“Of course. That reminds me.” He slips the phone into his pocket. “I still have the spare key to your house. I can drop it off later if you want.”
“No. Keep it, please. In case of an emergency. I don’t really know anyone here yet. I’d feel better if you had it.”
He studies me for a second, then nods. “Of course.”
I glance around. “So what are you doing here anyway? I mean, clearly you’re planting flowers, but is this a side gig? Are you a part-time gardener?”
He smiles. “Kind of. I take care of a few gardens around town.”
“A few?”
“Yeah.” He gestures with the small shovel in his hand. “Here, the fire station and the senior home.”
I must look confused, because he keeps going.
“My mom used to do it. She just… took it upon herself to keep them nice. When she couldn’t anymore, I started doing it for her. She’s been gone a few years now, but I’ve kept doing it. It’ssomething I do for her, but also for me. A way of keeping her with me.”
My chest tightens.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” he replies, his smile smaller now, but sincere.
I notice something behind him then—three hydrangeas freshly planted, their leaves bright and full.
He follows my gaze. “I planted those earlier. Blue, pink, and purple. Once they bloom, they’re going to look really beautiful.”
“I love hydrangeas,” I say, my eyes stinging. “They were my mom’s favorite.”
After I leave Aiden by the hydrangeas, the rest of the afternoon moves in a blur.
I head home first, walk Neptune, feed him, and finally sit down long enough to eat something myself. Yogurt, berries, and one of the bagels Aiden left for me. I take a bite and immediately make a mental note to ask him where he got them, becauseoh my God, it’s ridiculously good.
Then it’s back to work.
At the office, Cassie walks me through the catalog system, explaining how individual whales are tracked, logged, and identified over time. We pull up the photos from this morning, enlarge them on the screen, and study fluke patterns, scars, coloration, and proportions.
We cross-reference, zoom, and compare, but she doesn’t match any of the whales in the system.
That’s both exciting and concerning.
We log everything carefully—location, estimated size, condition, behavior, the entanglement itself. Based on herlength and physical development, we determine she’s a juvenile, old enough to be independent for short periods, but young enough that it raises questions.
Is she truly alone?
Or was there family nearby, keeping their distance while she was compromised?
It’s not unusual. Humpbacks don’t abandon their young easily, and the possibility lingers as we finish the report.
Cassie swivels her chair toward me. “You get to name her.”
I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Naming isn’t sentimental. It’s practical. It gives the data continuity, but it still feels like an honor.
I think of her surfacing again after the lines were cut. The strength in her movement. The way she disappeared into the water afterward.
“Solace,” I say finally. “Comfort in distress.”
