That night, like tonight, she’d needed to move. She ran down the zigzag steps and across the sand to the rowboat she kept there. She shoved it into the water, climbed in, and rowed away from the shore with all her might. Her rage gave her energy. She hadn’t gone out this far at night, she knew it wasn’t safe, and right then she didn’t give a damn. Let her be swamped by a rogue wave, let her fall overboard, what did it matter to her, nothing mattered, she was nothing herself, she was a woman who was hopelessly in love with the wrong man.

  When she was too exhausted to row anymore, she shipped the oars and sat there in the little rowboat, weeping. She wiped the tears with her hands, she let them fall, soaking her summer dress. She wanted to throw back her head and howl like a wounded wolf, but the rowing had tired her. She had no breath. She had only heartbreak.

  Something knocked against the bottom of the boat.

  She was startled out of her rage. She knew these waters well. There were no shoals in this spot. Had she rowed too far out? She looked back at the shore. The lights of her house were small globes of gold. She had rowed farther than ever before. This calmed her, oddly, because she knew she was going to exhaust herself rowing back.

  Again, something knocked on the boat, this time setting it rocking sideways, heave-ho, heave-ho. Robin clutched the wooden seat. Her heart ratcheted in her chest. The moon was three-quarters full, illuminating the night, so that she could see herself, the boat, the water, everything painted with silver.

  A third knock. She called out, “Who’s there?” Of course no one answered, what could answer; she was alone in the water, but something was knocking her boat and she was too paralyzed with fear to seize the oars and row for home.

  Her heart raced. Her mind tried to make some kind of sense. Perhaps it was a large piece of driftwood, a rudder, a box drifting in the water. Robin peered over the side of the rowboat.

  An eye looked up at her. A living, inquisitive, moist, dark eye. Every hair on her body stood up. Sound would not come, breath would not come. She was stricken with fear.

  As she stared, she saw how the eye was part of a head, an enormous black head covered with white callosities and a mouth curving upward. She was looking at a whale. A living right whale.

  Who was looking at her.

  Who was seeing her.

  Her world changed at that moment. All that had gone before vanished, and this was the birth of her new life. She knew she was somehow caught in a miracle.

  She was trembling so much her teeth were chattering. She managed to say, “Hello.” Her voice was weak, she scarcely made a sound. She tried again. “Hello. You’re a whale, aren’t you? I’m a human. I’m Robin.”

  The utter absurdity of her words made her laugh. But exactly what does one say to a whale? The laughter opened up her throat, her chest, her heart. As she laughed, the eye disappeared, the whale sank from view. Less than a minute later, the whale breached, exploding out of the ocean into the air and landing again with a force that set waves surging toward her rowboat. Robin clutched the sides as her small boat tilted back and forth, managing to remain stable. Exhilaration swept through her, a joy she’d never before experienced. She was crying again, and laughing at the same time; she was in ecstasy. She couldn’t wait to tell the others she had seen a whale, she had been visited by a whale, stared at by the creature, as if she were the odd one, living out in the air instead of inhabiting the glorious expanse of ocean.

  Before she could pick up the oars to row home, another knock came on the boat. She looked down. There was the whale, and she knew it was the whale because of the pattern of the white clumps she had been taught in school—for in Nantucket, everyone was taught about whales—were called callosities. Each whale had a unique pattern.

  She watched the whale with more attention and less fear. She knew they were curious.

  “What must I look like to you?” she asked, as if the whale could speak. “I know you mate and have babies, but do you ever fall in love? What if your love is not returned?”

  The whale floated next to her, the eye bright with interest. She was lying on her side, the length of her extending far past the length of the boat. The moonlight showed how the creature’s body extended far below the surface, a blacker, darker shape than the silvered water. The whale was probably eighteen feet long, and weighed, Robin remembered from school, several tons. It wouldn’t want to eat her, and it didn’t seem hostile—what was happening?

  “I’m frightened of you,” Robin said. “Are you frightened of me?” She laughed again, because of course the whale had no idea what she was saying, she could speak French or baby talk or nonsense, it would be all the same to the whale. “You are wonderful,” she said. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  The whale submerged. It did not breach again, and it didn’t return, although Robin waited a long time. Finally, she rowed back to shore, slowly, steadily, her mind a white dazzle of memory and disbelief. When she finally stumbled up the steps, across the lawn, and into the house, it was late, and everyone was asleep, and the house was quiet. She unstrapped her life jacket, wrapped herself in the cashmere blanket thrown over the family room sofa, and collapsed on the sofa, falling into a sleep that was speckled with stars.

  When she awoke the next day, hot in the cashmere blanket, disoriented to find herself in the family room, everyone else had already left the house. Courtney had gone off to work, pedaling on Robin’s old bike. Her mother had left a note on the kitchen chalkboard: Driving Dr. V to airport. Buying groceries. Lunch at club. XOXO MOM

  Robin was grateful for this space of solitude. As she showered, she worried: had last night been a dream? Or worse, a hallucination? She decided not to tell anyone about it. It would frighten and worry her parents, and her brothers would find something else to tease her about.

  —

  That was three years ago. Since then, she’d gone out countless times and countless times she’d been disappointed. But sometimes, the whale, her whale, appeared, floating beside her. Last year, her whale brought two other whales who lay sideways in the water, staring at her with their round eyes. Last summer, she’d seen the whales more than a dozen times. How they knew not to overturn her boat, plunging her into the ocean, why they didn’t upend the boat, she couldn’t imagine. No, she could imagine. She’d been reading about whales. They were mammals. They were intelligent. It was possible, even probable, that they had no wish to do her harm, that they chose not to endanger her life, even that they liked her.

  Now, as she waited in her little skiff in the calm summer waters, she could see the dark mass of the bluff and above, the small, twinkling lights of her house and the larger glow from the tent where people, her parents, their friends, might still be dancing. The party had been a success, and she was glad, but Quinn’s ultimatum that they leave the island overshadowed her happiness.

  Could she tell Quinn? No. He would worry that her words, what he would understand as her fantasies, were signs of mania.

  Tonight, the whales were not coming. Robin was exhausted from the birthday party. She was exasperated with her relationship with Quinn. The future loomed over her, more threatening than welcoming, a thundercloud, not a rainbow.

  She started the engine and motored back to the shore.

  The house was quiet. Most of the lights were off. Robin slipped in the back door and crept up the stairs. Along the hall, the bedroom doors were closed, but the bathroom across from her room was open and a light was on. She slipped inside and quietly brushed her teeth, then went into her room and tiptoed over to her bed.

  “Robin?” Courtney whispered from the other bed.

  Robin jumped. “Whoa! I thought you were asleep!”

  “Can’t sleep. I’d like to talk…can you stay awake awhile longer?”

  “Sure. Just let me get out of these clothes.” Robin dropped her party dress on the floor and slipped into a light summer nightgown. Crawling into bed, she plumped up her pillows and leaned against the headboard. “Okay. What’s up?”

  “I need to tell you something. And I need you to help me.”

  “That sounds serious.”

  Courtney said, “It is serious.”

  After a long moment of silence, Robin said, “Well, come on. You’ve got me on pins and needles.”

  “It’s hard to talk about.” Courtney sat up in bed, swung her legs over the side, and faced Robin. The lights were off but through the window moon and starlight gleamed in, dressing them both in silver. “Okay. Okay. Here it is. Robin, I’m in love with James and he’s in love with me.”

  “Stop it.”

  “It’s true, but don’t get too excited,” Courtney warned. “We talked about it last night and tonight, and he wants to get married. But he doesn’t want to have children. It’s a deal breaker, Robin.”

  “You’re in love with James, really?”

  “Yes. Really. The real thing.”

  “And he’s said he loves you?”

  “Yes. But, Robin, he’s also said he won’t give me children!”

  “Oh, man, I’ve been hoping for this for years. Courtney, you’re going to be my sister-in-law!”

  “Wait, Robin. Calm down. I want children. James’s children. James swears that can never happen. We can adopt. We can use someone else’s sperm—ick!”

  Robin pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Okay. Yeah. I can see where James is coming from. James has lived with Henry’s bipolar problems—”

  “I have, too,” Courtney protested.

  “True. But not quite as up close and personal as James and me. You haven’t spent any time in psych wards or seen Henry zoned out on the wrong drug. We know it can be inherited.”

  “That’s true, but I have seen Henry depressed, and I’ve seen him manic, and I am aware of the toll it’s taken on your family, especially your mother.” Courtney shifted position, tucking her legs under her, leaning out from the bed. “I’ve also seen you and Iris and James for eleven years. You’re kind of bizarre”—she lightened her tone to joke—“but I don’t see any signs of manic-depression.”

  Robin listened, taking time to absorb all of this. After a moment, she said, “Damn, Courtney, how could you be in love with James and never tell me?”

  “Well, Robin, come on. I didn’t admit to anyone, especially not to James, how I felt, and I only slept with him tonight—”

  Robin almost achieved liftoff from the bed. “You slept with James? Tonight? Where? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Sssh. You’ll wake the house. I am telling you now, I could hardly tell you before, did you want me to phone you from the beach?”

  “The beach? You had sex on the beach?”

  “Where else could we be alone? The party was going on. The house is packed with people.”

  “I don’t believe this. I do not even believe this.” Robin threw herself from the bed and paced around the room, pulling on her hair.

  Courtney gestured to her laptop, lying on the floor beneath the bed. “I spent the past hour Googling manic-depression, Robin, and I’ve learned a lot. They know bipolar runs in families but they know very little about how it is inherited…they don’t know the odds or what combination of parents it takes. They have yet to identify any specific gene, so there is no test. They don’t know what combination of nature and nurture might be involved.”

  Robin nodded. “Yes. I’ve read about the syndrome, too. I’ve done lots of reading, as you can imagine. And so has James.”

  “But look at your own family, Robin. Four children. Only one shows signs of mania or depression.”

  Robin inhaled sharply. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Robin was quiet as she settled back in bed. She fiddled with her sheets and the light summer blanket, arranging them neatly over her knees.

  “Robin? Are you okay? I mean…just tell me.”

  “You have to promise not to tell anyone else. Especially not Mom.”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay.” Robin began pleating the edge of the sheet carefully as she talked. “You know my little boat down on the beach?”

  “Yes.”

  “We go out in it sometimes.”

  “Right, okay.”

  “I go out in it at night, too. Sometimes. Way out.”

  “Gosh, Robin, do you wear your life vest?”

  “Of course I do. That’s not even what I need to tell you. When I get out, I don’t know, fifty yards from shore, I turn off the motor and sit there. It’s nice. Well, nice doesn’t cover it. It’s magical. I go out only if there’s sufficient moonlight. And sometimes—not every time, but often—whales visit me.”

  Courtney didn’t reply but sat in silence for a few minutes. Then she reached over and turned on the light on the bedside table.

  “Robin. What do you mean, whales visit you?”

  Robin made a bitter sound. “See? Now you think I’m crazy.”

  “No, I don’t. I didn’t say any such thing. But I want to know more. I mean, come on, Robin, a whale is well—big.”

  “I know. My whales are right whales. They’re enormous. They come close to the boat and their size dwarfs the boat.”

  “Then what you’re doing is dangerous.” Courtney frowned. “Good god, Robin, they could capsize your boat.”

  “No. They’re too careful for that. Sometimes they knock the bottom of my boat, I think they’re letting me know they’re there. Then they kind of float under the water near me. My special whale—I know, I know, that sounds insane—but there is one whale who likes to get close to the boat and look up at me and I look down at her and, Courtney, I swear on my life we connect. We look at each other, and that look is an entire conversation, it’s I see you, I’m glad you see me.”

  “If what you’re telling me is true, Robin, it’s remarkable. It’s even miraculous.”

  Robin turned toward Courtney. “Believe it, Courtney. It is miraculous. I’m aware of that. It does scare me out there, it makes my hair stand on end, I get goosebumps, I think I’m going to have a heart attack, I can scarcely breathe, and all the time I’m feeling so incredibly blessed by their visits. I talk to them, I even sing to them. I know it sounds weird, but whales sing to one another. We’re just there, together, in the ocean, at night, in the darkness, and it’s like this is how it is to be alive, on this planet, connecting somehow, and it’s all a mystery.”

  Courtney said, “Would you take me out some night?”

  Robin clasped her hands to her face. Helplessly, she broke into tears. “Yes,” she said. “Oh, Courtney, yes.” With tears running down her cheeks, she rose from her bed and sank down next to Courtney. She hugged Courtney tight. “You are so wonderful. You really are my very best friend in the whole wide world. I love you so much. I can’t tell you how much it means that you want to go out with me.” She dried her face with her hands and gulped a few times, settling down. “Now I feel brave enough to tell Quinn.”

  Courtney pulled back. “Quinn? Why would you want to tell Quinn?”

  Robin took Courtney’s hands in hers. “Courtney, I’m in love with Quinn.”

  Courtney frowned.

  “He loves me, too.”

  “Gosh. I don’t know what to say, Robin. I mean—isn’t he kind of old?”

  “He’s eighteen years older than I am. I don’t give a fig. I’m even glad. It’s nice to be around someone mature after living with my brothers.”

  Courtney peppered Robin with questions. “Have you slept with him? How long have you been, well, together? How do you even manage to be together? Do your parents know? They must be totally freaked out. Oh my god! Does Christabel know?”

  Robin laughed. “Yes, I’ve slept with him. It was wonderful—he was wonderful. He is wonderful. No, my parents don’t know, and neither does Christabel. We’ve been meeting in secret for, well, for three years.”

  “Three years? And you’re only telling me now?” Courtney moved away from Robin, scuttling up against the backboard.

  “Hello, pot? This is kettle.”

  “I only slept with him tonight. Not three years ago!”

  Robin swung her legs up and folded them under her as she faced Courtney. “At first we agreed to keep it secret. He’s worried about his reputation, too, a high school teacher dating a woman so much younger. And Christabel, of course we have to take her emotions into account. She’s so delicate.”

  “Have you talked about—the long term? Marriage?”

  Robin sighed. “We have. Recently. We’ve got kind of our own problem there.”

  “Because of the bipolar thing?”

  “No. No, that doesn’t worry him, and we haven’t really talked about having children.” Robin sounded heavyhearted now. “No, it’s that Quinn wants to move off island.”

  “And?”

  “And I don’t want to leave Nantucket.”

  “Why not, Robin? It’s not as if you’d never be able to come back. You could come back whenever you wanted. You could see your family, your friends, your whales…”

  Robin interrupted. “This is where I belong, Courtney. This is where I want to be. It’s my home. The island is my home. I want to stay here.”

  “Have you told Quinn?”

  “Of course I have. It’s all we talk about these days. That and his precious Christabel.”

  “But you haven’t told him about the whales,” Courtney reminded her. “Why not?”

  Robin chewed her lip, thinking. “I don’t know. I mean, in a way it’s too important to be shared. It’s sacred to me, really, Courtney.”

  “And?”

  Robin dropped her head. “And I suppose I’m afraid he’ll tell me to stop going out, because it’s dangerous.”

  “Well, that’s understandable, really.” Courtney leaned her head back, thinking. “Could you take him out there with you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve thought about it. I don’t know.” Robin ran her hands through her hair. “Oh, Courtney, how can we be best friends when we’ve kept such secrets from each other?”

  “I know. We’re idiots. But if you think about it, Robin—maybe we’re both afraid. Afraid to make it real. I’ve had a crush on James since forever, but I never thought he could love me, too. What if I’d told him, and he’d laughed at me, or been sweetly condescending to me—I couldn’t have come back to the island ever again. It’s a big risk! Love is a big risk!”