The reply comes. “Is that you, Saul? What's happened?”
“Dad's in the water off Rugged Point. He may be hurt,” Saul shouts.
At the word
hurt
, he turns white. We both know it might be worse than that.
“Okay, Saul, Coast Guard Vessel
Marie Celeste
is approximately ten miles south and proceeding to your location. ETA approximately thirty minutes. There are no other vessels nearby. Over.”
“Thirty minutes,” says Saul.
It's too long.
I know what I have to do.
I rush to my kayak. I sweep the branches off it, shove it into the water and grab my paddle.
“Maya, no!” calls Saul. He knows what I'm going to do. He lunges to stop me. He misses, and I hop into the kayak.
Saul grabs my stern and pulls the boat back to shore. “Let me go, Maya. I'm stronger. I'll get there faster.”
“You won't fit,” I say. I look him in the eye. “Saul, let go of my boat. You know you won't fit.”
Dad built this boat just for me. Saul is fifty pounds and six inches bigger than I am. He'd tip over the minute he took a forward stroke. Frustration flickers in his eyes. Finally, he lets go. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” he says.
I settle into my boat and paddle. Fast.
From the water, I can't see where Dad is. There are rocks and small islands between us. There's no splashing, no flash of moving arms, nothing. Tears blur my vision. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. The only thing I have to go by is what I saw from the hilltop, so I point my boat in that direction and hope.
Each stroke takes me faster than the one before. Soon I'm flying across the water.
I hope I'm fast enough.
Dad's a good swimmer, but he doesn't have a survival suit on.
What if he's hurt? I can't think about that.
At the mouth of the bay, the current changes. Instead of pushing me toward Dad, it pulls me away from him. I shift my butt back on my seat and lean forward. I push with every muscle, but the boat feels like it's slipping backward. Push, push, push. Each stroke makes my stomach clench and my arms sting. My mouth is dry. All I can think about is getting to Dad.
The boat inches forward. I feel like I'm not moving at all. Sweat pours down my face.
With all of my strength, I pull that paddle again. Suddenly I'm free of the current and in the main channel. Once again the current is working with me.
The boat surges forward.
There's so much water in the channel and no way to tell where to go. It's choppy out here. I don't know where the current has taken Dad. My head spins around, left, right, left, right. I can't see anything to help me locate him. My mind whizzes in a million directionsâwhat if he's drowned? What if I never find him? My stroke falters. Tears blur my vision.
Then my radio crackles. Saul's voice says, “Head west, Maya. I can see him. I'm at the top of the hill. You've got to go to your left.”
I've never been so happy to hear Saul's voice in my life.
I angle the bow of my boat left and pull my paddle through the water with all my strength. The kayak turns toward the far shore. After a few strokes, I still can't see anything.
“Farther left, Maya.”
I angle the boat more. I still can't see anything. “Saul,” I call into my radio. How many minutes has it been?
“You're almost there, Maya,” says Saul.
Then I hear Dad. “Maya, over here.”
“Where are you?” I scream.
There's no answer. I can't see anything. My mouth turns dry. Did I imagine him calling me? I take another stroke and look around. The chop hits the side of my kayak, threatening to change my angle. I have to look straight ahead again and pay attention.
“Veer right,” comes Saul's voice. “You've almost got him.”
I change the angle of my boat again and yell, “Dad, are you okay?” My voice is hoarse.
I paddle on, scanning the sea for his head.
“Here,” he says. Then I see him. His head is above water.
He hasn't drowned.
All my energy rushes out of me, and I shout in relief, “Saul, I see him!”
The current pushes me west, away from Dad. I gather my energy and shift the angle of the boat. Dip the paddle. Pull. Dip. Pull. He raises his arm so I can keep track of where he is.
In ten strokes I'm alongside him. “Dad, I thought you'd drowned.” I am crying, and I can't see anything but my own tears.
“Maya. Thank goodness you ignored me. I have never been so happy to see someone as I am to see you.”
I laugh through my tears. “Can you climb onto my stern?”
Dad grabs hold of my boat. With a mighty “hhhffff,” he hauls himself up so that his chest lies across the stern. His legs dangle in the water.
The kayak is tippy with Dad's weight on it. I brace with each stroke to keep us upright. The current pushes against me now. My arms burn with the force of paddling. Inch by inch we move closer to shore.
At the change of the current, the waves grow bigger. I brace against them. The current pulls us faster.
“Hold on, Dad,” I call.
“I'm holding,” he says.
The waves keep coming. A big one hits us broadside, and I throw the paddle into a brace. The wave rolls under us. I straighten the boat and keep paddling. Another wave hits, and another.
My breath comes sharply now. My stomach muscles are clenched. I try to speak to Dad, but I don't have any breath.
“It's rough⦔ is all that comes out.
“You're doing great, Maya,” he yells.
A bigger wave comes at me.
We're not going to make it.
The wave smacks against the boat and breaks over my shoulder. It pushes me along with it. I feel Dad's weight slip off. The boat tips. I go under.
I gulp air before my head submerges. With my left hand I swing the paddle alongside the kayak, and then I grab it with my right hand. I flick my hips and push on the paddle. The boat slides under me and rolls upright. My head pops out of the water.
I take a deep breath.
“Dad!” I shout.
“I'm right here. Good job, Maya. That was a great roll.”
I can only nod in response.
Dad climbs back onto the stern of my boat, and I paddle again.
When we reach the shore, I'm so cold and exhausted I can't pull the kayak out of the water. Saul wades out as we approach. He helps Dad slide off the stern. Together they stagger to shore. Saul has lit a fire. He sits Dad down next to it, then comes back to help me.
“Good job, Maya,” he says. I hand him my paddle. My hands are numb. I can't pull myself out of the boat. Saul leans over and puts his arms under mine. He lifts me out of my boat and carries me to shore. I let him.
I sink down next to Dad. Both of us reach our hands toward the fire. It's all we can do. Saul pulls at our clothes, takes off our wet sweaters and shoes. Dad and I sit like rag dolls.
My body is numb, but my mind whirls. “Who were those people, Dad?” I ask. “What were they doing? Why did he fight with you? Why did they take your boat?”
Saul hands Dad his dry hoodie, then takes my left hand and rubs it between his hands. My fingers flash with pain as blood rushes back into them.
Saul says, “The men are poachers. They've been cruising the coast all summer. They get into people's traps. They've been seen diving around here for sea urchins.” He takes my other hand and rubs again. “They mean business, Maya. They probably planned to take Dad's boat. Josh Hampel had his motor tampered with. The Jacksons' nets were slashed. Our crab traps were emptied. That's how we found out about them.” He pauses, then says, “And we've seen them swamp kayakers in their wake.”
Dad nods. “Saul's right. You shouldn't be here.”
“Why didn't you tell me?” I ask. My heart feels cold.
Saul and Dad look at each other. “Because we knew you'd try to help. We thought you'd worry about all the animals around here. We thought you'd try to get close to them and end up swamped. Or worse. We didn't want you to worry.” Dad reaches out to put his hand on my shoulder. I lean away.
“Or to help,” says Saul.
“You didn't trust me?” I ask. The tears that threaten to spill out of my eyes are angry.
Dad sighs. He turns away. “What are we going to do?” he says. He slumps over with his head in his hands. Saul looks out to the bay. The look on his face is bleak.
Things couldn't be worse. Dad and Saul have lost their boat. Dad found out that I came out in my kayak even after he told me not to. Sooner or later he's going to ask me what I was doing. There are poachers out there. And to top it off, Saul and Dad didn't trust me enough to tell me. The thought makes me choke. Only my exhaustion keeps me from screaming at them.
I stare out at the bay. I can't see the sea otters, but I know they're out there. The chill in my heart turns colder. The sea otters are in this bay because there's a bed of sea urchins here. If the poachers are diving for the sea urchins, they'll find the sea otters. Then things are going to get even worse.
A boat turns into the bay. Saul wades into the water and waves them toward us. “Mark, over here.” It's the coast guard.
The three of us huddle in the wind as the boat speeds back to town. Mark unscrews a thermos and pours something hot into the lid. He hands it to Dad. “You went after the poachers, didn't you?” he says.
Dad nods.
“I told you to leave it to us. You shouldn't be out there.”
Dad and I catch each other's eye. He leans over. Here it comes. He's going to ask me what I was doing. What am I going to say? Normally I'd tell him the truth.
Not today.
If they don't trust me, why should I trust them?
Instead of asking me anything, he puts his arm around me. “I guess we've both been caught, eh?”
I nod.
“But no more disobeying me, okay? We're agreed? You'll stay away?”
Dad is worried about the poachers. He's upset about losing his boat. He's cold and shocked and worn. Losing his boat is one of the worst things that can happen to him. The last thing he needs is to worry about me. So I nod again.
This time I'm not sure if I'm lying.
I can't stop thinking about Gertrude and Oscar and Lilly. If the poachers find them, what will they do? Will they shoot them? How am I going to keep the poachers away from the sea otters? I lean away from Dad's embrace. It might not be possible to stay away from Riley Bay.
“How come you haven't caught the poachers?” I ask Mark. My voice comes out harsh and angry. “If you were doing your job, none of this would be happening.” I don't know if it's the coast guard I'm angry with, but I can't shout at Dad when he's so down.
“Maya,” says Dad.
“It's okay, Gerry. I understand why she's upset. The thing is, Maya, we can't accuse someone of poaching unless we catch them doing something illegal or we find illegal catch on board.”
“So catch them then,” I say.
Saul laughs. “As if. It's not that easy, Maya. You saw what they're like.”
I can see from their faces that this is what they all believe. I stand up and walk to the other side of the boat. There must be something we can do.
Mom freaks out. About everything.
“Poachers!” she says. “What are they looking for? Why would they steal the boat? What are we going to do?” She doesn't forget to ask, “What were you doing out there, young lady? You were supposed to be at school.”
I'm about to confess. She's so upset, and Dad still looks like a zombie. I can't bear to lie to them anymore. I'm about to tell them everything when Saul walks in.
“Dad, what are we going to do without a boat?” he says. He slumps into the sofa and drops his head into his hands.
Dad closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then says, “The coast guard will get the boat back in no time. We'll be fine.”
None of us believes it. Not even Dad. He shakes his head and sinks down beside Saul. Mom and I don't move. Dad worked hard to afford that boat, and I don't want to think about what will happen if the coast guard can't find it.
Dinner is so quiet, we can hear the tide lap at the shore. Mom eats slowly, as if she's thinking. Dad slumps against the table and hardly eats at all. Saul stares at the candle in the center of the table. He shovels his food in without stopping. I eat, but I can't taste anything.
When we have finished with dinner, Mom clears the table and returns with four bowls and a tub of ice cream.
“We need this tonight, I think,” she says.
Dad sighs. “I don't know what we're going to do. I put everything into that boat.”
“Maybe I can get a job at the library,” Mom says with a smile. We all know she won't make enough money to support the family and buy a new boat.
“You can't give up yet,” Saul says to Dad. “There has to be something we can do.” He flings his spoon into his bowl and sinks back into his chair.
Dad says, “I'll talk to the coast guard. I'll head over there right now. Maybe they'll find the boat.” He leans over and puts his arm on Saul's shoulder. “It's a start, eh?”
Saul nods but doesn't look up until after Mom and Dad are gone. Saul and I sit and listen to the car drive away. When we can't hear it anymore, Saul pushes his chair from the table and leaves the room.
I go to my room and lie on my bed. I stare at the ceiling. This morning I was worried about the sea otters, and that was all. I'm still concerned about them, even more now that I know there are poachers out there. But now I'm also anxious about my family.
How are we going to survive without a boat? What's Dad going to do? I'm sure that Dad's upset for Saul too. He was so excited that Saul was going to work with him this year. Now they're both out of work. Dad must feel terrible about that.