Free Ten Good Reasons by Lauren Christopher Page B

gray whales, part of the migration from Baja to Alaska. . . .”
    “They sometimes travel in pods of two or three like this,” he said, fast and low.
    “. . . Grays sometimes travel in small pods . . .”
    “I’m guessing two mothers and two calves.”
    “. . . and it looks like we’ve got two mamas and two calves, making their way back up the coast.”
    He cut the motor and coasted the cat into a better position. In the quietude of the ocean, Evan fed Lia lines in his deep, low monotone. He mumbled information regarding the usual length of the female, the fact she was usually larger than themale, notes about mating, and how the females were identified each year by their length and their calf companions as they returned up the coast. He told how to look for the whales by looking for a slick in the water, then waiting about a minute for the whale’s back to emerge, then the flukes, flipping over before the whale dove back down.
    “The flukes?”
    “The two sides of the whale’s tail—left fluke and right fluke.”
    She repeated that into the microphone. She didn’t recall Drew ever telling her that. Maybe he didn’t know she liked to learn these things.
    “We’ll stay twenty minutes,” Evan concluded. “Grays will come up four or five times in that span of time.”
    Lia clicked off the microphone. After seeing him look so sullen all morning, it was nice to hear his voice take on a tranquil rhythm, see him lean into a feeling that looked like peace. She studied him as he maneuvered the boat’s position. The brick wall he’d been building seemed to be lowered all of a sudden, replaced by something that seemed more like an opaque sheet, flapping in the wind and letting her glimpse behind.
    “Why did you call me Cinderella just now?”
    He didn’t turn, or even budge an inch—just kept staring through the binoculars. “Did I?”
    “Yes.”
    “They’re going to come up soon.” He put the binoculars down and revved the boat forward.
    She wasn’t going to give up that easily. The sheet was still pulled back, just a little, and her instincts—some kind of misguided, fact-finding, must-have-the-answers instincts—read it as opportunity.
    “So what was with the gun this morning?” As soon as the question was out there, flapping in the wind like the sheet, she felt like biting her lip off. What was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? She didn’t need to know this. She had no right, or reason, to be interested in him.
    If the question insulted or surprised him, he didn’t show it. His eyes remained on the spot from which he expected the whales to emerge, and he leaned farther into his turn, pullingback on the wheel. “We don’t have to talk, you know,” he murmured.
    “I know. . . . Just trying to make conversation.”
    “No need.”
    She acquiesced and turned back toward the ocean, resting her cheek on her knee. She was an idiot. He was going to be as closed down as Drew said, and this was none of her business. But some crazy thing made her see his secrets as a challenge, an opportunity to change something dark into something light, and she couldn’t seem to stop her mouth. “So you’re not much of a talker, huh? Drew mentioned that.”
    Silence followed as the boat bobbed on the ocean.
    The passengers made their way around the boat to the one o’clock position to watch for the slick.
    “Tell them one more minute,” he said quietly, staring through the binoculars.
    She repeated the advice into the microphone, trying to bring her voice down to the reverent decibel Evan was using.
    The quietude of the ocean pressed in around them as they waited, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves.
    “What else did Drew tell you?” he suddenly asked.
    The question sent her head whipping toward him in surprise, but she did her best to remain calm. He was like a wild animal—no sudden movements or he’d leap. “He said he hadn’t seen you in a long