скачать книгу бесплатно
“Well, I just wonder...what are they saying to each other?” Please don’t laugh at me.
Spencer gazed at her for a moment in silence. “The repetitive staccato clicks they make are used as a form of echolocation to forage for prey and for navigation—as I’m sure you know,” he said. “Pulsed calls and whistles are used for social communication. Keeping tabs on members of the pod when they’re out of sight of each other.”
He must think she was crazy. Except that she knew him. Knew he must have wondered the same thing. “But don’t some calls occur more often in some circumstances, such as resting or socializing?” she said.
“True, but so far no one has established a definitive connection between call type and behavior that would suggest certain calls had a specific meaning.”
“Yes, I know,” she said heavily. Her idea was too far-out.
“However, I don’t think it’s impossible that we’ll eventually be able to decode their communications,” he said carefully. “You’d have to listen to their sounds in the context of their daily lives and closely monitor behavior. Given the limited scope of an honors thesis, maybe you should confine your study to one small aspect of killer whale communication. In that context, I would support such a project if that’s what you’re interested in.”
Was she interested! But wait. This was her degree they were talking about. The opportunity for which she’d scrimped and saved for seven years. If she blew her honors thesis because Spencer agreed to what someone else on her supervisory panel would consider crackpot research, she wasn’t sure she’d have the heart, or the resources, to try again.
“Have you got funding to do this type of research?” she asked. Spencer, she knew, never hesitated to go out on a limb, but if the Natural Science and Engineering Research Council was willing to believe in him, she supposed she could.
“I don’t have funding of any kind at the moment, but you’ll have access to Doc Campbell’s grant money.” He grinned, showing white, slightly overlapping front teeth. A smile that had once thrown her heart into palpitations. And still did. “Sometimes you’ve just got to take a chance, princess.”
Princess. She’d almost forgotten that detestable yet somehow endearing nickname. “My name is Meg,” she reminded him severely.
“Sorry,” he replied, looking totally unrepentant. “Not very politically correct of me.”
“It’s hard to adjust to us not both being students—to you being a prof and me being under you.” Meg immediately blushed at her choice of words.
Spencer swiveled to the window as though he wanted to leap out. “It feels strange for me, too. Can we just skip the professor-student thing and be two people interested in killer whales? The way we used to be?”
Was that what they used to be? “Sure, I guess so.”
“Good.” He spun back. “Do you still have your kayak?”
“Yes, but I haven’t used it in a while.” Like seven years.
“Get it out, check it for leaks.” Spencer got to his feet. “We’ll pay a visit to Kitasu and the rest of her maternal group. Are you doing anything tomorrow? We could catch the early ferry to Saltspring, drive up to Southey Point and paddle out from there.”
“I—I don’t know,” she said, rising. She’d have to ask Patrick to take Davis to day care in the morning. She’d accounted for afternoon care but not for earlymorning starts.
He gazed at her quizzically. “Mornings bad for you? I suppose you’re working.”
“No. Yes. It’s just that I need time. I have things to...arrange.”
“Okay, but we really should get in a preliminary look-see before classes start and things get busy for both of us.”
She turned to walk out ahead of him. “What will you be teaching—Marine Mammals?”
“Yes. Plus a unit of first-year biology and a course in the philosophy of science. It’s a graduate-level course, but you’re welcome to sit in on it.”
“I’d like that.”
“It’s in the evening. Wednesdays.”
“Oh. Evenings are hard for me, too.”
He paused a beat. “Are you married, Meg? Or living with someone?”
“No!” It was so not what she’d been afraid of his asking, she jumped. And probably looked guilty as hell, anyway. “Are...are you?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Me? Not likely.”
Of course not. How could she be so foolish? More foolish still that the news he was free made her heart go flip-flop.
“Can we leave the kayaking till Saturday?” she asked. Patrick would be on maneuvers all weekend, but this Saturday was the Uplands Garden Club open house and garden sale. Her mother would be busy from early morning till evening, which meant her father, who avoided the annual event as he would a plague of aphids, could look after Davis. He didn’t get many opportunities to spend time with his grandson, but when he did, he jumped at them.
“That should be fine. Give me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.”
Uh-oh, complications already. “My kayak is at my parents’ place. You know where that is.” She started to back out of the office. “I’d better run. I’ll see you Saturday. Bye.”
She left without waiting for a farewell from him. She’d learned not to.
WHEN MEG GOT TO the ring road, instead of turning toward Esquimalt and the California-style bungalow she shared with Patrick, she pointed her Toyota toward Cadboro Bay Road. If she hurried, she had just enough time to drop by her parents’ house to check out the kayak before picking up Davis.
Stone gates guarded the entrance to the parklike estates of Uplands. Meg rubbed her temples as she drove through, aware of the tension already starting to mount. She hoped her mother wasn’t home. Helen never lost an opportunity to inform Meg that dropping out of university at the age of twenty-one to become a single mother had ruined her life. What Helen really meant was that Meg had ruined her life. Oh, the shame of having to tell her garden club friends that her daughter lived in Esquimalt. God forbid she would ever consider visiting her and Davis there.
Meg had learned to live with her mother’s disapproval, but what really hurt was the way Helen couldn’t warm to Davis. She was a control freak, and Davis was someone she couldn’t control. Rather than learn how to deal with his behavior, Helen shunned his company. It was hard for her little boy to understand. And harder still for Meg to forgive.
She turned into the long curving driveway flanked by a high box hedge. It was all so clichéd it would have been boring except that this was her family. She missed the big Sunday dinners with her three brothers and their families and the holiday gatherings she now avoided because she couldn’t stand having to constantly defend her life. Or to protect her son from feeling slighted by his grandmother.
Thank goodness for Daddy. He wasn’t terribly happy with the way her life had turned out, either, but at least he tried to let her live it her own way. And although he’d never thought Spencer good enough for his only daughter, he loved his grandson and treated him accordingly.
The elegant white three-story house came into view, afternoon sun glinting off the mullioned windows. Meg pulled up in front of the portico and got out She glanced at the conservatory but couldn’t see her mother’s slim figure moving among the plants.
Daddy was home, though, practicing his putting on the side lawn, his salt-and-pepper head bent in concentration. Meg waited till he’d made his shot, then called out. Roger McKenzie’s handsome face broke into a smile. Dropping his golf club into the bag, he strode across the lawn to envelop her in a hug. “Meggie! How’s my little girl?”
“Twenty-eight and all grown up,” Meg teased as she hugged him back.
Roger glanced hopefully at the car. “Is Davis with you?”
“No. I just came from the university.” Dam, why did she go and open that line of conversation?
“Have they found you a new supervisor yet?”
“Yes. An expert on killer whales from Monterey.” Daddy would have to know sometime that Spencer was back, but right now she didn’t have the time or the emotional energy to discuss it. The fact that Spencer didn’t even know he was a father had never absolved him of guilt in Roger’s eyes. “We’re going kayaking on the weekend to locate the group of killer whales I’m going to work on,” she went on. “I came to see if my kayak still floats.”
“Andrew used it a few times over the summer. I said he could. Didn’t think you’d mind. He said he replaced the ‘spray skirt’ because the neoprene rubber had deteriorated in spots.”
“That’s great. There’s nothing worse than getting soaked from the waist down because a leaky spray skirt lets water into the cockpit. Let’s go have a look.”
They went in through the open section of the fourcar garage. In the far slot sat Roger’s restored Model-A Ford next to his silver 500 SEL Mercedes. Helen’s smaller, cream-colored Mercedes was absent. The rest of the garage was given over to sporting equipment—skis and tennis rackets, snowboards and sailboards, golf clubs and archery sets.
Meg’s single-seater Orca kayak had been taken down from the overhead beams and was propped on wooden blocks at the back of the garage. She ran a hand down the shiny red fiberglass hull, then lifted the new spray skirt to inspect it. “Looks okay.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Roger said. “You know how finicky your brother is.”
“I’ll be sure to call and thank him for using my stuff,” Meg replied with a grin, and walked to the stern to test the rudder movement. “Where’s Mother?”
Roger’s voice became deliberately casual. “She’s looking after Cassie and Tristan a couple of afternoons a week. Maybe you haven’t heard—Anne’s gone back to work, part-time.”
Cassie and Tristan were Meg’s niece and baby nephew. Meg bit her lip, hoping the physical pain would override the inner pain. It wasn’t that she wanted to use her mother as a baby-sitting service, but never once had Helen offered to look after Davis. The few times Meg had asked, Helen had always been too busy. Finally Meg had stopped asking. Helen sent expensive and inappropriate gifts for Davis’s birthday and at Christmas, but Meg could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d gone out of her way to see her grandson.
“I’d better go,” she said. “I’ve got to pick up Davis at day care. He hates it when I’m late.”
“Is he excited about starting school?” Roger asked as he walked her back to her car.
“One minute he can’t wait and the next he’s not so sure.” Meg opened her door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Would you be able to look after him on Saturday while I’m kayaking?”
“Sure! He can caddy for me.” Roger put his arm around her. “We don’t see enough of him, darling.”
Meg gripped her father’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “You know Mother and I can’t be in the same room for more than ten minutes without fighting.”
“Your mother is just proud and stubborn—like her daughter. She does love you, Meggie.”
Funny kind of love. “Bye, Dad,” she said, giving him another hug. “I’ll see you Saturday morning. Early.”
It wasn’t until she’d turned her car out of the driveway and onto the road that she remembered Spencer would be picking her up at her parents’ house at roughly the same time she’d be dropping Davis off. She had to decide fast what, if anything, she was going to tell Spencer about his son.
CHAPTER THREE
SPENCER SPOTTED the dusty Econoline van in the driveway and grinned. Ray was back.
He parked and ran up the steps, his jacket slung over his shoulder. The afternoon had warmed up and the front door was open to let in the sunshine. Through it came smells of cooking and the brassy sound of a blues band.
Spencer climbed onto the porch steps. He could see his dad moving around in the kitchen dressed in black leather pants and a dark blue shirt. He was singing along with the music, and when he stopped to play a riff on an air guitar, his body vibrated right up to his graying ponytail.
“Ray!” Spencer pushed through the screen door and dropped his jacket on the couch on his way into the kitchen.
“Spence, my man!” Ray came around the counter, arms extended, ebullient as ever. “Is this a coincidence or what?”
Spencer met his dad in a back-slapping embrace. “Sooner or later we had to land here at the same time. Sorry I missed you this morning.”
“I ran into an old buddy of mine in Victoria last night. We tied one on and I spent the night on his couch. When I got back to the cottage this afternoon and saw your note, I went right out and got us some grub and a bottle of Kentucky’s finest.” Ray moved back into the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll pour you one.”
“Great.” Spencer walked over to the fridge and took a handful of ice cubes from the freezer. He dropped them into a glass and Ray sloshed in a healthy shot of Jack Daniel’s. “How long has it been since ’Frisco? Two years? Three?”
“Four, I think.” Ray grinned, his black eyes crinkling, and added more bourbon to his glass. “It’s a good thing we meet occasionally by chance.”
They raised their drinks, glasses clinking. The bourbon hit Spencer’s empty stomach like a fireball. The spreading warmth blended with the gutsy music and his father’s positive vibes. Let the good times roll.
“So when did you get into town?” Spencer asked, leaning against the counter.
“Coupla weeks ago.” Ray set his glass down to wrap a potato in tin foil. He did another one and tossed them in the oven. “What brings you up north? I thought you never stayed in the same place twice.”
“Not if I can help it. I’m teaching up at the university.”
“Coming back to your old haunts and teaching, which I know you don’t like as much as research. You’re changing, Spence. Here’s to it.” He lifted his glass.
Spencer shook his head. “Just doing a favor for my old prof is all.”
“Adults go through stages same as kids,” Ray said. “Some changes are harder than others.”
Spencer laughed. “Come off it, Ray, you haven’t changed a bit.” He opened the fridge door and peered in. The shelves, bare this morning, were now full. “What are you making? I’m starving.”
“The finest New York steaks money can buy. Outside New York, that is. I was there, let’s see, two years ago. Had a few gigs lined up, so off we went.” He brushed his palms together, one hand sweeping off in a curving arc. “What a life.”
“I attended a conference in New York last April,” Spencer said, grabbing an apple from the bottom rack.
“Crazy town. I love it.” Ray unwrapped the steaks from the butcher’s paper. “Did you get to any clubs?”
“One or two. Heard a few old tunes by my namesake.” He crunched into crisp green skin. “I like their style of bluesy rock and roll, but do you know how hard it is to go through life as Spencer Davis Valiella? People either think it sounds affected or that Davis Valiella should be hyphenated.” Grimacing, he recalled his encounter with Ashton-Whyte. “I don’t care for hyphenated names.”
“It was cool at the time. Hey, I still like it.”
“Ah, forget it, Ray, I’m just razzing you. I sure appreciate you buying all this food. I’m living on credit till they put me on the payroll here. Or until my money arrives from Monterey.” He gestured with the hand holding the apple. “How come banks require weeks to electronically transfer money when it only takes a split second to send an e-mail?”
“You got me, man.” Ray’s smile wavered. “No money, eh? What a bummer.”
“So how’s your new band working out?”
“Fantastic!” Ray widened his smile, but something flickered in his eyes. He turned to the counter hesitantly, as though trying to remember what he was looking for.
“Your last CD was great, but it was a while ago,” Spencer said. “I’m looking forward to the next. When’s it coming out?”
“Uh...soon.” Ray grabbed the bottle of bourbon. “Here, let me top you up.”
“Thanks. Whoa, easy.”
Ray splashed some more into his own glass and put the bottle down. “Enough about me. What’s going on in your life?”
Spencer took a sip of his drink. Should he tell Ray about Meg? Would he mention her if she meant nothing to him? He decided he would. “Talk about coincidences. My honors student is a girl I knew from before. Meg McKenzie.” Her name fell self-consciously off his tongue.
“Hey, I remember meeting her. Blond, sassy smile—right? That’s great. You won’t want to hang with your old man all the time.” Ray slid a cast-iron frying pan onto the stove.
“I doubt I’ll be seeing her socially. The university frowns on fraternization between faculty and students.” It was a good excuse, anyway.
Ray poured cooking oil into the pan and turned on the heat. “I could see it if you’re talking about an old fart like me hittin’ on some sweet young thing, but you and Meg are about the same age.”
Spencer found he didn’t want to talk about Meg, after all. “Do you ever see Mom?”
Ray’s ever-present grin faded.
Damn. Surely he could have come up with something better than that to change topics.
