The rain begins to fall as George parks in front of the Tofino Brewing Company. There’s a silver Airstream next door that’s been turned into a Japanese street-food truck, and we’re both starving. George has the menu for Toki Doki pulled up on his phone.
“Smashed cucumbers, fried prawn gyoza, and spicy seafood okonomiyaki?”
“Yes, please,” I say.
He opens his door, turns back around, kisses me full on the mouth, then leaves me with a huge grin on his lips.
I pull out my phone.
Seeing those whales loosened something inside me. I took a step closer to understanding my mother today—a step I refused to take until George got me on that boat. I know my mother, but I don’t know Rebecca Gardiner at all.
Mom answers, sounding surprised. She’s always the one tomake the effort. I send the occasional text message, and I pick up the phone on her birthday, but otherwise, I rarely call my mom. “Frankie. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” My stomach flutters—I don’t know why I’m so nervous.
“Oh good.” There’s a beat of silence.
“We just got back from whale watching,” I tell her.
“You did?” Her astonishment is clear. “Did you see any?”
“Three grays.” I’m half expecting her to change the subject, to ask about George, but she sighs wistfully.
“Oh, how wonderful. What did you think?”
“I thought they were magnificent.” My eyes sting, but I’m beaming.
I can hear her smile, too. “That’s the perfect word.”
“And so big!” I say, laughing. “It was almost like seeing a dinosaur.”
“Yes! I know exactly what you mean.”
I tell my mom about the entire expedition, and she gives me her total attention, as she always does. She never fails to listen to what I have to say.
“When I come back, could you tell me about your whales?” I say near the end of our call. “I’d like to hear about them. I’d like to try to understand.”
My mom’s breath blows across the phone. “I’d love to.”
“I thought about Francesca today. Do you know where she was last spotted?”
There’s a long pause.
When Mom came back, I never wanted to hear about whales again. It was one of the first things I told her. She’d been crying,hugging me tight, and I made her promise not to talk about them. Worst of all, she kept her promise. But I’ve always wondered if she’s followed the news of right whale number 1950.
“I do,” she says softly.
“Will you tell me about her?”
There’s another blank space. “When you’re home, I’ll tell you all about her.” She clears her throat. “How’s George?”
“He’s fine.” It’s a well-rehearsed, automatic response. I try again. “Actually, George is great. It’s really nice being here with him.”
“I’m sure it is. You’ve always gotten along so well.” She laughs. “Unless you’re fighting.”
“Things are changing between us,” I say, surprising myself. I wasn’t planning on telling her this, but I want her advice. “And fast.”
“In what way, honey?”
