Fools Rush in(70)

We trolled around aimlessly, catching nothing. I had only been fishing a handful of times with my dad and had no interest in actually reeling in a cold, flopping creature. Occasionally Joe would check to see if the bait was still attached, then toss the lines back into the frothy wake, where they were carried out to the mysterious depths. I tried not to stand because each time I did, I staggered drunkenly, nearly falling on my backside.

“Joe, how deep is the water out here?”

“Oh, hell, I don’t know.”

“What if we fell overboard?” I asked. “Are there any life vests?”

“We’re not going to fall in, silly Millie,” he said, playfully pulling the brim of my cap down over my face. “Even if you did, I’d jump in and save you.”

“Thank you, kind sir. But where are the life vests?”

“Oh, they’re here somewhere. Maybe under those seats.” He suddenly looked up ahead at the horizon, then leaped to kill our motor.

“What is it? A tidal wave?” I asked, going to stand next to him, grabbing the waistband of his jeans for safety.

“Shh.”

Tripod began to growl. “Shit, Joe,” I whispered. “What is it?”

The answer revealed itself as a plume of water exploded into the air. I let out a scream and held onto Joe for dear life.

Not fifty feet from our boat, a whale surfaced. We glimpsed its huge, glistening, barnacled back and massive tail as it dove again. To our left, another whale crested with a spray of water and air. Tripod barked excitedly, the fur on his back standing on end as he hopped onto the seat.

“Let’s get out of here!” I yelled, tugging at Joe’s shirt. “Come on!”

“Millie, settle down! Look! It’s great!” There was a great splash of water just in front of us as one of the whales slapped its tail. We were so close that droplets of water tickled our faces.

“Joe, they’re going to tip us over! Please!” Tears of panic pricked my eyes.

“They’re not going to capsize us. Just watch.” Joe laughed at the display, ignoring my distress. Barking, Tripod jumped onto the bow of the boat.

“Joe, Tripod’s going to fall in! Get him! Tripod!”

“Get off, Tripod. And Millie, calm down.” Tripod obeyed. I didn’t.

We were surrounded by whales, how many I had no clue. Every time I saw a spout of water or heard that whoosh of air, I thought of Moby Dick ramming the Pequod. Damn my English professor for making me read that book! We were in the middle of the freaking Atlantic Ocean, and I didn’t even have a life vest on! Huge mammals surrounded us, any one of whom could easily overturn our stupid little boat. Tripod would drown. I would drown. Joe would undoubtedly be rescued by mermaids seduced by his beauty.

When a whale actually breached into the air and slapped down, rocking our boat with its power, I began to cry.

“Oh, hey, come on, Millie,” Joe said. “We’re safe. Don’t cry.”

“Joe,” I sobbed, shaking, “I really want to go home.”

“Oh. All right. Okay, we’ll go.”

Finally, he started up the motor, and with a last regretful glance at the whale pod, he turned the boat around. “Too bad,” he couldn’t help saying.

Shaking, I sat down and clutched the seat, still crying. Damn Joe! Couldn’t he see that I was terrified? Why did he have to wait until they were practically jumping on top of us to leave?

“You okay?” he called, glancing back at me as he steered us.

Go screw yourself, I thought, wiping my eyes with my arm. He did something at the controls, then came back to sit next to me.

“Aw, Millie, don’t cry. Come on. Wasn’t that great?”

“No, Joe, it wasn’t! That was terrifying!”

“They weren’t going to hurt us.”

“How do you know? Are you a marine biologist? A cetacean expert? We’re just in this tiny little boat…”

“Okay, Millie, calm down. It’s all right. The big bad whales are way behind us now.”

“Oh, screw you,” I said, giving him a halfhearted shove. He smiled back. “You’re an ass,” I added.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said.

“I’m also seasick.”

“Very cute.”

“Not when I’m puking.”

“I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

Oh, damn. That smile could end wars.

“I’m sorry,” he said, tucking some hair behind my ears.

“Hmmf,” I said, pouting.

“I’ll take you to my house when we get home,” he cajoled. “I know you’ve been wanting to see it. I’ll even cook you dinner. Okay? Don’t be mad anymore, Millie.”

How could I resist? I couldn’t.

BACK ON LAND, I STARTED to feel better. We drove down Route 6, not talking much. I wanted to stop home and shower, feeling sweaty and salty, but curiosity about Joe’s house outweighed my need for cleanliness. Digger would be fine, as I’d asked Danny to swing by and let him out for me.

We trundled down Joe’s washed-out little lane, locust and bayberry branches scraping along the sides of the truck. At last we pulled into Joe’s sandy driveway. As soon as we stopped, Tripod jumped neatly out Joe’s window and disappeared into the yard. Joe turned to me, fiddling with his keys.