The Voice inside My Head (28 page)

If it’s not a whale shark, I’ll keep looking. I’m almost on top of the boil before a fin breaks the surface, rising at least five feet. The shark is huge, the biggest I’ve seen at three times the length of my boat. My heart starts fluttering, and I have to remind myself that it won’t hurt me. I take a deep breath and turn off my motor. I need my hands free for what I’m about to do and, unlike the research boat, Jamie’s dory doesn’t have an air-powered motor and I don’t want to slice the shark with my propeller.

I climb over the benches to the front of the boat, keeping one eye on the fin that I swear is moving closer, though that might be my paranoia. Reaching under the gunwale, I pull out the jar that contains my sister, or what’s left of her. I wish it was a more fitting container. We had her in a silver urn at home, but it didn’t close securely, so I had to transfer her to a mason jar for the trip back to Utila.

The fin has definitely approached, and I’m not being paranoid when I say it’s making wide, sweeping circles around my boat. I spread my legs to steady myself as I stand
up and unscrew the lid of Pat’s jar. I’m out of the habit of talking to her and there’s no one else here, so I just hold the jar aloft — and practically drop it when a huge mouth appears less than two feet away. I know it’s not going to eat me, but this close, it could definitely capsize the boat. I plop down again and try to slow my breathing.

P
AT:
Are we going to do this or what?

I leap to my feet and look around. I’m alone, but I can hear her voice as clearly as I ever could.

M
E:
Pat?

P
AT:
No, it’s the shark talking. Who do you think it is, moron?

M
E:
You know I’m about to feed your earthly remains to a sixty-foot predator
.

I glower at the jar.

P
AT:
I sure as hell hope so. I was afraid you might have chickened out
.

M
E:
Really? You think I’m chicken? You don’t know the half of what I’ve done this year
.

P
AT:
You brought me back here. That’s all I need to know
.

I hold my sister aloft.

M
E:
Are you ready to be one with the fish?

P
AT:
I’ve been ready my whole life
.

The shark has started circling again. As I tip the jar and the first grains of ash hit the water, a glistening face pops up to watch the spectacle. Bits of my sister disperse through the waves, catching on the snout of the shark and sinking to the depths below. I watch as a remora dives into the stream of her and lean out over the side so I can follow her journey. The last bits of her catch the sunlight and sparkle as they descend into the vastness of the world she loved.