Manatee Blues (5 page)

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Dr. Mac asks.

Gretchen’s smile vanishes. “Yes, it is, J.J. If I don’t get this loan, we may have to close—even with a good turnout at the fund-raiser.”

Close the center?

“I didn’t realize it was so serious,” Dr. Mac says. “Let me help. Why don’t we go over your plans for the bank meeting?”

“That would be great,” Gretchen says with relief. “Can you girls stay busy for half an hour?”

“I’m going to help wash out the boats,” Maggie says.

“I’d like to keep an eye on Violet,” I say.

“This is going to sound weird, you guys, but I’d love to take another look at that snake,” Zoe says.

They all scatter, and Violet and I are left alone. I fiddle with my camera. I’ve got to get a shot of her swimming in the tank. But if I take a picture facing the glass, the flash will reflect back and ruin the picture. I slide to the side. Maybe if I take it from an angle …

Violet floats by. How could anyone hurt a beautiful creature like this? Manatees don’t bother anybody. They just swim and eat and play.
Click!

I read the sign posted next to the tank:

Ten percent!

My face flushes. It’s not the heat—it’s my temper. What would it take to get people to start paying attention? What would make them care? I wish I were older, old enough to move down here. I could start out volunteering, then Gretchen would give me a job. I’d find a way to tell people about the manatees—I know I would.

I lie down on the floor and angle my camera up so it looks like Violet is swimming above me, with shafts of light streaking down from above her. She has stopped swimming and is resting, floating straight up and down. Her flippers are suspended by her sides. Her chewed tail hangs
gracefully. The stark white bandage covering those awful gashes looks like a big warning sign—TAKE CARE OF THIS CREATURE.

Click!

There has to be something I can do.

W
hen Gretchen and Dr. Mac finish talking about the bank meeting, we drive to our hotel in Bay City. While Dr. Mac checks us in at the hotel’s front desk, Maggie, Zoe, and I wander around the lobby.

I’m stunned.

“This place looks like a movie set!” I exclaim.

The lobby stretches twenty floors up to a glass ceiling and is longer than a football field. It reminds me of an expensive mall. It has two restaurants, fountains, a piano player, a bunch of little shops, and a special computer station where people can check their e-mail. In the middle of it all, a huge column of glass-and-chrome elevators rises up to the guest rooms above. Everywhere I turn there are glass windows, or mirrors, or other shiny surfaces that reflect my sweaty face and gaping mouth. I’ve stumbled into the Land of Oz.

“Do you believe this place?” I gush to Zoe and Maggie. “Your grandmother is nuts. It’s got to cost a thousand bucks a night!”

“Relax,” Maggie says as she falls into a poufy chair near a marble fountain. “It doesn’t cost that much.”

Zoe perches on the edge of the fountain. “I hope Gran lets us order room service,” she says.

Something splashes behind her. “Look!” I say. “Fish!”

Big, fat goldfish swim lazily under a lily pad in the water fountain.

“Brenna, listen to me,” Zoe advises. “You don’t want to look like a hick. Act sophisticated. Look bored. Pretend that we jet all over the world. Compared to the Ritz in Paris, this place is a dump.”

She rolls her eyes and pouts a little.

“Yeah, right, like you’ve ever been to the Ritz,” says Maggie.

“I have,” Zoe answers. “Mom and I flew to France for a fashion show last year. Now, this is how you have to act.” She puts her hand up to her hair. “Ve must get zem to do zomesing about zees sunlight,” she says in a fake French accent. “It’s going to fade my hair color.”

A bright green lizard crawls out from the plants surrounding the fountain and scoots over Zoe’s lap. She shrieks. Maggie and I crack up.

“Way to go, Zoe,” Maggie notes.

“Totally zophisticated,” I add.

We have two connecting rooms with balconies that face the ocean. Maggie leaps onto the bed and turns on the television.

“Cool!” she shouts. “We have a million channels! We can watch three different baseball games.”

Zoe is flipping through the room service menu. “We could have dinner either up here in the room or downstairs on the deck—the veranda, as they call it,” she says. “I like the way that sounds: ‘dinner on the veranda.’”

I slide open the glass door and step out onto the balcony. From fifteen stories up, I can see the thin crescent of white beach, and beyond that the waters of the Gulf of Mexico stretching to the horizon. So much water! There are people bobbing and swimming close to the beach. Farther out, speedboats chase each other, and a few sailboats are pushed by the lazy breeze.

Are there any manatees out there? I’ll have to ask Gretchen. I hope they stay away from the boats. I wish Violet had. It gives me the shivers to remember the way her back looked.

The door of the balcony next to me opens, and Dr. Mac steps out. She puts her hands on the railing and takes a deep breath of salty air.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Sure is,” I say. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

We stand quietly, listening to the mix of seagull calls and the faint noise of the children playing on the beach.

“Do you think Violet will be OK?” I ask.

“Gretchen is a gifted veterinarian, and the people on her staff are very smart. Violet is getting great care.”

“I wish I could do more to help her,” I say, twirling the manatee bracelet around my wrist.

“I understand,” Dr. Mac says. “I wish more people felt the same way. So”—she slaps the railing to change the subject—“what do you think of Florida?”

I chuckle. “Honestly? I love it. The hotel is awesome, and the water, the palm trees, the birds. And our room! It’s bigger than my house. You shouldn’t be spending all this money, Dr. Mac. We could have stayed in a motel or at a campground.”

Dr. Mac stretches her arms over her head. “I worked hard for my money, Brenna, and I don’t spend it on fast cars or jewelry. But when I travel, I like to be comfortable. And I like being able to show you kids a little of the world.”

She twists so that her back cracks, then reaches over to touch her toes. Dr. Mac is in good shape. She can lay her hands flat on the floor in front of her. “I still have kinks from those airplane seats. I’m going for a run on the beach,” she says. “You girls stay out of trouble until I get back.”

Maggie opens the door behind me and sticks out her head. “Can I call the clinic?”

“A fire?!” Maggie shouts into the phone.

“Ouch. Not so loud,” Zoe tells her cousin. The three of us are crowded around one telephone.

David sputters on the other end of the line. “It wasn’t my fault, honest, I swear,” he says. “It was small, a small fire, a mini fire. Really just a couple of flames. And you’ll be happy to know that the fire extinguisher works properly.”

Someone takes the phone away from David.

“Hello? Dr. Mac? It’s me, Sunita.”

“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.”