7

The night was wicked cold, the party loud and raucous. Someone had brought a CD player, and it blasted music straight into the face of the sea wind. Kids talked, laughing and fooling around, huddled around a crackling bonfire. It blazed and sparked—but some of the logs must have been damp, because the eerie low-pitched whistle of wet wood underscored the jubilant party noise.

Driving through the refuge with Jenna and Tripp—in his Jeep, taking the unpaved fire road to avoid being seen—Mickey had seen the ranger’s lights on through the scrub pine trees and almost wished he’d see the kids and stop them. Everyone had blankets. Some couples were lying down, lost in closeness, not even paying attention to the party. Others were standing in small groups around the keg and fire, wrapped up against the wind. Partying at the refuge wasn’t allowed, but they weren’t likely to be discovered on such a cold night. Mickey leaned on the old jetty, just outside the fire’s circle of light.

“Hey, are you having fun?” Jenna asked, coming over to stand with her, beer sloshing in a big plastic cup.

“It’s okay,” Mickey said, trying to hide the fact, even from her best friend, that she felt like a different breed among the partyers.

“It’s great,” Jenna corrected her. “C’mon, Mick. We have to grow up sometime, don’t we?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Your mom knows you’re sleeping over at my house—don’t worry, you won’t get in trouble. Here—have some beer. She won’t smell it on your breath, my parents don’t care, and you’ll feel more relaxed.”

“That’s okay,” Mickey said, shaking her head.

Jenna shrugged, took a long drink. Mickey watched her, wondered why she felt so strange—when Jenna was the one drinking. She was surrounded by friends and classmates, here on the beach she loved so much. They were at least fifty yards from where the owl had been roosting, so she didn’t really have to worry. But her stomach kept flipping, as if she were on a roller coaster.

She had lied to her mother. Well, not a flat-out lie, but a definite lack of truth.

What do you and Jenna have planned tonight? her mother had asked.

Oh, I don’t know, Mickey had said. Finishing homework. After that, who knows? When all the time she had known about this party. Her heart pinched, thinking of some of the fights she used to overhear between her parents; her father would say he was going to be somewhere, and her mother would find out he’d been somewhere else. It had been so unfair, and had hurt her mother so much; and now here was Mickey, doing the same thing.

“Come on, have some!” Jenna urged, pushing the beer toward her.

Mickey hesitated, then took a big sip while Jenna held the cup, and just one sip made her body feel light and her head feel free, and she hated it because she thought of her dad and wondered if he was drunk.

“You know you want to talk to him,” Jenna said, licking beer foam from her upper lip.

“What are you talking about?”

“Shane. Duh!”

Mickey felt her face turn red, and was glad it was too dark to see. Her gaze slid up the beach, to a shadowy figure sitting on top of the dunes. He was silhouetted by starlight, and Mickey saw his strong shoulders, his lean arms, the way he was completely comfortable on a beach—even on a cold February night.

“Look, just because Tripp and Josh say he’s a freak, you and I know he’s not,” Jenna said, slipping her hand into Mickey’s. “He helped you when you had your bike accident. Go talk to him!”

“I don’t know,” Mickey said, never taking her eyes off him. Even though Shane had been in her class for years, there was something about him that had always seemed so apart. He was older, for one thing; he should be a junior, but he’d stayed back in Woodland Elementary. Mickey had always figured that because he was a year older, and a surfer, he was way out of her league.

“Here, give him this—” She tried to thrust the beer into Mickey’s hand, but Mickey backed away without taking it. “Goody-goody,” Jenna said, but she grinned and kissed Mickey’s forehead as she gave her a gentle shove toward Shane.

Mickey began to walk up the beach, following the jetty to the top. The sand felt soft and deep under her green rubber boots. Her heart was racing, and her mind was filled with the words she would say; she felt tongue-tied before she’d even opened her mouth. She saw him lying back on the sand, propped up on one elbow. When he turned slowly, to look at her, his gaze felt like a laser beam, filling her body—all her bones—with scalding white light.

“Hi,” she said, climbing the dune, standing over him, looking down into his eyes.

“Hi,” he said.

“I just…” she began, but lost track. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I found out about the party,” he said. “And I came to keep an eye on things.”

“You do that a lot,” she said. Standing high on the dune, she felt colder than she had down below, by the sad little fire. A strong sea wind was blowing, and it tossed her hair all around. She tried to peel it out of her eyes and mouth, but the wind wouldn’t let her.

“Sit down,” he said. “It’s warmer down here.” He reached up to give her his hand, to guide her down, and she took it. They sat still, pressed close together, directly on the sand, slightly in the jetty’s lee. She held her left arm up slightly so she wouldn’t get sand in her cast. The dune still held some of the sun’s heat, but what made Mickey feel warmest was the pressure of Shane’s arm and hip against hers. She felt liquid inside, as if she were made of mercury.

“I haven’t seen you at school lately,” she said.

“Well, I haven’t been there. I figured everyone knew the whole story—I’m suspended till Monday.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Mickey murmured. “You helped me. And you were just trying to save the U-boat, and the beach, and the owl….”

“People don’t care about those things,” Shane said. “Not when there’s money to be made.”

“Money?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “That’s why Josh’s father is famous. For making money, being rich. He’ll open a U-boat museum and get richer.” He pointed down at the party.

Mickey stared down from the top of the dune. People were clustered around the keg and the fire. Josh was telling everyone to fill their cups. The waves crashed in, and spray carried all the way up the beach, misting Mickey’s face. Music blasted, but Josh’s voice was louder. He raised his plastic cup high, facing the sea.

“To the U.S. Navy!” he shouted. “Who blasted the shit out of U-823. And to my dad, for getting it the fuck out of here. Tomorrow there’ll be a film crew right here, when he makes his announcement. You’ll all get to be on TV.”

Everyone raised their plastic glasses in a toast. Mickey stared past them, out at the waves. The sea looked so wide open, the white wave crests as bright as snowcapped mountains. The jetty pointed seaward; Mickey knew the sub lay submerged in seventy feet of water, partly covered with sand, a few hundred yards out. Even using the jetty as a marker, there was no way to tell by looking exactly where the U-boat lay. Its invisibility didn’t matter; it was part of the landscape, part of who they all were.

“What are you doing with them?” Shane asked, gesturing at the kids.

“They’re my friends,” she said defensively.

“You know that’s not true,” he said.

“Jenna is. She’s been my best friend since kindergarten.”

“Well, she’s hanging around with jerks. Getting excited about being on TV—in what? A reality show about ruining the coastline? If they thought about it for ten seconds instead of just jumping on the nearest bandwagon, maybe they’d realize he’s making them into suckers.”

“Not everyone loves the beach the way we do,” Mickey said. She glanced past Shane, at his upright board stuck into the sand. “Did you surf today?”

“After I finished community service. Until dark,” he said proudly. “That’s how I figured out about the party. Josh and his friends showed up early to build the ‘bonfire.’ You should have seen them, dragging up driftwood from the tide line. Half of it is soaked through—he was putting the fire out before he got it started.”

Mickey laughed in spite of herself. She watched some kids refilling their cups from the keg, then saw Jenna and Tripp holding hands, standing just outside the circle of firelight, starting to kiss. Somehow the sight of her friend’s passion combined with the touch of Shane’s arm against hers made Mickey feel hot. What was she even thinking? He was older and so much cooler, probably just thought of her as a little kid who’d fallen off her bike.

She turned toward Shane, caught him looking at her. His face was just inches away from hers, so close she felt his warm breath on her forehead. The wind was still blowing hard; he reached over to push the hair out of her eyes. The feeling shocked her, made her heart pound. His fingers lingered longer than they had to, and she realized he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“Aren’t your hands cold?” she asked, her voice sounding almost like a croak.

“Not now,” he said, touching the side of her face with his palm.

“You should be freezing,” she said. “Sitting out here—no blanket, no gloves…how do you do it?”

“I’m used to surfing in the winter sea,” he said. “I just don’t think about it. Warm, cold, what’s the difference? We’re alive—we’re here for a short time, the shortest time you can imagine.” His words sounded harsh, but they were also filled with grief. Something in them made Mickey think of everything her family had lost—their old closeness, the comfort of having all three of them under the same roof—and she leaned a little closer.

“What do you mean, ‘the shortest time’?”

“My father died when I was three,” Shane said. He stopped there, as if that was all that he needed to say. Then he cleared his throat, looked at Mickey. “He was only twenty-two. Just a few years older than I am now.”

“How did he die?” Mickey asked.

“He drowned,” Shane said. He stared out over the breaking waves, then glanced down at Mickey. “He was a surfer.”

“He drowned surfing?”

Shane nodded. “Right here,” he said. “On this beach.”

“During the winter?” Mickey asked. She took in Shane’s bare head and hands, his open collar, with no scarf to block the wind—he didn’t even bother zipping his jacket up to the top.

Shane shook his head. “The first day of spring,” he said.

“Who was with him?” she asked, because somehow she already knew.

“We were,” he said. “My mother and I.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said. “I’m just glad he didn’t die alone. We saw him catch the perfect wave, and then we saw him go under. And not come up. My mother swam out, looking for him.”

“Did she…?”

Shane stared out at the sea, his eyes hot. “No, she didn’t find him. We never did.”

“Shane, that’s so sad.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It is. When I was a little kid, the year I was old enough to ride my bike to school, I used to skip school. My mother would watch me head off, and she’d think I was going to Woodland. Instead, I’d double back around and come down here, looking for my father. That’s the year I stayed back.”

“I remember,” she said. “The year you were suddenly in my class.”

“That’s why,” he said. “My mother took my bike away, so I wouldn’t stay back again.”

“You stopped looking for him?”

Shane nodded. “I told myself the wave had taken him to California; he always used to talk about moving to Half Moon Bay, surfing Maverick’s.”

“Maverick’s?” she asked.

“A big-wave surfing place,” Shane said. “Named for someone’s dog. I’ve always wanted to get a dog, call him Maverick. My dad would like that.”

Mickey nodded. She thought of her own dad, how he’d always promised they’d get a dog. They’d go to a farm he knew, pick out a puppy from the litter, and it would be their dog. Mickey had imagined father-daughter walks on the beach, their dog running up ahead, exploring the tide line. It had never happened.

Glancing up at Shane, she watched him hold back a shiver.

“The first day of spring,” she said. “It must have still been cold.”

“It was,” he said. “But the sun was out. I remember that, and I still love that combination—a chill in the air when the sun’s shining.”

“You kept me warm that day on the road, when I had my bike accident,” Mickey said. Very gently—completely by instinct, certainly not thinking, because if she was she couldn’t have done it—she slid her arm around him. “You were cold the day your father drowned, but you don’t have to be cold now. You don’t…”

Shane felt stiff, almost as if he wanted to pull away. But he didn’t—he moved closer, turning toward her, putting his arms around her. Mickey felt her heart beating so hard, almost as if it wanted to break out of her chest. She even heard wings and felt the rush of something flying overhead, but when she tilted her head back to look up, all she saw was a white blur, just clearing the jetty.

“Was that…?” she asked

“The snowy owl,” he said.

They held each other, watching the owl’s long, low flight over the beach. Shane clasped fingers with Mickey’s good hand. They sat perfectly still on the dune, watching the owl soar out of sight.

The kids at the party had seen it, too: “Hey, what the fuck?” Josh asked.

“That was a freaking big seagull,” Declan said.

“Seagulls don’t fly at night,” Isabella said.

“It’s a snowy owl,” Tripp laughed. “Sssh—don’t tell Mickey.”

“A snowy owl—no way!” Martine said.

“Hey, it’s coming back,” Josh said, peering down the beach. And he was right; the owl was making another pass along the dunes. Shane and Mickey were sitting so still, huddled into the tall grass, no one saw them there. Everything happened so fast, Mickey couldn’t have moved if she wanted to—watching the owl, pressed against Shane’s body, she was almost paralyzed with happiness.

Josh grabbed a long driftwood log from the fire. One end was unburned; the other was charred and smoldering: it was one of the wet pieces Shane had seen him throw onto the pile. He wound his arm back.

“What are you doing?” Jenna asked.

“It’s just a stupid bird,” Josh said, and he released the driftwood.

Shane let go of Mickey and jumped up, but he was too late: the log clipped the owl’s wing, and the snowy owl fell to earth. Mickey heard a shriek and the rustle of feathers. She felt Shane fly across the dune to where it had landed.

“I’m going to stuff and mount it,” Josh said, striding over. “It’s mine.”

“You idiot,” Shane said.

“What did you do?” Jenna cried.

“Hey, it’ll be like one of his dad’s trophies,” Martine said. “All those big-game heads out in the trophy room. Rhino, lion, snowy owl!”

Shane pushed the others away, went back to the bird. Mickey stared in horror: the owl was on its feet, one wing straight and dragging on the sand, trying to fly. In the darkness, its yellow eyes were like beacons, and in them she saw terrible pain, fear, and intelligence. Josh went straight for the owl, and Mickey jumped onto his back.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

“Get away!” she screamed. “Leave it alone.”

“Get off my back!” Josh said, slamming her onto the beach in one motion.

“Mickey!” Shane said. He’d been leaning over the owl, trying to figure out how to help it. But at the sight of Mickey on the ground, he took a giant step toward Josh and smashed his fist into his gut. The sound was a thunder crack, and Josh went down, clutching his stomach.

“You freak!” Josh shouted, when he got his wind back. He picked up a rock as he rose to his feet, glaring at both Mickey and Shane, as if unsure of who to attack first. Then he looked at the owl and brought the rock up over his head.

Shane seemed very calm. He stood still, his chest heaving. Without breaking a sweat or seeming to exert much effort, he just reached over and took the rock out of Josh’s hands.

“Don’t be more of an idiot than you already are,” Shane said. He flung the rock across the beach into the water, then turned to Mickey. She was shaking. Her cast was filled with sand, and the irritation chafed her skin raw. Her ribs ached from where Josh had thrown her onto the ground. Shane helped her up. He stroked her face with his bare hand, and the look in his eyes made her tremble. In that flash of an instant, she knew that they had to save the owl, that they had to get away from the beach, that she had fallen in love.

She and Shane crouched by the owl; its golden eyes were less bright, one white wing was flapping madly, the other dead and useless, and it was crying. That’s just how it sounded to Mickey: like human cries of anguish. Her heart, completely in love with Shane, was breaking for the owl.

“What can we do for it?” she asked, holding back tears.

“We’ll take it to the ranger,” Shane said. “He’ll know…”

In that second Mickey saw the log coming down—she tried to pull Shane out of the way, but it hit his head with a thump. Shane tottered and fell, blood flowing from a gash in his temple. Mickey cried out, but just then she felt a blanket come over her head.

“No!” Jenna shrieked. “Let her alone!”

Mickey fought against the blanket. It bundled around her and the owl, sweeping them both up. The owl fought hard: thinking Mickey was its enemy, it attacked her with its claws and beak. She closed her eyes, feeling knives tear at her flesh. The blanket felt harsh and rough, and suddenly she felt herself being lifted—pressed against the owl so tight, neither one could move. She felt the softness of feathers against her cheek; when she opened her eyes, she saw nothing but blackness.

“Stop,” she tried to say. “Please!”

Jenna’s voice sounded right outside the blanket, and so did some of the others. She heard them pleading with Josh, but he didn’t answer. He carried her, thumping across the sand. She could feel his footfalls, hard and full of purpose. The sea air came through the woolen blanket. The owl had stopped moving, but in the pitch dark she saw its eyes gleaming dully yellow, just inches away from her own.

Mickey felt Josh wind up—just as he had done with the driftwood log. Once, twice, and then release—he sent the blanket with Mickey and the owl bundled inside flying into the air. For a moment she thought it would be okay; she would land on her feet, catch the owl, keep them both from crashing onto the sand. Somehow, in that last moment, the owl spread its one good wing and broke free.

Mickey felt an instant of joy—the owl would be all right. But there was no place for her own feet to land: she felt the shock of cold water, more frigid than anything she had ever known. It took her breath away, and suddenly there was no breath to take. She swallowed icy salt water. Her heavy boots filled, dragging her down. She struggled against the blanket weighting her like a sea anchor, dragging her straight down to the sea bottom. She tried to kick her boots off, but they were stuck—the water had formed a seal, a vacuum against her skin, and they were dead weights.

Mickey held her breath. She was dying, plummeting downward. She looked around wildly. The storm out at sea had pushed enormous waves toward the shore, and she was caught in them now. The action pounded her deeper and deeper, down into the sand. She looked into the depths, saw the sub—she was sure of it, a dark hulk right there, bright white faces of German sailors peering out of the conning tower, beckoning her closer.

Real faces, each one distinct; she looked from one to the next, praying for help—were they going to attack her? Suddenly she saw a new shape diving toward her—a shark, a black blur. It swam so fast, rocketing down. She felt arms wrap around her—she flailed around, disoriented, trying to find the owl, struggling against the force. Something was trying to drown her faster than the blanket and the sea itself. She fought wildly, and staring into the salty murk, she saw familiar eyes.

They were like Shane’s: they were his father’s! His father had come to be with her now, to help her be less afraid. She shuddered, tried to stop fighting. She could go with him. Her lungs were on fire, ready to explode. This was it. She opened her mouth, letting the last of her air go, bubbles escaping from her mouth.

And suddenly she felt Shane’s lips on hers. Kissing her back to life, giving her strength, making her know she had to hold on. He wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight and gently guiding her up to the surface. They broke free, and she gulped water and air. Underwater had been calm compared to this: they were caught in the surf, in the inshore violence of breaking storm waves.

“Hold on,” he said. “Don’t let go of me for anything.”

“The men, down below…” White, advancing toward her, making her remember something else: white, flying, soaring, falling.

“The owl!” she cried, sinking again.

“It’s on land,” he said, boosting her up, stroking through the frigid water. “That’s where we have to get to….”

Mickey coughed, choking on the water she had swallowed.

“Stay with me, Mickey,” Shane shouted.

“He killed it,” she wept, gulping water.

“Mickey,” he said, and his voice was tender even while his grip was pure iron. He let her sob as he swam her into the beach. Her broken wrist was numb, and her legs felt as if they were filled with sand. The waves battered Mickey and Shane, but he swam through them, straight and true. Her lost strength kicked in with a blast of adrenaline, and she began to swim. Her stroke grew stronger, and she felt the spray sting her eyes, but her own tears and a will to live washed it away.

When they got to the shore, kids surrounded them, helping them out of the surf. Tripp placed a blanket around Mickey’s and Shane’s shoulders. She felt Shane holding her, making sure she could make it above the tide line, easing her down because her legs suddenly wouldn’t work anymore.

Mickey heard soft weeping, almost like the sea wind blowing through the thicket at the top of the beach, behind the dunes. She clutched Shane, realized it was coming from him.

“I thought I’d lost you, too,” he said, staring into her eyes, and she knew he was thinking of his father. “I thought you were drowning…”

“I was,” she whispered. “But you saved me.”

They held each other while the other kids stood around. Josh was nowhere to be seen, but Jenna came running over.

“Mickey, thank God you’re okay!” she gasped. “Shane, thank you for saving her.”

Shane just slashed tears from his eyes and kept staring at Mickey. Jenna tapped Mickey’s shoulder, made her look over.

“The owl,” Jenna said. “It’s still alive.”

And then—as if he knew that for Mickey to really be saved, for everything to be all right—Shane nodded once, hard. He stared Mickey straight in the eyes, making sure she was alert, awake, not in shock. German faces swam into her vision—were they here? Had they climbed out of the sea behind her? She shivered, blinked, sent them away. Then she nodded at Shane to let him know she was fine.

“We have to get it to the ranger,” Shane said.

“Mr. O’Casey,” Mickey said, already getting to her feet.