“No. Carlos is on his way with the rescue boat. I told Dr. Mac to call him before I jumped in.”
“Can I go with you?” I ask.
“No. Not a good idea, Brenna,” she frowns.
Ouch.
“I’m really, really sorry,” I say. “I didn’t want to make it harder for you.”
Her frown softens a bit. “I know you didn’t. Now, swim back to the boat. I’ll stay with the calf.” She glances over to where Dr. Mac is standing at the boat railing, her arms crossed over her chest. “And when you get on board, you’d better ‘Yes, ma’am’ and ‘No, ma’am’ J.J. all the way back to the hotel. She looks pretty steamed.”
That’s putting it mildly.
As the captain and a member of his crew haul me up the ladder at the side of the boat, Dr. Mac stands in the background, her face like a thundercloud. Someone puts a smelly blanket over my shoulders. My bun is destroyed, my hair hanging down in wet ropes, bobby pins sticking out everywhere. My clothes are soaked. My sandals are at the bottom of the canal. And I’m shivering.
Wait—my bracelet! Phew. Still there.
The slow, sputtering Gordito comes around the bend with one of Carlos’s assistants at the wheel. At least the calf will be safe. I’m not so sure about me.
I follow Dr. Mac back to the table, leaving damp footprints on the carpet. Maggie and Zoe are busy staring at their dessert plates. I sit down without a word and use my napkin to wipe off my face.
“Are you OK?” Zoe asks as she sits next to me. “That was so brave.”
“I didn’t know you were such a good swimmer,” Maggie says.
“Maggie, Zoe, find something to do,” Dr. Mac says. “Look for dolphins, flying fish, anything. Brenna and I need to talk. Alone.”
Her right eyebrow is way up, a warning signal.
I’m sunk.
My friends shrug their shoulders slightly. There’s nothing they can do to help. They slip away, heading toward the bow.
I know I’m going to get it. I bet she puts me on the first plane home to Pennsylvania. No, it will be a bus or a train. Why did I do such a dumb thing?
The Gordito putters away ahead of us, with Gretchen and the calf loaded safely aboard.
“Do you think he’ll be OK?” I ask. “He was really close to drowning.”
Dr. Mac lines up her dessert fork next to her plate and turns the handle of her coffee cup so it’s pointed north. She folds her napkin and lines it up next to the coffee cup. I should probably talk about something else.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Mac,” I apologize. “I know I shouldn’t have jumped in, but he was in trouble. I had to do something.”
“Enough.” She raises her hand. “I’m going to be blunt, Brenna. That was an incredibly stupid thing to do. Stupid and dangerous.”
“But Gretchen …”
“But Gretchen, nothing. You should have let her handle the situation. She’s the professional.”
“I thought she needed help.”
“She was fine. She is trained for these kinds of rescues. Did you notice that she put on a life jacket before she went in the water? Unlike you.”
“There wasn’t time.”
“You put yourself in terrible danger. I know you care passionately about manatees, about any wild thing for that matter, but you won’t help anything if you react on impulse. What would I say to your parents if something happened to you? You have to think, Brenna. Think!”
I glare at the growing puddle of water on my plate. My pie has turned to green, lumpy mush. I messed everything up.
“Are you going to send me home?” I whisper.
Dr. Mac sighs loudly. “No. It wouldn’t make much sense. We’re only here for a few days. But you”—she points her finger at me—“stay on dry land.”
Ah-choo! I sneeze. “Promise.”
Chapter Nine
We have breakfast the next morning on the hotel veranda overlooking the beach. Even though it’s early, the veranda is crowded with families. The beach is busy, too. There are plenty of sunbathers and kids playing in the water. Farther out, sailboats glide gracefully in the sunshine. Speedboats dart around like hornets, their engines whining loudly.
Maggie concentrates on the choices in the buffet line. She ends up taking a stack of pancakes, two kinds of sausage, and the biggest glass of orange juice I’ve ever seen. Zoe takes a croissant, mango jelly, sliced kiwi, and apricot juice.
I’m not hungry. I hardly slept a wink last night. Even after showering, my hair still smelled like the canal. Maggie and Zoe tried to get my mind off how much trouble I was in, but I wasn’t in the mood for popcorn and a video. I spent a long time on the balcony alone, listening to the surf washing over the sand, thinking about the gentle manatees swimming under the water, how much I wanted to help, and how stupid I was. It was not a good night.
I yawn, take a piece of wheat toast, and follow the others.
“Isn’t this gorgeous?” Zoe says as she claims a table for us by the railing. It’s shaded by a giant flowered umbrella that rocks back and forth in the ocean breeze. The air smells faintly of salt, clean and fresh.
“Yeah, it’s nice,” I say. I sit down across from Zoe and put my camera on the table.
“It’s better than nice,” Maggie says. “It’s paradise with food.” She puts a forkful of pancakes into her mouth. “Umm!”
“Aren’t you hungry, Brenna?” Zoe asks.
I shake my head no. “Not really. When is she coming down?” Dr. Mac was on the phone when we left the hotel room.
“Soon, I guess,” Zoe says. “Why?”
A waiter wearing a white jacket steps up to fill our water glasses.
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” I don’t want to tell Zoe what’s bugging me with a stranger around.
Maggie points over my shoulder. “Wow, look! That speedboat is really close to the shore.”
I swivel around. The obnoxious roar of the engine gets louder as the red speedboat cuts a sharp turn that sends waves crashing to the shore. The kids in the water squeal with delight, but a couple of parents look annoyed.
“That’s a monster,” the waiter says. “Sounds like two hundred horsepower.”
“That’s the kind of crazy driving that kills manatees,” I say hotly.
“Yes, it is,” the waiter agrees. “But what can you do?” He shrugs.
The boat skips over its wake as the driver guns the engine. He’s going way too fast.
Zoe frowns. “Are there any manatees out where that boat is?” she asks.
“Oh, sure,” the waiter says. “I’ve seen them plenty of times. That guy definitely shouldn’t be going so fast.” He finishes topping off the water glasses. “Enjoy your breakfast, ladies.”
“You’re not enjoying anything, Brenna,” Maggie says as the waiter moves on to the next table. “Come on, tell me. What’s wrong?”
I sigh. “I still feel rotten about last night,” I say. “Dr. Mac was furious. Gretchen, too.”
“I think Gran was scared,” Maggie says, spearing a sausage link. “I mean, you’re her responsibility and all, and then you go leaping off the boat.”
I pick up my toast and start to crumble it. “I know, I know, it was a totally stupid thing to do. All I could see was that poor drowning calf. And I thought Gretchen needed help.” I drop the toast crumbs on my plate. “Dr. Mac must hate me.”
Zoe delicately wipes kiwi juice off her fingers. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Gran can get really intense when she’s angry, but she still likes you. And it wasn’t like you jumped off the boat for fun. You thought you were helping save an animal in distress. Gran’s whole life is about saving animals.”
“Here she comes,” Maggie hisses.
Dr. Mac crosses the veranda balancing a cup of coffee, a notebook, and a plate mounded with fresh fruit. She’s wearing khaki shorts and a purple polo shirt that matches the frames of her glasses. She doesn’t look angry, but something’s on her mind. She looks like she does when she’s trying
to figure out how to save a really sick patient.
I clear my throat. “Good morning, Dr. Mac,” I say, trying to sound cheerful.
“Morning,” she says absently. She takes the seat next to me, sips her coffee, and flips through the notebook, like she’s looking for something.
“Is everything OK at the clinic?” Zoe asks.
“What? Oh, yes, I’m sure everything is fine,” Dr. Mac answers without looking up.
“Earth to Gran,” Maggie says, waving her hand in Dr. Mac’s face. “Isn’t that who you were talking to when we left? David didn’t blow the place up or anything, did he?”
Dr. Mac takes off her glasses and lets them dangle from the beaded chain around her neck. “Sorry, girls, my mind is somewhere else. Frankly, the biggest problem they’re having at the clinic is convincing Sneakers not to piddle in the kitchen.”
“That’s my biggest problem, too,” Zoe says with a scowl. Her efforts to house-train her puppy, Sneakers, haven’t been very successful.
“We’ll deal with that when we get home,” Dr. Mac says. She takes a bite of the pineapple on her plate. “This is delicious. Toast? Is that all you’re having, Brenna?”
I look at the pile of crumbs on my plate. “Not hungry, really.”
“She feels bad about messing up last night,” Maggie says.
“Maggie!” Zoe says.
I try to smile. “She’s right.” I turn to face Dr. Mac. “I’m so sorry about what I did. I hope you and Gretchen don’t hate me. I’d like to go back to the center,” I add quietly. “I want to see how the calf is doing—and Violet.”
Dr. Mac stares at her pineapple like she didn’t hear what I just said. What is going on? Is something wrong at the center? Is it Violet? Did the calf make it?
“Dr. Mac?”
She folds her glasses and puts them on the notebook. “Sure, Brenna. Apology accepted. Gretchen asked if we could spend the day helping them get the center ready for the fund-raiser. And she has the bank meeting today.”
Dr. Mac is interrupted by the loud roar of a boat engine.
“Wow!” exclaims Maggie. “Did you see that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a boat move so fast!”
I grab my camera and adjust the zoom lens so that I can see the boat speeding across the water. The people on board are all laughing.
The muscles in my arms and legs tense up. They aren’t thinking about manatees. They probably don’t even know what a manatee is! My face gets hot. I feel like racing down the beach, screaming at the top of my lungs for them to stop.
But that won’t help.
I press my finger on the shutter release button.
Click! Click! Click! I got ’em!
As Dr. Mac drives us to the rescue center, I work on what I’ll say to Gretchen. First, I’ll apologize. Then I’ll take a solemn oath never, ever to act without thinking again, and I’ll swear to ask permission before I do or touch anything. Last, the begging. I’ll beg forgiveness, beg her to let me help at the center until we have to leave, and beg permission to visit Violet and the little guy we rescued yesterday.
That ought to do it.
Dr. Mac turns into the Gold Coast lot. We park right by the front door (still no visitors) and walk in. A few volunteers are washing down the floor, and one is dusting the plaques on the wall. I head straight for the glass wall of the manatee exhibit.
Violet and the calf that was rescued last night are swimming in the exhibit tank. The calf looks like he’s feeling much better. He swims fast—well, fast for a manatee—and twists around in a barrel roll.
“Look at him!” Zoe exclaims. “He’s so cute!”
Violet drifts much slower, high in the water. She waves her right flipper once, but not the left one. Maybe it hurts too much because of the broken ribs on that side. The gashes the boat propeller made are still covered. Violet reaches one end of the tank, then slowly turns. There is lettuce floating in the water for her to eat, but she’s not paying any attention to it. That can’t be a good sign.
I stand next to the glass wall that separates us. “Come on, girl,” I whisper. “Come on over here and say hi.”
She doesn’t notice me.
“We’re going upstairs, Bren,” Maggie says.
I could watch Violet all day, but it’s time to face the music. I have to talk to Gretchen. I follow them up the stairs and into the tank room.
Carlos is kneeling by the manatees’ tank, concentrating on his patients. One of the assistants is testing the water, and the other is taking notes at the desk.
“How are they doing?” I ask, crouching next to Carlos.
He points at the calf. “The little one spent the whole night eating. He’s a strong one. Violet, well, she’s having a harder time. I think she’s leaking air into her chest cavity again. She seems to have a hard time diving. And I wish she would eat something on her own.”
“Where’s Gretchen?” Dr. Mac asks.
Carlos stands up and walks over to the sink, where he turns on the water to wash his hands. Something’s up. He’s stalling.
“The meeting at the bank didn’t go as planned,” he says finally.
“The loan?” Dr. Mac asks.
Carlos nods. “It doesn’t look good.”
Violet surfaces in the tank, snorting loudly. She drifts across the surface, looking like a lonely gray island.
Carlos dries his hands and tosses the paper towel through a tiny basketball hoop over the trash can. “Let’s not worry about it now. I need one person to hose down the dock, someone to clean fingerprints off the exhibit wall, and someone to help me feed the calf.”
“I’ll feed the calf!” Maggie, Zoe, and I all say at the same time.
Carlos grins. “I thought that was going to be popular. We have to feed him every two hours, so you’ll each get a turn. Let’s do it alphabetically, Brenna first.”
After the others leave, Carlos shows me how to pour the “baby formula” into a giant bottle.
“What’s in this stuff?” I ask.
“It’s a mixture of soy milk powder, water, and dextrose, which is a kind of sugar,” Carlos says.
There’s a splash and loud squeaking in the pool. The assistants are trying to get ahold of the calf to carry him out of the water. He thinks it’s time to play.
Carlos takes a seat on a low stool near the edge of the pool, and his assistants gently place the calf in his lap. This would be a great photo, but I don’t have time. It’s time to feed the baby.
“How do I do this?” I say.
“He does most of the work,” Carlos says. “Go ahead. Just put the bottle near his mouth.”
I lower the nipple of the bottle to the calf’s bristly mouth. Shup! He grabs onto it and starts sucking, hard.
Holding the bottle in one hand, I reach out with the other to touch the calf’s back. It feels a little rough, like a football.
“They like to scratch,” Carlos says. “We see them rubbing their backs up against rocks and ropes. That may be how this little one got tangled up in the crab pot line.”
“How long will you have to bottle-feed him?” I ask.
“He can eat plants right now. They can do that from the time they’re a few weeks old. But they still need the nutrition they get from their mother’s milk. I’d like to find a female manatee who would adopt and nurse him. Manatees are great foster mothers. We’ll call around to the other manatee facilities and see if they have any candidates.”
“Can’t Violet do it?”
Carlos looks at the injured female in the tank. “I had hoped that she would, but she hasn’t responded to him yet. He keeps trying to get her attention, but she ignores him. Maybe when she’s better. Look, he’s falling asleep. My baby daughter does that when she’s finished with her bottle, too.”
The calf has let the bottle slip out of his mouth, and his eyes are closed. Manatees don’t have eyelids like humans. The muscles around their eyes close up like a camera lens.
“You did a good job, Brenna,” Car
los says.
“I think we should hire her.”
I look up. It’s Gretchen, standing in the doorway. She’s wearing high heels, a skirt, and a blouse—the kind of outfit you wear when you have a big meeting with a banker. Maybe that explains why she looks so sad.
“How did it go?” I ask.
Gretchen shrugs and holds up her empty hands. “Not good. They’re going to call later with their decision. It seems like everything is under control here, though.”
“Brenna’s a natural,” Carlos says.
I fight back a smile.
“She needs to learn not to jump off of boats, but aside from that, she has all the makings of a marine biologist,” Gretchen says.
I have to apologize—get the painful part over with quickly. “I’m really, really sorry about last night,” I say. “I should never have jumped off the boat or tried to help you without asking first. I just got carried away.”
“Apology accepted,” she says as she walks toward me, her shoes click-clacking on the cement. “The manatees are counting on people like you and me. They need us to be passionate, but they also need us to be smart.”
I nod my head. She’s totally right.
The calf jolts awake and squirms in Carlos’s lap.
“Have you come up with a name for him yet?” Gretchen asks.
“I thought Brenna could name him. She’s the one who spotted him first,” Carlos says.
The calf opens his eyes and looks up at me. Hmm … what would be a good name? I scratch his belly while I try to come up with something. “What was the name of that great pie we had last night, the one I didn’t get to finish because of my, ah, little adventure?” I ask.
“Key lime pie,” Gretchen says.
“That’s it, Key Lime. Is that a good name?”
Carlos grins. “A perfect name for a native Floridian. Now Key Lime here needs to go swimming. Which of the tanks do you want him in?”
“Has Violet interacted with him at all?” Gretchen asks.
Carlos shakes his head sadly. “He has tried to nuzzle up to her, but she doesn’t like it.”
“Has she eaten anything?”
“Not a nibble.”
Violet swims by us in the tank.