The Turning

by Emily Whitman

  “Time?” I called, panting.

  Back on the beach, Nellie looked up from her watch. “Four minutes, thirty-seven seconds.” She wrote the time in her notebook. “Only five seconds faster. Do it again.”

  “What am I aiming for?”

  “Four and a half.”

  I had cut my time from here to a rock in the strait by half a minute. But Nellie insisted I should be doing it in four minutes flat. She was keeping track of my times in her book. She’d set up what she called a training schedule, so I’d be strong enough to swim off, with a pelt or without. And maybe, just maybe, the Moon would notice. I thought I’d been pushing myself hard before, but it was nothing compared to how strong I was getting with Nellie on my side.

  “Come on, lazybones,” she said. “Get going.”

  I threw my head back in mock agony. And there, peering down from the top of the rocks, was a puffin. She nodded a greeting.

  It was the puffin I’d helped at Maggie’s!

  I wanted Nellie to meet her. I stood and called in birdtalk, “Where does the wind carry you?”

  The puffin cocked her head toward Nellie.

  “She good,” I said. “Friend.”

  The puffin flew down and settled on my outstretched arm.

  Nellie gasped, her pencil clattering onto the pebbles. But she didn’t jump or shout or do anything to scare the puffin. That was how she was—she just knew.

  The puffin bowed her head and grunted, “Me find flock. Good.”

  She looked plump and healthy, and her feathers were sleek.

  “You alone?” I asked.

  “Flock near. Me come find you. Thank you.” She nuzzled my ear.

  “Oh!” Nellie said softly. “You’re talking with it!”

  I grinned. “Basic birdtalk. Want to learn some?”

  She nodded, wonderstruck. I motioned her over. She set down the watch and notebook and waded in, thigh deep, over to my rock. I explained to the puffin what we were doing, and she perched between us.

  “What do you want to learn to say?” I asked Nellie.

  “Um, how about your name.”

  I said my name in birdtalk. Then the puffin grunted it, nodding to show she was glad to know what to call me. Then Nellie tried. But she had no idea which part of the sounds mattered. She sounded like a sick goose. The puffin and I laughed.

  “Cut it out!” said Nellie, laughing, too. “Let me try again.”

  I said, “Aran.”

  The puffin said, “Aran.”

  Nellie said, “Eel bottom.”

  The puffin chortled so hard, she lost her footing and flapped to catch her balance.

  “Stop it!” said Nellie, laughing. “Say it again.”

  “Aran,” said the puffin.

  Nellie’s brows lowered in concentration. “Flat bottom.”

  “Aran,” said the puffin.

  “Ar-tom,” said Nellie. “Ar-om. Aran!”

  “That’s it!” I cried.

  Nellie clasped her hands overhead.

  “Good, good,” said the puffin. “More talk.”

  I pulled the stone selkie from my pocket. No one else had ever seen it before.

  Nellie drew in a breath, then reached over and ran a finger along its smooth stone back. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  “Selkie,” I said in birdtalk.

  “Selkie,” said the puffin, with an encouraging look.

  “Sea foot,” said Nellie.

  But with every word, she learned faster, sorting out the trills from the chirps, discovering the importance of pitch. She had almost mastered, “Where does the wind carry you?” when the puffin hopped to my shoulder, nuzzled my cheek, and said, “Me go. See flock.”

  I translated for Nellie.

  “Please tell her thank you,” she said.

  We watched the puffin flap away across the water.

  Nellie sighed in contentment. “This is the best day ever.”

  As usual, I felt the boat before I saw it. This time Nellie felt it, too. It crested the horizon, chugging its way toward Spindle Harbor.

  “There goes your chance to make a better time,” said Nellie.

  “Just wait until tomorrow.” I waded with her through the water, the pebbles rolling underfoot. “I’m going to break four and a half, easy.”

  We ran up the trail, then slowed and walked side by side through the trees until our paths split.

  “Good-bye,” I said in birdtalk.

  “What did you say?”

  “Eel bottom!”

  Our laughter was a ray of light, linking us as we waved good-bye.

  I walked the long way back to Maggie’s, holding on to the bright afternoon, and the joy of seeing the puffin again, and Nellie’s attempts at birdtalk. I rolled the stone selkie in my hand. “Sea foot,” I said, laughing. I barely noticed when I stepped out of the trees and started walking across the gravel toward Maggie’s door. I was hearing the puffin chortle and seeing the concentration on Nellie’s face—

  And then a huge hand clamped down on my shoulder.

  “Tommy?” said a deep voice, breaking. “Tommy, is that you?”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Jack

  He spun me around. I stared up into a stubbled face, lined and leathered by the sun. I smelled smoke and sweat, and something sickly sweet on his breath. He pulled me closer, his eyes struggling to focus.

  “Tommy?” he said, less certain this time.

  My heart was pounding out of my chest. He wasn’t supposed to be here yet! I forced myself not to run.

  Now he really saw me. His brows lowered. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing at my house? In Tommy’s clothes?” His grip tightened on my shoulder. “What are you doing with his seal?”

  He shook my shoulder until words came tumbling out. “I—I—I live here,” I stuttered. “My mam’s finding a place for us to live, and it’s secret with the divorce—”

  “Maggie would have told me,” he growled.

  But I couldn’t stop, and now Maggie’s story got mixed in with Mam’s. “—And my father can’t know, and I’m Maggie’s nephew, and my mam will—”

  “Well, that’s a lie. She doesn’t have a nephew.” He let go of my shoulder and grabbed my wrist. “Give it to me.”

  My stone selkie, my gift from the Moon—

  And then Maggie was at the door. “Aran!” she shouted. “Give it to him!” It was too much for her. She shuddered, struggling to hold back a cough, and then hunched in pain as it ripped through her. Jack and I stared, frozen.

  “Go on,” Maggie gasped between coughs. “Give him the seal.”

  I opened my hand. The stone selkie lay on my palm, staring up at me—and then Jack snatched her and she was gone.

  Inside, I rubbed my sore wrist while Maggie made Jack a cup of coffee. They sat at the kitchen table. He took a slim bottle from his pocket and poured something into the mug. It was the sickly sweet smell on his breath.

  “Welcome home,” said Maggie. “I didn’t expect you for a few weeks yet.”

  Jack’s head drooped and he stared down at his mug. “Yeah, well, that idiot captain decided he wanted a smaller crew. Too cheap to split the profits. Didn’t even give me half of what I should’ve made.” He took a leather holder from his pocket and threw it on the table.

  But Maggie’s sad eyes were resting on the bottle. “Again, Jack?”

  He glowered at her, his hands tightening around the mug. “That’s not the point, Maggie.” He lifted his head and leaned forward like he was ready to fight. “What’s this kid doing here, in my house, in my son’s room? He’s wearing Tommy’s clothes! What the hell haven’t you been telling me, Maggie?” Now he was yelling, and Maggie shrank down small. “I go off to work and it’s like I don’t even exist! Who’s the kid, and what’s he doing living in my house?” He slapped his hands down on the table, like he was going to push himself up. Then he’d be towering over her.

  “I’ll go,” I said, inching toward the d
oor.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” said Jack. “Not until someone tells me what’s going on.”

  For some reason Maggie didn’t tell him about Mam coming in the middle of the night. She spun a story with lots of fake details about how she’d met my mother at the store, and something about common names and a phone number that wasn’t working. But the last part was all too true. “She should have been back by now,” said Maggie. “She must have run into trouble.”

  Jack shook his head. “Not our problem. Call Social Services. What do we pay taxes for? He can go into foster care.”

  My gut wrenched around. I hadn’t expected to have to swim off so soon.

  Then Jack’s big hands cradled his mug. In a softer voice, he said, “You’re sick, Maggie. Taking care of a kid’s going to make you sicker. And we can’t afford another mouth to feed.”

  I was waiting for her to agree. She was wringing her hands, over and under, over and under. She looked up at him. “I . . . I like having him here, Jack.”

  The softness fled. His face darkened. He stood, banging his chair into the table. At the counter, he jerked a drawer open and pulled out a ring jangling with metal shards.

  “I’m going to have a drink with Harry,” he said.

  “You shouldn’t be driving,” said Maggie.

  He slammed the drawer and stormed out. The truck sped off in a spray of gravel.

  Maggie was breathing shallow and fast, with a strange, wheezing sound. I helped her into the big chair by the fire. Her head fell back against the faded fabric. In her lap, her hands lay still and twisted, the dried-out roots of a toppled tree.

  When she finally spoke, her voice came from far away. “Oh, Lord, Aran. What were you doing with Tommy’s seal?”

  It felt like a slap in the face. The stone selkie couldn’t be Tommy’s. She was my courage. My gift from the Moon.

  “Jack won it in a card game in Alaska. Said it was worth something, given how much they were betting. He carried it around like a lucky charm. Things were good back then. He worked hard. Didn’t drink much. The captains always took him on.”

  I didn’t want to listen. I turned my head away, but she kept talking.

  “He gave it to Tommy on his fifth birthday. You should have seen that boy’s eyes light up. He was always playing with it, making it little hidey-holes. He slept with it under his pillow. Jack would come home after months on the boat, and there’d come Tommy, running up with that seal in his hand.” She gave a deep sigh. “Lord, he loved that boy.”

  Her voice grew lower.

  “Jack was off on a salmon boat when Tommy got the fever. He was burning up. No matter what I did, the fever wouldn’t go down. Then he was writhing and twisting and didn’t know me anymore. I was so scared! I carried him out to the pickup and drove to the dock. The boat, the ambulance . . . I was sitting by his bed in the hospital, that cold, white room. Trying to get through to Jack on his boat. Holding Tommy’s hand. And then the doctor’s face . . .”

  Her own face was as white as bone. The only thing left was sorrow; everything else had leached away.

  “Back home, after we buried him, Jack searched for that seal for days. Like it could bring Tommy back.” She looked at me, shaking her head. “And now it turns up in your hand.”

  Then she caught herself. She sat up straighter and tried to smile. “Don’t you worry, Aran. Jack’s all right when he doesn’t drink. I’ll figure something out. We still have a little time.”

  Her words were brave, but her eyes said she didn’t know what to do.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Three Little Coins

  Jack got up late the next morning. He filled the whole house. His steps were loud, and his voice was loud, and he kept banging things down or crashing into them. The louder he got, the quieter Maggie got. She was shrinking away.

  He was walking through the living room when he knocked against the round table by Maggie’s chair. Everything went skidding off. He picked up the box of Kleenex, the small bowl . . .

  “What’s this?” he said. In his palm were two of the doubloons. He stood and turned one over. He ran a finger across the raised marks.

  Maggie came to the kitchen door, wiping her hands with a towel. “That’s just Aran’s pirate gold. Toy gold. He brought them when he came.” She walked over and held out her hand. “Here, I’ll put them back.”

  She’d kept them close by her chair since the second full Moon.

  He was weighing the coins. “Where’d you say they come from?”

  “His mom gave them to him,” said Maggie.

  Jack held one up to the window. “Maggie, that looks like real gold to me.”

  She snorted. “And I’m the queen of England.”

  He picked up the third doubloon from the floor. “Are there more?”

  “No, that’s it,” said Maggie. “Come on, I’ll put them back.”

  But Jack put them in his pocket. They clinked against the stone selkie, and I winced.

  “I’m going to find Harry,” he said, walking to the kitchen. He came back with the ring of metal shards. “Might take a boat to the big island and have someone take a look at those coins. Just in case.” He opened the door. “Don’t wait dinner.”

  As soon as the truck rumbled away, I dashed outside. I had to swim off some tension, or I wouldn’t be able to think or sleep or figure out what to do. I was clambering down—and then stopped, staring at the stone selkie’s empty cave.

  Tommy’s seal.

  Maggie’s story churned around inside me. Was the stone selkie still mine? Had she ever been mine? My face was burning hot. Clenching my teeth, I climbed down to the rocks and dove. And then I swam fast and hard for a long, long time, trying to wash the thoughts away.

  I was climbing back up the cliff when the truck growled into earshot. It skidded to a stop. I reached the top in time to see Jack striding to the door. “Maggie!” he called, pulling it open. “Maggie, guess what!”

  I shook myself dry. Through the window, I saw him standing over Maggie’s big chair. He reached into his pocket.

  “Look, Maggie, look!” he crowed. “We’re rich!”

  I walked up to the house and stood quietly by the open door, where I could see better. He was thrusting out a handful of green paper.

  “All that for three little coins!” Jack said.

  Maggie looked at the wad of green paper in her lap, her eyes widening. “You mean they were real?”

  “Gen-u-ine, finest quality, treasure-chest gold! So old it’s worth a bundle.”

  She picked up the green paper and started leafing through, staring at the numbers in the corners. Her mouth fell open.

  Jack looked taller, his eyes brighter. “Maggie, listen, I got a plan. That’s enough right there for a down payment on a fishing boat. Not anything fancy, something used—I’ll need to do a lot of work on it—but a boat, Maggie. A boat of my own.”

  Her hands had stilled in her lap.

  “I’ll be my own boss,” said Jack. “No more getting fired, no more worrying about a paycheck. I’ll work hard and make the payments and there’ll be enough left over. There’ll be money for doctors, Maggie. It’ll take awhile, but—”

  “No,” said Maggie. It was her determined voice, the one that said she wasn’t going to budge.

  Jack jerked back. The air bristled around him. “What?”

  Maggie stood up. “That money belongs to Aran.”

  What was she doing? She needed to stop before he got angry. I took another step into the room. “Maggie . . .” I said.

  Maggie kept talking. “His mom gave it to him. If she doesn’t come back, he’ll need it. To have a stake. Make something of his life. Maybe go to college.”

  Didn’t she see the tension coiling in Jack’s arms? Now I was really getting worried. “I don’t need it,” I said, but no one seemed to hear me.

  Jack’s mouth had narrowed to a thin slash. “What about us, Maggie?” He was breathing hard. “What about our life?”


  Maggie shook her head. Her voice was as clear as it was sad. “It’s too late for us, Jack.”

  His hands clenched into huge fists at his sides, tight as rocks. And his eyes—I knew the feeling behind that look. It was red rage, about to spark and set him on fire. If he stopped thinking, if he let loose, what would he do? And Maggie just stood there, unbowed.

  The next thing I knew, I was standing between her and Jack.

  His chest was heaving up and down. He stared at her, at me—and then he threw back his head and roared, shaking the walls of the room. He raised his fist and my heart stopped—

  He turned and slammed his fist right through the wall. Bits of wall exploded everywhere. A picture tumbled down and glass shattered across the floor. Maggie gasped and pulled me close.

  Jack yanked his fist back through and stood there panting. We all stared at the jagged, gaping hole. There was nothing but the sound of his rough breath, and Maggie’s, and mine.

  Without another word, Jack turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Too Dangerous to Handle

  As soon as he’d driven off, I mumbled an excuse to Maggie and ran out the door. I didn’t know what to do. There were too many parts, all crashing together. How could I swim away, now that I’d seen Jack’s anger? Maggie usually shrank small around him; that meant he got angry a lot. She wasn’t safe alone with him. But I made him even angrier. And then there was the boat. If I could convince Maggie to give him the money, would she be all right? Or would Jack still drink and get angry all over again?

  It was too much for me. I needed Nellie’s help.

  She was pacing in front of her house with a book in her hands and a strange, intent expression on her face. As soon as she saw me she ran over.

  “Nellie, I need to—”

  “Aran, I found—” She stopped, staring at the ring of bruises around my wrist.

  Before she could start again I said, “Tree cave. Come on.”

  We ran all the way, and I needed to run—up hill and through forest, over stone and stream—my feet striking the ground, the air surging through my lungs. We burst out of the trees and onto the shore. I drew in a deep breath of salty air.