Polar Deception

April 2050

Atlanta, Georgia

Diana Harris sat at her secondhand table, finishing yet another meal of spaghetti and pesto in her cramped apartment, a space cluttered with remnants of a life half-lived. Oliver, her golden retriever, lay faithfully by her side, having settled comfortably into his new home. Not Diana. Dirty dishes filled the sink, work clothes lay strewn across the floor, and two unopened boxes rested against the dingy gray walls. Trevor’s boxes—silent. Watching her. Judging her.

Nearly five months had passed since her husband’s death. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to sort through his belongings, which amounted to only a few items from the desk he had moved to the attic shortly before he died. Everything else had been destroyed. While she was grateful to have them—going through them was another story. She had dragged the boxes from Tallahassee, Florida, two months earlier after accepting a position as a hurricane specialist at the Weather Channel, where her best friend, Angie Cooper, worked.

She looked into Oliver’s soulful brown eyes and scratched behind his ears. “Okay, boy, tonight’s the night.” Diana added her dirty dishes to the sink, poured herself another glass of red wine, and headed to the living room . She eased onto the couch near where she had placed a box marked Trevor’s Desk.

Oliver whined.

“We’ll go for a walk when I’m done, I promise.”

His ears perked up, and he circled before plopping down on the floor with a resigned groan.

After savoring one more sip, Diana set her glass down, tied back her long blonde hair, and dove into the past. Old birthday cards, car repair receipts, and crumpled medical reports spilled into her lap. Her heart ached as she held photos taken early in their marriage. She placed them in the “save” pile along with Trevor’s handwritten love notes and poems.

Rummaging deeper, Diana uncovered a manila folder marked Antarctica.

“What the . . .?”

Inside, she found color brochures describing expeditions to the Antarctic Peninsula. Weird. Why did he collect this stuff? Trevor had understood Diana’s lifelong obsession with Antarctica, but as she had told him repeatedly, it was only a pipe dream. Too far. Too expensive.

Beneath the brochures were other papers, including receipts for payments made to Antarctic Adventures. She read the words on one receipt aloud: “‘Passage for two on the MV Panorama, leaving Ushuaia, Argentina, on November fifteenth, 2050.’ ” It was stamped Paid in Full.

“No, Trevor, you didn’t.” Her stomach churned.

Oliver stared at her.

“Were you in on this?”

He jumped up, resting a paw on her arm.

“You were, were you?” She gave him a tender nuzzle, the warmth of his fur mingling with her rising grief. “Let’s see what else is here.”

Itineraries for flights to Ushuaia caught her eye, listing dates for next November. She read the attached sticky note. Book in December.

Oh god. He died before he had a chance to book the flights.

Underneath the itineraries was a card that read Happy 35th Birthday to My Wife. She set down the folder and opened the card. As she did, a note fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, she read Trevor’s words. Tears streamed down her face.  He had been saving on the side and planned to surprise her with this trip for her birthday.

Her breath quickened as a wave of grief washed over her. Diana clutched the note to her chest, unsuccessfully trying to steady her breathing. Oliver tilted his head and whined softly.

“C’mon, buddy. Let’s get out of here.”

She grabbed her jacket, clipped on his leash, and headed out the door, hoping the night air would clear her mind.

 Diana didn’t know how long she had been walking when she found herself knocking on a familiar front door. The porch light popped on as Angie opened it, highlighting her braided red hair and expressive green eyes. The sweet aroma of chocolate wafted out of the house.

She pulled Diana inside. “Get in here, girlfriend. It’s pouring rain.”

“I know.”

Soon wrapped in a blanket and seated on Angie’s plush new sofa, Diana warmed her hands around a steaming mug of tea while Angie rubbed Oliver dry with a towel. That chocolatey smell was recognizable—she was baking her famous homemade brownies.

“Okay, boy. You’re good to go,” Angie said, tossing the damp towel aside before joining Diana on the sofa. “Time’s up. Spill.” She lifted Diana’s chin gently. “Must be serious. Otherwise, you’d be in the kitchen licking the bowl right now.”

As if on cue, when Diana leaned into her friend’s touch and kind words, Oliver jumped up and licked her face. Both women laughed.

“C’mon, boy, lay down,” Diana instructed. Once Oliver was settled between them, she removed the folder from her satchel and handed it to Angie without a word.

“‘Antarctica,’” Angie read.

Diana stroked Oliver. “I’ll try to get his money back tomorrow.”

Angie looked through the folder. “Why would you do that? Diana, you’ve always wanted to go to Antarctica. You were supposed to do your doctoral research there, right?”

Ouch. Thanks for reminding me. Diana imagined her father’s ghost shaking his head at her, disappointment etched on his face for not finishing what she’d started.

“Who knows, Di? Maybe you’ll find an extraterrestrial gem or two.”

“I’m a meteorologist.”

“Yes. A meteorologist who hates forecasting the weather.” Angie touched her arm. “Aren’t you the least bit intrigued?”

“Of course I am,” Diana said softly. “Trevor’s note said I might get the geology bug. But Angie, this is only a two-week expedition on a boat near the Antarctic Peninsula as a tourist. I was supposed to be stationed at McMurdo and search for meteorites containing rare earths. It’s hardly the same thing.”

“Did you see the trip includes overnight camping, kayaking, and ice climbing? Ice climbing. Diana! That’s your thing.”

“My thing, eh?” She absent-mindedly rubbed the scar on her left thigh, torn between wanting to go and the suddenness of it all.

“At least think about it.” A timer went off in the kitchen. Angie headed out, muttering to herself, “Why does she always do this?”

“I heard that!” Diana had exceptionally good hearing due to mild hyperacusis, a condition that amplifies everyday sounds. She had learned to ignore unwanted noise and avoid eavesdropping—most of the time. Occasionally, though, it came in handy.

Angie poked her head into the living room. “Crabsticks. I always forget about your bat ears. Sorry.”

“No worries.” Trevor had always complained about her tendency to react negatively to anything new, too.

“Oh good.” Angie headed back into the kitchen.

Diana stroked Oliver’s head and sipped her tea. Why don’t I want to go? Part of it was because she didn’t want to go alone. An idea began to take shape. “Hey, Angie?”

“Hang on.” Angie returned a few moments later with a plate of brownies, offering one to Diana before throwing a dog treat on the floor for Oliver. After he jumped down, she eased herself onto the sofa, maintaining eye contact with Diana. “Oh no. You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” She took a bite. “Wow, these are delicious.”

“Focus, Di. You called me out here. Why?”

“First, I wanted to tell you that you’re right.”

“Naturally,” Angie replied with a smile. “About what this time?”

“Ha ha. That I should go on this trip.”

Angie stared at her quizzically. “Oh-kay? Why the sudden change of heart? That’s not like you.”

Diana grinned and took another bite.

“Why are you—?”

Diana raised her index finger as she finished chewing. “I’ll go on one condition.”

Angie crossed her arms. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

“You come with.”