One night, alone in her trailer, Angela heard a noise. She pulled on her jacket and stepped outside. It was a windy night. Geraldo, standing next to the trailer, scurried off toward the water, into the darkness.
It was the end of the season, time for the penguins to return to sea, time for goodbyes. Aeneas’s ship had returned two weeks ago, and he left with it. She knew she couldn’t keep him forever, and she didn’t need forever. There were battles still to be fought, whales to be saved, penguins to be counted.
As the penguins left, so too would the humans. First the tourist trail would go empty. Then the naturalists, with nothing left to study, would pack up and leave. Angela would be needed in Boston, to finish her Ph.D., grade papers, administer exams—but lately, she’d been thinking of wintering here instead. Extra time alone would not be such a bad thing, or so she told herself. The true reason would be to keep an eye out for him, a man washed upon the rocks in need of a sheltering shore.
Angela crested the hill and sat in her usual place. She reached up to touch the penguin tag around her neck. A penguin approached, a young male, by the looks of him. Probably curious to see such a large creature as herself, and apparently glad to find her unattached. He circled her, brushed her with his flapping wings. The old familiar circle dance. He danced to win her, to draw her to his nest, such a sad, fruitless, beautiful gesture.
Angela sat still as the bird circled her, continuing his ancient ritual, as she watched a light on the horizon, moving slowly across the water.