“What?” he asks, as she walks over and fits herself under his arm.
“Nothing,” she says.
The whale watching boat is bigger than the one she took yesterday, and she and Ben file aboard behind people with serious binoculars and even more serious cameras. Most of them huddle inside; the morning is chilly, and it’ll be a while before they’re far enough out to see any whales. But Greta and Ben head straight for the top deck anyway, their eyes already stinging from the wind.
They stand near the rail as the boat peels away from the dock, watching the cruise ship recede, their gloved hands wrapped around the metal railing. As they get farther out from the shore, they can see the whole of Icy Strait Point, a small collection of red wooden buildings on stilts and a rocky beach, all tucked beneath the cascading evergreens.
The tinny voice of a guide greets them through the speakers positioned around the boat. He walks them through the safety instructions, interrupting himself to point out a family of otters floating on their backs. Greta squints but can’t make out the shapes. Ben nudges her with his elbow and hands over a pair of binoculars.
“You’re so prepared,” she says, peering out at the sunbathing otters.
“I was a Boy Scout.”
“Of course you were.” She hands them back. “Have you ever seen one before?”
“A whale? Not up close.” He looks a little wistful. “I really hope we do. They seem impossible, don’t they? Something that big. That ancient. There’s something almost holy about them.”
Greta turns to face him. “How are you having trouble writing about Melville? You clearly love this stuff.”
“Well, it wasn’t all whales with him.”
“Want to know what I think?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“I think you’re afraid to move on,” she says. “You had a good thing going with Jack. He’s what you’ve always known. So it’s daunting now, the idea of figuring out someone new.”
“Are we still talking about dead authors or is this a metaphor?”
She laughs. “You’re the writer.”
“I think I prefer subtext,” he says with a grin as a few people in brightly colored jackets begin to emerge from down below, clanging up the metal staircase.
They sail deeper into the wilderness, the tiny speck of Icy Strait Point getting more and more distant in their wake. Everything in Alaska feels like the middle of nowhere, but they’re especially isolated now. The guide comes over the loudspeaker to point out a bald eagle overhead, and Greta can see the flash of brown and the white head. Ben hands over the binoculars again, and it takes her a minute to find the enormous bird as it slices through the sky.
“Okay, folks,” the guide says over the loudspeaker as the engine sputters off and the ship bobs like a cork in the sudden quiet. “We got word there was a pod here this morning, so we’re gonna hang out for a while and see if they feel like saying hello.”
Greta leans against the cold railing, her eyes raking the water. Ben wraps his arms around her, and she’s grateful for the warmth, and for the weight of his chin on her shoulder.
“Sometimes it just takes time,” the guide says over the speaker, and so they wait, everyone on the boat unnaturally quiet, everything around it too. It feels like they’re all holding their breath, like someone has hit pause on the world.
And then, just like that, there’s a break in the water.
From a distance, it could almost be anything. Just a dark smudge amid all that blue. A dorsal fin, moving in a slow, graceful arc as a humpback whale breaks the surface before disappearing again.
Greta surprises even herself by letting out a cry of delight. Around her, others exclaim too. Cameras shutter and click and beep. And everyone from the other side of the boat rushes over, eyes on the water, hoping for another glimpse.
“Did you see it?” Ben whispers excitedly, moving to stand beside her at the rail. Greta nods but can’t bring herself to talk. She’s too busy keeping watch.
The entire boat is silent again.
They wait. And wait.
Finally, there’s another slight disruption in all that blue, and then a faint spray from the blowhole. But nothing else.
Greta’s eyes start to water. She’s afraid to blink.
When the humpback surfaces again, there’s nothing subtle about it. The whale comes bursting out of the water, tall and straight as a torpedo, its body sleek and powerful, and Greta watches in astonishment as it does the world’s most dramatic belly flop, sending up an explosion of white. Everyone is gasping and cheering like it was a show put on just for them, a feat of athleticism or an especially impressive magic trick.