“I saw a tail. I swear,” says Lily, standing up now and pointing to the distance.
I follow her line of sight. The volleyball match has paused, too, a few of the players looking out at the water. Then, in the distance, I see something myself: a flash of black and white. It’s only visible for a second, but I can hear the other beachgoers begin to yell and point. The shape emerges again, the unmistakable outline of a black tail rising and then slapping the water. Wordlessly, all four of us walk closer to the water to see.
“I think there’s more than one,” whispers Elizabeth.
For a long pause, nothing happens. People begin to walk back to their chairs, losing interest. Then, the smooth body of the whale breaches the water once more, jumping in the air. When it twists, we can see its entire torso, a long patch of white.
“My God,” says my dad. “Is that…?”
“I think it’s an orca,” I say in wonderment.
“Is that even possible in these waters?” asks Elizabeth.
Usually, the only whales we see are right whales, humpback whales, or sperm whales. They all have large black or gray bodies and textured skin. They look nothing like the smooth creatures we’re seeing now with their sharp color contrast.
“IT’S AN ORCA!” one of the volleyball players confirms.
We wait for it to jump back out, and when it finally does, we can see there are two of them, and then, three: a pod. It’s like they’re performing tricks for us, saying hello. The wild beasts jump and twist and flip in the air, making impressive leaps and then splashing backdown into the sea. They look fake. It doesn’t seem possible. My brain can’t comprehend the image.
Everyone is clapping, trying to pull out their phones quick enough to capture the sight. But the four of us stand side by side, marveling. In the crowd, I hear someone explain that there have been sightings of orcas in New England waters before, but it’s rare.
“Apparently,” the girl in the red one-piece says, “there’s been one consistent sighting of a sole male, nicknamed Old Thom, who swims with a pod of dolphins. His dorsal fin is slightly bent, which makes him easy to recognize. He keeps circling the area, like he’s looking for something or someone.”
We all nod along to the explanation, but this many killer whales swimming together? It seems impossible.
The truth is that the sighting is probably due to climate change, and the waters warming, or some other awful scientific explanation, but standing there on the shore, next to my family, watching the orcas splash and leap, it seems nothing short of a miracle.
When we tire of the beach and the whales have all returned to wherever whales go when they’re not performing miracles, we drive home to shower and change. I drop my dad and sister back off at Josie’s guesthouse.
As my sister is getting out of the car, I say, “Can you ask Josie if she’s willing to come tonight, too?”
“Sure,” says Elizabeth.
“Should I come, too?” asks my dad, and the way he says it breaks my heart a little.
“Of course,” I say, trying to picture my father in his formal bathing suit at the dive bar. “Of course you should come.”
Back home, the waves of exhaustion start to hit. It’s an ambitious day: a pickleball tournament, beach day, and now a night out.
Lily looks nervous in the passenger seat, her green eyes darker than usual. “Are you ready to come inside?”
I can’t understand the reason for her skittishness. Maybe she’s just overly tired, too. Truthfully, from the fundraiser to this afternoon, it’s been a rather emotionally and physically draining weekend.
“Sure,” I say. “Let’s go.”
We leave the car. It’s still a perfect summer day, and the light of the garden looks orange in the coming twilight. The smell of flowers and warm earth is overwhelming.
Lily looks back at me and runs a hand quickly through my hair. “That’s better,” she says, taking a deep breath. “One last meddle. I promise.”
I’m starting to think she’s really lost it this time when she opens the door to the cottage and ushers me inside. There, sitting at our old coffee table, is Tommy. Surrounding him are what looks like at least a hundred roses all in various sizes of glass jars. They dot the entire kitchen space, bringing the garden inside. On the table are two carved pieces of wood. I realize what they are immediately. One has “Lottie’s Way” carved onto it.
“Too much?” he says, his voice both gruff and sheepish. “Lily helped me.”
There’s so much to say. There are questions I have. I want to ask him about the other night. I want to apologize for thinking he was with Josie. I want to tell him that I’m sorry I ever let Lottie and my dad convince me to break off the engagement. I want to say I’m sorry for letting William in at all. I want to tell him how much I’ve thought about him over the last three decades. But I can’t seem to get any of it out. Every thought competes for space until I am standing there, mouth open, hands trembling.
The time to talk has passed. Now it is time to be brave.
I cross the room in a few long strides and grab his face. “Not too much at all,” I say, and when he kisses me back, it is new, and familiar, and everything I’ve been waiting for.
