Adam leaned against a tree. “For our one week anniversary.”
My breath caught in my throat and before I realized what I was doing, I threw myself into his arms. I felt his heart pounding―beating like a native drum. His lips caressed my hair while his lean body pressed intimately against me.
We stayed like that for a long time.
“Well, well,” he said finally. “That’s some way to greet a guy. You do that to all the guys who come knockin’?”
I laughed and dragged myself away. “Just the cute ones.”
Unlocking my front door, I pushed it open and we stepped inside. I dropped my keys on the table by the door, then followed Adam into the living room. He sat on the couch and pulled me down beside him.
“How did it go?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
“What do you mean?”
“With your dad. I know you visited him today.”
I chewed my bottom lip. “How―?”
“Your dad and I’ve been exchanging letters for the past few years,” he said with a chuckle. “He’s been a mentor to me. He actually got me the temp job at Sea Corp. If I had a question, your father would advise me. In fact, when my boss told me I could name the new schooner, I wrote to your dad to see if he had any suggestions.”
I wove my fingers through his. “Did he?”
He nodded. “He suggested a great name. One that reminded him of your mom.”
I waited.
When he remained silent, I nudged him. “Well, what is it?”
He spread his arms along the top of the couch, stretching like a wildcat. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Trying not to laugh, I held a pillow above his head. “Tell me.”
He pursed his lips and endured a soft thump to the head before grabbing the pillow from my hands. Then he leaned over and kissed me soundly on the lips.
During the next week, I plunged headfirst into waters I had never dared to swim. Never before had I allowed myself to be vulnerable, to love someone openly and honestly. Adam awoke in me feelings that I never knew I had. He was my salvation.
I struggled daily with the guilt that I felt regarding my father. Eventually I realized that he was right. Even if the truth were to come out it would make no difference. We had both suffered and paid―in our own way.
It was time to move on.
On the day of my father’s release, Adam drove me to the gates of the prison. I felt apprehensive about my father’s future.
What will he do? Where will he live?
Glancing up at the bleak prison walls, I realized that I would never have to lay eyes upon Matsqui Institute again.
Adam squeezed my hand gently. “It’s going to be fine.”
The old metal gates squealed open and my father stepped out into the sunlight. He looked around uncertainly until he saw us.
“Hey,” he greeted us, hauling a small suitcase in one hand.
I rushed from the car and gave him a hug.
Adam shook my father’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Jack.”
I studied my two men for a moment. Then I grabbed the suitcase and threw it into the trunk. Sitting in the back seat, I patted the space beside me and smiled at my father. “Get in.”
He hesitated. “Give me a minute.”
Under a brilliant blue sky, he closed his eyes, sucked in a breath and stretched his arms to the heavens.
I could only imagine what my father must have felt.
Free at last.
We all were.
My father moved in with me.
“Just until I find an apartment,” he said.
On his first second day of freedom, we sifted through the boxes that were stored in my basement. There were numerous cartons containing my parents’ belongings.
“When you find your own place,” I said. “You can take those with you, Dad.”
“You’ll want some of your mom’s things too.”
He rummaged through a large crate and I saw him secretly pocket a few items. I left him in the basement, surrounded by half-opened cartons and bittersweet memories. In the kitchen, I made some strawberry tea and wandered about the house aimlessly.
“Sarah?” My father’s voice echoed from the basement.
I heard his footsteps thump up the wooden stairs. When he reached me, he had something in his hands. A painting wrapped in a fragment of old fabric.
“Mom wanted you to have this.”
He peeled off the cloth.
The vision of a family of killer whales, swimming in a lush lagoon made my eyes water. A crystal waterfall flowed from the forest above like a silky sheet of satin.
“This was the last painting Mom ever made,” my father said softly. “And she painted it for you.”
He handed me the painting. “She named it…on the back.”
I turned it over and let out a gasp.
twenty-two
Whale Song.
For Sarah, with all my love.
I thought of the whale that had saved me, its smooth body nudging me up to the surface for air. I recalled the whale pod frolicking in the bay, their songs of life transmitted through the depths of the ocean.
Whale Song.
I smiled, thinking how appropriate it was. I remembered my mother’s smiling face while she listened to the mournful sounds of the killer whales in the bay.
The phone rang, abruptly shattering my thoughts.
It was Adam and he seemed excited.
“Sarah, is your dad there?”
With a shrug, I passed the receiver to my father.
I disappeared into the kitchen while they spoke.
“We still have something we need to do,” my father said to me, after hanging up.
He opened a small box that he’d retrieved from the basement.
“Mom’s urn!” I cried.
We stared at the urn.
My father bit his lip. “Mom wanted us to―”
“I remember,” I interrupted gently. “She wanted us to throw her ashes into the ocean.”
He nodded. “Adam’s taking us to Bamfield tomorrow.”
I placed the urn in the center of the table with my treasures.
“I agree, Dad. It’s time to let her go.”
After supper, my father and I reminisced long into the night. The journey back to Bamfield rested heavily on our minds. I fell asleep shortly before dawn. I dreamt of the Sea Wolf―both whale and wolf―guiding me home at last.
Chirping birds argued outside my window and I groaned. I opened my eyes, blinked at the clock and gasped.
I had slept in.
I jumped out of bed. “Bamfield, here I come.”
Stomping downstairs in my bathrobe, I followed the scent of fresh brewed coffee. I made it as far as the living room where I came to an abrupt halt.
I had arranged my precious treasures―the eagle’s feather, the Sea Wolf totem, the silver wolf statue and the repaired ornament of the mama whale and her baby on a table in front of the window. But there were some new additions to her memorial table. My father had unearthed the urn containing my mother’s ashes. Next to it sat her photograph.
“Mom.”
She stared at me―beautiful and alive.
In the window, a small black pouch hung from a string attached to the curtain rod. It was the pouch that Chief Spencer had given my father. ‘Hang this in your home as a sign that good spirits are always welcome.’
I caressed my mother’s photo, recalling Nana’s wise words from so long ago. “You have to be willing to release her or she’ll be trapped between both worlds, Hai Nai Yu.”
“I let you go, Mom,” I whispered. “Now it’s your turn.”
In the kitchen, I let out a hoot when I found my father dressed in a frilly flour-coated apron, a flipper in one hand. Pancakes were heaped on a plate on the counter and bacon sizzled in a frying pan. He had made breakfast for an army.
He handed me a cup of coffee and a plate. “Eat up, Honey-Bunny. Adam will
be here in half an hour.”
I dug in, famished and touched by his use of my old nickname. Then I went upstairs to get changed and ready for a day that was long overdue.
When Adam arrived, he shook my father’s hand and kissed me lightly on the forehead. I think my father was a bit surprised.
“Uh, Sarah,” he murmured as we headed outside. “Are you and Adam, uh…you know.”
I grinned and threw an arm around him. “Yeah, we are.”
“Are what?” Adam said, holding the car door open for me.
I shook my head, laughing, then climbed into the car.
During the drive to Vancouver Island, I admired my two favorite men. My father had blond hair and intense blue eyes while Adam was tall, tanned, dark-haired and had the most amazing golden eyes I’d ever seen.
My Adam.
My Wolf.
Bamfield hadn’t changed much in the past decade. The shop where Goldie’s mother had sold her hand-woven baskets had been turned into a small strip-mall, but Myrtle’s Restaurant & Grill was exactly where we had left it, although the building had expanded. When we drove down the main street, it was as if I were eleven years old again.
“Is our house still the same?” I asked Adam.
He nodded and squeezed my hand. “Almost the same.”
I pulled down the visor and glanced at my father in the mirror. He sat in the back seat of the vehicle holding a box in his lap. He was completely immersed in his surroundings…and his thoughts.
I flipped up the visor and left him to his memories.
As we reached 231 Bayview Lane, the gravel driveway meandered into the trees away from the shoreline. I recalled the feeling of dread, that knowing that my life would change the moment we drove into the trees.
My life had changed. Forever. Destiny…
The house appeared and I let out a gasp.
Our old home had been turned into an art gallery. Island Arts.
“Mr. and Mrs. Joseph couldn’t bear to live in it afterwards,” Adam said softly. “When they came back from Florida, they donated it in honor of your mom.”
His quiet explanation made my heart ache. I know my father felt humbled too.
“Let’s take a look,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
We climbed out of the car and went inside the gallery.
I immediately recognized the old wood stove and the wooden shelf above it. Only one item from my past remained on that shelf―the eagle’s feather. On the wall above it was a small gold plaque, recognizing my mother’s life and honoring her as the inspiration for the gallery.
My eyes teared when I read it.
In honor of Daniella Richardson, one of the Great Spirit’s own masterpieces, and a life well lived and well loved.
“The schooner’s waiting,” Adam said after a quick call on his cell phone.
I hovered in the doorway of my old home and felt a draft of air breeze over me. It was warm and comforting.
“It’s time to go, Mom,” I whispered.
It was a short drive to the docks and when we unfolded ourselves from the car, I closed my eyes and breathed in the familiar scent of saltwater and kelp.
Adam pointed to a magnificent schooner. “There she is.”
The boat must have been at least twenty-eight feet long. It was painted sparkling white with brass accents and a gold cedar trim.
“She’s lovely,” I smiled.
My father tucked the box with my mother’s urn under one arm and took my hand, steering me toward the boat. “Did Adam tell you I helped him name this schooner?”
Without waiting for a reply, he practically dragged me down the ramp, toward the schooner.
Helplessly, I glanced back at Adam. “Save me.”
Adam grinned. Then he grabbed my other arm and I was carried to the boat, my feet barely grazing the ground.
“Okay, you two,” I said suppressing a laugh. “You can put me down now.”
Adam pointed toward the back of the schooner and I gasped when I saw the name that my father had suggested.
Whale Song.
Just like my mother’s painting.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered.
We climbed aboard the schooner and Adam introduced us to Max, a friendly Australian skipper from ‘down under’. Then he eagerly showed my father the latest state-of-the-art echolocation equipment. Times had changed and the technology had greatly improved since my father’s day.
I sat down in a deck chair and listened while Adam explained how the new equipment worked. After a while, their murmuring lulled me into a light sleep.
Whale Song headed out to sea and the gentle tossing of the schooner made me feel alive and carefree. The ocean’s surface was dotted with foamy waves while radiant beams of sunlight danced on the water like crystal beads.
I sighed, smiling contentedly when Adam sat down beside me. He pulled me close and I rested my head on his shoulder.
“Why did you agree to name her ‘Whale Song’?” I asked.
“When I spoke to your father a few years ago, he mentioned your mother’s painting. The one she painted for you. He said that one day Whale Song would be yours.” Adam reached down, tugged my chin upward and kissed me. “And I thought that name would be perfect because I knew that one day you’d be mine.”
Twenty minutes later, Max cut the engines. Adam tossed a microphone overboard and cranked up the volume. We listened for almost half an hour, but all we heard were noisy fish.
“The whales haven’t been coming in this close lately,” Adam apologized. “We’ll go out a bit farther.” He hauled in the microphone and waved to Max.
The engines roared to life and we headed farther out.
“We should see something here,” Adam said after a while.
When the engines were silent, he dropped the microphone into the ocean depths. Twenty minutes went by and still there were no killer whales. Just the occasional school of fish.
My father and I grew increasingly depressed.
“We could still empty Mom’s ashes into the ocean,” he said.
I shook my head. “It won’t be the same. Not without the whales.”
Reaching for the silver chain around my neck, I eased the wolf pendant from my shirt. I traced the wolf’s head with my fingers, pleading fervently with the Great Spirit to lead us to the whales.
Suddenly, I heard the plaintive song of a killer whale and I saw a plume of water shoot straight up into the air.
“Look!” I cried, pointing toward the horizon.
We stood close together, hypnotized by the spectacular sight of a pod of whales coming up for air. As they drew nearer, my father leaned against the rail, one hand shielding his eyes from the intense sunlight.
“It can’t be,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
Adam smiled at my father. “It’s true, Jack. The pod took her in.” He laughed lightly. “She’s my special project, the reason I’m down here. I’m researching occurrences like this and I have to say, it is very rare.”
I was stunned. “That’s the same calf we saw?”
“The one who lost her family,” my father murmured.
We watched the whales dive below, almost in unison, resurfacing twenty yards from the schooner. I recognized the killer whale that I had once seen, orphaned and alone. I felt an affinity with her. Both of us had been abandoned, left behind. And now we both had found our families.
“She’s an adult now,” Adam said, interrupting my thoughts. “She just delivered. Two few weeks ago―a female.”
Holding onto his arm, I leaned over the rail. When I saw the calf, I chuckled softly, watching her glide next to her mother.
“They look like the ornament you gave me, Adam.”
“To remind you of your mother,” he said, nodding.
I hissed in a breath. “Quick, Dad! Mom’s ashes!”
My father opened the box. Reaching inside, he removed the cloth-covered urn just as the whales plunged into the depths and disapp
eared below
We waited, holding our breath.
“Do you think they’ll come back up?” I asked Adam.
“Look!” my father shouted.
The orca pod was visible a few yards away, but what mesmerized us was the sight of the calf heading straight for us. She circled in front of the schooner, no more than five yards away, eyeing us curiously. Blowing a mist of seawater high into the air, she skimmed against the side of the boat.
“Unbelievable,” Adam whispered to himself.
We heard the whale crying―singing a soulful melody.
A Whale Song.
My eyes locked on her and I admired the calf’s beauty and daring. Stretching down toward the water’s surface, my hand dangled and she swam right up to me. I grazed her smooth skin as she passed slowly below me. My emotions overwhelmed me, my memories engulfed me and I tears welled in my eyes.
“Do it now, Dad,” I said.
My father tipped the urn and emptied my mother’s ashes into the endless ocean. “Until we meet again, my love.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
A breeze drifted past us, carrying the ashes into the wind and over the water. My mother had returned to every corner of the earth―becoming part of every living creature. As we watched her ashes melt into the rhythmic waves, I thought that maybe―just maybe―her wish had come true.
Maybe she had become a whale after all.
I reached out my hand as the calf swam past one last time―her open eyes watching me…almost lovingly.
I smiled.
My mother had come to say goodbye.
epilogue
It is said that death begins with the absence of life.
If this is so, then my mother died long before I did what I did. When she slipped into a coma with no hope of surviving or recovering, there was no life left.
It is her life that I remember―her laughing smile, her warm embrace and her extraordinary vision. I have learned to use that vision and the intuitiveness of an old but wise Nootka grandmother who once said, “I may have lost my eyesight, Hai Nai Yu…but I have not lost my vision.”
I embrace my native name, understanding now that I am the Wise One of the One Who Knows. The wisdom of the Great Spirit has taught me that we all must do whatever it takes to resolve our past, so that we’re able to live fully in our future. I know that with life…comes death…and then life again. The eternal circle―the never-ending story.
Whale Song: A Novel Page 19
