“Your mother drew so many pictures of the whales?”

Rio nodded gratefully.

Rather than answer, Fran folded up the newspaper and grabbed her car keys.

“I think the best thing to do is for you to change into some dry clothes and then I’ll show you.”

Rio wasn’t sure where they were headed, but Fran drove toward the center of Ocean Bay. Even though he had been in California a few days, it was the first time he’d actually been anywhere other than Fran’s house or the patch of sand outside her back door. Stretched along the ocean’s edge, it was a small town with a palm-lined avenue running parallel to the beach. There was a wide pedestrian boardwalk, filled with runners, walkers, mothers pushing strollers, skateboarders, Rollerbladers, scooters, and even a man dressed in a whale’s costume riding a unicycle.

“We get a lot of tourists this time of year,” Fran said, following his gaze. “The gray whales pull people in from all over.”

Before Rio could question her any further, she pulled into a marina where the tall white lighthouse stood protectively over a U-shaped harbor full of various-sized boats bobbing gently in the ocean breeze. She parked by a large, square-fronted building with a hand-painted sign, announcing it was the Ocean Bay Museum.

Rio’s heart sank. She had brought him to a museum?

Heavy-footed, he followed her to the entrance, where she pushed open the glass door and ushered him inside. It was a large, cavernous space, and lining each wall were floor-to-ceiling glass cabinets. There was also a gift shop with a tiny café adjoining it. But it was what took center stage that stole Rio’s breath away.

Hanging from the ceiling was the full-sized skeleton of a whale.

Parts of it had been suspended using wire, while other sections were propped up from below. It was the biggest skeleton Rio had ever seen. Bigger than a London bus. The jaw bones itself were longer than he was.

“Eschrichtius robustus,” Fran said.

Rio wondered if his ears were working properly. His grandmother didn’t have a particularly strong American accent, but she now seemed to be speaking in a completely different language altogether.

“Latin,” she explained. “It means gray whale.”

Rio wanted to ask a thousand and one questions, but somehow they all ended up stuck in his throat.

“You asked about your mother and that sketchbook?” Fran reminded him. “The Pacific coastline is the major migratory route for the gray whale, which means that around this time every year, they pass by Ocean Bay on their way south to Mexico and then, in two to three months, you’ll see them returning north again, sometimes with a calf.”

“And my mum?” Rio asked breathlessly. “She used to watch them?”

“Ah,” his grandmother replied. “This is what I wanted to show you. See?” She had taken a couple of steps away and was pointing at some old photographs in one of the freestanding glass cabinets. Rio peered over her shoulder to take a closer look. The photo she was pointing to was one of a small boat out on the open water. There were a handful of people on board . . . including a young girl with red curly hair and a huge grin.