by Lin Kaymer
She stands for a few minutes and then says, “I need to go out there. You don’t have to. It’ll be okay,” she adds and then, without removing her sandals, steps in the water.
Fastening the clasps on my vest, I silently enter the cold water too, my wet jeans slowing me as I pull my kayak alongside hers. We walk, pushing our kayaks out far enough for them to float and then climb in. I’ve kayaked since I was five years old, so keeping my balance is easy, the way rolling out of bed and standing up in the morning feels instinctive.
We paddle side by side, without speaking until we’re about two hundred feet from the shoreline. No one knows that we’re out on the water. Mackie’s parents are in Seattle, attending a symphony. Her sister, Noelle, has gone to a friend’s house for the night. It could be kind of romantic to be out with her under the flooding moonlight. Except something else seems to be going on.
Suddenly Mackie stops, and motions for me to do the same. We float like two specks in the wrinkled nighttime waves.
Then, I see him! Orcinus orca. A black and white killer whale spy-hops about one hundred feet from us! He rises out of the water vertically, emits a low bellow, and then sinks slowly below the waves. My heart pounds. I tighten the grip on my paddle. He shouldn’t be this close to shore. Or to us. This feels all wrong.
Mackie whispers, “Stay where you are.” She guides her kayak so that she’s about ten feet in front of me, facing into the Sound. Then she sets up, placing her paddle on the kayak’s hull.
The whale surfaces again, using his tail to thrust himself up, this time clearly looking at us. Mackie remains perfectly quiet, focused on where the whale has shot up. Nothing on the water moves for maybe a minute.
Suddenly, standing high, he leaps out of the water almost on top of us. Only twenty feet away at the most! It’s the spy move again. Holding his head above the waves, his eyes fix on Mackie as he groans! I can’t breathe. We’re sitting meat. He could kill us!
But Mackie doesn’t move. The concentric waves from the orca’s water displacement flow around her kayak. I’m set up the same way, and the waves ripple around me, too.
The whale bobs up and down five times, slowly, always concentrating on Mackie. Her head never turns away from him. Then he disappears under the surface. We wait. I’m going to break my paddle, I’m holding it so tight. What if he’s under us? He emerges again several hundred feet away, and with a final slap of his flipper fins puts on a show of three diving leaps, and he’s gone.
I watch in total wonder as he disappears.
“That was unreal,” I call out. Then I notice she’s slumped over the front of her boat. “Mackie!” I dip my paddle furiously and tear alongside her. She’s too quiet: arms stretched out in front of her, hands resting loosely on her paddle. She’s scaring the bejeezus out of me.
“Mackie?” I ask, my voice skating off the water. “Are you okay?”
She pushes up a little against the kayak’s deck, only to slump down again.
“Shhh,” she says in a shaky voice, “I need a minute.”
So we sit under the loud moon glow. I turn my paddle over and over in my hands, worried. Mackie lies against her kayak’s deck, really out of it. After what has to be at least ten minutes, she pushes herself up and, not looking at me, gingerly turns her boat around. Because the tide has been with us, we’ve floated close to shore. I paddle just behind her, keeping my eyes glued to her back, watching her progress.
Once near the shoreline, I ease in next to her. When she turns to look at me I see that her face is drawn and she’s exhausted, like she’s just finished running a hard race, flat out.
“Sorry. I guess I need some help,” she says.
I slip out of my boat and pull it onto the beach. Then I return to Mackie, wading back in the calm shore water and bend down so she can leverage herself against me. It takes a while, but finally she’s upright. I slip my left shoulder under her right arm and half drag her to the beach. She sits on the cold, wet sand and cobblestones with her head down in her hands.
Returning to the water once more, I haul her kayak out and place it on the rack.
I check in with her again. “Are you okay?” I ask, needing to have some idea whether she can walk.
“Yeah, thanks. I think it’s going be a few minutes before I can get up the stairs.” But, her eyes beg me for help.
I think about that as I put our paddles and vests back in storage. As I approach Mackie, I see her shaking even harder than when we climbed out of our boats. I don’t have a jacket to give her so I sit on the ground, holding her against my chest, hoping my body will warm hers.
“Mackie, I’ve seen orcas hunting for food before, but this was the closest I’ve ever been to one. He was huge! I’m thinking thirty feet. We had six tons of whale next to us.”
“Yeah, he was big. And really sick. I need to get some dry clothes on. So do you,” she says.
I help her to stand. I want to ask her more about the whale. Not now, her eyes tell me.
Moving wouldn’t be fast, I know that right off. I’m afraid to let go of her because her balance isn’t good and she might fall over. So, I keep an arm around her. I feel Mackie’s weight against my side. We retrace our steps up the rough stone stairway and enter the Spence’s house through their back door. Gus, the family’s basset hound, greets us with nose bumps and follows us to the kitchen.
She looks at me and lets out a big sigh. “Will you call Jen?”
“Why?”
“Tell her that I’m not feeling well, that you walked me home, and you’re going home, too.”
I send a text to Jen:
mac not feeling 2 well I walked her home & am going home sorry 2 miss UR party
In a few seconds, I read Jen’s reply:
2 bad. Miss U B good.
Mackie looks at the kitchen clock. It’s close to ten. With one hand on the kitchen counter, she appears to have more strength, but occasionally shakes in an uneven shudder. “Sorry. I just don’t want anyone to worry when we don’t go back to the party,” she says.
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
“Jer, I have to take a shower or I won’t warm up. If you want, you can too, in the guest room.”
I know the house well. The guest bedroom and bath are just off the main room.
She calls after me. “Use the bathrobe on the shelf and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll put your clothes in the dryer. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say, still feeling like I’m in some play where I don’t know my role. What is going on with Mackie tonight, and why am I part of it?
The spray of shower water registers hot against my chilled skin. My body soon is warm and relaxed, but my mind races. What if her parents come home early? How can we explain any of this? I quickly towel dry and put on a large, white bathrobe, wondering if Mackie has finished taking her shower.
Padding to the kitchen with my wet briefs, jeans, and shirt clutched in front of me like an offering to the dryer gods, I see Mackie standing next to two steaming cups.
I swallow hard. She looks so beautiful, her hair long, already dried and shiny, a light blue T-shirt bringing out color in her cheeks. She wears a pair of old, faded blue jeans that have patches on the back pockets.
“I didn’t know if you wanted some, but I made us hot chocolate. I’ll set the dryer on extract and speed dry,” she says.
I hand her my soggy clothes. She turns the corner into a hallway, disappearing while I take my first sip of hot chocolate. It tastes so good I could gulp the scalding liquid and be finished before she’s back.
She returns within seconds. I sit on a padded bar stool at the kitchen counter and turn to face her. Mackie walks right to me and I put my arms around her as she lays her head on my shoulder. She’s still, not saying anything, just hugs me close.
After a while, she turns her head and kisses me on my neck near my ear. I tense at the feeling of her lips on my skin, and shift so I can kiss her. Time gets lost for both of us.
Then the dryer
buzzer sounds and she backs away, leaving me somewhere between wanting more and amazed that anything has happened at all.
Before she leaves the room to respond to the dryer signal, she turns back to me.
“I have to thank you for what you did,” she begins.
I wave my hand and shake my head.
Still looking at me, she continues. “I’m sure that the whale was what was pulling me to the shore. I didn’t know that when we left Jen’s, or what would happen. As soon as we were near the water, I knew something was coming to meet us. He was so sick.” She waves her hand as if pushing away at cobwebs. “I’ll get your clothes and we can talk.”
As she left, I suck in a deep breath. What a night! And it’s not over yet. Will Mackie tell me what all of this means?
She returns and hands me my warm clothes. My jeans feel a little stiff from saltwater, but dry.
I walk to the guestroom, dress, and head back to the kitchen. I find Mackie waiting in the great room, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes closed. When she opens them, she looks me over carefully like she’s studying something about me.
“What?”
“Come on,” she says, and leads me up the stairway to the second floor of the house.
She turns at her bedroom. I’ve been in her room many times over the years, but always with our friends. One time, when we were nine, everyone played on the floor with glass and agate marbles her father gave her. When the game was over, and as the others left to go home, she motioned for me to stay. She held out a milky-blue lutz marble with wavy gold ribbon edged in white. Mackie smiled at me, and time seemed to slow down; there was something close between us as she handed me the beautiful ball. It still makes me feel like we share something special.
Her room has been redecorated and looks quite different now, with dark green walls and long, brown and green velvet drapes covering the windows. A tall, ornately carved wood and glass cabinet has been positioned off to one side, with shelves that hold baseball-sized crystals. I recognize them as part of a rock and mineral collection that used to be in Nick Spence’s home office. Mackie’s room doesn’t look at all girly anymore; it looks more like an enchanted forest.
“We can talk here,” she says.
I stand mute, unsure of what to do.
Looking at the other side of the room, I notice her bed is still fitted with the fan like, seashell-shaped headboard she’d had as a girl. Her desk holds her notebook, school bag, some old books stacked in piles, and a red leather box, overflowing with bracelets. Above the desk are an antique oval mirror and a board with photos. I recognize some of the group prints from when we were kids.
Mackie takes my hand and tows me to the bed. “I want to tell you what I think happened tonight.” She sits on the edge of the bed and then stretches out on her side taking up half of the space. “I’ll share,” she says, smiling, handing me a pillow. I flash back to childhood summer pillow fights with our friends. Then she scoots further across the bed, looks up at me, and says, “There’s plenty of room.”
Not knowing what she has in mind, I lie next to her and nod. At the same time, I try to contain my excitement. That doesn’t work. Mackie raises her eyebrows and gives me a grin. I smile back, feeling embarrassed. She’s seen all of us guys with woodies at some point over the years. This is different. This is just the two of us.
She puts her right hand on my arm. Surprisingly, her touch makes me relax.
“You heard the orca groaning, right? I think he was full of toxins.”
I nod.
“I can tell you what it felt like to me, and what I think happened. But you have to promise that you won’t talk about this with anyone. Okay? It will sound too crazy,” she says, worry in her eyes.
“I promise.”
“At Jen’s, I was fine until just before you showed up. Then, I started to get this odd feeling like something was pulling at me. Kind of like when you hold the end of a vacuum cleaner hose close to your skin and the air sucks and pulls.
“I knew I had to leave, that I had to pay attention to that feeling. It seemed like it came from the direction of my house, so I decided to follow it. When we started walking, the vacuum pressure increased. That’s why I asked if we could run. It was like I needed to get there, faster and faster.
“I could tell the pulling came from the water. But I didn’t know how far out. The kayaks at least put us closer. When the orca surfaced, I knew. He was in trouble, and he was alone. He’d left his pod to find me. I needed to help him. So I waited until he could stay close to us.”
I nod.
“He kept surfacing and looking at me. That started the connection between us. I couldn’t have left, even if I wanted to. He felt stronger every time he looked at me.”
I could feel my eyes opening wider, and my muscles tensing.
“Mackie, this is really ah . . . different,” I say. “What did it feel like for you?”
She pauses and bites her lower lip.
“Once we made eye contact, I was locked in to him. Then, my energy moved to him. In the end, I couldn’t move. Not even to paddle.”
I’m fascinated. I’ve never heard anything before like what she’s describing. And she can’t be making it up. Everything fits with what took place around us. I saw most of it from behind her, in my kayak. She hadn’t moved at all, until after he left.
“You remember that last series of dives? He was thanking me. It was so weird. I helped him, and he tried to give me something back. It sounds bizarre, I know.” She shakes her head.
“So after he left, I lost it for a while. I’m really glad you went out with me.” Her eyes stay on mine for my reaction. I feel overwhelmingly protective of her in this moment. I won’t let anything bad happen to her.
Mackie cuddles into me, resting her head against my chest and putting her arm around my back. I hope I can stay cool, okay respectful, because she still seems kind of fragile from our time on the water. She resumes speaking, this time not looking at me.
“I had the same feeling when our boat capsized this summer. I was in the water getting really cold. Then, it felt like whatever happened, I would be okay. It was peaceful. And tonight, when the orca was with us, I felt the same way. Does this sound psycho to you? Who would think about jumping in the water with a whale?” She looks up at me.
I smooth her hair. “I don’t think you’re mental. I was there the whole time and you didn’t do anything weird. The whale was awesome. So were you. How did you know what was wrong with him, that he was sick and needed you?”
“I’m not sure. I just knew. And I knew that all I had to do was keep my eyes on his. Then I felt drained, and when he left his energy was really big.”
Now I can’t help myself. I begin kissing her hair, and my lips stray down to hers. She breaks out of our kiss with a low sigh.
“Jer, the way the animals at the shelter have been and now this whale, I think that has to be related somehow. I’ve heard Doc talking with Gabe about how fast the animals have been healing. I feel funny, like I’m boasting. But you’re the only person who’s asked me about it.”
“Right,” I say. “The animals pay attention to you like they’re waiting for something. They show you a lot of respect. It’s like you’re everyone’s alpha. They don’t do that with the rest of us. And Gabe’s been the shelter’s director for a long time, so he would see the accelerated healing. The animals do seem to recover faster after you’ve been with them. Do you have that same drained feeling when you leave the shelter?”
She thinks my question over. “Well, not nearly as much as I felt with the whale, but I’ve been pulled to animals and, after I’ve been with them, I feel kind of zapped.”
We stay quiet for a minute or so, mulling over what she’s said.
“I have another question,” I say.
“No, not another,” she teases.
“Uh, why is this happening, now? Or, has it been happening but you haven’t noticed it before?”
“That’s t
wo questions. Two good questions. I don’t know. And I’ve thought about it a lot. Why me? It’s not like I asked for this.”
So she’s been trying to figure things out all along. I want to stay and talk with her all night. I check my watch. It’s just eleven.
Mackie’s eyes have closed. Has she fallen asleep? I run my fingers through the ends of her hair. Her eyes open. She’s wide-awake now.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she says.
I pull her in closer, eliminating any space between us as a shiver runs up and down my body.
“You too?” she asks.
Yeah, me too. I smile, knowing what she means.
We hold each other, and this time I don’t feel like I have to be embarrassed about my totally turned on reaction to her. There’s no question about her knowing I think she’s hot.
Finally, I say, “Hey, I need to be home by eleven thirty.”
“Okay,” she says, sleep rolling through her voice.
I swing my legs off the bed and sit up. If I’m too late, Jen’s parents will get a worried call from my mom. I need to run to be home near curfew, but I can cruise for hours just off the excitement of the evening, especially the way I felt holding her.
Mackie walks me downstairs and watches as I torture my feet into my wet shoes.
Before I leave, she hugs me and says, with a mysterious smile, “I’ll call you tomorrow. This time, I have a question for you.”
CHAPTER 4
Sunday mornings have always been prime sleep time. On this Sunday, though, I wake at six thirty, my brain in overdrive.
Lying in bed, propped up on pillows with my notebook open, I list what I know to be true:
Animals respond to Mackie’s presence by showing her respect and submission.
Mackie is pulled to sick and wounded animals through some kind of air vacuum.
Mackie either generates or accelerates animals’ recoveries through an energy transfer.
Mackie feels tired or, in the case of the orca, drained, after being with a sick animal.