A classic story of the frozen North, Greta thinks, looking out at the place where it disappeared.
They spot the whale only one more time before they move on. A flash of tail so perfect that it almost seems cartoonish. It’s rare to see something in real life that actually matches up with all the many imitations you’ve seen, Greta thinks. It’s rare to get that chance, to watch a whale’s tail disappear into the peaceful water in a place like this, the sky like a deep blue bowl set down above them, the mountains and trees as soft and blurred as watercolors around the edges of it.
She and Ben look at each other, but neither says anything, and she knows that he’s moved by it too, that whatever happened out here was almost too big for words.
She takes his gloved hand and gives it a squeeze.
On the way back, they pause once more for another pair of whales, who mostly just float, their enormous backs cresting every now and then. But it’s nothing compared to that first one.
As the boat picks up speed, Greta watches the churning wake. They’re once again alone on the upper deck, and though her fingers are frozen and her nose is running, she doesn’t yet feel ready to go inside, to break the spell. She leans into Ben, and under her breath, so quietly she’s not even sure he can hear, not even sure she wants him to, she begins to sing.
“Baby beluga in the deep blue sea…”
It’s not the jaunty version, the one children sing. It’s slower and softer than that, something entirely new, something she’s halfway making up as she goes, and it’s almost haunting, the way it mixes with the wind.
“Swim so wild and you swim so free…”
Greta closes her eyes.
“Heaven above and the sea below…”
Ben’s head is cocked as he listens.
“And a little white whale on the go.”
When she’s finished, she opens her eyes again, and Ben leans forward, resting his elbows on the rail. Beneath them, the boat sways.
“I sing that to my girls sometimes,” he says.
She nods. “My mom used to sing it to me.”
“It’s beautiful,” he tells her, “the way you did it.”
They’re still far from shore. Everything out here feels untouched and pristine, clean and uncomplicated. She turns to face him, her heart quickening.
“My dad asked me to come back,” she says. “Just before my mom died.”
He looks at her but doesn’t say anything.
“She’d been having these headaches, and he was worried. I was in Germany for a show I’d been looking forward to.” She closes her eyes. “We’ve always had this way of hurting each other, of pretending we don’t care what the other thinks. I figured he was trying to make me feel guilty because I was so far away.”
Ben looks stricken. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“Maybe not. But I could’ve been there.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“No,” she says, her heart like a weight in her chest. “But at least I would’ve gotten to say goodbye.”
His eyes are full of sympathy. “I’m sure she knew how you felt.”
Greta thinks of the last text exchange she’d had with her mom, which was—of course—completely ordinary. At work, Helen had run into the music teacher, who had gushed about Greta.
I offered you up for the winter recital, Helen had written, and Greta could so clearly picture the face she’d be making, that gleeful, slightly devilish look she got whenever she teased her daughter. It’ll just be you and a couple dozen first graders. I figured you’d be fine with it.
Sounds delightful, Greta had responded. Wish I could.
Helen’s reply was quick: I bet!
Greta had typed the next part without really thinking. It was late in Berlin, and Luke was already asleep beside her and she had to be up early the next day for sound check. Thanks for thinking of me, she wrote, and then she switched off her phone. It wasn’t until she turned it on again the next morning that the response came through.
I’m always thinking of you.
Hours later, while Greta was onstage in front of thousands of fans, something ruptured deep inside her mother’s brain, sending her into a coma.
And that was it.
The end of the only conversation that had ever really mattered to her.
On the boat, they’re both quiet for a long time, Greta and Ben, their eyes fixed on the blue-gray water.
“I’ve never told anyone that,” she says eventually, and he puts an arm around her shoulders.