Chapter 21

Yesterday, three days after Davie’s passing, Bastian had read David’s last wishes to me. We’d met on English Bay Beach early in the morning, both of us red-eyed and pale, the cold wind blowing Davie’s last letter in Bastian’s hands, and the cool indigo blue water of the bay echoing David’s last words to me over and over with every wave lapping the pebbled beach.

Look. Look at that, he’d said.

I’d spend the rest of my life looking for what he’d seen. That what would be my quest.

David didn’t want me at his funeral. His funeral was to be arranged in Montreal, as per his mother’s desires, and he wouldn’t be there, either, he’d written in his elegant penmanship. They could do as they pleased. He’d had his last wishes fulfilled with me.