“And so it is,” Sawyer said.
“Fuck,” was all she could think to say.
Minnow slid off her stool and made a run for the beach. She knew her behavior was not very professional, but that’s what happened when your passion became your profession. The lines blurred and you cared more than you should. It made her think of Luke’s cryptic comment.I care too, probably too much.She walked to the far end of the beach and sank down into the sand, feeling broken. She had failed at the one thing she came here to accomplish.
She never expected the journey here to be smooth, and all along a hunt had been a real possibility, but this news felt like an execution, a slaying. Maybe she was irrational, or more probably, insane. What kind of person chooses sharks over people? That was the question that often reared up at times like this. Even as a young girl, she had been more interested in what was underwater than above it. She was flawed and weird and unfixable. A freak of nature with an indelible connection to these ancient animals. If she thought the hunt would do any good, it would be another story.
She lay back and spread her arms out wide, looking up at orangefeathers streaking across the sky. The beauty did nothing for her. Coming here had been a waste of time, she now realized. Sidetracking her own work, putting off therapy and running off here with grand notions of enlightening the world about sharks. All for nothing. She’d call Joe in the morning and let him know she was leaving. It was the only thing to do that made sense. Because the truth of the matter was, staying for the hunt would ruin her.
An eye for an eye.
The sand cradled her head and she grabbed handfuls of it, letting it pour through her fingers. She lay there panting in the heat, haunted by the memory of the dead shark at Catalina. As the sky darkened, she settled to the wingbeats of herons, crabs digging holes all around her and a mongoose slithering in and out of the bush nearby. The world and its creatures were good at carrying on even when it felt like she couldn’t. Maybe there was a lesson in there.
On down the beach a ways, footsteps vibrated through the ground. She turned her head to see. Luke. Of course it was. He seemed to be everywhere. In the half dark, she watched him wade out into the water, pull off his shirt, step out of his shorts and stuff them in a dry bag. Only in a Speedo, he somehow looked leaner. And hotter. He didn’t look her way, and she was glad for it. In this vulnerable state, who knew what might happen.
Swimming out, he lay on his back and kicked, holding the bag on his stomach like a sea otter. It was a short swim, but the water was black and eerie. Something about this weather raised the hair on her arms. Storm weather. She hoped Luke knew what he was doing. By the time he made it to the boat, she could just make out his silhouette. The anchor chain clanked against the boat and she heard the anchor fall heavy on the fiberglass. Then the motor sputtered to life, running lights went on, and instead of heading out, he came straight for shore. Straight forher.
Journal Entry
From the journal of Minnow Gray
January 7, 1998
Memory is nonlinear and is strongly tied to our emotions. It is commonly believed that when we experience a highly emotional event, our brains are more likely to encode and store it vividly. Our amygdala and hippocampus working hand in hand. Yet it also turns out that some memories are so painful, they hide out in our brain, unable to be accessed. This dissociation is designed to protect us, but it also causes distress down the road.
My therapist says that we need to root out the memory of my father’s death in order for me to fully heal, but my question is: Does anyone ever fully heal? I really just want to know what happened. I know that’s probably simplistic, and there’s got to be all kinds of trauma and weirdness buried in my subconscious mind that I’m scared to set free. When I think about all this, what stands out the most to me is that our brains are little miracles (I saylittlebecause an adult white shark brain is about two feet long). They are imperfectly perfect and I love mine for fighting so hard to keep me safe.
I think Emily Dickinson said it best: “The brain is wider than the sky.”
Chapter 22
The Ride
Hekili: thunder; to thunder; figuratively, passion or rage
Minnow sat upright, wiping her eyes as sand poured down her back. Even more reason to swim when she got home. Luke was still headed to her end of the beach and she figured he must have forgotten something. Just before hitting the sand, he cut the engine and tilted the prop up.
He was looking right at her. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
There was no question in his voice.
She stood and dusted off her rear. “How did you know I was down here?”
“Just a hunch.”
“No, really. Tell me.”
“I went to the bar to grab some nuts and a bag of chips for my ride and saw Sawyer. He told me.”
Minnow went to the water’s edge. Fortunately, she was wearing jean shorts, because the tiniest wave splashed up on her legs, soaking them.
“Where are you going at this hour?” she asked.
“I was hoping to see some of the meteor shower before that bank of clouds moves in.”
She hadn’t heard anything of a meteor shower, and stars had begun to show but only in the northeastern part of the sky. The rest was a blank slate of gunmetal ready to swallow them up.
“Fine. I’ll come. As long as you’re not going to be fishing.”
