by Edie Claire
Lachland stopped talking. Ri looked over to see his mouth hanging open and his eyes bugged. The boat drew to within the regulation one hundred yards of the whale and stopped. Lachland continued staring at the animal, his lips moving silently with several unfamiliar words that probably rated as profane in Australia.
“What did I tell you?” Ben beamed. “Is that, or is that not, the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
Ri turned from the men to look at the whale again. Now that the boat was closer, she could see that the animal wasn’t normal. Just off the midline of its back, a few feet in front of its dorsal fin, a huge chunk of flesh was missing. The poor whale had a giant, misshapen divot that looked as if at some point a ragged piece of blubber had been ripped out and cast off by a giant claw. Fortunately for the whale, the gaping hole had somehow managed to heal over completely, and the wound was now covered with smooth, healthy looking skin just like the rest of her back.
“I can’t—” Lachland gasped. “Is that her? Is that the one?”
Ben laughed out loud. “It’s got to be! Look at the shape of that scar. And the location of it. It’s perfect! And her size. Everything’s perfect.” He put a hand on Lachland’s shoulder and gave it a shake. “It’s her, my man. And she’s A-okay. Even got a new calf this year.”
Lachland said nothing. He just kept staring at the whale, dumbstruck.
Ben’s voice lowered. “You didn’t kill her, Lach. You hear me?” he said gently.
Ri watched, startled, as the Aussie’s blue eyes turned misty.
Bryant, who had been studying the whale with binoculars, lowered them and turned to the men. “Looks like a ship strike to me,” he declared. “Whale’s lucky to be alive.”
Ri sighed to herself. She would have a difficult time liking Bryant. The guy was oblivious.
“Yes,” Ben answered evenly. “It was a ship strike. Three years ago last February. It wasn’t anyone’s fault though; it was just a freak accident. She came up underneath a boat Lach was driving for a friend of ours. She surfaced without a blow first, so no one on board saw her, and it’s anyone’s guess why she didn’t see or hear us coming, because it was an old bucket of bolts and plenty loud.”
“I thought she was dead for sure,” Lachland managed to mumble finally. “There was so much blood in the water… And the poor calf…” He turned to Ben. “How the devil could she keep the sharks off her?”
Ben offered a shrug and a smile. “No idea. But there she is! The scar’s healed amazingly well, don’t you think?”
Lachland’s handsome face finally showed a smile of its own as he looked back out at the still-slumbering whale. “I’ll be damned.”
They spent a good deal of time taking photographs of the whale before, finally, the animal began to stir. Within a minute, and with one powerful flick of her black and white tail flukes, she and her calf disappeared under the water. Lachland appeared to be doing his best to act reserved and scientific about the find, but his best wasn’t good enough to fool Ri. The man nearly teared up three separate times and his face beamed with good humor for the rest of the afternoon. In fact, she was pretty sure he was hurrying through the agenda so that he could cut them loose early and go celebrate someplace private.
After they had learned the vessel’s features and capabilities, talked about the current research projects they’d be working on, and stopped for the incidental sightings of another humpback whale and a bottlenose dolphin, the boat headed back to the marina. Ri’s fatigue, which had gone into happy remission the second she’d stepped onto the catamaran, came flying back at her full force once Lachland pronounced the interns dismissed. And as she leaned over the railing, admiring the view of southern Maui as the boat approached land, the horizon began to swim before her in the haze of the late afternoon sun.
Wake up!
“So, Shelby,” she forced herself to ask as the other intern joined her. “Do you like living in Texas? My sister is moving there in a couple weeks. She’s a geriatric nurse, and her fiance got a job with Lockheed Martin, so she’s going to work for a rehab hospital in Dallas.”
Shelby’s answer came eagerly, but Ri found herself unable to follow it. She still couldn’t talk about Mei Lin’s moving away without feeling melancholy, never mind that technically, Ri herself had left New England first. She and her sister had never expected to spend their entire lives together; they’d expected to find significant others and have families of their own, and Ri had always planned to travel. Yet not until Mei Lin made the actual announcement two months ago did the reality of those plans finally sink in. Cell phone communication was a wonderful thing, but it pained Ri to think that for the first time in her life, her sister’s warm hugs would no longer be a few hours’ drive away. And she could hardly afford a plane ticket whenever she wanted one.
Shelby was looking at her expectantly. Shoot. “I’m sorry,” Ri apologized. “What were you saying? I’m falling asleep again. I’ve been up for three days straight now. I think.”
“Three days?” Shelby exclaimed. “No! I was hoping you’d want to catch the bus into Lahaina with me later. I’m dying to check out the nightlife!”
Ri pictured her unconscious body sliding down the steps of a public bus and out onto the street in front of a crowded tiki bar. She would probably still be snoring as the bus pulled away.
“Um… sorry. I really just want to settle in and go to sleep. Some other time, maybe?” she offered.
“Fine,” Shelby agreed with mock chagrin. “But I’m holding you to that. I am so ready for a hookup. So many surfers… so little time.”
Ri smiled back, attempting to cover her lack of enthusiasm. She wanted to get along with Shelby, but she was not on Maui to “hook up” with surfers or any other men. Ri was not a hookup kind of woman. Ri was a “do you want a real, honest, lasting relationship with me or don’t you” kind of woman. And as much as she would love to meet someone new, she didn’t think she’d find a like-minded man by hanging out in a Lahaina bar.
The boat pulled into the harbor, and Ben stepped over to talk to the interns. “Good to meet you guys,” he said cheerfully. “I’m off to Alaska with the whales in a couple days, so I doubt we’ll cross paths again. But just so you know — Lach’s the greatest. Learn from him, and you’ll go far. Where are you guys coming from?”
“Fresno,” said Will.
“Sarasota, Florida,” said Bryant.
“Houston, originally,” cooed Shelby.
Ben looked at Ri.
“I’m from Maine,” she answered.
He looked taken aback. “Maine? Really? I thought you were a local. That’s cool. Tell me about your gray seals. What’s happening with the population out there?”
Ri blinked. A local? She wanted to ask him why he had thought that, but she answered his question about the gray seals first, only to find it followed up with several more related ones. She was musing over his level of knowledge on the topic, and listening to him elaborate on the FOM’s research on Hawaiian monk seals, when Lachland reappeared.
“Parker!” he shouted with faux irritation, “Stop lecturing my interns! Do you work here?”
Ben laughed. “Might as well.”
“Go get your damn doctorate,” Lachland groused. “Then we’ll talk.”
Ben smirked. “I’m planning on it. Starting next spring, maybe. Next fall, at the latest.”
“Well, hallelujah!” Lachland teased.
Ri’s mind wandered again as the men traded barbs. Ben lived on Maui — at least during whale season — and he thought she was “a local.” Why?
The boat neared the dock. It was now or never.
“Excuse me,” she said boldly, catching Ben’s attention as soon as Lachland’s was diverted. “Why did you think I was a local?”
Ben studied her a moment, then looked embarrassed. “I don’t know. You just seemed… Well, your appearance is similar to that of a lot of people who live here. That’s all. Sorry if I offended you.”
&
nbsp; “No, no,” she said quickly. “I’m not offended. I was just curious.”
He smiled back at her, then waved farewell to all the interns. “I’m off, Lach!” he shouted, vaulting himself off the boat before it reached the dock again, in a perfect reverse execution of his move on the way out. “Gotta get back to the wife!”
Lachland shouted back some nonsensical thing that must have been an inside joke, and Ben laughed loudly as he jogged down the dock and out of sight.
Ri realized, with some disappointment in herself, that her heart was thumping loudly in her chest. Your appearance is similar to a lot of people who live here. She had thought the same thing herself. Just looking out the car windows in Kahului had been like nothing she’d ever experienced before. But to hear the words from an actual resident of Maui…
What did it mean?
She wished she didn’t care. She really, truly did. But the thumping in her chest was telling her something.
Perhaps that she was sleep deprived?
Nice try, Ri.
No. Her heart was making her position clear. She did care who she was. Who her people were.
She always would.
And the answer could be right here.
Chapter 3
Wolf slowed his steps, admiring the sunset with a deep sense of satisfaction. “Vog,” a combination of the words “volcano,” “smog,” and “fog,” was technically a form of air pollution. The lake of lava that constantly sizzled and brewed in the caldera of the volcano Kilauea over on the Big Island shot up all sorts of gases and particles into the sky, and when the wind blew just so, that haze drifted over the ocean to Maui. Add sunlight, oxygen, and a little moisture, and voila — you had vog. Since the spooky grayish-white mist carried sulfur products that could irritate the lungs, many people found little to celebrate in the phenomenon.
Sunsets and sunrises were the exception. When sunlight filtered through vog at just the right angle, an amazing array of colors resulted. Fiery oranges. Glowing reds. Warm pinks. Even cool purples. The kind of colors one didn’t normally see in the sky. Yet here they were now — in all their glory.
Wolf’s steps stopped altogether. He unclipped his water bottle and lifted it for a swig, only to remember he’d emptied it already. Right. It was only the beginning of May, and the heat was already getting to him. He’d have to pace himself better tomorrow.
Deciding to relax for a minute, he set down his gear and stretched out on a rock to enjoy the view. He was running terribly late already, but what the hell. He could make it back to his truck before it got totally dark, and dinner at the field station wasn’t much to look forward to anyway. But how many more purple sunsets would he get to see in his life? Particularly ones as spectacular as this, playing out over this deserted stretch of mountainside as if for him and him alone?
He’d spent a long, tiring day taking volatile gas measurements on the slope of Haleakala. Performing gas flux sampling solo was proving more time-consuming than anticipated, and he was beginning to worry about his deadlines. He should have completed the Maui phase of his data collection by now, but a variety of equipment problems had delayed the project, and when the spring semester ended, so had the services of his undergraduate intern. Not that he minded working alone. In fact, he preferred it. Chris had been a nice guy and a promising geophysicist, but the kid’s constant chatter about nothing had worn on Wolf’s nerves. He much preferred what he was hearing now.
The whir of the wind whistling past his ears. The cluck or chirp of the occasional bird. There was no traffic noise. The nearest dirt track was still a ten-minute hike away, and he was far above the closest thing to a highway.
Perfect.
He gazed out over the craggy southern slope of the ancient shield volcano, which in this particular location was on the dry side. The brown and green landscape was dotted with clumpy bushes, short trees, and black rocks as it tumbled down to the ocean. Looking west he could see across Ma'alaea Bay and all around the southern curve of the land bridge to the other mountain. Above his head, the higher regions of Haleakala were engulfed in clouds, but from where he sat, he could look out under them and across the water to a dazzling display of purples and pinks projected off distant cloudbanks on the horizon.
“Nice,” he mumbled to himself. Most definitely worth a slightly later dinner.
When the sun slipped beneath the water’s edge and the colors began to fade, Wolf shouldered his gear and moved on. He walked briskly, knowing he had a long drive ahead of him. Getting from anywhere to anywhere on Maui was often “a long drive,” since all points of interest ringed on roads around the bases of the two mountains, and both rings were effectively impassable at one point or other. Thinking about how close together things actually were “as the crow flies” was a recipe for road rage, so Wolf tried not to dwell on it. At least all the long drives were spectacular ones.
He had almost reached his truck when he heard the dogs barking. He listened a moment, then broke into a jog. Wolf knew dog barks, and these dogs were upset about something. Excited, but also fearful.
He muttered curses under his breath as he neared the pullout where he’d left his truck. He often parked it here, because the location served as a good trailhead for hikes in several directions leading to different parts of the reserve. The road bordered on private property, and there were several small houses — and he used the term “house” generously — clustered nearby. One of them was home to two pit bulls and a bonafide mutt he’d become fond of. Usually all three dogs roamed loose in the yard, but while the pit bulls were occasionally locked up in chain link pens, the mutt was always left to wander.
He reached his truck and peered into the clearing across the road. The master of the house was home, and he was drunk. The man tottered around the small yard with a bottle in one hand and what looked like a mostly eaten whole chicken in the other. He was wearing shorts, sandals, and a bad sunburn. His head was either bald or shaved, but a shaggy red-blond beard trailed onto his chest. “Where’re you hiding, Bella?” he shouted angrily, slurring the words.
The pit bulls were barking with agitation, keeping a careful distance from both the man and the food. The skinny, long-haired mutt was no longer barking. She was cowering under a rusted Chevy that sat in the weeds ten feet away.
The man tore off a piece of meat and dropped it on the ground near his feet. The pit bulls were clearly conflicted. One of them darted forward, but then quickly withdrew when the man raised the bottle in the air in a threatening gesture. He laughed out loud.
Wolf’s teeth clenched. What sort of sadistic game was this?
“Aw, poor babies, that’s all right. Daddy’ll feed you,” the man said then, pulling off several hunks and throwing them out toward where the pit bulls waited. The dogs grabbed the pieces and ran, gobbling them as they moved. Sensing a change in fortune, the long-haired mutt crept out from her hiding place and approached the man also, her filthy, ratted tail wagging. The man tore off another piece and held it out to her. But just as she came close enough to sniff it, he snaked out a long leg and aimed a kick at her ribs.
“Hey!” Wolf shouted, dropping his gear by the truck and stepping forward.
The man swung toward the sound, swinging a little too far and almost toppling over. “Who the hell are you?” he snarled.
“Someone who reports animal cruelty,” Wolf snarled back. He didn’t care if he sounded confrontational, but he did stop short of trespassing. The mutt had squealed loudly, but did not appear to be injured. In fact, the second the man’s attention was diverted, she dove back in and grabbed the piece of chicken that dangled from his hand, then skittered out of sight. She was a gutsy little thing.
The man threw the remainder of the chicken down in the dirt, then shouted back at Wolf with a muddled stream of profanity best left to a bathroom wall. Wolf watched as the two pit bulls swooped in and whisked the carcass away. Their master was now oblivious to them.
Wolf considered. The threat to the anima
ls was over, for now. All three had disappeared with their booty. The man was blind drunk and could barely stand up. Even if he did deserve to be taught a lesson, odds were he wouldn’t remember it tomorrow.
Wolf decided to move on. Ignoring the man’s continued verbal tirade, he returned to his truck with an air of nonchalance. He was, of course, listening carefully for the sound of footsteps behind him, as well as the thud of a door slamming, which could mean that the man was fetching a firearm. No self-respecting Alaskan would ever turn his back on an argument without considering that possibility. But since all he heard was continued profanity coming from the same spot in the yard, he didn’t even deign to look over his shoulder. He simply loaded his gear in his truck and drove away.
Way to ruin a perfectly good sunset, he thought to himself. He loved dogs, and he missed his own terribly. He hadn’t seen them since January, when he’d flown down from Fairbanks to begin work on Haleakala. He would have brought them with them if he could, but dogs weren’t allowed in the state park because of the risk they posed to the endangered nene, Hawaii’s state bird. His dogs were reasonably well behaved, but how could he expect them to resist such a primal urge as stirring the feathers on a bunch of fat, slow-waddling geese? Much less turn down a breakfast of fresh eggs sitting on the ground? No, much better if he let his dad spoil the dogs in Anchorage for a while. In the meantime, he’d settled for making some canine friends here on the island, including the long-haired mutt, who now routinely greeted him at his parking spot looking for a kind word and a scratch behind the ears. She was a friendly thing, but too skinny by half. He’d been wondering why she didn’t get fed as much as the pit bulls. Now he knew it was because her owner was a drunk — and quite possibly not altogether sane.
