Shipped(30)

She tilts her chin up to assess me. “You’re that Seaquest Adventures employee, right?”

I nod.

“Aren’t you traveling with your coworker? Isn’t that him over there?” She points to where Graeme is engaged in conversation with Juan Luis.

“Oh, well, yes. But we’re not close or anything.”

“Really? He’s smiling at you.”

I steal another glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, he’s looking in my direction, and the corners of his mouth are lifted. He quickly refocuses his attention on Juan Luis, who points at a black bird with a bright red chest flying overhead—a frigate bird.

Graeme wasn’t looking at me. Probably just taking in all the wildlife. I lick my dry lips.

Pushing up the brim of her floppy sun hat, Sharon clucks. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but that man is a whole treat. Or is it a meal? What do kids say these days?”

“Snack. He’s a whole snack.”

“Mm-hmm.”

When it comes to looks, she’s right. Graeme is, objectively speaking, a total snack. Too bad his personality is more like week-old leftovers. Although I haven’t really seen as much of his bad side this trip as I expected. He’s been annoying, sure. But otherwise, he’s actually been pretty nice.

Still, the type of person who would commandeer credit for a massively successful video someone else created isn’t the type of person whose “nice” can be trusted.

I clear my throat. “Where do you want to stand for a picture? Maybe over there so the sun isn’t behind you?” I motion toward the waterline, and we amble over, careful not to step on any tails. I end up taking several dozen pictures of Sharon, who gleefully poses a few feet away from a couple of marine iguanas and a sleeping sea lion.

About twenty minutes later, we leave the cove to continue our hike.

Sharon and I chat as we walk, and a pair of middle-aged sisters traveling together migrates into our conversation. As it turns out, Sharon is from Pennsylvania, twice divorced, no kids, and she’s been saving up for this trip for years.

Guilt crawls up my spine. Here I am, put out that I was talked into doing the long hike on a free cruise (thanks, work), and here’s Sharon, grateful for every second of this (expensive) once-in-a-lifetime trip. I shouldn’t forget that I’m damn lucky to be here. I still have work to contend with, but I can make adjustments to take advantage of the full Galápagos experience—and be grateful for it.

After a while, the path inclines and turns rocky. Conversations dwindle as we all focus on not twisting an ankle on the uneven terrain. My muscles burn and sweat trickles down my neck as we climb.

It feels… good. How long has it been since I’ve been on a real hike, not cutting through a city park or traversing a concrete sidewalk? Walsh and I grew up spending a lot of time outside. Building backyard forts. Camping with our parents. Hiking down shaded trails until the sun faded and insects sang their nighttime songs.

God, I miss it. I love Seattle, but it’s been way too long since I was out in nature like this. Maybe once I finish my MBA program and land this promotion, I’ll actually take some time off. Maybe head out to Mt. Rainier for some hiking.

Maybe.

We hear the seabird colony before we see it. A cacophony of honking, whistling, and screeching grows louder with every step. Most of the birds dotting the cliffs are black-and-white Nazca boobies, which are, for the record, patently ridiculous. They have beady eyes, long beaks, and clownish expressions. I make a point to snap more pictures of Sharon, who is positively gleeful when Juan Luis spots a pair of Blue-footed booby, the rarer cousin of the plentiful Nazca booby.

We all gather around to watch as a male lifts one bright blue foot, then the other, in a mating dance. He bobs his head, fans his tail feathers, and circles the female, who seems wholly uninterested in his romantic display.

“Like most males, they are willing to do anything, even look very silly, to capture a female’s attention,” says Juan Luis.

Isn’t that the truth. The group chuckles.

Eventually, the female is won over by the male’s amorous overtures and allows him to mount her. Everyone claps for him, which is only a little strange? I steal a glance at Graeme. He’s kneeling several feet away, snapping photos.

We meander our way along the cliffs through the seabird colonies. In addition to the numerous boobies, Juan Luis points out swallow-tailed gulls, waved albatross, lava lizards, and even a whale in the far distance. A puff of gauzy mist hangs in the air, marking the place where it exhaled before disappearing beneath the waves.

Making the rounds with the other guests, I introduce myself and chat with everyone. Everyone except Graeme. He watches me from a distance, his expression inscrutable.

We continue. More than an hour later, Juan Luis announces that we’ve reached the farthest point in our hike. My breath catches as I take in the view. Dramatic, craggy cliffs overlook the azure ocean. Directly in front of us, at the bottom of the bluff, a geyser spouts saltwater in rhythmic bursts.

We fan out, each claiming our own space to soak in the view. I settle onto a low rock facing the cliff’s edge. The bright sun warms my cheeks, and I close my eyes and tilt my chin toward the sky. A bird whistles softly. Another answers.

Footsteps approach and something rustles beside me. I know from the scent that floods my nose—a burst of citrus tinged with salt—that it’s Graeme. I don’t open my eyes. “What do you want?”