“Awright, folks, we’ve got a spray on the horizon off the port bow,” he announced cheerfully. In a moment he lifted the bullhorn to his mouth. His eyes passed right over her as he turned, scanning the bay. She could see just the side of his face: a high cheekbone, black glasses, a thick eyebrow, weather-beaten blond hair like bristles of a brush, lips pursed in easy concentration. She stole a glance at Peter, a bullhorn hanging in his right hand, his left hand shielding the late spring sun from his eyes. She still thrilled at skimming alongside a massive humpback, its slick body and watchful eye hinting at secrets from beneath the surface. When she was a child she had loved clambering up on the ship’s rails, her father gripping the back of her shirt in his fist, and scouring the horizon for the telltale spouts that she was almost always the first to see. She had gone on dozens of Captain Dave whale-watch adventures over the last seventeen years: her best friend’s father was Captain Dave Angeln himself, and her own dad-a researcher at Woods Hole-often used the trips to collect data and observe mammalian life in the bay. The ocean filled her with joy and longing, all at once.

She shoved it behind her ears and closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath of sea air-faintly like salt, faintly like cucumbers. THE WIND WHIPPED Hester’s hair around her face.

Monstrous Beauty by Elizabeth Fama