I’ve already eaten."

  "Mom, can I be excused?" But Jake was already off his chair and running to Ethan’s side. "Do you want to see my helicopter?"

  "You have a helicopter?" Ethan replied with mock astonishment.

  Jake ran to his pile of Legos and returned with something resembling a yellow box with plastic legs, and a black X on top. "Can you make it fly around the island?" he asked, handing the contraption to Ethan, who held it up to the window and examined it in the dreary afternoon light.

  "Possibly," Ethan said, spinning the X. "If I can find the right batteries."

  "It doesn’t need batteries," Jake said, giggling and grabbing the helicopter from Ethan’s hand. Then he ran around the living room making whirring noises while he lifted the copter up and down.

  "Boy power." Jill laughed.

  "That works too." Ethan smiled.

  After lunch, Ethan and Duncan left to count walruses, Sean and Tony returned to the trail, Brie went to the office to "monitor the radio," whatever that meant, Jill sent Jake up to the loft for a nap, and she and I suited up for a tour of the island. Jill pulled her navy rain pants and jacket back on over her jeans and sweater and suggested I do the same.

  I rummaged through my suitcase until I found the ski pants and jacket I’d borrowed from my friend Nicole, and a Lakers baseball cap, which was all mine. "Will these work?"

  "Did you even read the packing list?" Jill said.

  Yes, I just interpreted "appropriate rain gear" to mean something water resistant that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen wearing. "Yes, but I didn’t have a lot of time to shop before I left." That was true too.

  "When we get back remind me to try to find you some rain pants. In the meantime," she added, tossing me a pair of rubber boots, "try these."

  They were olive drab with a strap that cinched below the knee, and just as ugly as Captain Bailey’s galoshes. But with two pairs of socks they were only slightly too big for me, which meant I’d be able to walk on the grass without having to reach down and unearth my foot with each step.

  I followed Jill back down the trail but before we reached the staircase to the boat cove, she detoured into a clearing surrounded by tall grass.

  "That’s Ethan and Duncan’s tent," Jill said, pointing to a blue dome rising up from the weeds, "and there’s Sean and Tony’s." Their dark green tent was at the opposite end of the campground, and I doubted it was by accident.

  In the center of the clearing was a small covered area with a picnic table. "The cooking shelter," Jill said. "It’s for the campers, but you’re free to use it too." />
  "Do you get many campers?" Between the weather, the smell, and the hassle of getting there (it took me almost thirty hours from Los Angeles, although that included three planes, a boat ride, and a night in a hotel), I couldn’t imagine that they did.

  She gave me a wry smile. "You may not believe this, Sydney, but many people find Wilde Island quite beautiful."

  "I think it’s beautiful." Its jagged peaks and rocky coastline were impressive from a distance and even more so up close. I imagine if I viewed the island from the deck of an Alaska cruise ship I’d love it too. "It’s just . . ." I was struggling because I didn’t want to insult her.

  "Primitive?" Jill offered.

  "I was going to say lacking in amenities."

  Jill laughed. "I suppose compared to what you’re used to. It’s definitely no Four Seasons."

  Four Seasons! It wasn’t even a Motel Six. "No, but it does have its charm." Even with the cold and the rain and the never-ending gusting wind, which had already destroyed my umbrella, the draw of the island’s rolling green hills and the vast empty ocean below could not be denied. I’d just like it better if it came with indoor plumbing.

  From the edge of the campground, we could see the walruses spread out on the beach below and hear their barking and bellowing, despite being a hundred feet up. Thankfully, we couldn’t smell them. "I guess the odor doesn’t come up this high, huh?"

  "Not today," Jill said. "On Wilde Island, the wind is your friend."

  I followed Jill past the cooking shelter to an eight-foot-square plywood platform laying in the grass. "I thought we’d set your tent up here," she said.

  I tried not to look shocked. I’d been envisioning something at least twice the size and a foot or two off the ground. "You can really fit a four-person tent on this thing?"

  "Sure, Ethan’s tent sleeps four."

  I turned back to the blue dome. Maybe they were bigger on the inside than they looked. "Can he even stand up in there?"

  "Probably not," she said, "except maybe in the very center, but you should be able to."