She made a disgusted noise. “Stop being a mother. For once.”
I shrugged and padded into the bathroom. I took another long, hot shower without any interruptions. No one needed anything from me. No one was waiting for me when I exited to tell me that Leah had spilled her milk, or stole her doll, or ripped a page in her book. I took my time getting ready, wanting to look good for the second day in a row. The vacation was performing its rejuvenation magic. I felt lighter, freer.
We barely made it to the dock in time and boarded the already crowded boat. We took a spot along the railing and prepared for our three-hour boat ride. Not a boat person, I was expecting to feel seasick.
About an hour out, we saw a group of three gray whales and one baby calf, and any concern I had over seasickness vanished. They swam close to the boat, so that we were lightly sprayed by the V-shaped blow. The largest one, “an old mama,” surfaced right at our rail and stayed even with the boat.
Our tour guide announced that almost all gray whales go blind in their right eyes eventually. The whale’s blind right eye gazed unseeingly at me, mottled with white milky spots in black glass. Her gray-speckled skin was cracked and bore battle scars, thick and jaggedly torn flesh that had healed, reopened, and rehealed, the cost of protecting her babies in the harsh open ocean. You have been through some serious stuff in your life, I thought, a defensive mother, traveling alone with her offspring, shielding her calf from the perils of the month-long journey.
Feeling sentimentally connected, I knelt down at the rail until I could almost run my hand along her barnacled surface. She veered left and gave a short blow goodbye as she rejoined her pack, the spray misting the boat. I watched the mammals fade into the horizon until I could no longer differentiate between the whales and the waves.
A megaphoned voice broke into my reverie. “Ladies and gentleman, that was somewhat remarkable. Typically, the gray whales will come up to the boat because they’re curious about the people, but they do not frequently swim with it, as they are afraid of getting hit by the propellers. That one also came significantly closer to the boat than we usually see. So I hope you enjoyed that unusual event!”
There was a din in the crowd as people took pictures, exclaimed, and pointed. The rest of our trip was uneventful; we saw dolphins playing, but nothing came close to the mottled old whale. We docked just in time, as Sarah and I were both feeling mildly nauseous from the ride.
Exiting the boat onto the pier, I caught a flash of sandy hair with a touch of gray. Bile rose in my throat. The man’s back was broad shouldered, and his walk was confident, almost a swagger. The walk of a man who almost got away with it? I grabbed Sarah’s arm and wordlessly pointed. The man seemed to move faster, away from the pier and toward Harbor Drive. He was dressed in a red windbreaker and jeans and was holding hands with a woman. I motioned to Sarah to wait, that I’d be right back.
I stayed about twenty feet behind the couple as they crossed Harbor Drive, walking east on West Broadway. They stopped at a crosswalk, where he checked both directions, and from twenty feet away, I caught his profile. Is it him? I wasn’t sure. I followed them for three blocks as they talked and laughed, but I couldn’t make out the words. Once, the man put his arm around the woman and pulled her to him in a walking hug. I felt dizzy and paralyzed with fear, but knew I had to follow the couple to a possibly disastrous conclusion.
They stopped at Starbucks, and I stayed on the opposite corner. I didn’t want him to see me before I saw him. I couldn’t remember if Greg liked Starbucks. But what did that matter? Obviously, I didn’t know the real Greg anyway. When they emerged, heads bent low as they whispered to each other, I ducked back behind the corner to avoid being seen. When they turned right, I trailed behind them to a cell phone store. They clearly lived in the city. They were comfortable. They knew where Starbucks was and needed to grab a coffee before one of them got their cell phone repaired. Together. Had we ever done anything like that? I couldn’t remember. Those were the languid afternoons of childless couples.
I snuck up to the front door of the cell phone store and hovered off to the side, so I could still peek through the door. They stood at the counter for a while. When they turned to leave, I moved in front of the left door. They exited the right, and I stepped in front of them, blocking their path.
“Did you think I wouldn’t follow you?” I asked more forcefully than I had intended. I hadn’t even looked at his face; I couldn’t.
“I’m sorry. What?” His voice was a register deeper, alarmed but kind. I looked up. Green eyes instead of brown. His large nose, slightly crooked, had probably once been broken.