Once in a while, he would be sitting on the Spyhopper and catch a glimpse of his reflection in the water. In just a few weeks, he seemed to have grown sturdier, his face had the same golden glow as Marina’s, and there was a self-assurance about him that had been missing from his old self back in London.

But despite all of this, when he went to bed at night, he still marked off the days on his calendar. Because no matter how many whales he’d heard, or how good a day they’d had on the ocean, the ache in his chest never completely went away. How could it? Not when his mother was in a hospital. Not when they’d been separated for the longest ever time in his life. And missing someone, as Rio found out, was one of the hardest things of all.

It was still three days until he got to speak to her next, so the next best thing was to stand in her footprints. Just to see if he could somehow magic her up through the floorboards. Besides, he had news to tell her.

“Guess what, Mum? White Beak’s been spotted!” he whispered. “There’s a new photo in the database.”

Earlier today, Marina had excitedly shown him a photo of White Beak swimming past Los Angeles, on her way safely to the lagoons in Mexico. It was an old photo, as someone had taken a few days to upload it, but it was still one of the most beautiful pictures Rio had ever seen.

“See, Mum?” he murmured. “She’s going to be all right. Just like you’re going to be all right soon too.”

Rio allowed himself a smile. It didn’t matter that his mom hadn’t replied to any of his emails yet. He was due to talk to her in three days. And then he would tell her everything.

25

Fran

It was too windy for a boat trip, so Rio was at home with his grandmother. His mind was whirring and spinning with what his mom would say about all the pictures he’d been sending her. The joy in her voice. The sound of her laugh as she explained how seeing White Beak again had reignited something in her heart. How it had . . .

“Rio?” Fran interrupted his thoughts. “Are you listening?”

The image of his mother faded, and instead, he saw his grandmother’s face peering at him over her glasses. It was as if he were climbing up from the bottom of the seabed and surfacing for the first time in weeks. He blinked groggily.

“I said, why don’t you tell me more about your whale-watching trips?”

Ever since the first one, Fran had been enthusiastic about Rio’s ocean adventures. Each time he’d come home, she’d met him with a hot meal and a dozen curious questions. But whale watching was tiring. And whale listening was even harder. It drained nearly every ounce of his energy. Marina said it was the ocean—it had a way of enveloping almost everything else. All of which meant, when faced with his grandmother’s inquiries, he’d usually just yawned before disappearing up to bed to email his mom.