Suddenly, I can tell that Kevin is angry at himself, not at me. He’s frustrated that he hasn’t been able to help the whales. He works so hard and cares so much about them. Why has it taken me so long to notice that?
I think back to the day Lena and I first spotted the whales. Was there anything I was forgetting? Food and fear are the only things I can think of that would keep the pod here for three weeks … it’s why they came now, and why they came over forty years ago, that time that Mr. O’Connor told us about, when he was just a “wee tyke.”
Forty years ago is 1957.…
My mind is racing, and something else flashes in my brain, something Tal told me—that day I first met him and Mut outside his purple house. Things were different when he first moved here, he told me. What year was that? Later than 1957, I’m sure of it.…
My head hurts from thinking so hard. Kevin’s opera music is blaring now—this time the singing is in some language I can’t even identify. What chance do I have to convince two scientists—with no hard evidence—what I know in my heart to be true?
I take a deep breath, and force myself not to look away. “There’s only one thing we can do that will help the whales,” I announce. “We have to close the bridge.”
––––
It seems so obvious to me now. Of course. Close the bridge and the whales will leave. The solution has been staring me in the face for days, waiting for me to see it. I try to read Kevin and Naomi’s expressions but their faces are blank.
“Do you really think we could finagle a permit to close the bridge?” Kevin asks.
I glance at Naomi and neither of us dares say a word. Kevin’s eyes grow wide when it dawns on him that this is exactly what we’re asking.
“Y’all have got to be kidding me,” he says softly. “That’s the one primary commuter bridge that connects the east and west peninsula, and I’m supposed to ask people to drive clear around the inlet—all the way to Silverdale—while we wait for the whales to take their sweet time deciding to go home?”
All the way around the inlet … when Tal moved here, he had to drive all the way around the inlet to go from the east to the west peninsula.…
That’s it!
“I have proof!” I jump up, screaming over the opera singer, and nearly knocking over my teacup. “When the whales came into the inlet the last time, forty years ago, there was no bridge! That’s why they left. That’s why they didn’t get stuck here before. The Warren Avenue Bridge wasn’t built until 1962!”
There’s a stunned silence.
“How do you know these things, Marisa?” Naomi asks grinning.
I grin back, thrilled to have found the last missing piece, and I make a silent promise to thank Tal for his “Facts of the Day.”
“All we would need is one night,” I say, and—”
“One night? We don’t know for sure they’d leave in one night. No,” Kevin says in a firm voice. He looks at me sharply. “I’ve got very little time left and no resources to waste. I’ve got to choose the most viable way to get these whales out of this inlet before things get ugly. I don’t have time for an untested idea. The whales are starting to avoid the boats … pacing, like caged animals.”
I feel myself go white, listening.
“Kev, we’ve seen them approach the bridge almost thirty times,” Naomi says, giving it one more shot. “Maybe we could try—”
“No, enough!” Kevin snaps, cutting her off. “Thank you, but enough,” he says, struggling to soften his voice. “If you really want to help, there’s a city council hearing scheduled on Saturday to discuss wakes. If we can win that one, it’s gonna help the whales by slowing down traffic. Marisa, maybe you could—”
But I’ve stopped listening. My shoulders tighten and a hot anger rises inside me.
They’re pacing like caged animals.
Kevin’s a scientist. How can he ignore the evidence? Numbly, I push my way out from the tight group and start to run. I’m suddenly back in that place where I swore I wouldn’t go. The words of the woman at the Whale Museum in Friday Harbor echo in my head—You take good care of Muncher, okay?
I run because I’m afraid. I run because a choice Mom made long ago still haunts her and I’m afraid if I don’t help the whales now, I’ll be haunted too.
CHAPTER 21
Orca Day 24
For two whole days, it pours down rain. Not the usual Northwest drizzle you can ignore, but honest-to-goodness downpours that put everyone in a bad mood. The only good thing is it keeps boats off the water. The whales scatter themselves around the inlet too, keeping everyone guessing where they’ll pop up next.
I go into avoidance mode, letting other people figure out what to do next. On Thursday morning, I convince Dad to let me skip school. I need time to think about the whales and school’s not the place to do it.
“I just feel achy,” I call out through the bathroom door, “maybe it’s the flu or something.…” Finally, it works.
After Dad leaves, I sit at the kitchen counter and think through my options. I can forget everything and go on with life the way it was before the whales came. I can follow the rules, doing whatever Kevin and Naomi need, and go to meeting after meeting, where it’ll be all talk and no action. It doesn’t feel right. I can’t abandon the whales now, not after working so hard. But I don’t know how to help anymore.
By noon, I’m pacing around like the whales, navigating the same route through the houseboat again and again. What I really want to do is something crazy, like convince the council to stop the traffic on the bridge in the middle of the night and see if that will get the whales home.
I wish Mom was here. I want to ask her what she would do. I want her to tell me Muncher will be okay. I want so much.
When I swing by the kitchen on one of my passes, there’s a knock on the door. Startled, I glance at the time. One o’clock—school’s not even out yet.…
I peek out the window, then open the door to Tal and a very wet Mut standing outside on the slippery dock.
“I stopped by Mud Bay and your father said you begged off school,” he says in greeting. I grimace. Great. Dad knows I’m faking. Tal kicks off his shoes and steps inside wearing only his socks.
“A habit I picked up when I lived in Germany,” he explains when he sees me notice. Mut sits waiting outside the door, whining. “Okay if he comes in?”
“Sure.”
Mut bounds in, then stops to shake, sending water everywhere.
“Good timing,” Tal laughs, settling himself at the counter. I open and close the cupboard, then the refrigerator, looking for something to offer him—tea, juice, anything. The place is a mess. Dirty dishes stacked in the sink. Grime and dried food stuck to the countertops. A pang of guilt runs through me again.
“Would you like a glass of water?” I ask, edging sideways toward the sink.
“Got enough of that out there, thanks,” he says, nodding toward the window. “Fact of the Day—you think it’s wet here? Would you believe that Seattle doesn’t even make the Top 10 List for rainiest city in the US? Now if they picked the most overcast region, we’d have a shot to win, don’t you think?”
There’s an awkward silence while he waits for me to laugh but all I can manage is a weak smile. I wish I felt as hopeful as I did a few days ago, before Kevin brushed aside my discovery that it’s the bridge stopping the whales from leaving, but I don’t.
“Actually, Marisa, I stopped by because I have a favor to ask.” When he sees my surprise he adds, “Yes, you. Only you, in fact.”
I slide into the stool opposite, and wait.
“So, how do I put this? The ‘No-Wake’ hearing is Saturday night. I plan on attending and …” he hesitates, “I would like you to accompany me and let me add your name to the speaker list.”
My eyes widen.
“You’ve been doing a tremendous job working with SoundKeeper to help the whales. I think it would behoove the council to hear your story in your own words.”
I’m stunned. Me? Speak to the city council?
“I’ve already spoken to your father. He likes the idea, as does Dan O’Connor and Kevin.”
At the mention of Kevin’s name, I kick at the leg of my stool. Yeah, right. Actually, Kevin thinks my ideas are pretty lame.
“I think it might make a difference for the council to hear from a young person,” he says. “They’re a cantankerous bunch, and frankly there’s about as much of a chance of their agreeing to close the inlet to vessel traffic as there is hope that the whales will sprout wings and fly home. But all we can do is try.”
I smile at the image, but it only lasts a second, until I think about what he’s really asking. “What would you want me to say?”
“It’s not what I want you to say,” Tal says. “It’s what you feel you need to say. All I’m asking is that instead of keeping it all up here,” he pokes at his forehead with his finger, “you share it with an audience. I think you’re a fine young lady, Marisa, with a good, sensitive heart, and that speaks worlds to grumpy old men who might need a little nudge to take a chance.” He looks at me gently. “Take it from a master. Right, Mut?”
At the sound of his name, Mut cocks his head and gives a little “woof.” I want to say yes. It means a lot that Tal thinks I can do this. He’s been so kind and helpful. Again, I can’t help wondering about his daughter—why would she leave home, especially having a father like Tal? The thought ricochets right back at me, but I push it away and take a deep breath.
“Okay, I’ll do it on one condition.”
“Name it, ma’am.”
I want to ask him about Carol Ann. I want to know what happened, and how he made peace with her leaving. But the words are stuck somewhere between my heart and my throat. Now is not the right time to try to make myself understandable.
Mut gives a loud yawn, and we both smile.
“When there’s … time.… I have some questions, about something we have in common.”
“That’s it?”
I nod.
“Deal.” He stands and slaps his thighs, smiling. “That’s easy.”
I smile back. Tal knows an awful lot, but this time I’m thinking he’s wrong. Talking about losing someone you love won’t be easy.
––––
Tal isn’t gone more than twenty minutes when Harris and Lena show up at the houseboat, with Jesse tagging along behind.
“Well, at least you haven’t died,” Lena says in greeting. “I thought after two days of letting your phone ring, we’d better check.” Jesse immediately takes off, dead set on exploring every inch of the houseboat. “Are you ready to rejoin the land of the living?”
“Naomi sent us on a treasure hunt … said you had a story to tell us about the whales,” Harris says. “Whatever that means.”
It’s so good to see them both that pretty soon, without much coaxing, I’m telling the story of Muncher leading me back home two days ago on the inlet.
“You’re sure you didn’t imagine it?” Lena asks. “I mean, people imagine all sorts of things when they’re scared.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t imagine it.”
“Just a coincidence then?”
I shake my head again. “No, I know what I know.”
Harris needs no convincing.
“Awesome! You tell anybody else?”
“Just Kevin and Naomi … and you heard how that went.”
“I don’t know, Marisa. You oughta be telling everybody,” Harris says. “Maybe the whales gave you this story for a reason.”
Leave it to Harris to know how to make the best of a bad situation. Maybe he’s right.
––––
With extra urging from Jesse, I agree to go with Lena and Harris down to the boat launch. But the closer we get, the more I dread the idea of seeing Kevin after our last meeting.
“How’s our whales doing?” Harris calls out as we near the parked orange van.
“Pretty vocal when we observed them this morning,” Kevin answers, clicking his portable radio onto his belt. He nods to me, then climbs up inside to gather what he needs before heading out on the raft. “Not too many trips to the south end of the inlet, though. I think they’re getting tired. We’ll need to reassess the situation every day from here on.”
I listen, feeling a weird mixture of embarrassment and impatience. To distract myself, I study the display of dorsal fin photographs that Kevin keeps spread out on his small table.
“I’m doing a fresh round of pictures tomorrow,” he says when he sees me looking. “If anyone’s interested.”
“You bet!” Harris answers in a heartbeat. Playing outside the van, Jesse overhears. “You bet!” we hear him repeat.
Kevin waits for me to acknowledge his offer too, but I don’t. I keep my eyes focused down at the table, at all the photos arrayed there. Each snapshot is small—no bigger than three by five inches. Kevin shoots close-ups with a telephoto lens, usually of the dorsal fins, saddle patches, and if he’s lucky, the blowholes. At first, they all look the same. Only when I look more closely do I begin to see the subtle differences in color, pattern, and nick marks.
I pick up a few at random and flip them over, remembering Kevin’s identification system.
L53 Lulu.
L90 Ballena.
L71 Hugo. I remember him—Rascal’s brother, the next “sprouter.”
L92 Crewser. Hey—Crewser! It’s spelled differently, but I have to remember to tell Grace there’s a whale with the same name as her father’s boat.
L91 Muncher.
Muncher.
Kevin has joined me at the table and stands looking over my shoulder. There’s a big stack of Muncher photos, all taken two days ago. “He hung around for a while so I got quite a few.” I flip through the rest of the pile quickly, until one at the bottom makes me stop.
It’s a photo of Muncher’s upper body. I peer closer in the dim light of the van. Am I imagining it? No, there it is—a slight but definite depression around the edge of his blowhole.
My hand starts to tremble.
“Is this what you were telling us about? What happened to those whales up in Alaska?”
Kevin nods. “Nothing as extreme as that yet, but … a few are showing some weight loss. We’ll keep evaluating.”
“Which ones?”
“Ballena … and Kasatka.”
I reach for Ballena’s photos and sure enough, the same slight depression is visible.
“And a bit on Muncher.” He clears his throat. “The younger ones are affected more quickly, like everything in life, I suppose.”
I lay Ballena and Muncher’s photos gently back down on the table and take a deep breath. Observe, reassess, evaluate. It’s all just talk. No action.
Enough. I’m glad Kevin is being honest, not trying to cover up the danger, because it makes my decision that much easier.
––––
Signaling that we need to go, I hustle Lena and Harris out of the van.
“We just got here! What’s going on?” Harris demands as I lead them back along the shoreline road.
“We need to talk. Now. All of us. Grace too … I need everybody who’s willing to help.”
Jesse runs after us, struggling to keep up. “I’ll help, Reesa!”
I slow down to give him a quick hug. “I know you will, Jesse. I can always count on you.” He beams up at me and I take his hand to hurry him along. Twenty minutes later we’re seated around the red Formica table at Garlic Jim’s.
Harris drums his fingers on the table. “Talk,” he orders.
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “We know the whales are in trouble but it’s getting worse. They’re tired, not surfacing as often, almost like they’ve given up. And they’re starting to avoid the boats, even kayaks.”
“It’s true,” Grace says. “Yesterday one of them breached three times near Daddy’s kayak. It was weird … like a warning shot over the bow, right?” She looks at me and I nod, encouraged.
&n
bsp; “But … even worse. I saw photos in Kevin’s van just now. The little ones, Ballena and Muncher … and Grace, there’s one called Crewser—”
“Really? Oh, how sweet!”
“Harris, remember those photos Kevin showed us of the whales that died up in Alaska? Ours are showing the same signs of shrinking around their blowholes.” Harris’s eyes widen with alarm. “We need to do something now … before it’s too late. I have an idea but I need your help. I can’t do this alone.”
“Marisa … this is serious stuff. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
I smile to myself. It’s Lena—impulsive Lena urging me to be practical now. But she’s right, I have to take her seriously.
“I know it’s serious.…” I pause. “Don’t worry, what I’m thinking isn’t dangerous, just tricky.”
She sighs but I see the slightest of smiles pulling at the corners of her mouth. “So … tell us your idea,” she says, leaning forward.
“The city council meets Saturday, and Tal asked me to speak.”
“Really?” Grace says, impressed.
“Cool!” Harris echoes.
“Naomi said once that to understand their behavior, you have to think like the whales.…” My friends stare at me, waiting. No one says a word. “So, if you’re with me,” I lower my voice, “here’s what I’m thinking.…
CHAPTER 22
Orca Day 25
Our plan would be hard enough to pull off in good weather, but to complicate things it’s been raining almost nonstop all week. On Friday afternoon, there’s finally a break in the rain, but the weather report warns of an even bigger storm on the way. With the council meeting only one day away, it already feels too late. If my plan is going to work, we have to do it now—today—while we still have a window of relatively good weather.
I check my watch. It’s already late, almost dinnertime. The front door slams and I quickly zip up my backpack and toss it in the corner. In the kitchen, Dad is pulling off his wet things and putting water on the stove for tea.
“It’s nasty out there,” he says, working at the heel of one of his waders with the toe of his other foot. I open the kitchen cabinet and pull out the box of tea bags.
Chasing at the Surface Page 15