Indelible by Laurie Buchanan (classic children's novels .TXT) 📗

The clear expanse offers them a breathtaking view. Rolling steel-blue waves shimmer beneath a cloud-flecked sky, the dark water bulging against the shoreline.

A seagull lands nearby and tips its head to ogle them. After ruffling its feathers, it jabs at a stone with its beak, shakes it, then continues on.

Mick takes a folded blanket from the basket. As he bends to set it on the ground near Emma’s feet, a pendant on a black cord swings forward from the collar of his shirt. Before he can tuck it away, Emma says, “Oh, that’s beautiful. May I?” She leans forward to take a closer look.

Slipping the pendant over his head, he hands it to her.

“It’s a whale fluke,” she says. Turning it over on her palm, she continues. “The craftsmanship is beautiful.”

“Thank you. I enjoy carving.”

“You made this?” she asks, with admiration in her voice.

“Yes,” he answers, a little embarrassed. “After the accident, the only parts of me that worked for a while were my arms and hands. My surgeon suggested that I take up whittling as a way to work through my frustration and anger.”

Mick reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a knife. “This is called a deejo wood knife. I think it saved my life. I always carry it with me in case I have time on my hands—like waiting, and waiting, for Libby in town.” He laughs. I just find a stick, and I’m happy as a kid with a cookie.”

“This goes way beyond whittling,” Emma says. “This is a gorgeous piece of jewelry. You’re an artist. You could open a shop and sell these.”

“Actually,” he says, “there’s a store in town that carries my pendants. They carry my walking sticks, too.”

Astounded, Emma asks, “You mean like the ones with gnarly faces at the top?”

“Yes, that’s the kind. Wood spirits, sorcerers, hobbits, and elves. That type of thing. But I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

After slipping the pendant back over his head, he opens the picnic basket and from a towel-wrapped bundle extracts two paninis, each wrapped in aluminum foil, and hands her one.

Mick watches Emma’s perplexed face as she studies the delicious-looking grilled bread. He can see she’s deciding how best to attack this feast with its moist and brightly colored mélange of vegetables for filling. She peeks inside and sees that it’s filled with sun-dried tomatoes, mozzarella, grilled peppers, roasted eggplant, and spinach. She tries to bite into it without making a mess, but after a few seconds of dainty eating, she gives up and follows Mick’s lead. He plows into his sandwich with gusto, leaning forward to let the juices drip to the ground.

“You need to eat it while it’s hot,” he advises, between mouthfuls.

When they finish, Emma breathes a sigh of pure contentment. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes. They sit in silence, letting the breeze sweep through their hair, breathing in the salty air.

Turning to Mick, Emma asks, “Why a whale fluke? Does it have special significance?”

“I like the symbolism. Whales represent emotion, inner truth, and creativity. They embody quiet strength. But the association I like most is physical and emotional healing.”

“That’s beautiful,” Emma says. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

An idea dawns on Mick. “Whale watching season just started. This month, May, they give narrated whale watching tours through the San Juan Islands each weekend. Starting in June, they give them daily. I take a tour at least once a season, usually not this early, but maybe you’d like to join me near the end of your writing retreat. I promise it’ll clear out any writing cobwebs that might be hiding in there,” he says, pointing to her head. She’s beautiful.

“I’d love that. What kind of whales will we see?”

“The San Juan Cruises are part of a local whale spotting network,” Mick says. “They look for resident and transient Orca, Humpback, and Minke whales. And on rare occasions, Gray and Fin whales. Not always, but many times, guests on the tour boats also see bald eagles, seals, porpoises, and sea lions. I’ve never been disappointed.

“After the cruise, we’d have plenty of time to wander around the seaside port. It’s filled with shops, art galleries, brew pubs, and it’s even got the largest whale museum in the Northwest. I hope I’m not overselling it. It’s just something that I enjoy, and I’d love to share it with you.”

“It sounds like a lot of fun, thank you. And thank you for such a lovely picnic. I’m thoroughly enjoying myself,” Emma says. Looking directly into Mick’s gaze, she makes him uncomfortable as he focuses on the color of her eyes. Tilting her head slightly, she says, “May I ask you another question?”

“You missed your calling. You’d make a great interrogator.” He laughs. “But seriously, you can ask me anything.”

With moss-green eyes that look as if they’ve pondered weighty matters with no conclusion, Emma looks into Mick’s eyes, and asks, “How is it that a handsome, eligible man like you isn’t married?”

“Well now,” he begins, his facial features contemplative. As Mick takes a minute to gather his thoughts, they sit and listen to the wind and the sound of the waves receding and crashing below the cliffs. It sounds sad and plaintive, as if in sympathy with him.

“I was married for two years before the accident,” Mick says. “We were happy. At least I was. After the crash when the doctors still didn’t know if I’d regain consciousness or ever be able to walk again, Victoria announced that she wasn’t up for the journey—the long hard road of my recovery.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emma says, sadness tinging her voice. Looking at her face, Mick sees tears fill her eyes, changing them from moss-green to shimmering peridot.

“I am too. But you know what? I’m glad I discovered the extent of Victoria’s commitment. ‘For better,’ worked. But ‘for worse,’ not so much.” Mick gets up and walks toward the cliff that holds Bellingham Bay captive.

Standing with his back to Emma, he wonders, Do I dare