Who is Mackie Spence? (6 page)

Jen waves us over. “You gotta mooove,” she sings, merging with the flow of the rhythm and choreography on the big screen at the end of the room. This is how Jen starts all of her parties: immediate dancing. Ugh. Wes, Ty, and I break into spastic moves, laughing at each other, like always.

Right away I spot Mackie at the far end in the kitchen, talking with Erica. I want to ask her about her day at the shelter. And I want to kiss her again just as much. Okay, more.

Mackie catches my eye and gives me a big smile. There's something about her smile that makes me feel like we're alone in that room of people. I wave to Wes and Ty and point to the kitchen. The guys continue crazy dancing as I cross the room, pulled to Mackie's side.

“Hi,” I say to Mackie and Erica. “You're sitting this one out?”

“Oh, don't worry,” Erica responds. “Jen has all kinds of kinky things planned tonight. I think she's counting on you guys to provide the entertainment.”

I try to adjust my face into a horrified mask and ease into a zombie-like dance shuffle. Erica giggles. We both know it's a joke. Jen has never made any of us feel uncomfortable. She just likes to dance.

Mackie smiles faintly. “Hi. Yeah, we've been waiting for you guys,” she says, playing along with Erica's teasing.

Mackie looks sleek tonight. To start with, her dark brown, red-flecked hair is long and loose. She wears a soft shirt that shows off all of her curves, which makes me crazy. How can I keep my eyes off of her or not want to fold her in my arms again, after last night?

My inner lust-boy thoughts are interrupted when Erica screams and runs to join the dancers.
Must be her song.
Mackie edges closer to me. We're alone.

“I have to do something tonight, and I need your help, okay?” she asks in a new, business-like tone.

“Uh, okay, what do you have in mind?” I reply.

“I need to go home.”

“Why?”

“I'll explain, but first I'm going to tell Jen that we're going for a walk.”

“Sure.”

Mackie leaves me, plunging into the arm-flailing group of dancers. I am confused. She's gone from playful to serious in under thirty seconds. It will take us a half-hour to walk to her house. And a half-hour back. What's so important that she has to leave now?

In about a minute, Mackie returns. We exit through the front door as twenty-some pairs of eyes follow us.
Uh-oh
. Our early departure together isn't going unnoticed.

Outside, Mackie starts walking up the drive and I fall into step with her.

“We have to hurry.”

“You mean like run?” I ask.

“No, maybe jog so I can keep up with you,” she says, as if I would speed away.

“What's going on?” I ask as we break into an easy trot.

“I need to get to the water. Please, I don't know why. It's like something's pulling me there,” she whispers, her words cutting off as her breath comes faster from our pace.

“What do you mean,
pulling
?”

She shakes her head, and we jog silently on the soft road shoulder.

It's evening, close to nine o'clock, but a nearly full moon lights our way. Immediately upon arriving, we hurry down the first set of stone steps behind Mackie's house that lead to the seawall.

“Wait,” she says, and we pause at a large storage box located at the stair's halfway turn.

Standing quietly, Mackie looks out at the water, searching to her left and right. I can't see anything in the waves.

“Do you see something?” I ask.

She doesn't answer for a moment then says, “We need the kayaks.”

We remove life vests from the storage box and slip them on before continuing down the steps. From the racks built above the seawall, we lift out two sea kayaks and move to the shoreline.

“What's going on?” I ask.

She says nothing.

We place our kayaks at the shore edge and survey the water. The edgy stress radiating from Mackie earlier has evaporated. She's more focused.

She stands for a few minutes and then says, “I need to go out there. You don't have to. It'll be okay,” she adds and then, without removing her sandals, steps in the water.

Fastening the clasps on my vest, I silently enter the cold water too, my wet jeans slowing me as I pull my kayak alongside hers. We walk, pushing our kayaks out far enough for them to float and then climb in. I've kayaked since I was five years old, so keeping my balance is easy, the way rolling out of bed and standing up in the morning feels instinctive.

We paddle side by side, without speaking until we're about two hundred feet from the shoreline. No one knows that we're out on the water. Mackie's parents are in Seattle, attending a symphony. Her sister, Noelle, has gone to a friend's house for the night. It could be kind of romantic to be out with her under the flooding moonlight. Except something else seems to be going on.

Suddenly Mackie stops, and motions for me to do the same. We float like two specks in the wrinkled nighttime waves.

Then, I see him!
Orcinus orca
. A black and white killer whale spy-hops about one hundred feet from us! He rises out of the water vertically, emits a low bellow, and then sinks slowly below the waves. My heart pounds. I tighten the grip on my paddle. He shouldn't be this close to shore. Or to us. This feels all wrong.

Mackie whispers, “Stay where you are.” She guides her kayak so that she's about ten feet in front of me, facing into the Sound. Then she sets up, placing her paddle on the kayak's hull.

The whale surfaces again, using his tail to thrust himself up, this time clearly looking at us. Mackie remains perfectly quiet, focused on where the whale has shot up. Nothing on the water moves for maybe a minute.

Suddenly, standing high, he leaps out of the water almost on top of us. Only twenty feet away at the most! It's the spy move again. Holding his head above the waves, his eyes fix on Mackie as he groans! I can't breathe. We're sitting meat. He could kill us!

But Mackie doesn't move. The concentric waves from the orca's water displacement flow around her kayak. I'm set up the same way, and the waves ripple around me, too.

The whale bobs up and down five times, slowly, always concentrating on Mackie. Her head never turns away from him. Then he disappears under the surface. We wait. I'm going to break my paddle, I'm holding it so tight.
What if he's under us?
He emerges again several hundred feet away, and with a final slap of his flipper fins puts on a show of three diving leaps, and he's gone.

I watch in total wonder as he disappears.

“That was unreal,” I call out. Then I notice she's slumped over the front of her boat. “Mackie!” I dip my paddle furiously and tear alongside her. She's too quiet: arms stretched out in front of her, hands resting loosely on her paddle. She's scaring the bejeezus out of me.

“Mackie?” I ask, my voice skating off the water. “Are you okay?”

She pushes up a little against the kayak's deck, only to slump down again.

“Shhh,” she says in a shaky voice, “I need a minute.”

So we sit under the loud moon glow. I turn my paddle over and over in my hands, worried. Mackie lies against her kayak's deck, really out of it. After what has to be at least ten minutes, she pushes herself up and, not looking at me, gingerly turns her boat around. Because the tide has been with us, we've floated close to shore. I paddle just behind her, keeping my eyes glued to her back, watching her progress.

Once near the shoreline, I ease in next to her. When she turns to look at me I see that her face is drawn and she's exhausted, like she's just finished running a hard race, flat out.

“Sorry. I guess I need some help,” she says.

I slip out of my boat and pull it onto the beach. Then I return to Mackie, wading back in the calm shore water and bend down so she can leverage herself against me. It takes a while, but finally she's upright. I slip my left shoulder under her right arm and half drag her to the beach. She sits on the cold, wet sand and cobblestones with her head down in her hands.

Returning to the water once more, I haul her kayak out and place it on the rack.

I check in with her again. “Are you okay?” I ask, needing to have some idea whether she can walk.

“Yeah, thanks. I think it's going be a few minutes before I can get up the stairs.” But, her eyes beg me for help.

I think about that as I put our paddles and vests back in storage. As I approach Mackie, I see her shaking even harder than when we climbed out of our boats. I don't have a jacket to give her so I sit on the ground, holding her against my chest, hoping my body will warm hers.

“Mackie, I've seen orcas hunting for food before, but this was the closest I've ever been to one. He was huge! I'm thinking thirty feet. We had six tons of whale next to us.”

“Yeah, he was big. And really sick. I need to get some dry clothes on. So do you,” she says.

I help her to stand. I want to ask her more about the whale.
Not now
, her eyes tell me.

Moving wouldn't be fast, I know that right off. I'm afraid to let go of her because her balance isn't good and she might fall over. So, I keep an arm around her. I feel Mackie's weight against my side. We retrace our steps up the rough stone stairway and enter the Spence's house through their back door. Gus, the family's basset hound, greets us with nose bumps and follows us to the kitchen.

She looks at me and lets out a big sigh. “Will you call Jen?”

“Why?”

“Tell her that I'm not feeling well, that you walked me home, and you're going home, too.”

I send a text to Jen:

In a few seconds, I read Jen's reply:

Mackie looks at the kitchen clock. It's close to ten. With one hand on the kitchen counter, she appears to have more strength, but occasionally shakes in an uneven shudder. “Sorry. I just don't want anyone to worry when we don't go back to the party,” she says.

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

“Jer, I have to take a shower or I won't warm up. If you want, you can too, in the guest room.”

I know the house well. The guest bedroom and bath are just off the main room.

She calls after me. “Use the bathrobe on the shelf and meet me in the kitchen. I'll put your clothes in the dryer. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, still feeling like I'm in some play where I don't know my role. What is going on with Mackie tonight, and why am I part of it?

The spray of shower water registers hot against my chilled skin. My body soon is warm and relaxed, but my mind races. What if her parents come home early? How can we explain any of this? I quickly towel dry and put on a large, white bathrobe, wondering if Mackie has finished taking her shower.

Padding to the kitchen with my wet briefs, jeans, and shirt clutched in front of me like an offering to the dryer gods, I see Mackie standing next to two steaming cups.

I swallow hard. She looks so beautiful, her hair long, already dried and shiny, a light blue T-shirt bringing out color in her cheeks. She wears a pair of old, faded blue jeans that have patches on the back pockets.

“I didn't know if you wanted some, but I made us hot chocolate. I'll set the dryer on extract and speed dry,” she says.

I hand her my soggy clothes. She turns the corner into a hallway, disappearing while I take my first sip of hot chocolate. It tastes so good I could gulp the scalding liquid and be finished before she's back.

She returns within seconds. I sit on a padded bar stool at the kitchen counter and turn to face her. Mackie walks right to me and I put my arms around her as she lays her head on my shoulder. She's still, not saying anything, just hugs me close.

After a while, she turns her head and kisses me on my neck near my ear. I tense at the feeling of her lips on my skin, and shift so I can kiss her. Time gets lost for both of us.

Then the dryer buzzer sounds and she backs away, leaving me somewhere between wanting more and amazed that anything has happened at all.

Before she leaves the room to respond to the dryer signal, she turns back to me.

“I have to thank you for what you did,” she begins.

I wave my hand and shake my head.

Still looking at me, she continues. “I'm sure that the whale was what was pulling me to the shore. I didn't know that when we left Jen's, or what would happen. As soon as we were near the water, I knew something was coming to meet us. He was so sick.” She waves her hand as if pushing away at cobwebs. “I'll get your clothes and we can talk.”

As she left, I suck in a deep breath.
What a night!
And it's not over yet. Will Mackie tell me what all of this means?

She returns and hands me my warm clothes. My jeans feel a little stiff from saltwater, but dry.

I walk to the guestroom, dress, and head back to the kitchen. I find Mackie waiting in the great room, her hands clasped in front of her, eyes closed. When she opens them, she looks me over carefully like she's studying something about me.

“What?”

“Come on,” she says, and leads me up the stairway to the second floor of the house.

She turns at her bedroom. I've been in her room many times over the years, but always with our friends. One time, when we were nine, everyone played on the floor with glass and agate marbles her father gave her. When the game was over, and as the others left to go home, she motioned for me to stay. She held out a milky-blue lutz marble with wavy gold ribbon edged in white. Mackie smiled at me, and time seemed to slow down; there was something close between us as she handed me the beautiful ball. It still makes me feel like we share something special.

Her room has been redecorated and looks quite different now, with dark green walls and long, brown and green velvet drapes covering the windows. A tall, ornately carved wood and glass cabinet has been positioned off to one side, with shelves that hold baseball-sized crystals. I recognize them as part of a rock and mineral collection that used to be in Nick Spence's home office. Mackie's room doesn't look at all girly anymore; it looks more like an enchanted forest.