Chapter Twenty-Six
I DON’T HAVE TIME to ask any more questions, because we have to run.
Literally. All the way back to the car, where Oliver chucks the bag in the back seat, and then down the sidewalk, straight onto the boardwalk.
I’d be stressed if we weren’t laughing the entire time, my hand in his as my short legs struggle to keep up with the length of his stride.
All the heaviness of our conversation dissolves with every giggle that bursts out of me, every look back from him, both our faces flushed and smiles wide as we dodge people all along the pier.
When we slow to a stop near the end, I’m breathless and warm.
We’ve arrived at what can only be called a red shack on stilts.
There’s a white sign dangling from the awning, bearing the words “A Whale of a Time Cruises” in loopy cursive blue paint.
There’s already a small group of ten or so people gathered near a docked double-decker boat.
On the hull of the boat, the name Moby Deck is printed in more blue cursive lettering.
“We’re doing a boat tour?” I ask as I unzip my jacket.
“Whale watching, yes,” he replies lightly, but then his forehead scrunches as he looks at me. “Is that all right? We may not see anything because it’s so late in the season, and I should have asked if you even like—”
“Oliver, it’s more than okay.” I put my hand on his arm and smile at him. “I don’t even care if we don’t see whales. I’m always down to get on a boat. I just have one question.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Oh?”
“Is it a bad omen if the boat is named after a whale who kills a bunch of people?” I ask as we sidle up to the shack’s window.
He smirks as he glances back at me. “Would it make you feel better if I called you Ishmael during the trip?”
“What would that make you then? Ahab?” I wonder out loud. “I don’t want you to die, either.”
“I think we’re safe. This company has been in business since I was a kid.”
Oliver shows the man at the window something on his phone—tickets he already bought, I assume—and then we’re ushered on board by a friendly staff member in a red T-shirt with a picture of a puffin riding a whale on it.
We find a place to stand near the bow that provides an ample view of the harbor.
The boat sways and bobs beneath our feet.
“I’m surprised you know so much about Moby Dick,” Oliver says, his forearms propped against the railing of the boat. “I thought you weren’t a big reader.”
“We read it in college. I guess it stuck with me,” I reply. “We were in the same lit class at Juilliard, remember?”
“I remember.”
His voice is soft when he responds. I tear my gaze away from the sparkling water and turn to glance at him on my left.
He’s already looking at me, his gaze hidden behind those damn sunglasses, and I wonder what those memories look like for him, wonder how it feels when he thinks back on those four years we spent circling each other, if he ever thinks about what went down the last night we saw each other.
The questions are forming on my tongue when the boat pulls away from the pier and the captain’s voice booms over the speaker system.
Wind whips through my hair as the captain begins a safety lecture, providing instructions on where to find life jackets and flotation devices should things go south on our tour.
This is followed by talk of refreshments and food available for purchase, as well as where to find the onboard bathrooms.
It’s clear the moment is gone. I swallow all questions I want to ask. Blink back the memories until they dissolve.
Our vessel picks up speed as we exit the crowded harbor.
Despite the dazzling sun, the temperature drops dramatically once we’re out in the open water.
I zip up my jacket as cool wind laced with the brine of the ocean lashes at my exposed skin.
Out here, I can feel the promise of winter, another stark reminder that we’re hurtling toward the end of our time in Maine—when it will no longer be just us.
“Cold?” Oliver asks, cutting through the captain’s spiel about the history and establishment of Boothbay Harbor.
“A little,” I admit as a shiver runs through me.
“Take my jacket.”
He’s already unzipping his sleek black coat when I turn to face him, shaking my head in protest. “No, no, no. Then you’ll freeze. I’m fine. The sun is shining. I’ll warm up when we slow down.”
I jam my hands into the pockets of my jacket and raise my eyebrows, as if to say, See, it’s not so bad.
He flattens his lips. Cold ocean water sprays us and we both startle, then laugh.
I shake my head at how easy it was for nature to prove me wrong as Oliver steps behind me, caging me in with his warmth.
With our shared body heat, it’s much easier to enjoy being out on the open water.
My lungs expand with great gulping breaths in my chest as I relish the freedom of the outside world.
The hum of the boat’s engine, coupled with the chop of the waves against the hull, is loud.
Finally, my life is loud again—I take great comfort in the noise and the rush of the wind.
It almost feels like New York on a particularly gusty day.
“We received word from our friends up the coast that a pod of humpbacks was spotted about an hour ago,” the captain says, his voice barely audible over all the water noise. “If we’re lucky, we may come across their path as they move south.”
To my right, a woman in a red coat lets out a little squeal of excitement. “Did you hear that, honey? We may actually see some whales this time!”
“Third time’s a charm,” the man to her right yells.
I crane my neck to look back at Oliver. “Have you seen whales before?”
“Twice,” he replies. “Once when we went sailing here when I was a kid, and again when I was in Hawaii in my early twenties. You?”
“No. I’ve only ever seen dolphins in Florida. We tried to see whales in Puerto Rico once, but it didn’t work out.”
“Your family is from Puerto Rico, right?”
“My mom’s side, yeah,” I reply. “My dad’s side is from Cuba.”
“Hence the salsa club.”
Surprised that he made the connection, I blink up at him. “You know about that?”
“Of course I do. You talked about it when we were at school.”
A little stunned, I turn back around as the boat slows to a stop.
I know I told all my college friends about Besos; we even went up there a couple of times once we were old enough to legally drink.
Oliver must have been around when I talked about it, but I don’t remember him ever acknowledging it, let alone showing any interest in anyone’s life outside of our schoolwork.
In my periphery, I can see the coast is simply a blurry line in the distance; we’re really out in the open ocean now.
The vessel jostles and sways in the water as everyone on deck tries to stabilize themselves.
Without the roaring wind or the thrum of the engine, the waves and seabirds circling overhead sound impossibly loud.
The captain’s voice crackles to life over the loudspeaker again.
“All right, folks, we’re going to drift here for a bit in hopes we see some whales.
As a reminder, we have snacks, beer, wine, and nonalcoholic refreshments available for purchase in the interior lounge.
We’ve also got some boat-friendly games available if your little ones get bored, but try to keep your eyes on the water! ”
“Good thing neither of us gets seasick,” I say as I grip the railing for support, my hands right next to his.
“No kidding, Ishmael,” he replies wryly. “You want anything to eat or drink?”
“I’m okay for now. Thanks, though.”
Around us, people mill about the boat, but I’m content just to stand there, leaning into Oliver’s warm torso while I watch the gentle, glittering waves. Out here, it’s easy to be with him, to take comfort in his quiet strength. To know that he sees me, just like I see him.
“Why are they doing that?” I ask as I point toward a cluster of birds circling the same spot some twenty yards away.
Before Oliver can answer, the surface of the water breaks. Directly underneath the gulls, a spout of water erupts, just before a humpback whale breaches the water in a magnificent twisting flip. It crashes back into the waves with enough force that our boat rocks from the impact.
“We’ve got whales, folks! Starboard side! Hurry!” the captain yells over the speaker.
There’s a flurry of people behind us. In an effort to see, they push Oliver and me closer to the railing until his front side is completely flush with my back. The boat sways with the sudden movement, but Oliver’s arms prevent me from being smashed.
Not that I care—I’m transfixed by the sight of two, three, then four humpback whales skimming the surface of the water less than a hundred feet away. One of them rockets out of the water again, impossibly fast and high for an animal so huge, before flopping back into the ocean on its back.
Awestruck, I murmur, “Just beautiful.”
Oliver shifts behind me, dipping his head to the side so that his breath is warm against my temple. “Yes. Beautiful.” When his hands grip the railing harder, I can’t tell if he’s referring to what we’re witnessing, or me.
When we get back to the house that afternoon, everything I’d shoved into the far corners of my mind comes rushing back: Chris’s dinner invite, the orchestra sessions, Rebecca’s latest texts.
I know she’s right; private dinners like the one Chris is hosting are full of industry people who are all scouting their next creative partners.
The number of doors that could open for me just by going to this thing and shaking hands with the right people—it’s so staggering that I’ve been sweating since I first saw her messages hours ago.
This is exactly what I’ve been hoping for, waiting for, working toward for years.