Page 24 of Ship Happens

The two women beam at each other in mutual academic appreciation, and I feel an irrational twinge of jealousy that Dr. Marquez has earned Harper’s respect so easily.

“Come in, come in.” Dr. Marquez gestures toward the main building. “I’ve prepared everything you asked for, Ethan.”

Inside, the research station is a blend of rustic and high-tech. Simple wooden furniture and exposed beams contrast with state-of-the-art monitoring equipment and computer stations. Maps and charts cover the walls, along with underwater photographs of marine life.

“This is... impressive,” Harper admits, examining a 3D model of the island’s underwater topography.

“Mr. Cole has been very generous with his funding,” Dr. Marquez says. “We’ve been able to expand our research over the past five years.”

Harper glances at me, her expression changing from surprise to thoughtful reassessment.

Dr. Marquez pulls out a tablet and brings up a series of charts. “Here’s the data you requested for Dr. Bennett—five years of monitoring reports for the nesting sites, water quality analyses, population statistics for local marine species.”

Harper takes the tablet almost reverently. “This is comprehensive.”

“I told you I keep my promises,” I say quietly.

She looks up, meeting my eyes. “Yes, you did.”

“The nesting sites are active right now,” Dr. Marquez continues, mercifully unaware of whatever just transpired. “If you’d like to visit, I can take you there before your dinner.”

“We’d love to,” I say, not looking away from Harper.

“Perfect. Let me grab some equipment.”

Dr. Marquez disappears into a side room, leaving us alone. Harper scrolls through the data, she looks impressed.

“This is better than I expected,” she admits.

“I’m sensing a trend in your expectations of me.”

“if I set the bar low, I can’t be disappointed.” She glances up. “Maybe I’ve been unfair.”

“Maybe I haven’t given you much reason to be fair.”

Before she can respond, Dr. Marquez returns with a backpack and two pairs of night-vision goggles. “These will let us observe without disturbing the turtles. We need to be quiet at the nesting site.”

We follow her through a rough section of forest, the path narrower and less maintained than the main trail. The sun has set, casting golden light through the canopy. Beside me, Harper moves with the confidence of someone accustomed to fieldwork, navigating the uneven terrain.

“You seem at home in the wild,” I observe.

“More than in evening gowns and makeup, that’s for sure.” She steps over a fallen log. “I spent most of my PhD research on remote islands much less hospitable than this one.”

“And now you mostly write and lecture?”

She nods. “The platform lets me reach more people. But I miss the fieldwork.”

“Hence your enthusiasm for checking turtle nesting sites on what’s supposed to be a romantic dinner date.”

She shoots me a look. “This is far more appealing than champagne and sweet talk.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dr. Marquez signals for us to stop and lowers her voice to a whisper. “We’re approaching the beach. From here, absolute silence. Follow my lead.”

We creep forward, emerging from the forest onto a sheltered cove. The beach here is different from the resort side—darker sand, untouched by landscaping or development. In the fading light, I can just make out several dark shapes moving slowly across the sand.

Dr. Marquez hands us each a pair of night-vision goggles. Once I adjust mine, the scene transforms. At least a dozen sea turtles lumber across the beach, some digging nests in the sand, others already laying eggs.

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