Just as I was starting to give up hope, the last piece of net came free.

There was no time to lose. The rescuers pushed a little bit on the whale’s tail to turn him, and get him facing back out to sea, and then they gathered behind him, and, on the count of three, they gave a shove from behind.

They might not have been able to do it on their own, but—on three, just as they pushed, as if it was following the count, too—the whale lifted its flukes, pumped them down, and launched itself off toward the open water and disappeared beneath the surface.

We all stopped singing.

We all stood in awe—alone now, with just the shh of the waves.

An officer and a firefighter got knocked over, but they bobbed back up, laughing

And then, with nothing left to do, the whole beach erupted into cheers. Babette and I hugged. Clay and I hugged. Even Tina and I hugged. The teachers all hugged. The officers all hugged—and then they came to grab Clay and raise him up on their shoulders.

All the noise we’d been holding back all that time came erupting out, and we cheered, and jumped around, and waved our arms—completely exhausted and absolutely wired at the same time.

And then, just as we were winding down, Clay called out, “Look!” and we saw a set of flukes rise up out of the water, off near the brightening horizon.

And then we saw another set of flukes.

And then two more.

“It’s a pod of them,” Babette said.

“They were waiting for him,” Tina said.

“They’re waving at us,” Alice said then, waving back. Then we all waved, too.

“Do you think they’re saying thank you?” I asked.

But Clay shook his head, still on the shoulders of one of the medics. “Nah,” he said. “I think they’re saying goodbye.”

twenty-seven

Tina took Clay home after that, with plans to sleep for a week.

The police headed off, too—except for one car, waiting for Duncan to come back and wrap up the paperwork.

Before he left, he came to find me.

I was standing under the pier, pausing to gaze out at the water, waiting for my brain to catch up with everything that had happened.

He walked up to me with his hands in his pockets.

He swallowed when he saw me.

“You should go home, Duncan. Go to bed.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Crazy night.”

“Yep.”

“I just … had a question.”

“What?”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The usual. We found a missing kid. We sent the chairman of the board to the clink. We rescued a whale. Pretty ordinary night.”

“But are you … angry at me?”

“No!” I said. “No.” Then I added, “It’s fine. I get it. I really do.”

There was no point in talking about it now. It was what it was.

“What’s fine?”

I tried to keep my voice light, like it was all vaguely amusing. “You. You know. Leaving. Earlier. I get it. I mean, I warned you. You can’t say I didn’t warn you. But you were so busy arguing with me, you kind of missed your chance to escape. That’s on you.”

But Duncan was really frowning now. “What are you talking about?”

“Earlier,” I said, gesturing back toward town, “I had a seizure, and you finally saw what I’d been warning you about, and you freaked out, and you took off. And it’s fine. Told ya so.”

Duncan shook his head. “Is that what you think happened?”

I gave a little shrug. “Well, I woke up alone in my bed in the pitch-black in an empty place, so … yeah.”

“How do you think you got to your bed?”

So he’d dragged me over there before he left. “Thank you.”

I really was too tired for this. My whole body felt shaky. I felt a tightness in my throat like I might be about to cry and blow my cover.

“Sam,” Duncan said. “I didn’t run away. I stayed.”

“The me-waking-up-alone part contradicts you.”

He gave a frustrated head shake, then he said, “You did have a seizure—and it absolutely was a little scary to witness only because it was new, and it doesn’t look like the most relaxing thing a person could ever do, and it’s hard to watch someone you love go through something that looks like agony. But I did not freak out, and I did not leave you. What kind of an ass do you think I am? I stayed—of course I stayed. I looked after you and did everything you said to do. And when you came to after, I helped you to your bed, and tucked you in, and curled up next to you on your bed. And I would still be right there right now if I hadn’t gotten a call at midnight that Clay had gone missing.”

“You only left because of Clay?”

“I only left because of Clay.”

I tried to take that in.

“I told you I was going,” Duncan went on. “But you were so out of it. And you’d said that seizures make it hard to remember things. So that’s why I sent Alice—Babette texted her for me because I was in a meeting with the cops.”

I let all of those pieces settle into place in my head. “You didn’t … leave?”

He stepped a little closer.

“You stayed?” I asked. “Voluntarily?”

He nodded and stepped closer. “And now I’m back again. Trying to continue not leaving.”

I couldn’t look at him.

Somehow, knowing that he hadn’t left seemed to hurt worse than thinking that he had.

It sounds crazy, I know.

But it was like, I’d spent the entire day just trying to hold my heart together, and I couldn’t bear the idea of breaking it open again.

“I’m not a guy who runs away,” Duncan said. “I’m a better man than that.”

He was. He absolutely was. And suddenly my eyes had tears in them.

“You are a better man than that,” I said.

He leaned closer, like he might kiss me, but I stepped back.

I shook my head.

Duncan frowned.

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t ask you to do this. It’s not fair to you. You’ve got enough to cope with as it is. I can’t ask you to be my caretaker.”

“Hey.” He reached out to try to take my hand. “Sam—”

But I edged away. “Don’t,” I said.

It was too much. The way I felt about him was too much. I was afraid to care that much for anybody. I knew now, after waking up alone, how vulnerable I was. And I just couldn’t stand it.

I pushed away from him, and then I broke into a run across the sand to the steps of the seawall.

I climbed them without ever looking back.

But I didn’t have to.

This time, he didn’t chase me.

* * *

It turned out, Alice and Babette were waiting for me up at the top of the stairs.

They came at me like I was a wild animal they needed to trap.

“What are you doing?” Babette demanded, looking almost angry.

But I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“Didn’t you hear him?” Alice demanded as the two of them followed close behind me. “He didn’t leave you. He stayed.”

“What—were you eavesdropping?”

“We were just waiting for you!” Babette said.

“So you heard that whole thing?”

“Yes, and you’re an idiot,” Alice said.

“Okay,” I said, turning to march away along the seawall. “We really don’t have to call each other names.”

But Alice wasn’t going to let me distract her. She followed. “You chickened out!”

“I didn’t chicken out! It was self-preservation!”

“The thing you want—the person you want—was right there for the taking, and you just walked away.”

Now I could feel my throat thickening. My face got wet with tears I didn’t condone. They just made me angrier. “It’s too much, okay? Hasn’t anything ever been too much for you?”

“Yes!” Alice grabbed my arm to stop me and turn me around. “Every single deployment Marco goes on is too much for me. Every time I say goodbye knowing I might never see him again is too much for me. But guess what? I do it anyway.”

She had me there. I looked away.

Alice went on. “I do it anyway because it’s worth it! Because I refuse to let fear make me small. Because being brave is good for you.”

“Great,” I said, turning to keep walking. “Awesome.”

Alice and Babette followed me. Alice went on, “You’ve been telling Duncan ever since he got here that he can’t let fear control his every move. That he can’t live in a prison to stay safe. But that’s exactly what you just did. You put yourself in a prison. How are you going to face him day after day like this? How are you going to work with him knowing that he stayed—that he did everything you asked—and you still couldn’t find the courage to say yes?”

“I’m not,” I said then, slowing to turn and face them. “I’m not going to work with him. I’m quitting.”

Alice and Babette fell quiet.

“I always knew this was going to happen,” I said. “I always knew his coming here would run me out of town. Fine! I’m a hypocrite! I’m the one who’s afraid. I’m the person who has lived her whole life in fear. I’m the one who talks about being courageous without any idea at all what that even means. So, yes—I’m going to chicken out. And get the hell out of here. And give the hell up.”

“No,” Babette said then.

“No? ‘No’ what?”