I nod my head. “Yeah, I think I do.”
“That’s good.…” Harris says, breaking into a wide grin. “So do I.”
––––
“Be good.”
Mom’s last words, written just above her name in the letter she left. Just two little words, but everything that’s been happening with the whales—and now with Harris—has me thinking about what being “good” means. Does it mean doing what’s good for you, or for others? And what about the rest of the creatures on the planet? The cutoff at the bridge sure wasn’t good for the whales but I bet it was good for somebody in that speedboat who got a spectacular photograph.
Mom is so good at being good. She works so hard to take care of everybody that Dad and I kidded her about it sometimes.
“What about us?” we’d whine until we made her laugh.
Once, when I was in sixth grade, we were late leaving the house for some school event—I can’t remember what it was now—but we were rushing around like crazy. Just as we shut the door, a hawk dived into our yard and a huge swarm of smaller birds in the surrounding trees flew off in every direction. We could hear their cries all around. Then there was a loud thunk and we saw that a frightened robin had slammed against our big front window, mistaking it for an escape route. The robin had knocked itself silly. I can still see it—wings askew—struggling to stand on the cold ground.
“Oh, goodness,” Mom said, watching, “it’s going to be easy prey now. We’ve got to help it.”
“Mom!” I protested, “we’ve got to go. We’re so late!”
She didn’t even bother to answer.
“Go inside and get a towel, Marisa. Hurry.”
When I came back with the towel, she was kneeling near the stunned bird that was shivering now from heat loss.
“Spread it here,” she said, patting the ground beside her. As much as I wanted to go, I watched in awe as she reached for the robin and folded its wings gently over its body back into their natural position. Then—like this was something she did every day—she picked up the bird and placed it on the towel, wrapping it loosely several times so that it couldn’t escape.
“What are you going to do now?” I asked in a thin voice.
“It just needs a little time to recover its wits.” She picked the little bundle up and carried it to the porch, then settled herself on the swing. I stood rooted to the spot, worried we’d never get out of the house. After about fifteen minutes, she gently unwrapped the bird. In an instant, before I could even fully focus, the robin flew off from her hands, totally recovered.
“Okay,” she said as if nothing much had happened, “I’m ready to go now.”
––––
When Dad comes to pick me up from the hospital, he grills me about Harris.
“Mom always said he was a good kid, he just needed more support,” Dad says and I can’t help but notice his choice of words. He’d discovered a canoe missing at the marina when he did his final count at closing time. That’s when he started calling around, worried whoever had taken it might’ve gotten into trouble. Finally, he reached the hospital and Bette told him what happened. Imagine his surprise. “I hope I’m making the right decision not pressing charges.”
“Dad … it’s okay,” I say, doing my best to reassure him. “They’re going to be fine, and you got the canoe back. Nothing bad really happened.”
“But it could have, Marisa. Easily. What Harris did wasn’t just illegal, it was dangerous.”
“I know. But … he did it because he wanted to see the whales. He had no other way, nobody to ask—” I stop, another fresh wave of guilt washing over me. “And he’s going to work with me and Lena helping out SoundKeeper to make up for it.” I make that part up on the spot, but I know Harris will agree. Then another idea pops into my head. “Maybe they can come with us tomorrow afternoon to the parade in Silverdale.”
Dad gives me a quizzical look.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “Maybe you guys could talk or something.”
“Good idea,” Dad finally agrees, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I have no way of knowing if what I’m saying is true. But after listening to Harris talk in the hospital room, I know something for sure: Harris didn’t just want to see the whales. He needed to see them. Because seeing them up close proves, beyond any shred of doubt, that there’s still good in the world. Whales, if they wanted to, could easily kill you. But they don’t. They choose another path.
Harris and Jesse could use a little good in their lives. They need to see the whales.
And I think I can help make that happen.
CHAPTER 12
Orca Day 10: Halloween
They can’t locate Harris and Jesse’s parents or guardians,” Dad tells me the next morning, hanging up the phone. “Bette and Tal will be taking them home for the time being.”
“Can they do that?” I rub my eyes, surprised. It’s almost eleven o’clock. We’d both slept in late after the long night at the hospital and Dad said it was okay if I skipped the only class I have Friday mornings.
Dad gives a short laugh. “Let’s just say the hospital looks the other way. Your mother once told me that nurses do it all the time when parents are scarce. Sometimes it’s the only way to get them the services they need.”
Then the phone rings again, and before I can really register what’s happening, Dad’s holding it out toward me. “It’s Mom. She’d like to talk to you.”
For a second, I freeze. Dad keeps holding the phone out, like some kind of life preserver. I grab it and slip onto the stool at the counter.
“Hello?”
“M? Honey, I’m so glad you’re there!” There’s a pause. Her voice … it sounds so close, like she’s right here in the room with me again. I can feel a tightness start up in my chest. I’ve missed her so much.
“Guess where I am?” Still, I don’t answer. I can’t, my thoughts are all muddled, but she plows ahead anyway. “Azusa, California! My favorite town growing up, I think I told you about it once. They have this sign when you enter, Everything from A to Z in the—”
“Mom … did Dad tell you about the whales?” I interrupt her. Dad nods at me, then quietly leaves the kitchen. “There are nineteen of them, Mom, here in the inlet! And Muncher … I’m pretty sure he’s here, too.” I wait for her reaction, but there’s only silence on the other end of the line, so I plow ahead too. “But … I’m starting to wonder if they’re lost … or stuck.”
“I wish I could be there to see them with you, M. You know I’ve loved those whales since the first day I moved to the Northwest. But …” she stops, “right now’s not a good time, honey. Something happened a long time ago, something I’ve been avoiding for a long time—”
“Yeah, I know.” I can hear my voice starting to waver, not quite so certain anymore. “That’s what you said in your letter. But, Mom … it’s our whales. And they need our help! Can’t you come home now? You know so much about them—”
“I can’t, M,” Mom stops my rush of words. Her voice is flat. “Not yet. There’s someone important here I need to meet … and, well, I’m still working myself up to it.”
My throat tightens up. Tears are seconds away.
“Mom … I need you to come home.”
“Honey, listen,” I hear Mom say. “I have to go. I’ve saved up all my quarters, to feed them into the pay phone, but I’m running out. I’ll call or write again soon—”
But it’s too late. My tears have dried and something else is slowly rising up inside me, taking its place. Mom said no. I’d never imagined that if I flat out asked her to come home, she’d say no. It kind of takes my breath away.
Quickly, I press down on the OFF button, hard, holding it there for a long time. I’m so mad I can feel my body shaking.
When I finally lift my finger, the dial tone blares in my ear.
––––
After Mom’s call, I work really hard not to go back to worrying and feeling sorry for myself. As we get ready to
drive to Evanston Memorial to pick up Harris and Jesse, I keep wondering what’s the point of being so capable and strong? Maybe if I was more like Harris—the kind of kid who needs Mom’s help—things would be different. Those kids seem to have one big advantage. They get Mom’s attention.
I tell myself that’s just crazy thinking. But it hurts just the same.
––––
The annual Silverdale Halloween Parade always draws a big crowd. The only other time all the inlet towns organize an event together is in July, for the whaling festival. Then it’s mostly fireworks and food stands, with the big event a rubber duck race on the inlet. Now, here it is almost November, and we’ve got nineteen real whales swimming around.
Silverdale sits at the uppermost point of Dyes Inlet, just north of Chico Creek and its big salmon runs. When I was little, it was one of my favorite places because of the big seawall embankment near the marina. I could play for hours on that sloping seawall. The sandy beach seemed to be made entirely of bleached bits of pure white shells. I loved the great crunching sounds they made when you walked on them.
Sometimes we’d hike to the interpretive center where there are displays about the history of the area and the Suquamish, the people who have lived here longer than anyone. In the Lushootseed language, sáq’ad means “to spear it.” The Suquamish called this whole area Sáq’ad, not just Dyes Inlet, but the creek, the estuary, and the camping grounds too, because of all the salmon, oysters, clams, berries, even deer. Whenever we went, I’d spend the whole time imagining what life must have been like here a hundred years ago.
We’re halfway to Silverdale when Harris finally speaks up.
“I was planning on returning the canoe when we were done.” His eyes are fixed on the landscape outside the car window, but I know he’s really talking to Dad. “I should never have borrowed it without asking in the first place. Sometimes I do stupid things, I guess … at least that’s what people always say.”
“Thank you, Harris,” Dad says stiffly, but I see his shoulders relax just a little. “I appreciate that.”
The mood in the car shifts, just a little. Harris swivels around to look at me, and smiles.
“Except your mom.”
“She spent a lot of time with you guys, didn’t she?” I ask.
“Yep,” Harris nods. “I remember once, she convinced my old man to let her take Jesse to the clinic for some kind of special tests. Took her a long time.… I was amazed she didn’t give up. ‘Take stuff one day a time,’ she told me. ‘Make things a little better one day at a time.’ I still remember that.” He pauses. “She didn’t come round much, though, after my old man pulled a gun on her that one time out at the park.”
There’s a stunned silence in the car. My eyes go wide. Outside, the inlet’s a flat gray blanket in the late autumn light.
“She didn’t tell you that?” Harris laughs and shakes his head. “Man, don’t your family talk about nothing?”
I blink and try to focus. Sitting beside me, Jesse starts drumming his hands lightly on his knees, almost like he’s playing out a tune on the piano.
“Anyways, sorry again about the canoe. I won’t do something like that again. But you know,” his voice is more at ease now, “it sure was easy.” Harris turns and looks directly at Dad. “You might want to do a better job of locking them up.”
“Good idea,” Dad says, smiling. “Thank you, Harris.”
––––
When we arrive, the parade is already underway, heading down Silverdale’s main street to Waterfront Park where a stage has been set up for speeches and prizes. It’s crowded and noisy with homemade floats, the high school marching band, and costumed walkers of every shape and size. We laugh about this year’s most popular costume choice, the killer whale.
Everywhere, we see orca flags and banners, folks wearing orca headdresses, leaping orcas, orca fins, and—everyone’s favorite—an orca pod, where every few minutes the marchers shoot sprays of water into the air. Someone hands Jesse a rubber orca nose mask, which he happily wears for the rest of the day.
Kings West Elementary School marches by with a set of posters showing L Pod’s genealogy. SoundKeeper volunteers are here too, handing out their “Better Boater” guidelines.
“Holy crow, look there!” Harris shouts.
He points to a marching Mr. O’Connor, dressed as a mad scientist, complete with eyeballs dangling out of his sockets and an atom molecule on his cap.
“Man, that guy is craaa-zy!” Harris laughs, picking Jesse up and holding him high so he can see. As the last of the marchers pass, we tag onto the end and follow them down to the stage at the park, hungry now for lunch. The grass and picnic areas are packed. Occasionally, there’s a burst of noise and shouting and we know someone has spotted the blows of real killer whales out on the inlet.
We’re still hunting for an open space when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“You came!” Lena smiles at me. I catch the look of surprise on her face when she sees Harris and Jesse, but there’s no way to explain the whole canoe-hospital story now. “We got a table … c’mon.” She leads us through the crowd to an area down near the embankment, near where a heavyset man sits, his back to the inlet.
“How are you, Larry?” Dad reaches out to shake Grace’s father’s hand. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
I have … just last week. For a second, I consider asking how much money he’s made so far from beach access, but decide against it.
“Is Grace here?” I ask Lena, looking around.
“Uh-huh.…” she nods. “We were out fishing together this morning.…”
I press my lips together but Lena knows what I’m thinking.
“What?” she asks, defensively. “I tried to call you to see if you wanted to come.”
“Grace … fishing?”
“Marisa, listen,” Lena whispers, brushing off the picnic bench and sitting down. “Her father took the whole family out on his big boat—you know, the Cruiser. She didn’t have much choice, so she called me to come along.” She laughs. “She stayed down in the cabin the entire time, even when we passed the pod, can you believe it?”
When Grace returns to the table, she acts at first like I’m not even there. Then I see her stare at Jesse, who has ketchup smeared all over his face.
“Oh, hello,” she turns to me, smirking. “Babysitting today?”
Lena puts her hand on my arm. I let it go and focus on the talk at the table.
“These whales hang around much longer,” Grace’s father is saying between big bites of his salmon burger, “there won’t be fishing left at all!”
Dad laughs uneasily. “I’m not sure we’re at that point yet, Larry.”
“No? We got a good run this year, but that pod was chowing down. I bet one of those buggers can eat … what, twenty-five, thirty fish a day?” He takes a long swig of beer. “And now we got nineteen of them out there.”
Big surprise. Grace’s father doesn’t want to share the salmon with the whales.
“Larry … c’mon, it’s chum. It’s not like you’re talking about kings,” Dad says, naming the choice salmon species of the region.
I look around to see who else is listening, but it’s only me, Grace, and Lena.
“I can only speak for myself, but I’ve got no interest in fishing for catfish or carp,” Larry says. “I want the salmon.”
“But salmon are all the orcas can eat,” I say.
Larry looks up, surprised.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he says, recovering quickly. “I’ve seen some gobble up seals lickety-split. Anyway, I’m getting tired of playing host.” He takes another huge bite, and keeps on talking. “When I was a kid, we used to stand on the shore and pitch rocks at those whales if we saw them. Blackfish, we called ’em. Some people even used them for target practice.” He shakes his head. “Can’t do that today.”
I stare at him, horrified. There’s not much you can say to change the mind of a person
who thinks like that. Still, I make a mental note to ask Naomi if what he said about the seals is actually true. I sneak a look at Grace, expecting to see a satisfied smile on her face. Instead, she looks mortified.
We’re saved by a tap-tap-tap sound of a microphone. Everyone turns toward the stage where volunteers are busy setting up a table with prizes for the raffle.
A man steps up and addresses the crowd: “Folks, can I have your attention please.”
He’s wearing a bright yellow raincoat, even though there’s no sign of rain. “Thank you. Wow! What a turnout this Halloween!” he says to a round of applause. “Welcome everyone. I’m Harold Langley, parade chairman. Before we bring out this year’s costume contest winners, the Suquamish Tribe has asked me to make an announcement.”
“Tribal representatives see this visit from the orcas as a powerful sign, and they’re getting pretty worried. As much as we all love the whales, I think everyone agrees it’s not natural for them to be here in the inlet. They’re going to be keeping a close watch and they’re planning a blessing ceremony, to fire up those orcas to head on home. They’ll be letting us know the date on that soon. Okay now, time for some prizes!”
Mr. Langley continues talking, but his announcement gets me thinking. The Suquamish people have lived here at Sáq’ad, gathering food, hunting, and fishing for thousands of years. The orcas are a huge part of their stories and culture.
Harris turns to me and I can tell from the look on his face that we’re both thinking the same thing. There’s a good chance the Suquamish might know more about the ways of the orca than any whale researcher. If the Tribe is worried enough about the whales to schedule a blessing ceremony, maybe we should all start paying closer attention. Before it’s too late.
CHAPTER 13
Orca Day 11
The alarm clock blares and I fumble to silence it, squinting in the dark. It’s just past 4:00 A.M. Sunrise is still a good three hours away. Flopping back down in bed, I listen to the familiar sound of light rain, drumming on the houseboat roof. With a groan, I swing my legs over the side of my bed. Turning on the hot air blower as high as it will go, I dress quickly, shivering in the chilly air.
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