Chapter 22
Annie is pulled from slumber by the sound of screaming. But when she opens her eyes, she can no longer hear it. She sits up
and throws a hoodie over her faded Hale’s General Store T-shirt. She checks on Ruth, who’s still sleeping. By the time Annie’s
in the kitchen, Walker and Evan are already on the porch. Henry is there, gesturing at the water.
“If there was a way to put it out of its misery . . .” Henry says, as Annie arrives outside.
A gust of wind hits the side of the cabin and thwacks the screen door closed behind her. “What’s going on?”
“There’s a whale stuck off my bow,” Henry says. “It’s been circling the boat all night. Looks like it’s caught on something
at the bottom.”
“I can see her.” Walker trains his eyes to a spot next to Galene. “She’s definitely stuck.”
“Where is it?” Evan asks.
“Starboard side.” Walker’s already down the stairs, striding out to the bluff.
“What are you doing?” Annie asks.
“Maybe I can help.”
Evan shakes his head. “I still can’t even see it.”
“Probably too deep,” Henry responds. “It can reach the surface for now, but come high tide—-”
Annie remembers the humpback dying on Hale’s beach, her mom wedged up against it, in the water, trying in vain to push it back to sea.
She finishes for him: “It’ll drown.”
Walker insists on rowing the four of them in the dinghy, fast, through whitecaps and wind that works its way under the collar
of Annie’s sweatshirt. She represses the terror of being in rough water so far from shore. Clouds pool overhead, threatening
rain. The water is the colour of lead.
“We won’t be able to cut the lines around it,” Henry says. “Too tangled, too deep.”
Evan stiffens. “No one should get in the water with that thing. It could be deadly.”
“I’ll try,” Walker says.
“You could drown,” Annie says. “Or hypothermia.”
“It’s not that cold,” Walker says.
“It’s cold if you’re under for too long.”
Henry rubs his jaw. “I can’t think of a way to mercifully kill the poor thing. It’s not like we have a harpoon.”
Walker rows harder. It’s not long before they’re alongside Galene. He roots around in a supply box under the seat and pulls out a pocketknife. “I’ll cut the net off,” he says.
“I’m going in with you,” Evan says.
“It doesn’t need two of us.” Walker pulls off his jeans. The dinghy rocks under his weight.
“No way you’re going in,” Annie says again. She puts her hand on his arm. “The water’s too rough.”
“You don’t need to worry about me.” Walker’s grey eyes are unyielding.
“At least wear a life jacket.”
“I can’t dive with that thing on.”
“What if it eats you?”
Walker smiles. “If I leave her, she won’t be able to breathe.”
Why does he think the whale is a she? Annie looks into the water and finally sees it—a shadowy body camouflaged by the water, a knobby dorsal fin and broad tail. A tangle of net pulls at its flukes.
“Careful with your knife so you don’t wound it,” Henry says.
Walker takes off his socks and stuffs them into his boots.
Another barnacled whale snout emerges at the surface. An eruption of breath plumes beside them, a few feet away, smelling
of fish. Then a shudder. A low and cavernous growl.
“There’s more than one down there,” Evan says.
“I am not letting you do this,” Annie says, her voice escalating. “You’re not listening. You could drown!”
“I am listening.” He sits down next to her in his boxer shorts. “I have to do this.” The expression on his face is clear and
unflinching. She stumbles over what else to say, how else to argue.
“You’ve got ten minutes.” Henry ties a guide rope around Walker’s waist. “Then we’ll haul you out one way or another.”
Evan interjects. “I’m going to say right now this is a terrible idea.”
Walker takes Annie’s hand. “Wait for me to come back.” His sound makes her irrationally relaxed. In this exact moment she
both loves and hates this about him. Before she can get in his way, he picks up the knife and dives. A cold spray hits her
skin.
Evan wipes the splash off his face.
“You’ll both see better from the deck on Galene. Go aboard and keep watch,” Henry directs. “I’ll stay here in case he needs me.”
He’s right. On Galene, Annie has a better view. In glimpses, she sees Walker. At first, he comes up to the surface every minute or so. Often enough
for her not to panic. Each time, he looks more distraught. When he’s deep underwater, she can no longer hear his sound.
“You need to get out!” Annie calls down.
“I can’t get my knife under the net.” Walker cuts the guide rope from his waist and tosses it toward Henry.
“Jesus,” Henry mutters.
“It’s not long enough. I need to get underneath her.” He dives again.
Annie paces on the deck next to Evan. It’s well past ten minutes. Twenty, then thirty. Walker’s been under dozens of times,
but this time he’s deeper than she can see.
“I’m going in after him,” Evan says, taking off his shirt. “We can’t let him hurt himself.”
Annie looks at her watch. The red second hand limps around. How long now since he came up for a breath? But then, a flash
of skin. “I see him!” He’s above the whale. “He’s still swimming.”
“He’s going to drown.” Evan pulls off his belt.
“Give it a minute.” Annie holds the lifelines and watches Walker pull against the net with the knife.
He finally surfaces with a handful of loose netting in one hand.
The whale breaches and releases a blast of air through its blowhole. Walker climbs onto Galene’s ladder. Once everyone is aboard, Henry pushes a blanket into his arms.
Annie examines his hands and feet. They’re warm against her own hands. His lips are pink. He’s not even shivering.
“You scared the shit out of us,” Evan yells from the foredeck.
“I’m fine,” Walker says.
But what if he isn’t? She digs out the thermometer from the first aid kit in the lazarette.
“Put this under your tongue.” She places her hand on his forehead, but he feels mysteriously warm. His sound is stronger now.
The thermometer beeps and she pulls it from his mouth. She stares at the grey screen: 37.5 degrees Celsius.
“This can’t be right. It must be broken.”
He pulls on his shirt. “It was easier once I cut the line around me.”
Another puff and snort fill the air. The whale dives under and then breaches again a few metres away, followed by the smack of its colossal body against the surface. A spray of water. A low-pitched groan. They watch, stunned, as the whale submerges again. It feels prehistoric.
“Humpbacks are so good at direction,” Walker says, rubbing the blanket over his wet hair. “They travel their migration paths
with total precision. Less than a one-degree shift off course every single year.”
Annie has a flash of her mom lying next to her on the foredeck of Amphitrite, stretched out under the stars. “Where is the water pulling you? Close your eyes and tell me,” she whispers.
This all feels tenuous and liminal. Repetitious. She wants Walker to explain how he was down so long without breathing and
how he stayed so warm. But before she can ask, another whine crosses the water and more whales moan in the distance. Speechless,
she’s drawn into their melody.
“They follow it like a map,” he says.
Annie is struck by a feeling that she knows this already. But she can’t remember how.
Walker pulls off his wet shorts. Annie turns away from his bare skin.
In the chorus of wind and waves, in the spray of the whale’s breathing, she shakes her head to break the spell. “You have
to get dressed,” she says. “You must be cold.”
The whale puffs around Galene. She releases spouts of air then dives between stone-coloured waves. She seems to want to stay, and Walker is transfixed
by her.
“I want to stay with her awhile,” is all he says.
“I’ll get the crab pots ready.” Henry is already business-as-usual. “We’ll set them out later this morning.”
Evan and Annie head back in the dinghy. Evan yanks the oars like he’s mad at them. He’s tight-lipped until they’re nearly
ashore.
“I should have gone in,” he says.
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“He could have drowned.”
“No one should have gone in,” she says, stepping onto the sand. “I wouldn’t have let you.”
“You let him.”
“He’s not you.”
Evan vise-grips the hull and drags it on shore before Annie can help. Low clouds run in the wind between short bursts of sun.
In the light, Evan has deep hollows under his eyes.
“You’re exhausted,” she says. “And you’re really towing more booms?”
“Please leave it.” He pulls the dinghy further up and stows the oars under the benches.
She waits.
Evan walks to a log of driftwood and sits down. The shaft of sun disappears, gone behind a shroud of clouds. Annie sits next
to him. She wants to take his hand, but she does not.
He crosses his arms. “I have to fix the steering gears first on the tug, anyway.”
“The steering’s out?”
“It needs adjusting. I wanted to repair them before I left the first time, but there was no time.”
“Your dad let you go with faulty steering?”
“I didn’t tell him.” Evan pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s been drinking more.”
Annie feels an undertow that has Evan around the torso. He’s swimming against it but can’t escape.
“I’ll get it fixed . . . the steering.”
“I’ve never seen you like this—-”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
“Give it a rest. I’m not some injured animal.” He looks away. “I’m going back to town.”
Back at the cabin, Ruth is still asleep, curled on her side, the blankets undisturbed.
It’s unusual for her to sleep so much so soon after her last transfusion.
It’s only been four weeks. Annie watches the quick rise and fall of Ruth’s breathing, only to realize that she’s hyperventilating herself.
Back in the living room, she’s pacing in a circle as Walker comes through the screen door.
“I thought you were staying out there?” Annie says.
“Are you okay?”
She shakes her head. It’s not only being devastated about her parents and stressed about Ruth and worried about Evan. It’s
all the puzzle pieces of Walker she’s holding loose in her hands because they don’t fit together. She goes to sit at the end
of the couch and considers what to ask. Where to start. How to broach all the questions that push up inside her.
“You were under for too long out there,” she starts.
“It took a while to set her free.”
“How were you under for so long?”
“I have good stamina.”
“Stamina?” She stares at him.
“It’s easy for me the same way it is for you.”
“It’s not easy for me. It’s not the same for me.”
He cocks his head but doesn’t speak.
“Why did you come back up here?” she persists.
“Your sound changes when something’s wrong.”
“My . . . sound?” Her voice arcs.
“Yes. Your sound.”
Her mother’s voice floats up again in Annie’s memory: You can listen with your whole body.
“Every single thing has a sound.” Walker looks at her—-too calm, too impenetrable. “Sound creates time and shape.”
He’s still not making sense. She waits for him to make things clear until the silence becomes unbearable.
“You’re not actually explaining anything.” Annie exhales as long as possible before deciding to move on. “And I’m not okay.
Evan told me he’s been pulling the booms with faulty steering.”
“Pardon?” Ruth’s hoarse voice is behind them. Her slippers slide over the wood flooring.
Annie turns. “I thought you were sleeping.”
“I’m up now.” She comes around to sit on the couch. “Tell me,” she demands.
Annie tucks her hands between her thighs. “The steering on the tug was faulty. But Evan went anyway.”
Another gust of wind shakes the cabin.
“My god.” Ruth laces her fingers together in her lap. Her hands are a small collection of skin and bones. “I wish Evan could
see this isn’t the future for him. He needs to leave in October. Leave Isaac to his own work.” She unlaces her fingers and
rubs her hands along her thighs. “That goes for you, too. What are you going to do if you stay here? Live on a boat? Catch
halibut and rake clams for the rest of your life?”
The room feels airless. Annie is aware of each passing second, the space between her heartbeats. “But I love this beach,”
Annie says. “You love this beach.”
“I never knew anything different. I was put here with these playing cards in front of me, Annie. You have different options.
Better options.”
Walker is quiet but has his eyes locked on Annie.
“I need to know you’re going to be looked after.” Ruth puts her hand to her forehead. “I need to know you’ll be safe.”
The silence stretches between them again, Walker’s low pulse now filling Annie’s belly. The wind pounds against the walls,
like it wants to blow the house down.