Jodie Picoult - Songs of the Humpback Whale - A Novel in Five Voices

What is the rule, anyway? Can two people change so much in fifteen years that a marriage can be past the point of no return? What is it called in divorce cases-irreconcilable differences. I wouldn’t say we have that. Sometimes, it’s true, Oliver can look at me and make me think I’m back on the pier at Woods Hole, watching him waist-deep in the water, arms covered in mud, tenderly holding a quahog. Sometimes when I look at Oliver, I can fall into those pale aqua eyes. But the truth is those times are few and far between. The truth is that when I do feel like that, I’m actually surprised.

Suddenly I realize Rebecca’s standing in front of me. I put my arm through her arm. “You can feel the heat just hanging here, can’t you,” I say. “It’s enough to make you want to go back to California.”

She’s knotted her T-shirt into a halter top and rolled the sleeves, and she’s still got a line of sweat running down her chest and her back. She’s braided her hair to get it out of her face, and wrapped it with a dandelion’s stem.

“Not much to do here, is there. I was off with Hadley but he’s ignoring me today.” She shrugs, as if she doesn’t really care-of course, I know better. I saw what happened at the ice cream place: Rebecca got too close, and Hadley, respectably, stepped back. She’s crazy about Hadley; a summer crush. And like Joley said, he’s good with her; brushing her off with an excuse about work hurts much less than saying she’s just a kid. Rebecca purses her lips. “He’s acting like a big shot with Sam gone.”

Sam. “Oh, please,” I say, hoping the story of this morning’s escapades in the bathroom will cheer up Rebecca.

Rebecca’s face lights up. “Did he see you?”

“Of course he saw me.”

Rebecca shakes her head and leans closer, staring at me knowingly. “No,” she says, “did he see you?”

At least I’ve piqued her interest. “How should I know? And why should I care?”

She goes on to tell me the same old blah-blah story I’ve heard from Joley already: how Sam is God’s gift to business, how he built up this orchard from nothing, how he’s the exemplary benchmark of success for the community. I’m sure she can tell I’m not listening. So she tries to grab my attention. “Why do you and Sam hate each other so much? You don’t know him well enough for that.”

I laugh, but it comes out a snort. “Oh yes I do. Sam and I grew up with these stereotypes, you know?” I tell her about what Newton girls thought of the guys at Minuteman Tech-how absolutely wrapped up they were in their vocational schooling, when we all knew the value of a truly good education. “There’s no denying that Sam Hansen is an intelligent man,” I tell her, “but don’t you think he could do better than this?” I gesture with my arm, but when I really start to look at what I’m pointing to I stop. Even I have to admit it is lovely, spattered with the colors of the season. It may not be for me, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth something.

Rebecca starts to pick at the grass. “I don’t think that’s why you hate Sam. My theory is you hate him because he’s so unbelievably happy.”

I listen to her go on and on about simpler things in life, and achieving all your goals, and then I raise my eyebrows. “Thank you Dr. Freud.” I tell her that I’m not here because of Sam, anyway; I’m here because of Joley.

That’s when she catches me off guard: she asks me what we are going to do next. I hem and I haw, telling her that we’ll just stay a while until we come to some decisions, and then she rolls up on one elbow. “In other words,” she says, “you have absolutely no idea.”

I lean towards her. “What is this all about, Rebecca? Do you miss your father?” She is the one thing I haven’t really considered when it comes to Oliver and me. Where does she fit in?-half me, half him. “You can tell me if you do,” I say. “He is your father. It’s natural.” I try to remain as nonjudgmental as I can, for her sake.

Rebecca looks up at the sky. “I don’t miss Daddy,” she says. “I don’t.” Then the tears start to roll down her face. I pull her closer and hold her to me. That’s when I remember her the day we left California. She was the one who was sitting in the car. She was the one who had packed a bag. Long before I had realized I was trying to leave, she’d been planning.

At some point when I was growing up I realized that I had no love left for my father. It was as if each time he hit me, or came into my room at night, he’d draw a little of it out of me, like blood.

It didn’t hurt to feel nothing for him. I assumed, as I grew up, that he had done this to himself. I had to become desensitized; if I had continued to feel as strongly as I had when I was little, I would have surely died that first time he came to my room.

I can tell from Rebecca’s face, and even from the temperature of her skin, that she is thinking about what it means to love your father, and whether or not he is worth it. Because once you get to that point, I am not sure you can return.

“Sssh,” I say, cradling her head. I’d do anything to keep her from having to get there. I’d go back to Oliver. I’d make myself love him.

In the distance a Jeep drives up. I can just see it, a dot far off by the barn. I see Joley get out of the car; the other person I know must be Sam. Even from this far away, my eyes connect with Sam’s. Although I cannot tell what is going through his mind, I find myself trapped, entirely unable to turn away.

For the past two days, I’ve had a headache. Not a normal headache, either- but one that starts back by my ears and works its way across my eyes, over the bridge of my nose. I’ve never had a headache this bad, not in twentyfive years. Which makes me believe it’s all on account of Jane Jones.

This morning I walked in on her in the shower, and she took it all the wrong way. I had an appointment to get to, and when I’m running late and Joley or Hadley is showering, they don’t care much if I come in and do my business. Maybe I’m just not used to having ladies in the house. But anyway, this one happens to keep getting underfoot.

Joley and I are on our way back from Boston, where we’ve had one hell of a successful meeting with a buyer from Purity who renewed our Red Delicious contract. I can’t say I much like Regalia-she’s fat and always eats more at lunch than I do-but she signed us on again. “I think this is the start of a very long, prosperous relationship for both of us, Sam,” she said today over her quiche. She lowered her eyes, giving me this look. It’s funny, I started taking Joley along to meetings with the female buyers or supermarket chains because he always turns a head and knows how to lay on the charm. He’s got all that social finesse I never as good at. But Regalia has a thing for me. So, being the businessman, I smiled at her and winked. Sometimes I think it’s dishonest to do that-but then again, one in a million produce buyers is a woman, and I might as well use what I’ve got to cut a deal.

Joley’s driving. We’ve just passed the hand-painted sign that welcomes you to Stow when he starts to speak-he’s been quiet since we left Boston. “I want to talk to you about my sister, Sam.”

“About what?” I say, drumming my fingers on the dashboard. “There’s nothing to talk about. You’re having a good time with her. Enjoy it.”

“Yeah, well, I figure I’d better get in all the time I can before one of you kills the other one.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Joley. There’s nothing going on with us. We’re just steering clear of each other.”

“What made you get off on the wrong foot?”

“Oil and water don’t mix,” I tell him, “but that’s no reason they can’t both sit in the same jar.”