Manatee Blues (10 page)

“That’s enough,” interrupts the guy directing the line. “Everybody needs a turn. Let’s go.”

Ronnie holds up his hand. “Hang on, Stu. Give her a chance.”

I pull a flyer for the rescue center’s fund-raiser and a brochure about manatees out of my backpack.

“Could you read this stuff, please?” I ask. “My friend Maggie said you were a good guy. Maybe you just don’t know about manatees yet. You’re new around here. This center saves manatees and lots of other wildlife. But they need help.”

“Mr. Masters can’t make any promises to endorse or support anything,” says Stu, the annoying guy in the jacket. “Thank you for your time. I’m sure he’ll consider it. Next!”

I don’t move. “People look up to you, Mr. Masters. You can make a difference.”

Ronnie Masters quickly signs his name on a trading card and hands it to me with my photos. “I’ll think about it,” he says.

“Next!”

T
he rescue center is half filled with people by the time we arrive for the fund-raiser. Most of the guests are the volunteers and interns who work at the center, plus their family and friends. A Jimmy Buffet disk is playing on a CD player set up on the reception desk.

Next to the desk is a table with munchies and punch on it. Someone strung a few blue, green, and purple streamers across the lobby to try to dress it up a bit. It actually makes it more depressing, maybe because I know this is the last party that will be held here. I should have left my camera in the hotel room. I don’t feel much like taking pictures.

Maggie and Zoe head for the food table. I ate too much at the ballpark. Dr. Mac crosses the room to talk to Gretchen, who is chatting with Carlos by the donation box. It doesn’t look like much money has been added to it. I’m going to give all my change before I leave.

Gretchen smiles as Dr. Mac greets her, but she looks beat. Between trying to save the manatees and the rescue center, I don’t think she’s getting much sleep.

Key Lime and Violet look like they’re dancing above the heads of the small crowd. Violet still has her propeller cuts covered by bandages, but it looks like she’s moving her left flipper a little more. I hope that means she’s not in as much pain. She gracefully floats across the tank like a
queen, while Key Lime darts, twirls, and spins around her like the court jester, still trying to get her attention.

Gretchen catches my eye and points to the door that leads upstairs to the pool room. Does she want me to go up there? I point to my chest—me? She nods, opens the door, and heads up the stairs.

She’s waiting for me at the top.

“Do you need me for something?” I ask when I get there.

“You didn’t look like you were having a good time,” she says as she sits on a stool by the sink.

“Well, it’s kind of sad,” I say.

“I agree. Want to help me feed Violet?”

“Sure! I’d love to. What do I have to do?”

“I’ll show you.” Gretchen stands up and opens the refrigerator. I cross the room and take the vegetables that she hands me—heads of romaine lettuce, bananas, and sweet potatoes.

“You can wash the lettuce while I cut up the potatoes,” she says.

I turn on the water and rinse the lettuce. “It looks like she’s swimming more comfortably. Is she eating better, too?”

Gretchen cuts the sweet potatoes into quarters. “Much better. The antibiotic kicked in, and her appetite came storming back. When we changed her bandage this morning, there were hardly any signs of infection.”

“I’m ready,” I say, holding up the lettuce.

“Go ahead and put it in the tank,” Gretchen replies.

I toss a chunk of lettuce into the water.

Violet surfaces for a breath and investigates the lettuce with her sensitive snout. Then she uses her flippers to bring the lettuce into her mouth and devours it.

“I wish we could feed them by hand,” I say.

Gretchen chops up some more potatoes. “I know. That’s what everyone says. But that’s being selfish, thinking about what we want, not what’s best for them. Violet is wild. We owe it to her to let her stay that way.”

I sit cross-legged at the side of the tank. “What’s going to happen to them when you close?” I ask quietly.

“I spent most of the day on the telephone finding homes for everyone,” Gretchen says. “Key Lime is going up to a zoo in Ohio. They’ve taken in young calves before and cared for them until they were big enough to be released back down here. We’ll keep Violet here for a couple of weeks. Then we’ll send her to a rehab center in Sarasota. The staff there takes great care of their animals.”

She tosses pieces of sweet potato into the tank.

“What about the gopher tortoise, and the red rat snake, and the others?” I ask. “They need good homes, too.”

“I’m still working on it. There are small zoos and some schools I need to talk to.” She peels a banana and tosses it in the water. “We also have to help our interns and researchers find a new place to work.” She peels a second banana and offers it to me. “Want one?”

“Sure.” I take the banana. Across the tank, Violet grabs her banana, too. It disappears in one gulp. I eat mine one bite at a time.

“I tried to talk to a boater today,” I say. “I saw him driving too fast in a manatee zone.”

“How did it go?” Gretchen asks as she peels a banana for herself.

“I think I blew it. I showed him pictures of Violet’s injuries and tried to explain why it’s important to pay attention to the signs posted in manatee waters, but I don’t think he was listening. He thought I was just another dumb kid. It makes me so mad. Everyone says that kids are the future, but no one wants to listen to us.”

Key Lime surfaces near us, his tiny nostrils twitching. He takes a deep breath and dives again.

“Don’t let that discourage you,” Gretchen says. “You’re a smart, resourceful girl, the perfect manatee protector. You’re going to grow up into one of those people who make a huge difference. You’re already doing that, just by talking to people and educating them about the needs of manatees and other wildlife. It might not be as dramatic as diving off a boat to save a calf, but in the long run, it will be more significant.” Gretchen winks at me, then nods toward the tank. “You can give her some more lettuce.”

I toss two more heads of romaine into the water.

The crowd noise coming up from the stairwell is getting louder. If I look down into the tank, I can see the people moving around through the glass wall, a few faces peering into the water to look at the manatees.

Gretchen stands up. “I’d better tell them, break the news about closing the center. It sounds like they’re getting restless down there.”

“Do you really have to close it? There’s nothing else to do?”

Gretchen tosses the last of the sweet potatoes into the water and sighs. “This has been coming for months, Brenna. It didn’t just happen overnight. I should have been more realistic, planned better. I kept hoping that something would turn up—a grant or a hefty donation from someone’s will.”

She washes her hands in the sink and dries them on a towel. “But it’s over. If we can’t provide the animals with the best quality care here, then
they need to go someplace else.” She hangs the towel on a rack neatly so it will dry. “Are you coming downstairs?”

Violet surfaces briefly for a breath. She’s so beautiful, propeller scars and all.

“No, I’ll stay here, if that’s OK.”

“Sure,” Gretchen says. “I understand.” She leaves without another word.

Violet slowly glides across the tank, her flippers waving back and forth. The little fingernails on the ends of her flippers look like elephant toenails. Dr. Mac says that fifty million years ago, manatees lived on land. Manatees and elephants. Now both are endangered.

A burst of laughter comes from the lobby. Obviously Gretchen hasn’t given them the news yet.

“Brenna?” Dr. Mac calls as she jogs up the stairs. “There you are. You’ve got to come downstairs!”

“No, thanks,” I answer. “I’d rather stay here as long as I can. I’m not in the mood for a party.”

“You will be in a minute.” She crosses the room, takes my hands, and pulls me up to my feet. “I promise, you’ll want to see this.”

The crowd downstairs has grown bigger. In fact, it’s twice as big as it was when I left. There are three photographers with enormous cameras hung around their necks, chowing down on the last of the corn chips. The Jimmy Buffet music is playing louder, and everyone looks relaxed, almost happy.

“Where did all of these people come from?” I ask Dr. Mac.

She puts her finger to her lips, her eyes sparkling. Something is up.

Gretchen turns off the music and blows into a microphone. Her eyes are red. It looks like she’s been crying.

“Excuse me,” she says. “Can I have your attention, please? Everyone? I have a few things to say.”

Dr. Mac leads me to the front of the crowd. Maggie and Zoe squeeze past the crowd to join us.

“Do you guys know what’s going on?” I ask.

Maggie opens her mouth, but Zoe covers it with her hand. “You promised,” she warns her cousin. “You’ll find out in a minute,” Zoe tells me.

This is getting weirder and weirder.

Gretchen takes a deep breath as the crowd quiets. “Thank you,” she says. “What a night. I came here with a speech all written in my head. I was going to tell you what an amazing place this is …”

Everyone claps.

Gretchen smiles. “But you already know that. You also know this center has one of the best staffs in the world, dedicated people who have devoted their lives to saving our wildlife. And I’ve had the pleasure this week of spending time with the next generation of wildlife lovers. The future is in good hands.”

Maggie, Zoe, and I all turn bright red as everyone stares at us and applauds.

Gretchen waits for quiet again.

“I was going to come up here tonight to tell you that the Gold Coast Rescue Center was closing.” She holds up her hands as some people gasp in surprise. “We weren’t kidding when we said we needed your donations. In fact, I spent the day making plans to transfer our animals.”

She stops, too choked up to speak. She clears her throat.

“But the rescue center was just rescued! I’d like to introduce my new best friend, Ronnie Masters, of the Bay City Stingers baseball team. Ronnie?”

No! It can’t be! No way!

Ronnie Masters works his way up to the microphone. Following him is Stu, the public relations man, and a few of Ronnie’s grinning teammates carrying small children. The photographers abandon the corn chip bowl and start snapping pictures.

Ronnie takes the mike. “Thanks, Gretchen. I’ll make this short. I’m not much for speeches. I’d been looking for a good charity to support since I came down here a few months ago. Someone,” he winks at me, “suggested this might be a good place.”

Maggie elbows me in the ribs.
Is this really happening?

“The Stingers have agreed to donate five thousand dollars to the center every time I hit a home run,” Ronnie continues. “I’m throwing in five thousand of my own for each run I hit. So far this season, I’ve hit forty-five, so I guess we owe you four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

WOW!

Tears stream down Gretchen’s cheeks. Carlos is crying, too. The crowd explodes into shouts, whistles, and applause. I stare at Maggie and Zoe. “What did he say?” I stammer. “Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars? How can he give so much money?”

“His new contract pays him nine million dollars a year,” Maggie says. “Trust me, he has it.”

“It’s not happening,” I say.

Dr. Mac laughs. “Yes, it is,” she assures me.

Ronnie motions for us to quiet down. “Stu, here, wants to say something,” he says as he hands the microphone to the Stingers’ public relations man.

“Ronnie kind of sprung this on us at the last minute,” Stu says, “but when the big man speaks, we listen.”

He pauses to clear his throat. Everyone is quiet. “Ahem. The Stingers want to support the Gold Coast Rescue Center as one of our official charities. We’ll be making plans for Manatee Day at the ballpark and will work with you to develop an advertising campaign to alert our fans about safe boating, not polluting the water, and protecting Florida’s wildlife.”

The crowd cheers loudly, cutting off the last thing he says. Gretchen steps forward, taking the mike again.

“Brenna, will you come up here, please?”

Me?

“Go on, go on!” Maggie says, giving me a little shove. I walk up to Gretchen, who turns me around to face the crowd.

“This is the hero of the hour, folks,” Gretchen says. “Brenna Lake. She’s responsible for all of this.”

The photographers all point their cameras at me.
Click! Click! Click! Click! Click!
The flashes are blinding.

Gretchen says a few more things, then hands the mike to Carlos. To be honest, I can’t hear them. There’s an ocean roaring in my ears, all the feelings of the past few days building up and crashing over me. I finger my manatee charm.

I did it!

I did something that really made a difference. Too bad there’s not enough room to turn a cartwheel in here.

I look up at the manatees swimming on the other side of the glass wall. While Violet munches on her lettuce, Key Lime swims close to her. She leans forward, touching her muzzle to his. I freeze. She’s talking to him!