She understood the need for privacy, especially because Angela needed to focus one hundred percent on healing. But she did not like taking orders from this guy. “As a rule, I would never give out a patient’s identity, ever, so you don’t need to worry about that.”
“The press already knows it was me, Zach. I’d rather just give them a statement and keep them satisfied so they don’t go digging around even more. Dr. Gray, if I write something down, would you read it to them?”
“Right now?” Minnow asked.
Zach shifted around on his feet, running his hand through hishair. “C’mon, babe, just let them wait. Those assholes never get enough, so just take care of yourself. They can wait.”
Angela tried to lean forward, then yelped. “No, I want to do this. For the shark.”
“Oh hell. I can’t believe you just said that.”
Minnow wished she could tiptoe backward out of the room and leave them to it, yet she was buoyed by Angela’s words.
For the shark.
“I saw the news this morning. People are demanding they catch the shark that did this, and I want to let them know that I do not fault the shark.”
Minnow could see that Angela’s breaths were shallow, and red spots appeared on her cheeks.
“Tell me what to say and I’ll say it,” she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out her notebook, ready to seize the opportunity.
Zach picked up her hand. “This is stressing you out. Just do it later.”
“I’ll say more later but for now say this: ‘Thank you for your concern and well wishes. I was bit by what authorities believe to be a great white shark here in Hawai?i. I’m healing well and expect a full recovery. From what I’m told, I was doing something I probably shouldn’t have been doing, and I only have myself to blame.’”
By the time she finished, her eyes were closed and her voice trailed away. Minnow finished scribbling, then closed her notebook.
Zach stood up, ready to usher her out. “They have her pretty doped up, so maybe just hang on to that until next time you see her. She likes you, so I’m sure you’ll be back. Angie’s real picky about who she talks to, so consider yourself lucky.”
Minnow stared him straight in the eyes. “I think I’ll just do what she asked, but thank you. I’ll check on her tomorrow. Good night, Mr. Santopolo.”
Journal Entry
From the journal of Minnow Gray
May 5, 1995
I am blown away by the recent data showing white sharks cruising in the midnight zones. We are talking up to three thousand meters down there, possibly more. They swim in darkness, but for what? I can understand the twilight zone, because we know the dense scattering layer is packed with small fish and other creatures on their menu. But the midnight zone? Doc Finnegan has a theory: giant squid. I tend to agree with him, but we need more info.
At thirty-three feet per atmosphere, we are talking a ridiculous amount of pressure on their bodies. They have clearly evolved to be able to withstand more than we ever could have imagined. Key adaptations: a large liver filled with oil to regulate buoyancy and the fact that their bodies are comprised of mostly water, which doesn’t compress like air. Does this mean fish don’t fart?
Most don’t, with sand sharks and herring being the exception.
Chapter 14
The Swim
He?e: octopus
Woody was passed out on the hammock when Nalu dropped off Minnow, so she went straight to Stuart’s surfboard remnant and held up the tooth to the bite marks. A perfect fit, as suspected. She remembered Joe’s words about the attacks two years ago and two years before that. Could this be not only the same shark that bit Stuart and Angela but also the one involved in those past incidents? She made a mental note to check up on those last attacks.
Next, she packed up a bottle of water and a bag of mac nuts and set out north, toward the Kiawe, in the kayak. So much was happening and she wanted to clear her head. She was beginning to feel like she’d been called here not for any knowledge she might possess but simply so the mayor or the state or whoever could say they had a white shark expert on hand. They’d checked their boxes, all right.
With thick cloud cover and a gray sky, she opted to go in just her swimsuit and an old straw hat she’d found on a shelf. Before putting it on, she inspected it well for scorpions or cane spiders or some as yet unknown vermin. It was a habit she’d formed in Mexico and it servedher well. The coast was mostly rocky, but the ocean bottom here was shallower than to the south, with large fields of yellow and blue lobe coral and forests of finger coral. Every now and then, she jumped off with her mask and snorkel and towed the kayak behind her.
Even in the monochromatic light, the colors of the fish and coral popped. Turquoise parrotfish, yellow and black butterfly fish, yellow tang, even a large gold-specked moray eel, weaving among red pencil urchins and iridescent blue spiky ones. Eventually she came to a little inlet that hid a tiny black sand beach flanked by coconut trees. From the boat she hadn’t even noticed it. This one she would have to come back to.
At no point along the way did she get that shark feeling. Sometimes it was just a light brushstroke up her spine, others a heavy pressing sensation. Granted, she was hugging the shoreline, but big sharks still came into shallow water. Maybe less often, but they did. She paddled into the bay fronting the Kiawe—Papio Bay, if she recalled the name correctly—and marveled at how idyllic it all looked. The Kiawe Roughwater Swim race started and ended right here, taking a north course and turning around a buoy a mile up the way. The race had been held every year for the past ten years. No incidents, no shark sightings.
