I just do.
Esme
I have to go. Our tour is starting. Keep me posted, please.
Seraphina
I will. Go enjoy your adventure. Say hi to Grady.
Esme
Will do.
Everyone else said goodnight, and I put the phone away, feeling better. My friends didn’t necessarily have answers, but they were always there to listen. And right now, that’s just what I needed.
Early Saturday morning,we drove south to the location of our boat excursion. Hunter had driven us in Margaret’s car, as his truck wasn’t suited for three of us. We’d stopped for coffees and scones on the way, chatting excitedly about what we were about to experience. We parked along the harbor just as the morning fog was beginning to lift, hovering over the water.
We got out of the car and donned heavy jackets, as the wind was strong, carrying the scents of kelp and seaweed mixed with diesel. A small crowd had already gathered near the dock, waiting to board the boat. Gulls circled overhead, making unnecessary racket.
Our boat’s white paint was worn in places, scuffed from use, and the name along the side had been sun-faded to a soft blue. A crew member checked us in with a clipboard, then pointed us toward a narrow ramp onto the boat, which rocked against the dock, bumping with a hollow thud each time.
Onboard, the air felt even colder. The wind whipped through my hair, slipping down the collar of my jacket.
“Ooh, it’s cold,” I said.
“It is, yeah.” Hunter reached into his jacket and pulled out a knit cap. “Wear this.” He came closer, tugging it over my hair. I immediately felt warmer. I caught the scent of Hunter’s cologne in the fibers of the yarn. I might never take it off again.
Soon enough, all the guests had boarded. As we pulled away from the dock, the harbor opened slowly, the clustered boats giving way to wider stretches of water. Tyler went to stand by the side, peering over the railing. Once we cleared the breakwater, the tide shifted from the relatively calm harbor into long, rolling swells. The boat rose with each one, making me feel a littlequeasy. Hunter sidled up next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me against his chest.
“You okay?” Hunter asked.
“Little nauseous.”
“Look at the water ahead. That should help. Tell me about the colors you see.”
“Not blue. Gray, layered with green. Changes depending on the way the light hits it.”
“Isn’t it spectacular?” Hunter asked.
Spray caressed my face, cold against my cheeks and tasting of salt when I licked my lips. Around us, people leaned into the motion of the boat, hands braced on the rail.
The captain’s voice came over the speaker, pointing out directions and things to look for. “Look off to the port side. Keep your eyes there.”
Hunter and I turned to look, but, at first, I didn’t see anything except the endless shifting water. Then someone pointed, and everyone’s gazes followed, excitement in the air. I narrowed my eyes, scanning the surface, trying to separate one dark shape from another. There was a sudden burst of mist, straight up from the water, hanging there for a second like breath on a winter morning. The whale showed himself, a curve of his dark back rising from the surface, smooth but not sleek, and marked and textured. We heard the sound of a forceful exhale, cutting through the wind and engine noise.
The whale rolled forward and disappeared again under the water. For a moment, there was nothing but the gray surface. Then, a little farther out, he surfaced again, I couldn’t move or breathe as I watched this ancient dance—the rise, the breath, the slow arc of his back. When he dove, the tail lifted last, broad and dark, water streaming off the edges before it slipped beneath the surface and was gone.
The boat drifted slightly as the captain adjusted position, the engine lowering to a quiet hum. Whereas there had been anticipation earlier, the crowd was now hushed and subdued, awed by what we’d just seen. We all waited, scanning the water again, knowing now what to look for.
Another spout in the distance. Then another. Everyone cheered, suddenly pulled from our collective trance.
“Alright, folks,” the captain’s voice came over the speaker again.“We’ve got a couple of them moving through here. I’m going to cut the engine for a minute and drop the hydrophone so we can listen in.”
The engine quieted, the steady vibration beneath my feet fading until all that remained was the sound of wind and water. Without the motor, the ocean felt bigger and our boat smaller.
A crew member moved to the side of the boat, lifting the lid on a small compartment and pulling out a coiled cable attached to what looked like a metal cylinder. He lowered it carefully over the side, hand over hand, until it disappeared beneath the surface.
Everyone remained still and quiet, listening. For a moment, we heard only the slap of water against the hull and the distant cry of a gull, but then a soft crackle came through the overhead speakers, followed by a wavering sound. Not music, but something akin. The sounds rose and fell in long, uneven notes, layered with faint clicks and distant pulses before turning almost mournful.
