How to Honeymoon Alone

Excitement burns in my stomach. “We’re definitely in the right place.”

“It’s damn dark,” Phillip mutters. “Does no one have flashlights?”

“Oh, you can’t use flashlights. It would disorient the hatchlings.” I reach for his hand. It’s warm and dry around mine. “Come on, let’s find the others.”

We find Jamie by a dune, standing with the other volunteers next to a foldable table laden with hot beverages. Phillip and I are welcomed like we’re not just two random tourists, offered coffee, and instructed on the different nests on the beach.

“There are many on this beach,” Jamie tells us, pointing to a few flags. The orange color is just barely visible in the moonlight. “They’ve been percolating since this evening.”

“Percolating?” I ask.

He grins. “Yeah, the sand is shifting. Means they’re digging from below. They’ll be out in a few hours, most likely.”

Phillip has a cup of coffee in his hand, his eyes steady on Jamie. “Is a hands-off approach best?”

“Yeah, we can’t do the digging for them. They need to imprint on the sand. That’s how they know which beach they should come back to in a decade to lay their own eggs.”

Oh my God. I can’t wait to tell my students about this. “Do you guys know which species of turtles are going to hatch here?”

Jamie nods. “This beach has leatherbacks.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he says and grins. “So, why don’t you two have a seat and keep an eye out?”

“Of course. And what are we looking for?” I ask. “I mean, is there anything we can do to help?”

Jamie scratches at his tightly braided hair. “Look out for the stray dogs, mongooses, and big birds. They’ll try to grab a quick meal later, and we gotta force them away. But remember, no touching the turtles.”

I cross my heart. “And no light?”

“None.”

We walk toward a part of the beach without volunteers but that has a few flags. I dig through my bag for the beach towel I’d packed. Phillip watches me in silence as I spread it out on the sand for us, right next to a thicket, but with a great view of the beach.

“We can patrol from here.” I sit down on the towel. He doesn’t, looking down at me.

“What?” I ask.

“We weren’t robbed,” he says. He looks mildly surprised.

“Yeah. Did you really expect us to be?” I lean back with my hands in the now-cool sand. “I thought you were joking.”Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Mostly,” he says. “But I still didn’t quite believe… Do you make friends wherever you go?”

“Sometimes I do, but not always. I just like meeting new people and learning new things, even if I can be naive at times.” The word hurts to say. Naive. Like I’d been with Caleb and Cindy for months.

Phillip shakes his head. “Not what I meant. Just that, we were always bound to end up here, weren’t we? Once I asked to share your table.”

I smile up at him. “Sure was, and if my memory serves, you didn’t really ask. Now sit down. You’re too tall, and you’ll confuse the turtles.”

He gives a quiet huff but does what I ask, sitting down beside me. “What does that mean?”

“They need the landscape to be as unchanged as possible. Navigating with the moonlight, the look of the waves, and the sands. You’d throw off the entire coastline.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“It’s the truth. Come on, Phil. Lighten up.”

He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Phil?”

“Don’t people call you that?” I say, unable to hide my smile.

“No,” he says. “They don’t.”

“Well, maybe you’re more of a Phillip. Phil feels so relaxed. Like a dad at a barbecue.”

“Right,” he says, as if that makes any sort of sense, and reaches inside his jacket. I hear the telltale sound of glass against glass.

My eyebrows fly up. “You didn’t?”

“I sure did,” he says. “Want some rum in your coffee?”

“Yes. Though, I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.”

“When in Barbados,” he says and tips half the bottle into my paper cup. My feet are beyond the edge of the towel and I bury my toes in the sand. Waves beat softly against the beach, darkness stretches out in front of us, and the stars are a blanket above us. And somewhere beneath us, in this sand, under the carefully placed flags, hundreds of sea turtles are starting their lives.

“I think,” I say, “that I’ve never been happier than I am right now. Can you feel it? What a beautiful night we’re having?”

He’s quiet for so long that I doubt he’ll answer. I rest my head on my knees and look out over the sand. Watching out for stray dogs. Patrolling.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I can.”

I twist my head to look at him. He’s a dark shadow in the moonlight, thick hair falling over his forehead.

He’s looking back at me. “What’s the plural of mongoose?” he asks.

A slow smile spreads across my face. “You know where my mind goes.”

“Yes,” he says, “I know. And I figured it was the kind of question you’d like.”

“It can’t be mongeese, but oh how I wish it was.”

He takes a sip of his rum-laced coffee. “The world is a non-sensical place.”

“Yes.” I glance at the closest orange flag waving in the wind. “Aren’t you glad you sat at my dinner table?”

“I would have missed out on the high-quality conversation, that’s for sure,” he says. “Not to mention the entertainment on a Hollywood-like level. Do you get up to this much trouble back home? Washington, was it?”