information, as you no doubt know, and I will need to handle it personally.”
“Yes, sir, I will do exactly as you say.”
The call was over, but Kazumi could not resist the temptation now that he knew who the lab technician was. “How is your son, Mr. Ito?”
“My son, sir?”
“He works for an anti-whaling group, does he not? We keep a close watch on all of our opponents.”
“We have not spoken in—”
“A son’s actions bring shame on the whole family, don’t they?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Maybe you should speak to him…more often.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will wait by the fax machine for your transmission.”
SIXTEEN
5:00 P.M .
Next day
Saturday
Davis
E LIZABETH SAT on the brown couch, flipping through a box of photos. Her long hair was tangled and messy and pulled to one side, bound by a black hair band. The television was on with the sound off. She had just over two weeks to complete the final half of her dissertation, though it was no longer her greatest concern. She still wanted answers, but her most pressing questions had nothing to do with the whales. In the box of photos, she searched for reasons, for clues, for mistakes that might be corrected.
Elizabeth had gone to see Frank to apologize again. She had driven up in front of Tom’s enormous plantation-style home in her run-down station wagon when she saw that young, perky nurse, Kim. Maybe Frank was leaving her for someone else after all; someone who would cook all of his mother’s recipes, fill his fridge, and have his children. Elizabeth’s foot instinctively hit the accelerator, and the car lurched forward quickly. She didn’t stop driving until she was home. Only then, in her driveway, did she let her head collapse against the steering wheel. But even as sorrow and regret surged through her body, no tears would come.
It had been four days since he had left, but it seemed as long as the entire six weeks that she was away. Elizabeth continued flippingthrough the photos that were jumbled together in the box. She promised herself yet again that she would put these into orderly albums as soon as she had finished her degree. Elizabeth looked at a picture of herself on her fourth birthday, all pigtails and smiles. She was in her mother’s arms, and her father was by their side. Her mother had light brown curly hair and blue eyes and was smiling at the camera. Her father, with his long black ponytail, was stone-faced, as if he knew what was to come. Three years later her mother would be dead from metastatic breast cancer.
After her mother died, her father was never the same. Her parents had loved each other the way people from different worlds can, with an almost desperate love, like two lifeboats lashed together in a storm of disapproval. Back then her father was fishing up in Alaska much of the year, out at sea for months at a time. It was the only fishing he could get with the fish stocks the way they were. She begged him to take her with him, but he said a fishing boat was no place for a seven-year-old girl. There were no other pictures of her childhood.
The rest of the photos in the box were of her and Frank. She stopped and pulled one out. She had found it—evidence of their happiness.
Frank was dressed like a Roman soldier, and in his strong arms he was carrying Elizabeth, wearing a mermaid costume. Her curled black hair flowed around her low-cut top, and her body was wrapped in sequined green fabric that ended in a wide blue tail. It was the Halloween before their marriage—her arms were wrapped around his neck and their eyes were lost in each other’s. Perhaps it was the bright light of the flash, but their faces seemed to shine with love. She had never met anyone who loved being alive more than Frank.
Elizabeth continued flipping through the photos until she found one more piece of evidence. She swallowed, her throat dry, her mouth bitter with regret. The photo was from the last hospitalChristmas party. She wore a black
“Yes, sir, I will do exactly as you say.”
The call was over, but Kazumi could not resist the temptation now that he knew who the lab technician was. “How is your son, Mr. Ito?”
“My son, sir?”
“He works for an anti-whaling group, does he not? We keep a close watch on all of our opponents.”
“We have not spoken in—”
“A son’s actions bring shame on the whole family, don’t they?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Maybe you should speak to him…more often.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will wait by the fax machine for your transmission.”
SIXTEEN
5:00 P.M .
Next day
Saturday
Davis
E LIZABETH SAT on the brown couch, flipping through a box of photos. Her long hair was tangled and messy and pulled to one side, bound by a black hair band. The television was on with the sound off. She had just over two weeks to complete the final half of her dissertation, though it was no longer her greatest concern. She still wanted answers, but her most pressing questions had nothing to do with the whales. In the box of photos, she searched for reasons, for clues, for mistakes that might be corrected.
Elizabeth had gone to see Frank to apologize again. She had driven up in front of Tom’s enormous plantation-style home in her run-down station wagon when she saw that young, perky nurse, Kim. Maybe Frank was leaving her for someone else after all; someone who would cook all of his mother’s recipes, fill his fridge, and have his children. Elizabeth’s foot instinctively hit the accelerator, and the car lurched forward quickly. She didn’t stop driving until she was home. Only then, in her driveway, did she let her head collapse against the steering wheel. But even as sorrow and regret surged through her body, no tears would come.
It had been four days since he had left, but it seemed as long as the entire six weeks that she was away. Elizabeth continued flippingthrough the photos that were jumbled together in the box. She promised herself yet again that she would put these into orderly albums as soon as she had finished her degree. Elizabeth looked at a picture of herself on her fourth birthday, all pigtails and smiles. She was in her mother’s arms, and her father was by their side. Her mother had light brown curly hair and blue eyes and was smiling at the camera. Her father, with his long black ponytail, was stone-faced, as if he knew what was to come. Three years later her mother would be dead from metastatic breast cancer.
After her mother died, her father was never the same. Her parents had loved each other the way people from different worlds can, with an almost desperate love, like two lifeboats lashed together in a storm of disapproval. Back then her father was fishing up in Alaska much of the year, out at sea for months at a time. It was the only fishing he could get with the fish stocks the way they were. She begged him to take her with him, but he said a fishing boat was no place for a seven-year-old girl. There were no other pictures of her childhood.
The rest of the photos in the box were of her and Frank. She stopped and pulled one out. She had found it—evidence of their happiness.
Frank was dressed like a Roman soldier, and in his strong arms he was carrying Elizabeth, wearing a mermaid costume. Her curled black hair flowed around her low-cut top, and her body was wrapped in sequined green fabric that ended in a wide blue tail. It was the Halloween before their marriage—her arms were wrapped around his neck and their eyes were lost in each other’s. Perhaps it was the bright light of the flash, but their faces seemed to shine with love. She had never met anyone who loved being alive more than Frank.
Elizabeth continued flipping through the photos until she found one more piece of evidence. She swallowed, her throat dry, her mouth bitter with regret. The photo was from the last hospitalChristmas party. She wore a black
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