Late the next night, Tango—ears erect, eyes alert—made his way to the Victoria lighthouse. The air was chilly, the winds silent. Gentle waves lapped across the sandy shore. In a patch of wild roses, two pale lights flickered.
“Is that you, Beau?” Tango called.
Thorny branches snapped as Beau Fox came into view. “It is.”
Much to his surprise, Tango felt no fear. In fact, he was eager to reconnect with his distant kin.
Beau leaned back on his haunches. “Tango, I have considered your situation.”
“Tell me! Tell me! I’ve been waiting all day! Can you help me? Can you?”
Beau reprimanded Tango: “Be still.”
Tango willed his body to stop bouncing, but his mind was buzzing.
“If your mistress were looking for you,” said Beau thoughtfully, “she would have been here by now.”
Tango’s ears drooped. “I guess she didn’t care about me as much as I thought she did.”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Beau reassured Tango. “Quite the contrary. I believe that she believes that you are dead.”
“She does?”
“When you slipped into the sea, she decided that you would not—that you could not—survive.”
“But why?”
“Your rescue was a miracle—perhaps your mistress does not believe in miracles.”
Tango wasn’t sure he believed in miracles. He didn’t know about Marcellina.
“She does not understand the animal world,” Beau said, “where other forces are at work.”
Neither did Tango. Tango no longer knew who he was, or where he belonged.
“The night of the storm I heard a voice,” explained Beau. “It thundered, ‘Save the dog!’ “
A voice in Tango’s head sneered: That’s nonsense, and you know it.
“I believe the animals of the sea carried out the command,” Beau continued. “Jellyfish banded together under the waves. Their tentacles formed a raft that supported you until the seals woke up and they swam you to shore. Somehow, when the waves broke, you got tangled up in that lobster trap.”
Tango’s head was spinning. Rescued by seals and jellyfish? A voice that commands the animals of the sea?
“You lived for a reason, so here’s what you must do: you must let your beloved know that you are alive—that you wish to come home.”
“Why, that’s impossible,” Tango grumbled. “And you know it! If I were human, I could call Marcellina on the phone, or write her a letter, but—”
“I am talking about hope. Hope is the first step on any significant journey.”
“What if Marcellina never comes? What if I have to spend the rest of my life on this island, where I don’t belong?”
“I truly believe that your kindred spirit will come looking for you. Perhaps at the moment you least expect it.”
“But …”
Beau spoke softly. “Hope is a simple heart’s song.”
With a swish of his tail, the fox slipped out of sight.
Distressed and disheartened, Tango retraced his steps. Above him, tiny, black, web-winged animals soared in confused patterns.
Kindred spirits? Miracles?
“The old fox’s brain is addled,” Tango muttered.
But as Tango passed under the giant oak in Augusta’s backyard, he heard Esperanza whisper: Without hope… without hope… nothing … is possible.