Ten Good Reasons (5 page)

*   *   *

Lia gave her overview of the gray whales’ migration, glancing around the boat to see where Kyle Stevens landed, and took a nervous sip of water between her narration.

She hoped he liked the trip. And hoped he didn’t have a lot of requests or changes for his charter next week. And hoped Evan could be a charitable-enough captain.

Clearly, Evan wasn’t going to help much. While Drew was friendly and personable, Evan all but had a “closed” sign hanging from his forehead. Whatever. She reiterated her plan in her head to keep Evan away from all passengers, especially Kyle Stevens. This trial-run tour had to go off without a hitch.

“. . . So take a look around the boat, be sure to take a peek at our viewing pods right down the stairs, check out some of our educational materials, and we’re going to go find some
whales
!” she said into the microphone with a positivity she didn’t feel.

The catamaran picked up speed right on cue. Drew did this, too—sped out to sea once they cleared the jetty. He knew they might have to look around for a while to see any whales, and they only had a couple of hours, so he always flew over the waves in the first part of the tour. Despite her skepticism about Evan—or maybe because of it—the similar style gave her hope.

Lia pulled a few strands of hair out of her lip gloss and turned into the wind. The couple in the matching college sweatshirts leaned against the rail, taking pictures of the Sandy Cove coastline. The fifteen first-graders were corralled along the starboard side, all holding hands in twos and threes, eyes barely clearing the rail.

Some of the moms introduced themselves to one another, wrapping themselves in their jackets against the wind, and Avery was—

Lia glanced around. Where was Avery?

Her gaze flew up to the bridge, where, sure enough, Avery’s sundress rippled in the wind.

Man, she sure hoped Avery wasn’t married. That was some dogged determination.

But she really wanted to keep Evan from the passengers.

She trudged back up the steps, wincing at every left step, and threw her most polite smile toward Avery as soon as her head crested the rail, but Avery wasn’t paying attention. At least, she wasn’t paying attention to Lia. Or her son, who was standing at the edge of the bridge. She was paying attention to Evan.

Evan was standing at the helm, the wind blowing his hair back, his mirrored glasses directed straight ahead, as if he didn’t know Avery was standing next to him. But of course he did: She was at his shoulder, talking nonstop. Words like “divorce,” “two years,” and “bastard” floated back toward Lia.

“Hey!” Lia greeted.

Evan looked back over his shoulder with such a sense of relief Lia actually felt sorry for him.

But his attention went right past her.

“Hey!” He shot forward, grabbing Avery’s little boy and yanking him back from the edge of the steps.

Evan’s deep voice, the sudden lunge, and the unwanted attention must have met in a terrible swirl for the little boy, and he burst into tears.

“I’m sorry,” Evan said, dropping the boy’s arm. “I just didn’t want . . .” He turned his ire on Lia. “Didn’t we discuss this?”

Lia didn’t think it was fair for Evan to turn on her, but he was right. A child didn’t belong up here. At least not with two adults who were so inattentive.

“Avery.” Lia turned to her calmly. “We like to keep children away from the captain’s bridge, and we prefer that adults stay on the lower decks, too.” She guided Avery back to the stairs as she talked. “Do you have questions, though? You must have a ton of questions to make your posts as accurate as they are. I
can answer almost anything for you. And what I can’t answer, we’ll throw back to Captain Betancourt after the tour is over.” She flashed her best smile back at Evan, as if they were the closest of friends. Evan just stared at her, looking incredulous. “Maybe we can sit down in the galley. Did you get your cookie from Cora yet? Conner, did you get your cookie?”

In no time, Avery and Conner were smiling at her, Avery’s pride intact, as they made their way down the steep stairs and back toward the galley.

As soon as she got them settled with their free cookies, and Cora started telling them tales of sailing the Pacific, Lia sensed another passenger heading toward the bridge steps. Dang, she really needed to put that chain up.

“We’re going to let our captain concentrate on getting us out to sea,” she said, steering the two passengers in “
Go Wisconsin!
” sweatshirts away. “If you have questions for him, pass them along to me, and I’ll be sure to ask.” Marketing smile. Gentle touch to the elbow. Free cookie. Problem Two diverted.

Lia hustled back to get the chain rigged up across the bridge stairs. Just as she secured it, she heard a strange clicking over the speakers. Then the same series of clicks, repeated.

She sighed, undid her chain, and climbed back up. Her ankle was killing her.

“Are you
signaling
me?”

“On the radio, they said there were some grays just off Table Rock.” Evan pushed his hair back off his face and peered through the binoculars. “I’m going to head just to the west of them. We should be able to see them starboard, against the coastline.”

Unsure what to do with so many words from him, especially in a series that didn’t involve grunts or scowls, Lia staggered toward the console. “What should I tell everyone? Stand at two or three o’clock?”

“Let me get there first.”

He began heading in that direction, then glanced her way and frowned.

“Do you not want me to stand here?” she asked, unable to keep the aggravation out of her voice.

“You’re fine.”

As simple and uninviting as the words were, they felt like some kind of a welcome mat coming from him. Lia let her shoulders relax.

“You should get off that foot,” Evan said.

“Too much to do.”

“Where’s the ice I gave you?”

“Downstairs. I’ll use it when we’re done.”

He shot her another look of annoyance. “Where downstairs?”

“On the counter.”

He reached just past her knee. “What’s your cook’s name again?”

“Cora. And she’s not just a cook; she happens to be a very fine friend of—”

“Cora,” Evan said into the microphone. “This is Captain Betancourt. Would you bring up the white tube of ice that’s on the counter, please?” He clicked the microphone off and put it back in place.

Lia blew out an aggravated breath. She was used to being the bossy one. She and Evan might very well throw each other off the boat if they spent too much time together. Good thing she was getting rid of him. As soon as her mind formed the thought, her memory flashed to him that morning, standing there with the gun in his hand, looking like some kind of derelict. And then . . . to his beautiful bare chest, his muscled shoulders . . . She pushed her hair behind her ear and shoved both images out of her mind.

“Here ya go, Captain,” said Cora, just cresting the steps.

“Thanks, Cora. Give that to her, would you?” He motioned with his head.

“Did you hurt yourself, Lia?” Cora asked.

“I’ll be fine.” Lia snatched the emergency ice away, embarrassed. She didn’t like people fussing over her. “Thank you.”

Coraline headed back down the steps while Lia calculated her getaway. She just needed a few notes about the whales—what kind they were encountering, which side of the boat they’d be on for sure—then she could use the microphone downstairs. “Are we almost there?”

Evan glanced at the navigation screen. “Five more minutes. Have a seat.”

“Are they grays?”

“Won’t know for sure ’til I get there.”

White water formed a froth beneath the cat as they skittered over the waves. If she sat down and took her weight off her ankle now, it was going to throb and swell like crazy. It seemed best to stay on it until the tour was over, then she could relax. She shifted to make it more comfortable.

Evan did a double-take over his shoulder. “You don’t take orders very well, do you?”

“Not my strong suit.”

With one quick shake of his head, he yanked the emergency ice stick out of her hand, snapped it in two, then handed it back. It was turning ice-cold immediately.

“That’s not going to last long, and it’s the only one we have, so sit down and put that on your ankle.”

His constant string of orders was getting on her nerves. But, with a huff, she sat on the captain’s bench and wrapped the tube around her ankle as best she could.

“You can give the narration from up here,” he said.

“I thought you wanted this area cleared.”

“I did. But you can stay. You’re like bug repellant.”

Lia blinked and finally closed her mouth.

The ice did feel good against her ankle. And it did feel good to get off it for a second. Frustrated that he was right about everything, she strove to think of other reasons she needed to go downstairs: “Kyle Stevens wants a tour of the boat,” she remembered aloud.

“Kyle Stevens can wait.”

The boat made a slight arc farther out into the ocean, still skating over the waves. Lia turned her head into the wind and pushed her hair over her shoulder, giving up on fighting and just enjoying the momentary feeling of being “off.”

Up here, with Evan, she had no one to impress. Obviously, she wasn’t impressing
him
—she’d given up a long time ago thinking that would ever happen, even though she generally liked people to like her—but, she had to admit, it was kind of refreshing. He clearly didn’t want to talk. She loved to talk, and probably talked too much even for her friends and family, but it was kind of nice to be silent for a while. He made it feel oddly comfortable.

“And would you look at that?” He lifted the binoculars, breaking his own silence. Though his voice had sounded angry and curt all day long, right now it sounded strangely reverent.

His hand brushed her knee again and loosened the microphone, handing it to her. “Get ready, Cinderella. We’re ready to roll.”

CHAPTER

“F
our,” he said, heading northwest in a slow arc. “At one o’clock.”

Lia clicked on the microphone, wondering why he just called her Cinderella, but replacing the question quickly in her mind with whale factoids.

“If you’ll all look at about the one o’clock point from the boat, you’ll see we’ve come across four whales. . . .” she announced.

Evan gave a swift nod. “Grays.”

“. . . They’re all gray whales, part of the migration from Baja to Alaska. . . .”

“They sometimes travel in pods of two or three like this,” he said, fast and low.

“. . . Grays sometimes travel in small pods . . .”

“I’m guessing two mothers and two calves.”

“. . . and it looks like we’ve got two mamas and two calves, making their way back up the coast.”

He cut the motor and coasted the cat into a better position. In the quietude of the ocean, Evan fed Lia lines in his deep, low monotone. He mumbled information regarding the usual length of the female, the fact she was usually larger than the
male, notes about mating, and how the females were identified each year by their length and their calf companions as they returned up the coast. He told how to look for the whales by looking for a slick in the water, then waiting about a minute for the whale’s back to emerge, then the flukes, flipping over before the whale dove back down.

“The flukes?”

“The two sides of the whale’s tail—left fluke and right fluke.”

She repeated that into the microphone. She didn’t recall Drew ever telling her that. Maybe he didn’t know she liked to learn these things.

“We’ll stay twenty minutes,” Evan concluded. “Grays will come up four or five times in that span of time.”

Lia clicked off the microphone. After seeing him look so sullen all morning, it was nice to hear his voice take on a tranquil rhythm, see him lean into a feeling that looked like peace. She studied him as he maneuvered the boat’s position. The brick wall he’d been building seemed to be lowered all of a sudden, replaced by something that seemed more like an opaque sheet, flapping in the wind and letting her glimpse behind.

“Why did you call me Cinderella just now?”

He didn’t turn, or even budge an inch—just kept staring through the binoculars. “Did I?”

“Yes.”

“They’re going to come up soon.” He put the binoculars down and revved the boat forward.

She wasn’t going to give up that easily. The sheet was still pulled back, just a little, and her instincts—some kind of misguided, fact-finding, must-have-the-answers instincts—read it as opportunity.

“So what was with the gun this morning?” As soon as the question was out there, flapping in the wind like the sheet, she felt like biting her lip off. What was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? She didn’t need to know this. She had no right, or reason, to be interested in him.

If the question insulted or surprised him, he didn’t show it. His eyes remained on the spot from which he expected the whales to emerge, and he leaned farther into his turn, pulling
back on the wheel. “We don’t have to talk, you know,” he murmured.

“I know. . . . Just trying to make conversation.”

“No need.”

She acquiesced and turned back toward the ocean, resting her cheek on her knee. She was an idiot. He was going to be as closed down as Drew said, and this was none of her business. But some crazy thing made her see his secrets as a challenge, an opportunity to change something dark into something light, and she couldn’t seem to stop her mouth. “So you’re not much of a talker, huh? Drew mentioned that.”

Silence followed as the boat bobbed on the ocean.

The passengers made their way around the boat to the one o’clock position to watch for the slick.

“Tell them one more minute,” he said quietly, staring through the binoculars.

She repeated the advice into the microphone, trying to bring her voice down to the reverent decibel Evan was using.

The quietude of the ocean pressed in around them as they waited, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves.

“What else did Drew tell you?” he suddenly asked.

The question sent her head whipping toward him in surprise, but she did her best to remain calm. He was like a wild animal—no sudden movements or he’d leap. “He said he hadn’t seen you in a long time.”

She tried to remember the rest of the conversation and how much to say. “He said you’d been sailing the world . . . that you docked wherever the winds took you. That you were . . .” She shrugged, hesitating over the next part. But she liked to be honest. “That you were a little messed up.”

The corner of Evan’s mouth twisted into a wry smile, and he stared at the horizon. “About sums it up.”

“What did he mean by ‘messed up’?”

Evan didn’t look like he planned to answer that, but instead steered the boat farther north and tilted his chin toward the ocean. “Watch,” he said, indicating the slick that had just emerged on the ocean’s surface, a large oval of concentric circles. “Tell them ten o’clock.”

Lia instructed the passengers, then watched Evan staring in that direction.

“And . . .
now
,” he said.

Two water spouts rose into the air on Evan’s cue like fountains, right in front of them, followed by two gargantuan gray whales’ mottled backs cresting—first both mamas’, then their babies’. And then—in a slow, fluid movement—the enormous flukes popped into the air iconically then dove back down.

Lia’s lips parted as she rose, her ice pack sliding to the deck. The sight of these giant mammals never ceased to amaze her, as many times as she’d seen them with Drew. But, as soon as she rose, the pain on her ankle forced her back down with a wince, and she yanked the ice tube back on, keeping her gaze firmly on the whales.

Cameras clicked along the deck below. The first-graders huddled together and pointed and squealed each time the flukes flipped. One passenger set up an underwater sports camera and leaned forward to get the camera into the water. Avery ushered her son to the side and pointed things out to him, taking notes in a narrow notepad she carried. Even Kyle Stevens looked impressed, leaning against the rail in the back with his entourage.

Lia clicked on the microphone, but then changed her mind, deciding to let everyone enjoy the moment in peace. She wrapped her arm around her knees, rested her chin, and waited another five minutes for the whales to come up again with their spouts, thinking about that wry smile Evan had given at his brother’s assessment.

Evan was right.

Talking might be overrated.

*   *   *

Evan pulled the boat farther forward to keep the whales in everyone’s ten o’clock range. The tour was already a half hour late, thanks to Stevens, and he wouldn’t be able to stay long, but he loved seeing the two mother whales traveling together; something about it warmed his cold heart. Nature continually amazed him. It was good to get out of his sailboat, get out of his head, get out of his shitty down spiral of a life for a day, and come out here.

“. . . 
herd of dolphins, traveling southwest. . . .”
the radio crackled.

Evan lifted the microphone. “This is . . . uh . . . Captain Betancourt on the
Duke
. Could you repeat that?”

“
We’ve got a superpod of dolphins traveling southwest, should be just south of Newport now.
”

He checked his coordinates again. Score. He’d give the passengers another few minutes with the whales, then catch the superpod, which was always something. Even though he’d have to cut everything early because of the half-hour setback, these passengers were getting quite a ride.

“Tell them we’ll head back in five,” he told Cinderella. “They’ll see the grays come up one more time, then we’ll head north to catch a herd of dolphins.”

Cinderella repeated the information, then clicked off the microphone and held it by her knee.

It was best he get out of this quietness with her anyway. Did he really call her “Cinderella” out loud? And he couldn’t believe he shot off that question about Drew. What the hell had he been thinking? He was never the type to do that—he always played his feelings close to his vest. But Drew had him confused right now, and nature always made him stupid.

The wildness of the ocean was good for him—it made him feel small and insignificant in life, reminding him of his place—but it also made him divulge things. His last major fustercluck happened out in nature, too, also on a boat, a sailboat he and Drew shared with their father, when he’d suddenly felt the need to blurt his feelings to another of Drew’s friends. One with beautiful brown curls. All it took was one day out on a vessel, some salt air, and a feeling of being one with nature, and there he was, telling her he thought she was pretty. Which, for a shy, nerdy nineteen-year-old, was a fucking overture. Little did he know what he’d been unraveling. . . .

He glanced at Lia’s ankle and refocused his thoughts. She should push the ice up, but he didn’t want to tell her what to do anymore.

He wanted that ankle healed, though. He already felt bad about Thomas Two-Time not showing up this morning; he didn’t need to be responsible for a broken ankle, too. But it wasn’t broken. He knew that. He just wanted it healed. He wanted to be absolved of any pain he caused Drew, any of Drew’s friends, or any of Drew’s women. He wanted to be
absolved for stealing Drew’s girlfriend. He wanted to be absolved for marrying her. He wanted to be absolved for fathering the child that maybe should have been Drew’s, and he wanted to be absolved for letting them both die.

“Here they come,” Cinderella whispered into the ocean breeze.

They both watched as the show repeated itself from four minutes ago: two enormous spouts of water, almost side by side; two vast gray backs; and two tremendous tails, slowly heading back down. Then closely following were the calves: spouts, backs, flukes. . . .

Evan waited for the last splash, then reluctantly turned back to the wheel. They’d have to jet it out to catch the dolphin herd.

Drew’s boat behaved beautifully. He had to give his brother another dose of credit, picking out a vessel of this size that still did what you wanted her to, right under your hands. He made a wide arc farther into the ocean, watching the coordinates on his console, sucking in the salt air that spoke of promise. You didn’t really ride with dolphins—they rode with you—so he’d have to create a certain speed for them, near enough, that they’d be attracted to his bow waves.

“Tell the passengers we’re heading toward the dolphins,” he said.

“We’re heading out now,” Cinderella said into the microphone, sweeping her hair out of her face. “We have word that a herd of dolphins is coming this way, so we’re going to see if we can find them.”

Her microphone clicked off. “It’s a herd, right? Not a pod?”

“When it’s big, we call it a herd.”

“So this one’s big? Which side will they be on?”

“You’ll know.” He couldn’t help but crack a small smile at what she was about to see.

He fed her information about the common dolphin, saying this area had the highest density of common dolphin per square mile than anywhere on Earth, up to 450,000 along this shoreline alone, and that they sometimes traveled in herds of hundreds or thousands here, often working together to hunt for fish, or just play. He told her, line by line, how they were called “common,” but were anything but—they were a beautiful, graceful creature that deserved better.

Cinderella paused over that part for some reason, but then continued to repeat all of his lines into the microphone, making them sound better than he did.

She was good at this. Her sunshiny, overoptimistic attitude was perfect for this kind of thing. When you were staring at whales up close, or swimming in a stampede of hundreds of dolphins, optimism was finally valid.

“Here we go,” he said, as the superpod came into view.

He created a perfect speed, and nearly a thousand dolphins caught his waves on both sides of the boat. Cinderella’s mouth dropped open at the stampede—he couldn’t help but steal a glance. She was silent for a second as she glanced all around. The dolphins leaped out of the water all around them, creating beautiful arcs and foamy whitewater everywhere, as if the dolphins were carrying the boat themselves.

“Stay off that ankle,” he reminded her.

She complied, which surprised him, and clicked on her microphone, but she suddenly seemed at a loss for words and lowered it. He couldn’t help but smile at that. He hadn’t seen that one coming.

Oohs and aahs rose from the deck below, along with the happy shriek of the children as they clustered together and peered over the side rails.

“Tell them the boat’s proximity doesn’t hurt them,” he said. “They come to us—they like to ride the wake.”

After Cinderella told them, she turned the microphone off again and stared at the mammals, eyes wide, a small smile playing along her lips.

He let himself be riveted by her for a second. Her lips were full and beautiful. He didn’t want to notice that, but he did. And had. Several times, in fact.

But he turned away. Not only was she a friend of Drew’s—and he wanted Drew to forgive him, not think he was here to steal another girl—but his wife was dead only two years. Every time something happened to let Renece or Luke slip away from him an iota more, the guilt made him want to pull that gun closer to the edge of the drawer. And thinking about Cinderella’s lips seemed like one of those things.

The dolphins followed the boat for another mile, and he concentrated on them instead. He studied their slick beauty
and watched their hypnotic rhythm. The ocean and its beauty had always been an escape for him.

It sure as hell was a welcome escape now.

*   *   *

“Thank you all for coming,” Lia told the passengers as they disembarked, shaking some of their hands. Some slipped her a tip, which she put in her pocket to split with Cora and Evan later.

Cora was out of the galley now, helping Evan stow the lines. Lia had wanted to help, but Evan told her to stay off her ankle and lean against the back rail to keep an eye on the passengers as they stepped off the boat. Cora was doing a pretty good job anyway—Evan was showing her a way to tie a simpler half-hitch knot, and she seemed to be getting a kick out of it.