Friday's Harbor

by Diane Hammond

  “Yes. You?”

  “I absolutely passed out. I don’t remember the last time I was that tired. Probably when Miles was a piglet.” He stood beside Gabriel and Neva, watching Viernes watch them, his chin resting on the wet walk at their feet.

  After a few minutes Neva turned to him and said, “Let me ask you something. We’ve talked it over, and we want to call him Friday instead of Viernes. It feels a lot more comfortable than, you know, pronouncing a Spanish word badly. Gabriel and Ivy both say it’s fine with them.”

  “Sure,” Truman said. “Since it means the same thing. Not that anyone seems to know why they named him that in the first place. So yes, go for it.”

  Neva turned to the whale and said, “From now on, you’re Friday. We figure it’s okay with you.”

  Gabriel reached into the stainless steel bucket he’d brought upstairs with him and held out to Truman a herring as big as a shoe. “You want to feed him?”

  Truman shuddered. “No, thanks—I’m fine watching.”

  “He has sensory issues,” Neva explained to Gabriel. “The slime, the scales, the smell.”

  Gabriel tossed the fish into Friday’s open mouth. “Good thing you never wanted to be a zookeeper. On a gross-out scale, I’d say it’s right up there with rendering-plant operators and slaughterhouse technicians.”

  “Both honorable professions,” said Truman loyally, but Neva was right: he could barely bring himself to make meatloaf because of the feel of raw egg and uncooked hamburger meat being squished through his fingers. To change the subject he peered down at the whale. “What’s that coming out of his eyes? It looks like, I don’t know, goo.”

  “They’re viscous tears,” said Gabriel. “They protect his eyes from salt.”

  “Clever,” said Truman. The first time he’d seen Hannah he’d found her just as unfathomable, with her thick skin, tiny eyes, and trunk as dainty as a demitasse spoon, capable of picking up a single grape. “Killer whales are pretty much the Cadillacs of cetaceans,” Gabriel was saying. “Elegant, well engineered, powerful, smart, perfectly designed for their environment. If you want to work with the ocean’s top predator, work with a killer whale.”

  “Do you still feel he’ll be ready to have the gallery open by the weekend?” Truman asked. “People are already calling—lots and lots of people. I’ve asked Brenda to draft a press release, but we won’t send it until you’re sure he’s ready.”

  “No, barring something unforeseen, I’d say he’ll be ready,” said Gabriel. “It’ll give him some stimulation—he’s never seen people from underwater. Any stimulation is good at this point.”

  Truman’s security radio crackled, and Brenda’s voice came over. “Reception for Truman.”

  “Go for Truman,” said Truman, feeling like an idiot. He’d tried to introduce a more casual radio protocol, but it wasn’t proving to be popular.

  “Hey, I’ve got some radio talk show guy on the phone from Florida. He wants to know if he can interview the whale. Ha ha. They all think they’re comedians. What should I tell him? Over.”

  “I’m on my way,” said Truman. “Tell him he can interview me. Over.”

  “And out,” said Brenda.

  “What?”

  “You’re supposed to say “Over and out” when you’re done. You were done, right?”

  Truman sighed. “I was, yes. All right—over and out.”

  “Over and out.”

  “Bye,” said Truman. He hooked the radio onto his waistband and saw Neva’s look of barely contained amusement. “What? She’s an excellent receptionist,” he said.

  “I didn’t say a word,” said Neva. “Did I? Not one word.”

  BY ELEVEN O’CLOCK Libertine hadn’t received any communiqués from the killer whale and she was crashing from all the sugar and caffeine. Her hands shook and her heart raced as she loaded her things into the trunk and returned to the Oat Maiden.

  Through the kitchen door she spotted the tall, thin man she’d met yesterday, but he didn’t come out. Instead, the girl who’d waited on her last night came over to the table. “Hey! You’re back! Did you find your way to the zoo?”

  “I did.”

  “Was he there?”

  Where else would he be? But Libertine said simply, “He’s not on exhibit yet. They said it would be a few days.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s too bad.”

  Libertine gave her order and traced the pandas, zebras, killer whales, and penguins that circled her tabletop in black-and-white formal wear. At a table nearby, Libertine noticed a middle-aged woman eating alone. She was dressed in running shoes and a floor-length Egyptian caftan, and she seemed to be taking an unusual and lively interest in Libertine. Libertine kept her eyes on the tabletop, hoping the woman would have the good manners to stop staring, but instead she stood up and came over.

  “I hate eating alone, don’t you?” she said cheerfully. “It’s always hard to know where to look while you’re waiting, and then if you bring a book you spend so much time trying to seem absorbed in it, you don’t retain a thing so you read the same page over and over. How about eating together?”

  Libertine could feel a hot flash coming on—she really wasn’t any good at situations like this one. Fortunately, the woman didn’t wait for a response, returning to her own table just long enough to retrieve her table setting and two large totes, one of which seemed to have been wobbling.

  “Hot flash, huh,” she said sympathetically, setting the totes between them and gesturing at the flush Libertine could feel spreading up her neck and igniting her face. “Poor you.” She pulled a wine bottle out of one of her bags. “Whenever I hear about a woman who’s bludgeoned someone to death or bitten off his body part or something, I’m positive a hot flash was involved. I’m not kidding. Mine were that bad.”

  Libertine tugged the neck of her shirt a little higher, but the woman had moved on, extracting a wine glass and corkscrew from her bag. “I keep telling Johnson Johnson that he needs to get a wine and beer license, but until then it’s BYOB. Would you like some? I know where they keep the glasses.”

  Libertine accepted. It might take a fortifying glass or two of wine to get through this meal. The woman hopped up and fetched an empty water glass.

  “So are you from here? I’m guessing no.”

  “No. I mean, yes, I’m not from here.”

  The woman looked at her with lively amusement. “So what brings you to Bladenham?”

  “A client,” said Libertine, hoping she’d let it go at that.

  “A client? So you’re, what, a lawyer?”

  “Oh, no. I’m an animal communicator.”

  “Really! You’re a psychic?”

  “I’m a communicator.” A tiny head popped out of the wobbling tote. The woman reached in and extracted a furious Chihuahua. “This is Julio Iglesias,” the woman said. “I know he’s not supposed to be here, but he pees on things if I don’t take him along. Well, to be fair, he pees on things when I do take him along, too, but less often.”

  For the first time since this whole peculiar encounter had begun, Libertine smiled.

  “Of course, given your line of work you probably already know all that.”

  “No. The animal has to choose to communicate with me.”

  “Well, give him time. He probably has a whole list of complaints.”

  At that moment Julio Iglesias started to make a run for it, but the woman snatched him back and clamped him under her arm like an old handbag. His ears went flat.

  “I’m Ivy Levy, by the way.”

  “Libertine,” said Libertine, “Adagio.”

  Their pizzas arrived and Ivy immediately began picking off, blowing on, and then handing over bits of sausage to the dog, who appeared to be mollified. She looked up at Libertine. “You do know that Libertine means someone who’s debauched.”

  Libertine slumped. “My mother thought it sounded swashbuckling, like something a woman pirate might be called.”

  “Well, I guess you d
on’t develop psychic powers because you’ve had an easy childhood,” Ivy mused. “So what animal?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You said you were here for an animal. Which one?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Libertine said. “It’s complicated. When an animal gets in touch with me, I’m seeing them from the inside out, so to speak. It takes some time to figure out the rest.”

  “Well, sure.” Ivy repinned Julio Iglesias, who had been trying to edge out from under her arm. “Here’s a coincidence—I’m here for an animal, myself. A killer whale.”

  “Oh?” Libertine straightened in her chair.

  “His name is Friday and he was dying in a horrible little pool in Colombia, so we brought him up here. He just got here yesterday.” Ivy must have seen something in Libertine’s face, because she said, “He’s your animal, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know,” said Libertine, but of course she did.

  AFTER LUNCH IVY met Truman on the pool’s metal stairs as Truman was coming down and Ivy was going up. Julio Iglesias was securely lashed into the detested Snugli.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “He’s fine, according to Gabriel. By the way, I’ve been meaning to tell you you’re welcome to stay with us. I hope you knew that without my having to say it.”

  “Thank you, honey, but I doubt Julio Iglesias would do well with a pig in the house.”

  “Miles is a very dog-friendly pig. It’s one of the benefits of his spending so much time at Woof!”

  “I’m sure your pig would be fine—he’s not the one I’m worried about. Julio Iglesias can be very ugly.” She lowered her voice to a meaningful whisper. “He bites.” Raising her voice, she added, “I think it would be best for all of us if I just stay with your folks. We’ve already worked it out.”

  “Well, the offer stands any time you’re here.”

  Ivy nodded, but she’d apparently moved on. “So it looks like our boy came through the trip with flying colors.”

  “Evidently—Gabriel says he’s probably a little stiff and sore, but he’s eating well. I’m actually more concerned about Gabriel than I am about the whale. I saw him taking pills, and he looks awful. I didn’t want to pry, but you might ask him about it.”

  Ivy knew this already. “He has strep or something—he won’t talk about it.”

  Truman was appalled. “But he spent the whole day in forty-degree water.”

  Ivy shrugged. “If you ask him, he’ll just tell you he’s better.”

  “Better than what—death?”

  Ivy patted Truman’s cheek. “Don’t fuss, dear. He’s a grown man.”

  IVY SAW SAM on the far side of the pool, sitting in her splintery old Adirondack chair. She went over, bent to give him a quick hug, and waved away his offer of the chair. “It’ll do me good to be on my feet for a little while. If you sit for too long, things tend to seize up.”

  “Yes, ma’am, they do.”

  “Don’t ma’am me, Sam. We’ve known each other for years.”

  Grumbling, Sam said, “I called Miz Biedelman ‘sir’ until the day she passed. I was brought up to be respectful.”

  “Well, get over it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ivy released Julio Iglesias from the Snugli and set him down on the pool deck. She saw Neva and Gabriel come upstairs with a bucket of fish. Gabriel walked to the edge of the pool and clanked the handle of the bucket to bring Friday over. Neva came to stand by Sam and Ivy.

  “What do you think of our little boy?” Ivy asked her.

  “He’s amazing. I’m in love. I’m totally in love.”

  “Well, of course you are. Is he settling in?”

  “Gabriel says he is, but frankly, I haven’t learned my way around this model yet.”

  “You have to wonder whether he’s homesick,” Ivy mused. “Don’t you wish we could explain it to him? Honey, would you be an angel and bring that lawn chair over?”

  Neva fetched the nylon-webbed chair and set it beside Sam, who had once more offered the Adirondack chair unsuccessfully. Ivy sat with a low grunt, unwinding the empty Snugli and tucking it beneath her chair. “Getting old’s a bitch, isn’t it?” she said to Sam.

  “Ain’t it just.”

  They watched Julio Iglesias making a minute inspection of every square inch of the pool top, peeing here and there, while across the pool Gabriel scratched Friday’s tongue. Ivy said to Sam, “What do you think Max Biedelman would have made of all this?”

  Sam sat with that for a minute or two. “She’d be glad we were helping an animal in trouble. That’s what she did with shug when she was just a baby and an orphan. Bet she’d never have thought of bringing a whale here, though. I think she would have been pleased with the rescue part, I just don’t know if she would have put money into building something this big and this ugly. Seems like an awful lot of money for one animal.”

  “She did that for Hannah,” Ivy pointed out.

  Sam reflected for a moment before saying, “You know, she told me once that having shug sent over here was the biggest mistake she ever made.”

  Ivy was surprised. “Why? I always thought it was the height of generosity. Wasn’t she badly wounded? Hannah, that is, not Max Biedelman.”

  “Yeah. Shug’s mama was killed and baby girl lost an eye. She was just a little bitty thing, too.”

  “So what part of that was a mistake?”

  “Miz Biedelman had an old elephant, Reyna, when shug first got here. She took real good care of her, too. Not many people knew about old Reyna—that was before Havenside was a zoo. She died a little over a year after shug got here. Miz Biedelman knew Hannah would be alone after that, at least where elephants were concerned. Said more than once that what she’d done was irresponsible.”

  “So she hired you as a companion.”

  “Yes, ma’am, she did.”

  “So Hannah wasn’t alone.”

  “Well, I guess you could say that.”

  Neva interrupted, touching Ivy on the arm. “Excuse me, but Gabriel’s going to put Friday through a session, and I want to watch up close, so I’m going around to the other side.”

  “A session?”

  “A workout session. Think of it as physical therapy.”

  “Is he up to that?” Ivy asked, surprised.

  “Gabriel?”

  Ivy smiled. “Him, too, but no, the whale.”

  “I’m sure Gabriel will go easy on him, but it’s important to keep him moving so his lungs stay clear, especially since his immune system’s compromised.”

  “Ah,” said Ivy. She watched for a couple of minutes as Neva circled the pool. Then she said to Sam, “She seems like a very nice young woman.”

  “She is,” said Sam. “Saved shug, even though it ruined her career.”

  They both watched as, across the pool, Gabriel gave a hand signal and Friday swam slowly away to circle the perimeter. When Friday reached him again, Gabriel blew a high tweet on a whistle and tossed a few fish into the whale’s open mouth.

  Ivy regarded Sam. “Do you think you’ll help out here? Only occasionally, I hope. After all, you’re a carefree retiree now.”

  Sam cut his old eyes at her shrewdly. “I’m an old man with diabetes and free time, is what I am.”

  “You’re better now, aren’t you?”

  “Mama makes sure I behave myself. I’ll tell you what, though. It sure would be good to have a doughnut from time to time,” he said wistfully and then brightened. “We send a twenty-five-dollar Dunkin’ Donuts gift card down to shug every month.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t meet her before she left,” said Ivy. “To tell you the truth, the only thing I really know about elephants firsthand is that at a certain point in time, their feet made dandy wastebaskets. My uncle had one in his study.”

  Sam blanched.

  “Of course, they didn’t know any better. In fact, I think he shot that elephant on a safari way back around 1912 or so. But here’s justice for you—he l
ost his own foot in World War I. No bad deeds go unpunished or whatever the hell that saying is.”

  “No good deed,” said Gabriel, who’d finished working with Friday and come around the pool to their side.

  “I like mine better,” said Ivy, and then to Sam, “Anyway, this whale’s going to need someone just as much as Hannah did, if he’s going to be alone here for the rest of his life.”

  Neva had joined them, too, and now said, “You don’t know that.”

  “Tell that to him,” Ivy said, inclining her head toward Gabriel. “He seems to think so.” He’d stressed that to both Truman and Ivy at their first meeting in Friday Harbor, and had been reiterating it periodically ever since.

  The others looked at Gabriel expectantly. Gabriel just shrugged. “If no other facility wanted to take him on because of possible disease transmission, they certainly won’t send one of their whales here as a companion.”

  “What about a rehab animal?”

  “How many rehabbed, wild killer whales can you name that are in captivity?”

  Ivy looked at Neva, Neva looked at Ivy, and Sam looked from one to the other.

  “None, is how many,” said Gabriel.

  “Why is that?” Neva asked.

  Gabriel shrugged. “Just doesn’t happen. Even if they’re injured they can probably still hunt until they either recover or die. They only come up on beaches if they’re going to drown, and even so no one’s going to see it. Plus the cost of bringing in an injured adult whale is astronomical. No one’s going to do it.”

  “Well,” said Ivy. “So much for that discussion.” She hauled from her tote a long, circular knitting needle and a length of completed afghan in a Fair Isle pattern. “Do you think he’s okay up here?” she asked Gabriel, gesturing to Julio Iglesias, who was still picking his way prissily around the perimeter of the pool, keeping well back from the four-inch-deep wet walk.

  “As long as he doesn’t fall in. We might want to find a flotation vest for him, though, just in case.”

  “Oh, he has a very healthy respect for the water,” Ivy said. “He fell off a dock once and scared the living shit out of both of us. I was thinking more along the lines of whether our little boy might eat him.”