CHAPTER 10
Orca Day 9
You did everything you could, Marisa,” Naomi reminds me again and again, “even more.” But it’s no good. After my failed attempt to clear the Narrows, I feel miserable. And that’s when I make my decision. Maybe I couldn’t get Mom to stay, and I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to convince her to come back. But no matter what it takes, I’m determined to help the whales find their way home.
And I’m not alone. The whole mood at Lions Field has changed.
“No more playing nice,” Kevin announces. “We need a constant presence on the water.” He starts parking his orange and white VW van at the dock, working extra late, the opera music he loves drifting out into the night air. Rumor has it that yesterday he slept in the van, then drove this morning over to the county sheriff and Port Washington police department office and stormed in, demanding state and federal patrols on Dyes Inlet for as long as necessary.
I want to ask Kevin about Muncher’s mother and the other whale near the bridge, about why they lifted their tails high into the air and smacked them down. I want to know what it means. But everyone’s too busy, so I make a mental note to ask later, when things calm down.
To be extra safe, Kevin puts out a call for private boaters to lend their vessels to SoundKeeper. Tal Reese offers five of his motorboats and workers to go along, and Dad arranges for me to cross with Tal to deliver the first of the boats to Mud Bay this afternoon.
“Hello again, Marisa!” Tal greets me. He arrives at the field wearing his Mariners cap, plus a waterproof anorak and waders. This time, a whistle’s also been added to the binoculars dangling from his neck.
I glance down, looking for Mut. Tal notices and smiles.
“No, he’s a bit too much of a senior dog to handle all this excitement. So what have you got for me?” He scans our sheet of whale watching guidelines. “You know, you should add that to your list—Leave Pets at Home. Dogs seem to get rattled around whales. Not to mention their barking doesn’t add to the calm.”
“They’d ruin the ‘tranquillity’ of the experience!’” I tell Tal, proud of my vocabulary.
“Excellent, Marisa,” Tal says, winking.
While Tal prepares one of the three motorboats he keeps at the Lions Field marina, I gather a thick stack of SoundKeeper flyers and wait. It’s strange to think how the whales control everyone’s schedule now. Tracking how long they’ve been here is how I’ve started to measure my days.
Nine days and counting. Tomorrow is already Halloween, one of my favorite holidays. Dad’s too, but not Mom’s. She hated dressing up—too much fuss and bother she said—but she always loved watching us prepare.
Our best year was the time we decided to be sea creatures. I was a starfish and Dad was a clam. He stole the idea from a local restaurant that uses a walking clam in their advertising and it worked. We won first prize in the annual Silverdale Halloween parade. This year, there’s been no time for costumes but Dad promises he’ll keep tomorrow afternoon free for the parade.
When Tal is ready, I climb in the boat and we set off from the dock, heading southwest toward the marina. It’s been warm but now a thick wall of blue-black clouds moves quickly in over the inlet and I shiver in the chilly air. Seagulls swoop and caw, diving to grab a bite. After days of activity, the inlet is eerily empty of boaters. The only other craft in sight is a canoe over near the west shore, heading south.
“They’ve been hanging out further north,” he says, scanning in all directions looking for any sign of the whales, but I see him shake his head. It’s strange how such huge creatures can be so hard to find.
“I’m not surprised, Chico Creek’s their meal ticket. That creek was what sold me on living here,” Tal says. “You can’t beat the fishing.”
“You didn’t grow up here?”
“Nope, but Bette did, my wife. But I’ve acclimated.”
He says the last word slowly. I look over at him and sigh, but this one I can figure out from the way he used it in the sentence.
“To get used to something,” I tell Tal.
He laughs and nods his head. “But to answer your question, I’m from Ohio. Moved here in ’62 to take a job at Boeing. Loved airplanes and boats. Have I mentioned that the Boeing plant up in Everett is the largest building—”
“Yes!”
“Okay, okay, just one more and I’ll give you a break,” he says and I grin. “Let’s see … how about a little local history. When Bette and I first moved here, it was before they built our lovely Warren Avenue Bridge. The only way to get from east to west Port Washington was to drive all the way north around the top of the inlet past Silverdale. Which is why, of course, I bought my first boat.”
As he talks, his eyes stay glued tight to the binoculars. After multiple sweeps to be sure he’s not missing anything, he lowers the glasses.
“I’m guessing you’re one of that rare breed, a Northwest native.”
I laugh and nod yes, thinking how I’ve always known I want to stay here forever.
“Your kids must be natives, too,” I tell him. I don’t actually know if Tal has kids, but he seems like a dad.
“That’s true.…”
Overhead a seagull circles around us, screeching. Tal cranes his head up to look and something passes over his face, some cloud of a memory, but in a second it’s gone. “Is your mom helping out with the whales, too?” he asks.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Umm … my mom’s traveling right now,” I answer, which isn’t really a lie. I haven’t spoken about her out loud for so long that my own words startle me. I can’t help thinking that if Mom were here, she would have already figured out how to get the whales home. To my surprise, the thought makes me feel proud, not sad.
“Traveling, eh?” Tal says. “One of life’s best pursuits … gives you perspective.”
That tells me that Dad hasn’t told Tal the real story.
“Let me show you what you’re supposed to do,” I say, changing the subject before he asks for more details.
In the ten minutes it takes me to explain the SoundKeeper guidelines, there’s a massive change in the weather. Those dark clouds I saw earlier sweep in to cover the whole sky and the wind picks up something fierce. We’re less than a half mile off the west shore now, and strong waves are splashing across our bow.
Tal maneuvers the motorboat across the wide expanse of the inlet, keeping the wind behind us, and when I turn, its force takes my breath away. Up ahead, I can see the canoe I noticed earlier struggling, turned sideways to the wind and waves. Even in the darkening light, I can tell from the markings that it’s one of Tal’s boats, from Mud Bay. This is really odd, because all Dad’s rentals are due back at four o’clock on weekdays.
It must be past four by now. I glance down at my watch to double-check the time. It can’t be more than a second that I take my eyes off the water, but when I look up again—the canoe is gone! It was right there, directly in my line of vision, I’m sure of it. I scan quickly from left and right, and spot it, flipped over in the water not far from its original location.
“Mr. Reese!” I yell, pointing into the wind. “Look!”
Tal grabs for his binoculars. I squint hard but it’s raining now, and I can’t see any sign of the paddlers.
“I see them!” Tal exclaims. I can barely make out two heads bobbing in the water near the rim of the overturned craft. In an instant, we’re speeding in their direction.
“Hang on!” he shouts to me over the revving of the motor. We race toward the pair as quickly as we safely can but even then it’ll take us a good minute or two.
Before I was even ten years old, Dad warned me about saltwater canoeing. It’s different and tricky, even in good weather. If there’s a squall, you’d better be an experienced seaman to be out on the inlet. This time of year the water is frigid. We’ve got to get them out fast or their body temperature will start to drop and they’ll go hypothermic.
Tal slows the boat and thr
ows a line overboard before we’re even close enough to reach, positioning us carefully to approach the capsized canoe in a parallel path. But something else seems wrong … they’re awfully low in the water. With a flash of understanding I turn to Tal, frightened, but he already knows.
“Oh Lord, no life jackets,” he mutters under his breath.
One of the first things you learn when you live by the water is to have a healthy fear of it. No life jackets could mean big trouble. But how could this be? Dad makes sure everyone—everyone, even if they tell him they’re an Olympic swimmer—wears a life jacket when they rent his boats. I move to the side and lean over, totally unprepared for what I see when I look down. There, clinging to the tie line and shivering in the ice-cold water, are Harris and Jesse.
––––
“Marisa!” Tal yells, “over here … help me with these!”
I hurry to help him release the life preservers and together we quickly throw one, then another into the water. With Jesse huddled close, Harris lunges for the life preserver and manages to wrap one arm through. It’s enough.
“Hold this rope … tight.”
I grip the rope and will myself not to let go, as Tal struggles to haul Harris and Jesse out of the freezing water and into our boat. I follow Tal’s instructions as quickly as I can, helping to get them seated and resting in the corner. Both are conscious, but so numb from the cold, they’re like dead weight. Harris mumbles something we can’t make out. I can tell Jesse wants to cry but his freezing body won’t let him.
Tal bends over each of them and to my relief, finds a pulse on both.
“They’re pretty well chilled,” he says, punching a few buttons on his radio. “Bette? I’m bringing in two that we just fished out of the inlet. Yeah. Pulse is pretty regular, but we’ll need a Medic-van at the dock.” He clicks off the radio. “My wife. She works intake at Evanston.”
I pull two Mylar blankets from the boat’s emergency kit, and cover Harris and Jesse as well as I can, tucking them in tight, hoping it helps keep out the added chill in the air. There isn’t much more we can do now except motor as fast as possible across the inlet.
“All right, folks. Let’s get these seals out of the harbor. I knew we had whales visiting, but I haven’t seen seals this big since I was in the navy!” He glances my way and grins.
Tal’s handling of the situation calms me, but I can tell he’s scared too, especially for Jesse. As we race across the water, the crazy string of connections that brought us to this point swirls in my head. Glancing behind, I can see the canoe drifting, getting smaller and smaller in the distance.
I kneel down close to Harris. “Why were you out in one of Dad’s canoes,” I whisper, mostly to myself, “during a squall, with no life jackets? Why?”
His eyes twitch back and forth, and I know it’s useless. All my questions will have to wait. The main thing now is to get them quickly and safely to the hospital.
CHAPTER 11
Jesse won’t allow anyone to pull him away from Harris, so the Evanston Urgent Care staff agrees to take them both into the exam room together. Once they’re in safe hands, my relief turns to anger. What did he think he was doing out there? Especially taking Jesse with him. I want to shake Harris silly, until an awful thought occurs to me. Was it my fault what happened today? It was me who stopped Harris from going out on the inlet that first day.
Evanston’s the only medical center for the whole region and it sits chock-a-block on a hill overlooking the inlet. It feels weird being here now, where Mom used to work. I look down at my hands, and I’m surprised to see them shaking. Tal’s wife, Bette, notices. She leans over me, wrapping her fingers gently around my wrist to take a pulse.
“What about you, honey?” she asks. “Are you okay?”
Bette has short black hair and kind eyes. A round silver pendant designed in the Northwest Coast Salish style dangles from a short chain around her neck. As she examines me, I study it—the howling face of a wolf silhouetted against the moon. Studying the intricate stamped pattern soothes me. How clever the artist was to depict the moon as an empty space cut out of the silver circle. By taking something away, he gave it meaning.
“She was pretty solid,” I hear Tal say. “I couldn’t have managed without her.”
Despite everything, his words make me feel better. Bette leads me to a cushy red chair near a window and I sink into it, wanting to believe him. Tal hands me a soda and I sip the fizzy drink gratefully. As I watch Bette working, it occurs to me there’s a good chance that she knows Mom. Just as I’m about to ask, she turns to Tal.
“Any idea who they are?” she asks, settling down behind her desk and pulling out some papers. Tal starts to shake his head no but I interrupt.
“Harris and Jesse Williams.”
“You know these two?” Tal says.
“Kind of.” I shrug. “He goes to my school, Harris, the older one.”
“Do you have a parent’s name or number?” Bette asks.
I shake my head. “Their dad’s not around a lot … he kind of comes and goes. No one’s ever seen their mother.”
“They’re not runaways, are they?” Bette asks in a worried voice.
“No … they’ve been like this since—” I’m about to say since my mom came home one day about five years ago and told us about two brothers who were coming to the shelter on a regular basis, and she was going to see what she could do about it, but that seems like an awful lot.
Tal and Bette exchange a quick look and something passes between them that I can’t quite read. It never even crossed my mind to tell Tal I knew Harris and Jesse. Now, I wonder why.
Bette reaches for the inlet directory. “Where do they live? I can try to locate the father.”
“I … I’m not sure … a trailer park on the west side of the bridge, I think.…” I hesitate. “I don’t know where exactly.”
“Would your father know?”
Again I have to shake my head no. Mom would, though.
“Who takes care of these kids then?” Tal asks, a little too loudly.
“Hon, it happens all the time,” Bette says softly.
Frustrated, Tal gives an exasperated sigh. “Anything else we should know, Marisa?”
I hesitate. “Well … Jesse, the younger one, has some trouble learning things, but I don’t know what it is exactly. Harris takes really good care of him.…” Then I remember Harris took Jesse out on the inlet without a life jacket, “… usually.”
By now, I’m pretty sure I’m doing more harm than good. I seem to have a talent for that lately. Feeling useless, I sit and watch quietly while Bette makes a few phone calls and fills out forms.
“Will they be okay?” I finally whisper.
Bette answers like Mom would, without stopping her work. “They never lost consciousness,” she says. “That’s a good thing. Critical for recovery.”
Then the automatic doors from the exam rooms swing open and a nurse pokes her head out. “You can come in now if you like.”
In the examining room, Jesse is sitting quiet in a wheelchair, another nurse at his side holding his hand. Harris looks pale and weak, but mostly like himself.
“They’re going to be fine,” the nurse sitting with Jesse tells us. “The doctor’s ordered warmed fluids intravenously and we’d like to keep them overnight for observation.” He leans over to retrieve his stethoscope from Jesse’s grasp. “If they’re doing okay after eight hours, they can go home. All we’d recommend is a follow-up evaluation.”
Then the doctor enters. “Have you located the parents?” she asks and Bette and Tal move off to the side, to talk together quietly.
I bend down and give Jesse a hug, then walk over to Harris who’s sitting slumped on the examining table. I’m so relieved they’re both going to be all right that I’m not really angry anymore, just a little disappointed. I’m certain Harris took the canoe from Mud Bay without permission. And Harris knows I know. Then again, who am I to judge? I’d only be pretendi
ng if I said I knew what life was like for Harris growing up.
A few uncomfortable minutes pass. I watch as Harris sits fiddling with the strings on his hospital gown.
“I didn’t steal it, Marisa,” he says, his voice soft but firm. Just like that, without my even asking. “That’s the truth. I was gonna bring it back. I was just borrowing it to show Jesse the whales.”
I nod slowly, thinking about what I want to say next. “I believe you,” I tell him, and the moment I say it I know it’s the truth. Surprised, he lifts his head. “The thing is, next time … maybe you should borrow life jackets, too.”
When he sees me smiling, he grins back.
“Anyways, I guess they had their own plans,” he says, and I know he means the whales. “’Cause there was nothing going on out there.” There’s a minute of not-too-uncomfortable silence, then Harris shifts on the table, leaning toward me. “You know, when my old man was still with my mom, sometimes they’d get into this argument, same one all the time, about which of them was stronger, which one of them had done more for me and Jes.” He laughs roughly. “Neither one did, really. They were both just making a lot of noise.”
Harris never talks this way, so I listen quietly.
“Then you got something super strong, like the orca whale. No yelling. No screaming. They got nothing to prove. Just swimming around down there in the dark water. One time I got this book for Jes from the library … stories and stuff about orcas. Some folks think catching sight of one is kind of lucky, a good omen. That’s why I wanted to see them, you know?” He pauses. “One story called the orca ‘hunter of the sea.’ Said if he ever came back to live on the land again, he’d transform into a wolf! Can you believe that?” He looks at me closely, his eyes bright. “You know whales, Marisa. You think that story’s true?”
I think about how Mom tried to help Harris believe his own story, not the ones other people had already made up about him. Who’s to say what’s true and what’s not? I decide even if that orca story isn’t actual fact, it’s still true.
Chasing at the Surface Page 7
