Luanne Rice (8 page)

But as she
locked the car, and felt Lily take her hand, squeeze it, she knew she was
waking up. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but Lily’s smile was so bright and
real, she thought maybe she’d give it a try.

So
together, two mothers and two daughters walked up the gangplank to the
Tecumseh II
and got down to the business
of a birthday party.

At eight
forty-five sharp, Liam sat in his office, watching Jude check the birthday
party aboard the
Tecumseh II
. The
dock parking lot filled up with cars, and girls and their mothers walked up the
gangway, loaded with wrapped boxes, warm jackets and fleeces, and
binoculars—Lily and Rose among them, climbing aboard with another woman and
Jessica, the little girl who had come to find him when Rose needed help. Anne
Neill ran down the long green hill from the inn, kissing Jude as she climbed on
deck.

Liam’s
stomach jumped. Was it from thinking of the birthday party? Seeing Rose looking
so happy? He held in his mind’s eye the picture of her yesterday—crouching by
the statue, such fear and exhaustion in her big green eyes.

He tried to
look away from the whale boat, but found he couldn’t. There was Anne standing
with Jude, talking, seeming to cajole him, arm around his waist—Liam nearly
smiled in spite of himself; his cousin’s MO was to take weekends off, no matter
what. Anne was just trying to smooth the fact that he was on duty on a
Saturday. Liam could see the affection between them, and for some reason that
gave his stomach another lurch.

Liam had
spent the morning so far tracking various sharks, whales, and dolphins via
transmitters attached during catch-and-release programs or ongoing tracking
projects. He had lots more data to record, but now that it was nearly nine, he
switched his program from the desk computer to his laptop. He could do the work
later, from home. Grabbing his sweater and duffel bag, he shut the door behind
him.

The crew
cast off lines, Jude sounded a long blast from the wheelhouse, and as the
Tecumseh II
pulled away from the dock,
the whale-watch cruise got under way. The whole party had gathered on the upper
deck, facing seaward.
All except Rose.
Liam saw her
standing in the aft section of the deck, smiling back—at him.

Liam gave
her a big wave. He made his way down the pier, past the few fishing boats that
hadn’t left on the dawn tide. Gerard stood on deck, glaring as Liam walked
past. They ignored each other—the battle lines had been drawn the minute Liam
had spotted that dolphin fin, sliced off and lying among garbage in the bottom
of Gerard’s boat.

Climbing
into his flat-bottomed Zodiac, Liam started up the Yamaha 150 and backed into
the harbor. The
Tecumseh II
had a
good head start, but Liam followed in its wake—a pale green swath of foam
cutting a trail through the calm blue bay—just like kids in the fairy tale, tracking
dropped bread crumbs. The thing was
,
he could find his
way blindfolded. He knew that the whale boat was making for the feeding
grounds—the best place to find whales.

Liam told
himself he was on a research mission. He had positive transmission from at
least seven migrating marine mammals, all scheduled to arrive in Cape Hawk
waters sometime today. He had data coming in from a whale shark as well as a
great white, not to mention the whales and dolphins that had already arrived
from southern waters. He had himself practically convinced that his trip to the
feeding grounds had nothing—or at least, very little—to do with Rose Malone’s
ninth birthday party.

The day was
clear and beautiful. He told himself that he could follow the signal for MM122
(marine mammal 122, a nineteen-year-old Beluga whale) and greet her as she
returned to her spawning grounds. MM122 was a local favorite, and summer wasn’t
summer until she arrived. Unlike other whales, she was coming from the
north—she migrated in the opposite direction, loving and craving winters of ice
and snow and northern lights. He knew by the beeps of her transmitter that she
would appear on the scene today; whether it would happen during Rose’s birthday
cruise, he wasn’t positive.

But
if
she showed up, and
if
he picked her up on his laptop, maybe
he could radio Jude to send him in the right direction.

He pounded
across the water, following the boat. Off in the distance were seven fine
spouts—a pod of fin whales, reliably feeding on krill and small fry, detritus
churned up by the flume coming down the fjord and upwelling caused by the wave
action on the peninsula’s west coast. As the
Tecumseh II
neared the whales, a great cry went up on deck—all the
girls pointing, sighting the whales, laughing with excitement.

Liam pulled
out his laptop, tapped in a password, pulled up the transmission screen. Okay,
there it was—MM122. According to his data, she should be in the bay now—out by
the headlands, swimming fast toward the feeding grounds. Liam flipped on his
radio, called his cousin.

“T-Two,
this is your Marine Bio Cuz—do you copy?”

“That’s
a roger
. What are you doing out here?

“Tracking belugas.
If you steer due west one hundred meters, you
should meet up with MM122 when she comes up for air.”

“You’re
kidding me. You’re deigning to share reallive scientific data with us
money-grubbing whale watchers?”

“It’s a
one-shot deal. What are you waiting for? Change course now.”

“You got
it—and hey, thanks. I think.”

Liam didn’t
even reply. As the big whale boat turned west, Liam gunned the engine, slicing
over the
Tecumseh II
’s wake and
around her starboard side in a big S. He drove alongside, guiding his cousin to
the spot where MM122 was most likely to surface. One eye on the water ahead,
one on his laptop, Liam slowed down. He heard the waves lapping the sides of
his inflatable, as well as the disappointed voices of the girls and their
mothers. They had seen the whales feeding—now about two hundred yards
behind—and couldn’t understand why the boat was turning away.

As the
boats slapped over the small waves, Liam glanced up on deck. Rose and her
mother were standing at the rail with several others. Lily had her arm around
Rose’s shoulders. She stared straight ahead—not back at the whales—as if she
was ready for whatever would surface in her path. The morning sun hit her dark
hair, making it look as sleek and glossy as a seal. Liam nearly couldn’t look
away, but he had to glance at his computer screen.

He saw that
the depth of MM122 had changed; the whale was coming up for air.

“Rose,” he
called.

She looked
down from the deck, shielding her eyes against the sun. She waved, seeming
excited to see him. Lily looked down now, not even taking her arm off Rose’s
shoulders to wave or block the sun from her eyes. She just squinted hard,
looking straight at Liam and sending a depth charge into his heart.

“Dead
ahead,” he said, letting go of the steering wheel to point with his good arm.
Lily didn’t ask questions, and if she had any doubts, they didn’t show. For
some reason she just trusted what he was saying to her—without even knowing
why, and it was that fact more than anything that moved Liam to the core. He
watched Lily shepherd Rose toward the bow, away from the other mothers and
daughters. The
Tecumseh II
was fitted
specially for observation, with a bow pulpit that extended ten feet over the
open water. Lily held tight to the stainless steel rail and guided Rose
straight out.

Liam gave
Jude the signal, and he throttled back. The two boats waited, their engines
idling in near silence. Liam’s heart pounded with anticipation, scanning the
open water. He imagined Jude doing the same thing. They had whale-watching in
their blood; back when they were Rose’s age, they would do this for fun, every
day, every year, competing for
who
would see the whale
first. Connor always won.

This time,
Liam felt her before he saw her. Maybe it was the tension coming from Lily and
Rose—he saw them gazing intently, their muscles tight, their eyes alert. Liam
felt their energy—or was it that of the old whale, having made her mystical
journey home, south from the frozen sea at the very top of the world, yet
again?

What had
she encountered along the way? What sharks had she dodged? What ice had she
broken with her dorsal ridge, needing to breathe just as vitally as Liam
himself? What fishing nets had she avoided? She was old now, and Liam had the
passionate wish that he could understand her will to keep living, her desire to
return again and again to this bay where she had been born. She was here—he
felt it.

“Nanny!”
Rose cried out.

And there
she was: the white whale, the St. Lawrence beluga. She surfaced glinting
brilliantly in the sun, white as ice, lifting her head as if to survey her
surroundings.
Four meters long, pure white, with no dorsal fin,
but a thick dorsal ridge, running the length of her back.
Her spout shot
three feet in the air—hardly visible, compared to other whales. Liam heard her
breathe once, twice. He wondered whether Rose and Lily could hear, all the way
up on the big boat; he wished they were in his Zodiac; he wanted Rose to feel
Nanny’s great life force.

Just then
he caught Lily’s eye. Rose was still staring down at Nanny, reaching both her
arms out, as if she could somehow embrace the old whale, take hold of her and
go for a ride. But Lily stared at Liam. Her eyes were so big and round, wide
with both wonder and something hidden, a shock of pain, he’d always thought,
that she carried with her all the time. It was Rose, he thought … loving her
girl so much.
Living with all that worry.

“She’s
going to be fine,” Liam said out loud, looking straight at her.

Lily cocked
her head. Of course she couldn’t hear over the low engine noise, or the
excitement of everyone at Rose’s party. He saw her mouth the word “What?”

The wind
blew his hair into his eyes, and he had to let go of the wheel to brush it
back. He didn’t want to break eye contact with Lily. But in the instant he
looked away, he heard Nanny take one deep breath and then sound. After up to
ten breaths at the surface, she’d be down below for about fifteen minutes. Lily
and Rose had turned away, inching down the bow pulpit, joining the others on
deck.

Liam had
done what he’d set out to do. He knew the party would go on without him.
Revving his engine to return to the dock, he heard voices rising.

“Thank you,
Dr. Neill!” Rose called.
“For taking us to Nanny!”

“Happy
birthday, Rose,” he called back.

Lily didn’t
say anything, but she was staring at him again, those huge eyes so full of
questions. He knew they had nothing to do with him, but he wanted to answer
them anyway. He gazed back at her, letting certain realities shimmer between
them. Rose had a big surgery ahead of her next week. This was her ninth
birthday. Lily was as fierce as a mama bear, and she’d do anything to make sure
her daughter stayed safe.

Liam and
she were cut from the same cloth—he knew it. He had taken them to Nanny because
it was Rose’s heart’s desire, and because he wanted Nanny’s power to flow into
her, take hold of her, fix her heart so she would live long. He was a
scientist—he had gone to McGill University, and then to graduate school at the
Marine Biological Lab in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. But he was also born by
this northern bay and knew the force and magic that came from nature, from
things unknown and unseen.

Just then
another boat steamed away from the dock—it was Gerard Lafarge, coming closer to
see what everyone was looking at. Liam’s blood felt cold in his veins. He felt
danger coming from the man—he knew that anyone who would do what he’d done to
the dolphin would hurt other unprotected creatures. Liam kept the Zodiac
between Lafarge’s boat and Nanny; but even more so, between Lafarge and Lily
and Rose. He saw Lafarge pick up his binoculars and train them on the white
whale. Then he put them down and looked over at Lily—just stared at her for a
long time.

Turning his
boat around, Liam made a wide circle around the
Tecumseh II,
not unlike the way a male osprey will circle the nest,
keeping an eye on things before flying off to fish. Liam’s laptop was blinking
with all the marine mammals returning from their long migration home, but for
the moment Liam ignored them, driving his boat in wide, slow circles, just
doing his job while his heart beat faster and faster.

Chapter 7

T
hey had come from all over, some driving a
hundred miles, to gather together, to celebrate Rose Malone’s ninth birthday.
There were mothers and daughters, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, old friends,
and new friends. Over the years, they had met in some pretty odd places—starting
with In Stitches, Lily’s needlework shop on the harbor, where their club had
been born. They had met at the inn, people’s homes,
the
visitors’ lounge at the hospital, and, one summer evening, in a sunken garden.
But this was the first time the Nanouk Girls of the Frozen North had ever met
at a birthday party on a boat.

Rose sat
right in the middle of the circle, Jessica by her side. The other young girls
pushed in close, to watch her open her presents, and the older women stood back
slightly, watching and talking. Lily felt her own heart beating, steady, steady
… .
She gazed at the daughter she loved so much and thought
of every single birthday she’d ever had. They had streaked by, faster than a
comet.

It touched
Lily to see Rose surrounded by so much love. Every single person in the room
cared about her and would be rooting for her when they went to Boston. The
sound of Liam’s engine came through the open windows; it kicked Lily’s
heartbeat up a beat, but she stayed focused on the girls and women inside the
cabin: the Nanouks. Glancing around the circle, Lily knew every woman but
Marisa so well. She knew all—or almost all—the
thrills, joys,
heartaches, sorrows
that had made her friends the amazing women they
were. This moment of celebration belied so much; life went on, it always would,
but Lily knew how important it was to stop for moments like this.

Rose opened
her packages—she got books, a watercolor set, modeling clay, a silver bracelet,
a wallet, two CDs, and a sweatshirt with a beluga whale on the front. Lily
could almost feel her daughter’s delight. Sometimes it was as if they had one
skin; was it because Rose had been sick for so long, or
were
all mothers wired into their children? But Lily just felt the joy pouring
through her, straight from Rose.

Just then,
the loudspeaker crackled, and Jude’s voice filled the room: “Calling the
birthday girl … you and your friends are wanted on deck. We have a few lessons
for you, regarding
les baleines
… .”

“That means
‘whales’!” Rose translated for Jessica.

But several
of her friends were French Canadian, and Lily knew Jude had said it for them.
She loved the Neill men’s kindness, and she was grateful her daughter—who had
never even known her father—could experience it.

As the
girls went out on deck, Lily glanced at Marisa. Lily had started the Nanouk
Girls out of a very personal, secret need; she recognized the exact same thing
in Marisa.

“Fine
party, Lil,” Anne said, coming over to where Lily stood by the window.

“She’s
having a great time,” Lily said, watching Rose laugh with her friends as Jude
gathered them on deck.

“It didn’t
hurt that Nanny showed up.”

“How did
that happen? It was almost as if Jude and Liam got together and planned it.”

“It wasn’t
Jude,” Anne said.

“Well, Liam
then. He’s always tracking something on his computer. I walk past his office
and see it blinking, hear it beeping
… .”

“He spends
too much time with sea creatures,” Anne said.
“And not enough
with humans.”

“I’d spend
time with him,” Marlena said, walking over with a glass of punch.
“If I hadn’t sworn off men forever.”

“Oh, c’mon
now,” Anne said. “You don’t mean that. Just because Arthur was a louse doesn’t
mean all men are.”

“Hey, I
know you’re married to a great guy, but when my Barbara was just five, her
father up and left, moved in with a whole other family, forgot all about us. So
I don’t know about all men, but I do know about one bad one
…
.”

Marisa
stood off to the side, as if wondering whether she should join in. Lily smiled,
drawing her closer, knowing that this was what Marisa had come for, whether she
knew it or not.

“She missed
her father so much,” Marlena continued. “She’d work herself into a fever,
crying every night. I’d read her a bedtime story, and any time there was a
daddy in it, she’d be just inconsolable. She’d fall asleep and dream about her
father, and then wake up crying so hard she couldn’t get back to sleep. I had
to keep her home from school a couple of days, because she was so tired.”

“Do you
think children can literally get sick from missing their fathers?” Cindy asked.

“Depends on
the children,” Jodie said.

“No,
depends on the fathers,” Marlena said. “When they don’t care enough to be a
part of the kids’ lives …”

“Come on,”
Suzanne said, smiling. “You’re not still that bitter, are you?”

“Trying not
to be,” Marlena said. “I’m working through it, as they say.”

“Just don’t
let it eat you up, honey,” Doreen said.

Lily
listened with interest, but more for Marisa’s sake than anything else. She had
spent long hours with her own demons, many years ago. The Nanouk Girls had
helped her exorcise them for good.

“I’d like
it to eat him up,” Marlena said.
“Maybe a nice big shark.
If Dr. Neill could find a white whale for Rosie, maybe he could find a nice big
great white for Arthur.”

“Don’t joke
about sharks with Liam,” Anne said quietly. Even as she spoke, Lily turned
slowly, to look out the window. She saw the Zodiac moving in wide, slow circles
around the whale boat. Liam was tall and rangy, and at the wheel of his boat he
hunched his shoulders. His hair was dark brown, but where it waved slightly, it
glinted
silver.

Lily stared
out the window, watching Liam. There was another boat out there too. She
squinted to see—Gerard Lafarge’s. There was something in his manner—his
cockiness, the entitled way he walked around—that Lily didn’t like. Gerard was
watching Nanny with binoculars, and the sight gave Lily a chill.

“No,” Lily
echoed. “Don’t mention sharks in front of Liam—after what happened to him and
his brother.”

“And Jude,”
Anne said. “My husband was there too. They’ve never gotten over it, and I’m
sure they never will.”

“Some
things are too terrible to get over,” Marisa said.

Everyone
turned and looked at her. Lily had introduced her when they first came aboard,
and she knew they were all curious. But Marisa, as if she already regretted her
words, was backing off, turning away. Lily glanced casually back at Gerard, and
was relieved to see him turn around, driving the boat out to sea.

“Marisa,
wait,” Anne said. “Come talk with us.”

“Yes—while
the girls are on deck, tell us a little about yourself,” Cindy said. “What
brings you to Cape Hawk? Is your husband a fisherman? Or oceanographer?”

“I’m … um,
I’m divorced,” Marisa said. Lily’s full attention was on her now, and she
seemed very uncomfortable—not quite embarrassed, but more as if she were
safeguarding a secret and didn’t want to let any details out. Lily knew the
dynamic so well.

“Only three
things would bring a person way up here,” Alison said.
“Family
in the area, an insane love of nature, or escape from a bad marriage.”

From the
way Marisa reddened, Lily thought Alison had guessed one of the reasons.

“When you
said ‘some things are too terrible to get over,’ ” Marlena said, “I
thought—yep. Betrayal, beatings, and behaving like a four-year-old.
The big three.”

“I can’t,”
Marisa began.

“The girls
are outside,” Anne said. “They won’t hear.”

Lily edged
closer to Marisa. She wanted to explain—or at least to give her the sense—that
the group wasn’t about gossip. They didn’t need to know the gory details of
each other’s lives.

“We’re far
from home, some of us,” Lily said. “We’ve become each other’s sisters.”

“I have a
sister,” Marisa said, her eyes starting to glitter. “Who I haven’t talked to in
so long …”

“Do you
miss her?” Lily asked.

“More than
you can imagine.”

“Why can’t
you call her?”

“Because he
might have her phones tapped. He said
he’d never—never—let us
go
.”

“But you
got away.”

“We did,”
Marisa stammered. “But instead, we feel trapped.”

“Because you’re afraid?”

“
That,
and other things … we can’t move freely. Can’t be
ourselves …”

“It
passes,” Lily said.

“I feel so
lonely up here sometimes.”

“You have
us now,” Cindy said. “We just met you, but we’re your friends. We’re glad
you’re here, Marisa.”

Marisa
tried to smile, but she couldn’t quite. Sensing that it was all too much for
her, Lily took her elbow. “Let’s get some punch, okay?” she said, leading
Marisa toward the buffet table.

It seemed
so casual, two women pouring paper cups of pink punch, taking small plates of
cut-up cheese and fruit. Jude’s voice drifted in the open window, explaining to
the girls about how baleen whales were filter feeders, eating four to five
metric tons of krill a day, the weight of an adult elephant. The Nanouks were
still talking, some of them embroidering or needlepointing as the stories
poured out.

“When you
said you were lonely,” Lily said, “you meant for him, didn’t you?”

“Him?”
Marisa asked, looking shocked.

“Your husband.
Or ex-husband—that’s right, you said you were
divorced. Is he Jessica’s father?”

“He’s her
stepfather,” Marisa said, the glass of pink punch halfway to her lips.

“You
finally left him … it took so much courage. You’re lonely for the dreams you
had. The love you believed, right down till the last
day,
that
was in him.”

“How do you
know?” Marisa whispered.

“I could be
a fortune teller,” Lily said quietly.
“When it comes to this.
Let me see. You loved him—more than you ever imagined possible. He swept you
off your feet, right? He made you believe in love at first sight. You let him
into your life. There were things, though.”

“Things,”
Marisa said. Outside, on deck, Jude was saying that a blue whale’s tongue
weighed as much as a young elephant, its heart as much as a small car.

“The lies.
How you never knew quite whether you could
believe what he told you. And the way you were always wrong and he was always
right.
Scary things too.”

“Yes,”
Marisa said. “Very scary …”

“You had
doubts. You wondered sometimes, but you told yourself you were wrong. You loved
him so much. Your poor wounded man …”

“How do you
know he’s wounded?”

“They all
are,” Lily said, smiling.
“Terribly, terribly so.
And
it’s always someone else’s fault.”

“It always
is,” Marisa said, starting to smile for the first time.

“Beginning with their parents.
They
always have the absolute worst childhoods. Straight out of Dickens, complete
with utter poverty and someone who was horribly cruel and beat them black and
blue
… .”

“
Which justifies them being cruel to us.
”

“Of
course,” Lily said.

“Do you think
they actually have awful childhoods? Or is that just another lie?”

Lily took a
slow, careful sip of punch. She closed her eyes and thought of all the very
many times she had asked herself that same question, how many long-ago
sleepless nights she had stared up at the moon and stars, asking them how such
terrible things could be visited on human beings.

“I grieve
for any child who is hit,” she said. “Or hurt in any way. But you know, to grow
up and use that as an excuse to hurt us—uh-uh. I don’t buy it. So, in that way,
whether it’s true or not is beside the point.”