And so I’ll dine with the dolphins.
I clamber up the grandstand to one of its highest benches, then sit and pull out my phone. Maybe Gabi has seen the light and sent a text groveling for forgiveness. She hasn’t, but my sister’s sent three messages in the last hour:Your bathroom’s a mess!andChicken lettuce wraps for dinner?andDon’t forget to drop the mail in the outgoing box.
Whoops—I definitely forgot.
I pocket my phone without responding, then devour my salad while watching our trio—Luke, Leia, and Han—swim and jump and play. They seem so happy and carefree; lately, I’ve been envious of their companionship.
As I collect my trash, I spot Turtle climbing the steps. He’sjutting out his chin, his expression curious but cautious. When he reaches me, he sits. “How’s your first week been?”
“Awesome,” I say, hoping he hasn’t tracked me down because I screwed something up.
“You’re a hard worker,” he says, to my relief. “A lot of the staff has said so.”
“Really?”
He nods. His face is lined and sun-spotted. He’s as old as my mom’s parents—Dad’s died before I was born—lifelong New Yorkers who, in the wake of losing their daughter, became rather aloof. It’s been years since they’ve visited Tati and me in Florida.
“I’m not surprised,” Turtle says. “Your mama and daddy were hard workers too. So’s your sister. Determined as all get-out.”
“Determined,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “That’s one way to describe Tati.”
He laughs, his green eyes glinting. He’s been a surrogate uncle to my sister and me since our parents passed, checking in on us from time to time, sharing wisdom and stories about my mom and dad. He and his wife, Brenda, invite us for a Thanksgiving feast every year. Tati has a lot of respect for Turtle, which is why she agreed to let me work at the park despite themeager compensation.Her words, not mine.
“You’re off at two?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“Swing by my office before you go. I’ve got your first week’s pay.”
The Sugar Bay Marine Conservation Park is a utopia. Thriving animals, joyful guests, and fresh air, a slice of Florida that reminds me more of my parents than any other place on Earth. In a quiet area of the property, near the manta ray exhibit, is a medallion embedded in the concrete path: IN MEMORY OF TWO BELOVED COFOUNDERS AND CONSERVATIONISTS, STEPHEN AND CONSTANCE NIXON. The letters are worn a shiny copper color by the countless shoes that’ve passed over it during the last seven years. Turtle had the memorial installed after my parents’ deaths, a tribute I get to witness every time I walk by. It still makes me teary when I let it. Not only is the park a link to my past, but spending my days here gives me glimpses of what my dream—a degree, afuture, in marine biology—might be like. The pay, scant only by my sister’s snooty standards, is the cherry on top.
I grin at Turtle. “I’ll see you at two.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “We’re happy to have you, Piper. Keep up the good work.”
***
After my shift at the park, I check in with Tati because she’ll have a meltdown if I don’t. Our phone call involves way more hassling than I’ve got the energy for, and I bite my tongue, literally, to keep from retorting. The last thing I need is to have an argument on a public sidewalk. “Clean your bathroom before I get home,” are her parting words, and then the line goes dead.
She’s so lovely.
I stop by the bank, where, instead of depositing my paycheck, as my sister demanded during our call, I cash it. Turtle’s giving me six hours a day, five days a week, which has amounted to close to three hundred dollars after taxes.
A windfall.
It’shot, so I stop at Clementine’s, a shop with amazing donuts and smoothies only a few doors down from the bank. I treat myself to a Sunrise Acai Bowl, and I’m reveling in my first sweet spoonful as I push through the swinging door, heading toward the picnic tables outside, and nearly collide with Gabi.
She’s trying to get inside, so I step—stumble—out of the way.
She’s alone, thank god.
She gives me a long, cold look. Heart hammering, I think of this movie she and I watched about Jack Frost when we were kids. When he touched things—a window, a pond, a meadow—crystalline ice flowed from his fingertips, trickling over surfaces, overlaying them with frost. Her stare has the same effect. My insides have frozen over.
She steps around me, then away, like I’m infectious.
I should’ve avoided Clementine’s. Gabi loves it as much as I do. My parents brought us in the earliest days of our friendship, after Gabi moved to Sugar Bay, way back when we were nine. Not even a year later, her parents took over the tradition, treating us on Sunday mornings after sleepless sleepovers, maintaining a sliver of stability in my suddenly upside-down world.
I haven’t seen Gabi in more than a week, since the Saturdayfollowing the final day of our junior year at Sugar Bay High. Her parents took her younger brother camping for the weekend, so Gabi invited a bunch of people over. It was fun until it wasn’t. I drank too much, went swimming in my bra and underwear, and ended up pressed against Gabi’s boyfriend, Damon. In Gabi’s bedroom. Wearing only my damp underclothes. Gabi walked in at that moment—thepressed againstmoment.
