“Gran’s not here,” Maggie tells her. “Just Zoe, Brenna, and me. What happened?”
Sunita sighs heavily. I can just see her rolling her eyes in exasperation.
“I was sterilizing instruments in the autoclave, and it started to smoke,” she explains. “Dr. Gabe took care of the whole thing. We were never in any danger, though David got a little excited with the fire extinguisher.”
“Never a dull moment,” Maggie chuckles with relief. “How’s Sherlock?”
“And Sneakers?” calls Zoe.
“They’re right here. I’ll put them on.” We can hear Sunita whispering something to the dogs, then their tags jingling, then Rrowf! Awoooo!
“Hi, baby!” Maggie coos.
“Sneakers! Sneaky-boy!” calls Zoe.
Oh, brother.
“It’s me again,” says Sunita. “I think they miss you guys. Even Socrates.” Socrates is the MacKenzies’ fat tabby cat. “He spends all his time sleeping on Dr. Mac’s chair at the kitchen table. So tell me what the manatees are like!”
“You wouldn’t believe what we did,” I say, grabbing the phone. “We rescued this poor manatee that was hit by a boat! It was awful and wonderful all at the same time.”
I describe the afternoon’s adventures, with Maggie and Zoe filling in the details. “And I took lots of pictures,” I assure Sunita.
“I can’t wait to see them,” she says. “Uh-oh, I’ve got to go. Dr. Gabe is calling me. Have fun.”
Zoe presses down the little clicker to hang up the phone. “Do you want to call your parents?” she asks.
“Nope,” I say. “Everyone’s at work.”
“Time to chill, then,” Maggie says as she picks up the remote control and changes the channel. “Baseball!”
She leaps on the bed and leans against a pile of pillows. “Stingers vs. Hurricanes. Top of the seventh, Stingers up four to three. Come here! You’ll get to see Ronnie Masters, the home run hitter I was talking about.”
“Gag,” Zoe says. She picks up the little case with all her bathroom stuff in it. “I’m going to paint my nails.”
I hop on the bed with Maggie. “Give me a pillow,” I say. “I’ll watch with you.”
Dr. Mac opens the door that connects her room to ours. Her T-shirt is completely soaked with sweat, and her face is bright red.
“That was fast. Are you OK, Gran?” Maggie asks.
“Too hot,” Dr. Mac puffs. She opens the tiny refrigerator and takes out a cold bottle of spring-water. “Remind me to run early in the morning when it’s cool out.” She twists off the cap and drinks down half the bottle without stopping. “Ah, that’s better.” She holds the bottle to her forehead. “Who’s winning?” she asks us.
“Stingers. Masters is up in a minute. Can we get room service?”
“I want shrimp!” Zoe calls from the bathroom.
“Why don’t we just get a pizza or something?” I suggest.
Dr. Mac gulps down the rest of the bottle. “Gretchen and I planned a fun surprise for dinner,” she says. “Much better than room service or pizza. But you’ll have to put on something nice. Did you all bring a dress or a skirt to wear?”
“Impossible,” Maggie says. “Something that requires a skirt cannot be fun.”
Chapter Seven
The surprise is a sunset dinner cruise in the Gulf of Mexico.
“Don’t you all look wonderful!” Gretchen calls from the top of the landing ramp. She’s wearing a bright blue sundress, a lightweight yellow sweater, and sandals. Her hair is in a long braided ponytail, the way I usually wear mine, and her earrings are shaped like manatees. Very nice.
Maggie tugs at her skirt—a skort, really, a combination of a skirt and shorts. Getting her into it was nearly impossible. “I look stupid,” she mutters.
“It’s fine,” Zoe says. “Quit pulling at it.” Zoe has the perfect outfit, of course—a short black skirt, pink flowered top, and matching pink sweater.
My clothes don’t match at all. My skirt is a disgusting shade of purple, and I’m wearing a shortsleeved white shirt with square black buttons up the front that keep clicking against my camera. It’s a hand-me-down from my cousin in Vermont. Ugh.
I reach up to stick a stray bobby pin back in my hair. I made Zoe put it up in a bun like Gretchen’s. It feels like there are little spikes in my head. I should have just worn my braid.
“This way, ladies,” the hostess says.
The boat is really a floating restaurant. Every table has an awesome view of the water. Instead of windows, there are just railings. I’ll be able to get lots of great pictures tonight.
As we walk to our table, I sneak a look at the other passengers. They are all really dressed up, the men in lightweight suits, the women in dresses, their hair perfectly styled. It’s a big change from the rescue center.
“How’s Violet doing?” I ask Gretchen as we take our seats.
Gretchen slowly unfolds her napkin and lays it in her lap. “She’s still very stressed,” she says. “That’s not surprising, given what she went through. We hope her appetite will perk up by tomorrow.”
“Is she in a lot of pain?” Dr. Mac asks.
“We gave her another shot of analgesic, a pain killer, before I left. After her second tube feeding, she started to look stronger. Manatees are pretty tough creatures. Do you know what land animals they’re related to?” Gretchen asks. She stops to take a drink of water.
Maggie picks up the bread basket and passes it to Dr. Mac. “Their nickname is the sea cow, right? I bet they’re related to cows.”
Dr. Mac takes a roll and passes the basket to me. “Good guess, Maggie, but it’s not right. Brenna?”
“I read this, but I didn’t believe it,” I say. “Manatees are related to elephants, aardvarks, and hydraxes, whatever they are.” I take a slice of whole-grain bread and hand the basket to Gretchen.
“Quite a family, isn’t it?” she laughs. “A hydrax looks like a guinea pig. It’s a very distant cousin. Some people say that if you imagine a trunk and big ears on a manatee’s head, you can see the resemblance to elephants.”
“Is it true that people used to think that manatees were mermaids?” I ask.
Gretchen laughs again. She takes a piece of bread and butters it. “Back in 1493, Christopher Columbus recorded the first written description we have of manatees. He was bummed. The manatees were not the beautiful mermaids his sailors had promised him.”
She pauses for a bite of bread. “Here’s something you probably don’t know. Legend tells us that the queen of the mermaids was named Ran. Her job was to watch out for girls and young women and keep them safe. And now it’s our turn to watch out for the mermaids. I think that’s neat. Now, what are we going to eat? I’m starved.”
By the time the waiter brings our salads, the boat has left the dock and is puttering down the canal to the Gulf of Mexico.
Uh-oh. There are three forks by my plate, all different sizes. At my house we use only one fork per meal. Which one am I supposed to use? What if I use the wrong one?
I sneak a look at Gretchen. She takes the outside fork.
Phew! I sigh and copy what she’s doing. Maggie, Zoe, and Dr. Mac are used to fancy hotels and restaurants, but I feel like a fish out of water. I’m going to stick to Gretchen and do whatever she does. That’ll keep me out of trouble.
“Look at those houses!” Maggie exclaims, pointing with her fork to the mansions that line the canal. “They’re huge!”
The pink, yellow, and light blue houses are all three stories tall. They have enormous decks built on every floor, swimming pools, and long docks with speedboats tied up at the ends.
“That’s Mansion Row. This area has become really popular in the last few years,” Gretchen explains. “The developers can’t build houses fast enough. We’re in a constant battle trying to preserve the natural habitat here.”
Once we’re past Mansion Row, we float by small islands crowded with birds. We give the waiter our orders and list
en as Gretchen tells us about her days in vet school. As she starts to spill the beans about what Dr. Mac was like as a teacher, the noise of the boat’s engines changes.
“Why are we slowing down?” I ask.
“This is a manatee area,” Gretchen says. “See that sign?”
A sign sticking up from the water reads SLOW SPEED—CAUTION—MANATEE AREA.
I look over the railing. “I hope we’ll see some.”
“They might not be down there. It could be too cold. Manatees need to be in water that’s warmer than seventy degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Why?” Zoe asks. “They’re so fat. I thought they had lots of blubber, like whales. Whales can swim in cold water.”
Gretchen takes a sip of water. “That’s a really good point. Whales can tolerate icy-cold ocean water because their blubber insulates them, keeping them warm like a winter coat. But manatees are tropical marine mammals. They have only a thin layer of blubber, and it doesn’t insulate them well. To survive, they need to stay in warm water. Cold water can actually kill them. When it gets cooler, they gather together in warm river channels, natural springs, even the water outflow from power plants.”
“Power plants?” I ask. “How bizarre.”
“An unintended benefit of technology,” Gretchen says. “The water that comes out of the power plants is just the right temperature for manatees. Of course, many are being closed now, and that cuts down on places where manatees can spend the winter.”
The boat’s engines whine louder, and we pick up speed as we pass a sign that reads LEAVING MANATEE AREA.
“Shucks,” Maggie says. “I guess we’re not going to see any.”
“Keep your eyes open,” Gretchen says as we pass under a bridge and by a fringe of beach. “We are officially in the Gulf of Mexico now. You girls will most likely see some dolphins.”
“And here’s dinner,” Dr. Mac announces as the waiter sets a plate of steak in front of her. Maggie and Zoe both ordered shrimp. Gretchen ordered grilled tuna. I thought about it, but I’m used to tuna in a sandwich. I kept it simple: spaghetti and meatballs.
As I reach for my salad fork, the waiter takes it away. I look around. Everyone else is using the second of the three forks by their plates. When did they all learn these fork rules?
We eat quickly, enjoying the coastal breeze, the music playing over the loudspeakers, and the sight of the red sun setting in the western sky. It doesn’t take long to finish our meal. I guess we were all hungrier than we realized. As the waiter brings out dessert—tangy Key lime pie—the crew turns the boat around and we reenter the canal, passing the manatee sign again, and slow down to a safe speed.
The captain, a tall, slim man wearing a white suit, strolls through the restaurant to make an announcement.
“If you care to look off the port side,” he says, pointing to the left of the boat, “you’ll see one of the wonders of Florida, a manatee calf.”
We all drop our forks and head for the railing. I pause long enough to grab my camera.
“Do you see it?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Gretchen says. “Look for the mother. She’ll be easier to spot. They’re sure to be together. Manatee calves depend on their mothers.”
“Good thing we slowed down,” Zoe says.
“There it is!” I shout. “By that buoy!”
I zoom in on the small lump with my camera lens and take a few shots. Click! Click! The baby manatee is only a few feet long. It’s thrashing in the water, but it’s not going anywhere.
“Something’s wrapped around it. It can’t swim,” I say.
“Can I see the camera, Brenna?” Dr. Mac asks. I hand it to her.
“That calf is too young to be alone,” Gretchen says anxiously.
“Maybe the mom is hunting for food or something,” Zoe says.
“Manatees never leave their calves,” Gretchen says. “Unless the mother is hurt, too. Or worse—dead.”
“That calf is tangled in some kind of fishing rope,” Dr. Mac says.
“Let me see,” Gretchen says, reaching for my camera. She peers through the viewfinder. “Oh, no!”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“We have to get him out of there,” Gretchen says, kicking off her shoes and taking off her sweater. “He’s close to drowning. Did you see the buoy floating near him? He’s tangled in the rope that it’s attached to. The rope probably leads down to a crab pot. And the tide is coming in.”
I know what that means. The calf’s snout is just barely out of the water now. When the tide comes in, the level of the water will rise and he’ll be trapped under the water, unable to breathe!
The boat is drifting past the calf. Gretchen hands me the camera. “We’ve got to get him out of there,” she says.
“I’ll get the captain,” I declare.
I run the length of the boat to where the captain is talking to an elderly couple.
“Please, sir,” I interrupt. “You have to turn the boat around and go back. That baby manatee is in trouble. He needs our help.”
The captain shakes his head. “Young lady, I’m sure the manatee is fine. This boat has to stay on schedule. Now if you’ll please excuse me.”
I grab his arm. “You don’t understand. It’s going to die! We have to go back!”
Splash!
“A woman just jumped in the water!” someone shouts.
I run back to the side. Gretchen is in the canal, swimming strongly toward the desperate calf. She’s wearing a life jacket and towing a life ring.
My face flushes hot, my heart races. It’s only six feet down, a no-brainer. That manatee needs help. Now’s my chance to make a difference.
I hand my camera to Maggie, climb on top of the railing, and dive into the canal.
Chapter Eight
Brenna, stop right there!” Dr. Mac shouts from the boat as I come up for air.
I cough out canal water. Yech! It tastes oily and nasty. I’d better not think about what’s in it. At least it’s warm. I tread water for a minute, figuring out where I need to go.
“Brenna!” Maggie and Zoe scream.
I ignore them. The baby manatee and Gretchen need my help. I kick hard—oops! My sandals float off and sink to the bottom.
Don’t think about it. Get to the manatee.
I pull with my arms and kick with my bare feet, breaststroking so I can keep my face out of the water and my eyes on the calf.
“Brenna!” Dr. Mac shouts. “Get back here!”
A little voice in the back of my mind whispers, Be a good girl.
Sorry, Mom.
I swim faster.
Up ahead of me, I see that Gretchen has reached the calf. He’s about the size of Maggie’s basset hound. She lifts the baby manatee’s head a few inches out of the water. His nostrils flare as he takes a big breath. The rope is wrapped tightly around his flippers and tail. He is really stuck. When Gretchen lets him go, he sinks back into the water, thrashing weakly. How are we going to get him untangled?
Gretchen has a worried look on her face.
I take three more strong strokes and pull up behind them.
Gretchen turns around, shocked. “Brenna! What are you doing here?” she demands. “Have you lost your mind? Swim back to the boat right now!”
That’s not the greeting I was expecting.
“I came to help.”
“Help?” she gasps. “Now I’ve got two of you to worry about.”
The little voice in the back of my mind hollers, You idiot! What did you think she was going to do—pat you on the back? Duh!
By now, the boat has stopped in the middle of the canal. Dr. Mac and the girls are still shouting to me from the railing, crowded by all the other passengers. We’ve turned into a sideshow.
Gretchen looks at the manatee, back to the boat, then at me. She’s going to send me back.
“I’ve got her!” she shouts back to Dr. Mac. “Here.” She wiggles out of her life preserver and tosses it to me. “Put this on and buck
le it. You might as well stay and help since you’re here.”
Another wave washes over the calf’s head.
“What about him?” I ask as I slip into the life jacket and quickly buckle it. “No mother?”
She shakes her head no. “The calf is dehydrated. He’s been alone for a few days.”
“The water’s rising,” I say. “He doesn’t have much time.”
“Just as we thought, he’s tangled up in the crab pot line,” Gretchen explains. “All right, don’t move. I’m going to see if I can move the crab pot.”
She takes a deep breath and dives under. A wave from the boat’s wake rolls in and crashes over the calf’s snout. His nostrils open, and he snorts—a manatee cough.
The calf thrashes in the tangled rope. His eyes are moist and soft, crying out for help.
“You poor thing,” I say quietly. “You must be so scared, out here all alone, not knowing where your mom is. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”
I reach out to the manatee, then stop. He pulls his head back and closes his eyes like he’s afraid of me or something.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say. “I came to rescue you.”
He snorts.
Gretchen surfaces and takes a deep breath. “The pot is wedged under a rock,” she says. “I can’t budge it.”
The manatee thrashes as water closes over his face. Gretchen holds his head up so he can breathe.
I swim a few strokes to the buoy. “We could unwrap him from this end,” I say.
“Let’s give it a shot.” Gretchen cradles the calf in her arms, murmuring gently. “Try to be fast, but don’t rush. If you tangle the rope more, we’ll lose him for sure.”
I kick my way to the buoy, a faded green plastic tube that bobs in the water. The rope attached to the buoy is snared in branches and tightly wound around the calf’s flippers and tail. I have to untangle the rope from the branches, then carefully unwind it from around the calf while Gretchen holds him. It takes a few tense minutes, but finally, the calf splashes free.
“Excellent!” Gretchen says.
“Can we take him on the boat with us?” I ask.