Hawley did not know how to answer. All this time he had been watching her window, it had never occurred to him that she was watching for him, too. He could hear Loo’s breath, heavy and expectant, blowing hard into the mouthpiece, and for a moment all he could think of was the sound of the whale’s spout—the blast of air and water as the giant rose to the surface, the salted spray that had rained down upon him in Puget Sound and filled him with terror and longing and a sense that he could right the path he was on. He had not realized that he’d been waiting for this sound until he heard it. He knew only that he had been waiting—for something that had never arrived, that had failed him, that had made him rage and murder in the silence it had left. But now here it was again. His daughter, still breathing. And so was he.
“I’ll come now.”
“Right now?”
“Yes,” said Hawley. “Put your coat on. And get your toothbrush. Your real toothbrush.”
Hawley wrapped the phone cord around his arm, tighter and tighter, waiting to hear what she would say. Instead he heard the sound of footsteps. A door open and close. Then a clattering as the phone dropped to the ground. Hawley called Loo’s name. He pressed his ear tightly against the receiver, straining to listen. Something dragged across the floor. Shuffling. Thumps. A noise like Velcro being ripped apart. And then she came back to him.
“I’ve got my shoes on,” Loo said. “I’ve got the candy, too.”
Everything That’s Happened & Is Happening & Is Going to Happen
WHEN LOO HEARD THE KNOCK on their front door, her first thought was of Marshall—she hated herself for this, but it was. It had been a week since he’d left to join his stepfather’s boat. But today was her birthday. She was turning seventeen. And she felt light, thrilled, as she hurried downstairs, making up a story in her head with each step: that Marshall would be standing there with a present, saying that he’d changed his mind, that the petition didn’t matter, that she was more important than his mother. Instead she found two policemen on the front porch, their faces dour. One of them was Officer Temple, who had pulled Loo over in the Firebird. The other had red hair. Even though it was sixty degrees, they looked chilled, their uniforms buttoned up to the neck.
“Your father home?” Officer Temple asked.
She should have known that it was only a matter of time before the gossip about Hawley would lead the police to their door. The bullet, she thought. Could they have traced it to the Beretta? She swallowed hard. “He’s out fishing.”
The policemen exchanged a look.
“We need to ask you some questions about Thomas Jove,” said Officer Temple.
“Oh,” Loo said, relieved. “What about him?”
“There was an accident,” said Officer Temple.
“What kind of accident?”
“The Coast Guard just brought in his boat. It was floating out by the Banks. The guys from Whale Heroes called it in. The sails were up, but no one was on board,” said the red-haired cop.
“I don’t understand,” said Loo, “where did he go?” She imagined Marshall in the middle of the ocean, climbing onto the Pandora.
“He might have fallen off.” The redhead coughed. “Or been hit by a wave.”
It took a moment for her to realize they were saying Jove was dead.
“But he could swim,” said Loo.
Officer Temple gave the redhead a nudge. “It’s easy to get turned around, especially at night.”
And there it was in her mind, already a memory: Jove’s lifeless body drifting beneath the waves, getting caught in a dragnet, bundled with lobsters and crayfish and eels and skates and lifted out of the sea, the creatures around him flapping their fins, their mouths gaping, their gills sucking open and closed.
“We heard at the Flying Jib that he was staying here,” said the redhead.
“He’s friends with my father.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Three weeks ago. At the launch.” Her voice faltered. “I christened the boat for him.”
“We can’t find much information beyond his registration with the harbormaster,” said Officer Temple. “Do you know where he used to live? How long he knew your father?”
“He never said,” said Loo. She could hear the truck coming down the street, its distinctive rattle as familiar as Hawley’s own voice. Her father slowed as he reached their house. He’d left before she got up that morning, and now Loo saw him take in the police car and the men on the porch. He pulled across the end of the driveway, blocking them in.
“It’s Jove,” she called as he got out.
The policemen turned and walked toward Hawley’s truck. Loo watched his face as they told him. Hawley listened and ran his fingers through his hair. Officer Temple asked him something and he shook his head. Then he asked him something else and Hawley nodded.
The police walked back to their cruiser and got in. Hawley opened the back of his truck and grabbed three bags full of Chinese takeout. He carried the bags up the steps and set them on the porch.
“I’m going to the station,” he said.
“I’m coming, too.”
“Like hell you are.” Then Hawley softened. “They’re only going to ask me some questions.”
Loo reached out and took hold of his sleeve. She did not want to be left behind again. The policemen had rolled down their windows. They were watching them both. She could hear the static of the radio, the squawk of strange voices.
Her father gently removed her fingers. He squeezed her hand once, then let it go. “Stay here,” he said. “Start packing.” And then he walked back down the driveway and got into his truck. He pulled into the street and the cops followed, creeping slowly behind, lights on but siren silent.
Loo had not heard Hawley say those words in more than five years. But they were hard-wired to her nervous system and she felt a shock all the way down her spine, as if she’d been shot through with electricity. She carried the Chinese food to the kitchen, then went straight to the closet and grabbed their old suitcases. The ones they had crisscrossed the country with long ago. She threw one bag onto Hawley’s bed and the other across her own and undid the latches. Back when they were on the road, Loo and her father could pull up stakes and be away in under an hour. It was a game they played. Who could pack the fastest. Hawley had always won, until he taught Loo his trick: to always take the same things. Everything else got left behind. She would run around and grab the items from her list: toothbrush, comb, underwear, socks and her planisphere. It had been years, though, and Loo was out of practice. Everything seemed important enough to take.
Would it be cold where they were going? Would it be warm? Cold, she decided, and filled the suitcase with long underwear. There was no room left for any pants or shirts or shoes. She turned the suitcase over and started again. Hangers came out of the closet and her clothes were strewn across the bed. She could not bring herself to choose between them. In the end she packed only a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a sweater, her new telescope, her mother’s gloves, the Carl Sagan book, Mabel Ridge’s scrapbook and the planisphere. She brought the suitcase downstairs and put it next to the door.