Grayson by Lynne Cox

us?
    “Please hear me, Grayson’s mother, somewhere out there. If it’s you swimming near the HuntingtonBeach jetty, please swim this way: Grayson is here. Your son is here.”
    I took a breath and put my face into the water. What would we do if we couldn’t find her? We couldn’t abandon him. But I couldn’t bring him home. Who could take care of him? He had to have his mother’s milk. What else could he eat?
    He was swimming so slowly toward shore again.
    Do whales get hypothermia? Do they cool down? Could they die from the cold? Could he shiver and generate heat? Maybe he was sick and growing sicker. Maybe he had been left behind because he couldn’t keep up.
    “Please swim this way. Please swim toward Seal Beach. Please swim to the pier.”
    I thought as hard as I could. I didn’t know if it would work. I didn’t know if anyone could ever know. But I had to try something. You don’t have to hear the words to know someone cares about you. You don’t need to hear the words to know someone believes in you. You don’t need to hear the words to know someone loves you. You feel it; you know it.
    Maybe there was a way she would hear me if I just thought more strongly.
    I think Grayson heard me. I think he heard my emotions and felt them too. He floated on the surface near me as if waiting for me to signal what we were supposed to do next.
    I projected my thoughts: Be patient. Wait. Nothing is all good or all bad. As a problem develops, so does the solution. Rest here. I will tread water beside you. You will be okay. I know it. I feel it. It will all work out.
    Tilting my head back and looking up, I noticed that more people were standing on the pier. See all of them up there, Grayson. They’re here for you.
    It was as if Grayson understood. He looked up. He saw them and he grunted softly.
    The people on the pier pressed against the railings, leaning toward the sea.
    They were willing his mother to appear. I hoped she could feel the good vibrations coming from all of the people on the pier. Something was drawing them out there; something made them want to help.
    My heart beat faster. I felt something change.
    And then I heard a mother’s voice from the pier, telling her sons that everyone was out there looking for the mother whale. She warned her youngest son, who was about five years old with blond hair and wearing a dark red sweatshirt, not to stand too close to the edge. His older brother, wearing a bright blue sweatshirt, was standing on the other side of his mother.
    The little boy in red stepped in front of his mother. He was so close to the edge that I thought he was going to slip under the railing and fall, but his brother caught his hand, and without even noticing, the younger brother said in a sad high-pitched voice, “Did the baby whale lose his mommy? Where did she go?”
    “I don’t know,” his brother said.
    “Why did she leave him?”
    The older brother said, “I don’t know where she went, but let’s look for her. Maybe we can find her.”
    “Okay,” said the younger one, slipping his hand into his mother’s and seriously staring across the ocean along with his big brother.
    And it happened.
    We hoped, believed, tried, worked, learned, andtried again, and then suddenly it happened in a single moment, all that we hoped for and even a little more.
    The sea’s surface was changing. An underwater current was colliding with the chop and the waves were growing larger, but only in a wide straight line.
    “Look over there! I think I see something!” the little boy shouted excitedly.
    It had to be. It just had to be.
    “I think I see her! I think I see his mommy!” a strawberry blond little girl shouted in a high joyful voice.
    People were leaning so far over, trying to see what the little girl saw, that I hoped the wooden railings would hold the weight.
    Then someone was shouting, “I think I see her too. Over there!”
    People were craning their necks, shielding their eyes with their