Heart of a Dolphin

by Catherine Hapka

  I told him about the Boston couple’s drink order. He frowned.

  “Where’s Crystal?” he asked.

  At that moment, Mom came in from the pantry carrying a bushel of sweet corn. Dad told her what was going on, and she sighed.

  “I’ll get the drinks,” she said. “After that I’ll find Crystal and remind her that she’s supposed to be working for a living.”

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Suz,” Dad said. “Nobody’s even responded to this week’s ad. Guess all the college kids already found summer jobs.”

  “Or decided they’d rather play than work.” Mom sounded a little grumpy.

  I couldn’t blame her. She had a full-time job as a nurse at a medical practice out on the highway. As soon as she got off, she usually headed straight for the restaurant, where she put in another few hours helping with the dinner shift. On weekends, she was there pretty much all day right alongside Dad.

  After she’d hurried out, Dad tasted the contents of the pot, then held out the spoon to me. “What do you think, Snappy?”

  I blew on the steaming liquid and sucked it down. The broth was garlicky and rich and tasted of tomato and spicy sausage and the sea. It was so hot it burned my throat going down, but it was worth it.

  “Delicious,” I told him with a smile. “Like always.”

  “Hmm.” Dad grabbed a clean spoon for another taste before tossing both spoons in the sink. “Could use a little more salt, I think.”

  He added a generous pinch, then threw in a few more herbs and spices for good measure, looking kind of like a mad scientist as he stirred it all together. His seafood stew was already becoming famous among some of the locals, including the Portuguese fishermen who came every day for early supper after bringing in their catches. Somehow, though, the tourists didn’t seem to be getting the message. They still flocked to the Dockview every night, sometimes snaking out the door and halfway down the block as they waited for a table.

  I picked up the spoons Dad had dropped in the sink, washing them along with several other dishes already in there. Just as I finished, he stepped away from the bubbling pot, seeming satisfied. He wiped his hands on his apron and studied my face.

  “You look thoughtful, Annie,” he said. “What’s eating you?”

  “Nothing,” I said. Then I shrugged. “Just thinking about that dolphin, I guess.”

  “Admiral Squeak?” He smiled. “Yeah, still wish I’d been there to see that. But I’m proud of you for helping that poor creature, Annie.”

  “I had to.” My mind wandered back to the way the dolphin had met my gaze, his eyes wise and curious. “It was like …” I hesitated, shooting him a sidelong look, wondering if he’d think I was crazy. “Like we were friends, or had a bond, or something. Like we were, you know, communicating. Heart to heart, or something.”

  Dad nodded, looking thoughtful. “Sometimes that happens,” he says. “With animals, and with people, too. Like when your mom and I first met.” He winked. “Actually, I felt the bond instantly. It took her a couple of months and a whole lot of flowers and fancy dinners before she felt it, too.”

  It was a familiar joke, but it still made me smile. “Anyway, I wish I knew he was okay,” I said, twisting the dishrag between my hands. “Squeak, I mean. What if his cuts got infected or something? Or what if his pod abandoned him when he got tangled up and he can’t find them again?”

  “Maybe we should go out in the boat tomorrow and look around,” Dad suggested. “See if we can find the admiral and maybe the rest of his pod. What do you say?”

  “Sure, that’d be cool.” I felt a flicker of interest, though I tried not to get my hopes up. The restaurant was closed on Mondays, and Dad was always suggesting excursions and activities to fill his one day off. Somehow, though, there always seemed to be some business he had to take care of instead, like going to the bank or over to the fish market or all the way into New Haven to get some piece of equipment fixed.

  Just then, Mom hurried back into the kitchen with Crystal at her heels. “Is the omelet done yet?” Crystal asked Dad. “The guy decided he doesn’t want mushrooms in it after all.”

  Dad grimaced, glancing at the pan on the next burner, where an omelet was sizzling. “No problem,” he said. “I’ll fire another one.”

  As he grabbed eggs from the cooler and Crystal disappeared back into the dining room, Mom started stacking clean water glasses on a tray.

  “Annie,” she said, “we’re almost out of change out front—I need you to run to the ATM and withdraw some tens, then stop and ask Mr. Booth if he can spare us some change.”

  “Okay.” My heart sank. I didn’t mind the ATM trip, but Mr. Booth was a cranky old coot who’d been running our town’s busy bike rental place since the oceans were formed. At least that was what Emma’s dad always said.

  I pulled off my apron and tossed it on the hook by the pantry. Then I ducked out the back door, not wanting to chance being stopped by demanding customers.

  As I emerged from the narrow alley between the restaurant and the bookshop next door, I almost collided with Emma. “Oh!” she blurted out. “Annie. What are you doing here?”

  I told her about my errand. “Want to come?’ I asked, glad that she’d turned up for a visit at just the right moment. Everyone in town adored friendly, outgoing Emma—even Mr. Booth. “We can have clam strips when we get back,” I told her with a smile. “Dad just made a fresh batch.”

  “Um …” Her hazel eyes darted around, not quite meeting my gaze. “Actually, I can’t.”

  “What do you mean?” I reached into the pocket of my shorts, checking that Dad’s bank card was still there. “It’ll only take a sec.”

  “It’s not that. I was just on my way somewhere, and, um …”

  At that moment, I heard someone call Emma’s name. I tensed, recognizing the voice instantly.

  When I turned to look, Morgan was strolling toward us. Right behind her were the Sullivan triplets, Samantha, Sophia, and Sydney, who were Brooke’s age and lived in one of the new McMansions out near the highway, which made them regular-rich rather than rich-rich like Morgan and Emma. Grace Ogawa was there, too. She was the only Asian kid in our class, and seemed to think she was some kind of celebrity because she and her younger brother, Mattie, had been in the newspaper last summer for finding a tourist’s lost dog. It turned out the tourist was some semi-famous Broadway actor, and thanks to Morgan’s mom, the story had been mentioned on the national prime-time news show where she was one of the anchors.

  “Great,” I muttered to Emma out of the corner of my mouth. “The whole gang’s here.”

  “Shh,” Emma hissed. “They’ll hear you.”

  I blinked at her. Since when did she care what Morgan and her friends thought of us?

  But Emma wasn’t looking at me. She was smiling and stepping forward to meet the other girls.

  “Hey!” she said. “Sorry I’m late—my mom made me look at one of her dumb paintings on my way past.”

  “Oh.” Morgan’s gaze swept over me. “I thought maybe you decided to go wash dishes at the local crab shack.” She glanced over at the restaurant with a smirk, and I frowned.

  “Yeah right,” Sophia piped up with a giggle. “Like even Cinder Emma would want to do that instead of hanging out with us!”

  Cinder Emma? That was a new one. I shot another look at my best friend, waiting for her to react—maybe even punch Sophia in the nose like she’d done to Bertie Bickle back in second grade when he’d decided to nickname her Empty.

  But if anything, Emma’s smile just got bigger. For the first time, I noticed she was wearing makeup—tinted lip gloss and something sparkly on her eyelids. Her board shorts looked brand-new, too, and the straps of her flip-flops were lined with little jewels.

  My gaze shifted to the other girls’ feet. Sydney and Grace were both wearing the exact same flip-flops as Emma’s, only with different colored jewels. Weird.

  “Let’s go already,” Morgan said. “It smells ar
ound here.” She cast another disdainful look toward the restaurant, and my cheeks went hot.

  Samantha giggled uncertainly, her big brown eyes skittering over my face and then settling on the harbor, which looked still and glassy under the midday summer sun. “Yeah,” she said. “Anyway, Connor and the guys might not wait for us if we’re late.”

  “Yes they will.” Morgan sounded confident. “But still, let’s get moving.”

  Connor? Samantha had to be talking about her cousin, who was thirteen and totally obnoxious. He’d made Will cry once by stealing his socks. Who does that to a little kid? Creepy Connor Sullivan, that’s who.

  “Come on, Cinder Emma,” Grace sang out before turning and hurrying off down the sidewalk. “You’ll love Jet Skiing!”

  “Jet Skiing?” I echoed as Morgan and the triplets took off, too, not even looking back to see if Emma was following. “Since when do you like Jet Skiing?”

  She shrugged, looking a little distracted. “Oh, you know me,” she said, squinting after the other girls. “I’ll try anything once.”

  That wasn’t true at all. There was a long list of things Emma had always avoided, like eating eggplant and touching toads with her bare hands. Near the top of the list was Jet Skiing—she’d always been scared of trying it, even though I’d done it a couple of times with one of Jacob’s old girlfriends.

  She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “I’ll call you later, okay? Maybe we can plan our first beach sleepover of the season, right?”

  That made me feel better, at least a little. Emma’s artist mother had come up with the beach sleepover idea years ago. First we’d pour vast quantities of sand over the wide wooden floorboards of the Cottage’s huge old front porch, then Emma and I would decorate the railings with pretty shells and stones and twining bits of seaweed, and spend the night out there in side by side hammocks. It was like camping on the beach, but much more comfortable. And I loved letting the waves lull me off to sleep. They sounded so close out there—much closer than the distant mumble I could hear from my little bedroom back in the scrub pines.

  Emma squeezed my hand once more, then dropped it. “See you,” she said quickly, dashing off after the other girls.

  I watched her catch up and bump Grace with her shoulder. Then I turned away, focusing on what she’d just said about the beach sleepover. Emma might be changing, but some things always stayed the same.

  “Best friends forever,” I murmured as I set off toward the ATM.

  On Tuesday morning, I was awakened by the harsh squawk of a gull right outside my window. Yawning and stretching as I sat up, I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was past nine o’clock. The gull called again and then went silent.

  My house was silent as well. When I went downstairs, the kitchen smelled like stale coffee and there was a pile of dishes in the sink. A note on the fridge flapped in the breeze whispering in through the screens.

  A: Took W. with me. J. is in his room. Love, Dad

  I poured myself a glass of juice and headed up the rickety stairs to Jacob’s tiny room under the eaves. But it was just as silent and empty as the rest of the house.

  That was typical lately. Jacob was probably the most responsible seventeen-year-old in Connecticut, which was why my parents had been letting him babysit Will and me since he was my age. Now that he was almost a senior, though, he was obsessed with getting into a good college—and especially with getting lots of scholarships to help pay for it. He wanted to get a degree in accounting so he could come back to help Dad run the restaurant. I just hoped the restaurant was still in business by then, or Jacob might have to figure out a new plan. Anyway, I figured he’d probably forgotten all about me and headed off to the library or something.

  By the time I got back downstairs, I’d drained my juice. Setting the glass in the sink, I stepped out the back door and took in a deep breath of warm, humid, sea-scented air. Birds flitted around in the scratchy branches of the pines all around the house, and a squirrel was digging busily for something in the sandy ground nearby.

  I felt at loose ends. Glancing toward the road leading off through the trees in the direction of town, I thought about walking or biking down to the restaurant to help out. Instead, though, I turned the opposite way, heading for the steep trail down to Little Twin.

  By the time I reached the beach, I was already sweating. The breeze had died down to almost nothing, which meant the water in the cove was even calmer than normal. I peeled off my shorts—as usual I had my swimsuit on underneath—and waded out a little way, sitting down and letting the tiny waves lap against me up to my elbows.

  Staring out over the cove, I couldn’t help thinking how strange this summer was turning out to be. Yesterday’s trip out in the boat to look for Admiral Squeak hadn’t happened, just as I’d predicted. One of the burners on the stove was clogged, and there was some kind of problem with that week’s oyster delivery, and by the time all that was taken care of, it was almost dinnertime.

  Then there was Emma. She hadn’t called on Sunday, or most of Monday. I’d finally wandered over and found her helping her dad and the gardener prune the rosebushes, but she hadn’t mentioned the beach sleepover at all, and for some reason, I hadn’t, either, even though I kept thinking about it.

  Maybe I should go over to her house now, I thought, glancing up at the copper schooner peeking out over the top of the cliff.

  That made me realize another strange thing. Every summer until this one, I’d always headed over to Emma’s house first thing in the morning. Every morning, just about. But today it hadn’t even occurred to me. Was it possible that Emma wasn’t the only one who was changing?

  The thought made me feel lonely and kind of itchy inside, as if I wasn’t even sure what was what anymore. I stared out at the gently undulating water of the cove—at least that was always the same. Or was it? My science teacher had told us that the Earth’s oceans were always circulating water around the globe, which meant a drop of water from Long Island Sound could end up in, I don’t know, the waters near the South Pole.

  I squinted at the calm water, focusing hard, trying to imagine that. So when a gray fin suddenly broke the surface just a dozen yards away, I was startled enough to let out a gasp.

  My heart raced, sure that it was a shark. We didn’t see many of those in the cove, but occasionally a small one would wander in.

  Then a familiar scarred face emerged, and my face relaxed into a smile.

  “Admiral Squeak!” I cried.

  The dolphin chirped at me and dove out of sight. I leaped to my feet, wading deeper. A second later, Squeak appeared again a little closer.

  “Hey, buddy!” I called, and let out my best dolphin squeak.

  He whistled in reply, and I laughed. I had no idea what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. He was back!

  I was almost to the drop-off by then. Letting my feet step off into nothingness, I swam out to meet the dolphin. My mother would freak out if she knew what I was doing—we weren’t supposed to swim alone.

  But I wasn’t nervous at all. I was as comfortable in the water as I was on dry land. Besides, Squeak wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Weren’t there all kinds of stories about dolphins rescuing struggling swimmers?

  I forgot all of that as Squeak whistled at me again. He dove back underwater and I dove under, too, opening my eyes and peering forward through the dusky filtered sunlight. Squeak was swimming away, and I followed, propelling myself forward with a couple of strong whip kicks.

  When I ran out of air, I popped to the surface, spitting seawater. A second later, Squeak appeared nearby. He swam toward me, bumping me gently with his nose.

  I laughed and reached out to pet him, but the sudden movement startled him and he darted off, disappearing underwater.

  “Wait, I’m sorry!” I called, pushing my soggy hair out of my face while my legs churned along beneath me to keep me afloat. Since I hadn’t really been planning on swimming, I hadn’t bothered to tie my hair up, and
it floated all around me like seaweed.

  Blinking salt out of my eyes, I looked around, hoping I hadn’t scared him off. Several long seconds passed, and I was thinking of diving under to look in the deeper water, when …

  SPLASH!

  There he was! Leaping out of the waves a short distance away, arcing joyfully through the air, and slicing gracefully back into the water. I laughed out loud—I couldn’t help it. He was so beautiful!

  When his head popped into view a few yards away, I let out a whistle. He chirped back, then let out a few clicks before diving down again. I felt the current swirl past my legs as he swam closer.

  I held my breath as his head appeared less than an arm’s length from where I was treading water. This time I resisted the urge to touch him, instead letting out a soft whistle, putting everything I was feeling into it. He gazed at me, then sidled closer, ducking his snout toward my face.

  “Is it okay?” I whispered, carefully raising one hand while still using the other to help keep myself afloat.

  His eyes held mine, and I knew that this time he was ready. Moving slowly, I reached over and touched his face, stroking the rubbery skin. The feel of it reminded me a little of the wet suit Jacob used when he dove for lobsters, only thicker and warmer.

  “Hi there,” I murmured. “I’m glad you came back.” I touched the edge of his scar, then glanced at the still water of the cove. “But where’s your pod? Are you here all alone?”

  He didn’t respond; he just floated there, seeming to enjoy being petted.

  We stayed like that for a moment. Then Squeak let out a sharp, joyful whistle and nudged my arm with his snout. The sudden movement startled me, and before I’d recovered, he’d taken off again—this time toward the shallows.

  I followed, and for the next few minutes, we played a lopsided game of tag. Every time I got close enough to reach for him, he’d take off again, only now I knew it wasn’t because he was scared or startled or nervous. Because each time, he let out a whistle that I somehow knew was the dolphin version of a laugh. Or maybe he was saying, “Neener, neener, can’t catch me!” like Will used to do whenever Mom and Dad tried to catch him for a bath.