by Ginny Rorby
“I was just about to knock. Can we talk?”
Past him, on his bedside table, is a picture of my mother taken on their honeymoon in Cancun.
“I’m in kind of a rush. Can you tell me while I fix some toast?” He starts to close his door.
“It’s nice that you still have Mom’s picture on your table.”
He glances over his shoulder. When he turns to me again, his lips are compressed. “It’s not just that I miss her. It’s how I keep her alive. I can look at her face and remember our lives together, the laughs we had, the special moments. I’m afraid without it there for me to look at every night, I’ll start to forget.”
“I feel the same way.”
I can tell he doesn’t know what more to say. He nods and starts for the kitchen. “So what’s on your mind?”
“You didn’t know Mom when we had William Penn, did you?”
“I guess not. Who was he?” He takes two slices of bread from the bag and puts them in the toaster oven, then brings the bag to his mouth, sucks the air out, and spins it to keep the air from getting back in. He thinks it keeps the bread fresher longer.
“He was our Quaker parakeet.”
“Lily, is this a long story? I really have to get to the hospital.”
“It’s an important story.”
“Okay.” He opens the fridge, looking for the butter.
“It’s on the counter.”
“What is?”
“The butter.”
“Thanks. Tell me about William Penn. Cute name. A Quaker parakeet named after the Quaker founder of Pennsylvania.”
“Mom found him on the ground near the pond in front of Baptist Hospital. Lots of them nest in the trees there.”
“I know. There are huge, noisy flocks of them.”
“Mom and I hand raised him. He was so tame, he’d lie on his back in the palm of my hand and let me tickle his stomach.”
The bell on the toaster oven rings.
I talk faster. “I loved him, but Mom said it wasn’t fair to keep him shut in a cage for the rest of his life.”
Don’s sitting at the center island counter, chewing his toast and looking at me. He gets where I’m going with this. I can see it in his eyes.
“It’s not the same thing, Lily.”
“It’s worse!” I lower my voice. “I’m afraid if we keep Nori much longer, she’ll forget how to be a wild dolphin; she’ll forget her family and her family will forget her.”
“Wouldn’t that be a good thing? It hurts to remember.”
Mom’s picture on Don’s nightstand comes to mind. And her driver’s license, which I keep in my desk drawer. We’re both keeping her alive in our memories. “If you think forgetting is a good thing, why do you keep Mom’s picture by your bed?”
I can see that stings. He closes his eyes. “You have a point, okay, but as long as Nori is helping your brother …”
“Helping him do what? He was already a good swimmer.” I take a deep breath to stay calm. “And just because he’s happy when he’s with her isn’t enough reason to keep her in that chlorinated lagoon for the rest of her life.”
“I think it is.”
“I don’t. And Mom wouldn’t, either.”
“Because she let a bird go?” He gets up and carries his plate to the sink.
“Because it was the right thing to do. We took William Penn to the pond every afternoon. He stuck really close to us at first, but after a while, he’d fly up in the trees with the other birds. If one got too close, he’d fly back and land on my head.” I dampen the sponge and wipe up the crumbs Don left by the sink. “I really thought William Penn loved me as much as I loved him and that he’d never leave, but Mom said to give him time. She was right. One day we got ready to leave and he didn’t follow us to the car. Mom told me it was time to tell him good-bye—that he was ready to be a wild bird again. I cried like I’d lost my best friend. Mom put her arms around me and her forehead against mine and said she knew I loved him and that he loved me, but we had to choose what was best for him, not for us.”
Don’s back is to me. “Nori makes your brother happy.” He squirts some soap on his plate and turns on the water.
“Yeah. For short periods of time. Mom said the creatures of this earth are here for their own sake.”
He turns from the sink. “That was before her son was diagnosed with autism.”
I shake my head. “Remember what that woman at the Largo Center said? Adam is an autistic child and he will be an autistic adult. A dolphin’s not going to change that.”
“Maybe not, but he may have a happier life because of Nori.”
“That still doesn’t make keeping her right.” Don senses I’m running out of steam and gets that smirky look on his face, which makes me mad. “It’s okay that our lives revolve around Adam, but we can make sure Nori doesn’t spend her life circling a pen the size of our swimming pool because of him. Please, Dad—” I realize what I said and feel my face go hot. I don’t know where that came from. I’ve never thought of him as my father. “Sorry. I mean Don.”
His eyes soften. “Why are you sorry?”
I shrug. “I’m not the one you wanted to hear that from.”
He wads up his paper napkin and puts it in the trash can under the sink, then stands for a moment looking out at the backyard. “You’re wrong.”
“About which thing?”
“About not wanting to hear you call me Dad.”
“Am I?”
He turns. “I thought it was too much to hope for.” He holds his arms out, and I walk into them. He kisses the top of my head.
“What about Nori?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Nori lies in water so crystal clear it stings. All day long she stays near the fence that divides her pen from the dolphin they call Rosa. Rosa is older than the dolphins in the other pens; she reminds Nori of her mother.
The scrape on Nori’s beak where she tried to swim through the fencing on the first day is healing. She heard the other dolphins and tried to join them. The moment they lifted her off the truck in the canvas sling and placed her in the water, she took off and hit the fence at nearly full speed. At least the dolphins can talk to each other here, and Nori now believes this is as good as it’s ever going to get for any of them. She tries to be grateful to be out of that other place where her sonar bounced back at her from all directions, and for the little human who comes once a week.
The other dolphins are kept so that families of humans can pet them and pretend to train them. For that hour every day, they’re allowed in the open, fence-free side of the lagoon, where they can race each other back and forth, soar into the air, and do somersaults like free dolphins. But to get fed, they must perform for the humans.
Nori’s only job is to play with the little boy they call Adam. Though all the days of the week run together for Nori, she knows when he’s coming because they don’t feed her until he’s there. They must think she wouldn’t be as willing to play if she wasn’t hungry, but his visit is the only fun she has. It reminds her of being with her mother in the murky, warm waters of the Gulf, and the children who came to visit them there.
There’s a canopy in the center of the lagoon. As the sun moves across the sky, the dolphins, in their individual pens, try to stay in the shadow it casts. By now, the sun has crossed and Nori’s pool is completely exposed. Still she lies on the surface, beside Rosa. They listen to the loud music, and the shrieks and laughter of children from the other side of the tall fence, and Nori waits for Saturday to come.
Zoe’s coming over to swim at three, so against all my natural instincts, I start cleaning my room. I don’t want her measuring and memorizing this obstacle course. I’m so into it that when Don raps on my door, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“What?”
He looks at my made bed and the path I’ve cleared of clothes. He smiles. “I hate to interrupt this miracle, but we need to pick Adam up from school. Suzanne went home sick.”
“Zoe’s coming at three.”
“We’ll be back.” He turns and heads down the hall.
“Why do I have to go?”
No answer.
From the Cutler Academy, Don drives up Red Road through all the school zones instead of cutting over on 88th Street to Old Cutler Road.
“Why are you going this way?”
Don looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Nails and haircut.”
“No wonder Suzanne got sick.”
Don’s eyes crinkle into a smile.
The barbershop is in a little shopping center off Sunset Drive. When Don pulls into a space in front, Adam leans his head against the window and watches the barber pole turning. He always reacts to having his hair cut like it’s being yanked out strand by bloody strand, but he loves watching the barber pole. His eyes follow it until we cross the threshold. Both barbers and the manicurist turn when we come in. Adam is their worst nightmare, and Don pays them big-time to take him.
Don puts Adam in the chair; Adam exits it like a slinky. Don catches him and puts him back in the chair; Adam starts to kick and scream.
There’s a cute guy about fifteen or sixteen in the second chair getting his nails done while the other barber cuts his hair. He glanced at me when we came in, but now all eyes are on Adam.
It occurs to me for the first time that I’ll probably never have a boyfriend and no one will ever want to marry me. I’ll spend my life as Adam’s sister, a carrier of the autism gene, if there is such a thing. I turn and face the parking lot in case tears come.
Adam is shrieking, kicking his legs, and rocking from side to side. When I turn around, I see the manicurist look at the kid and roll her eyes. I glare at her, and she looks away.
“I have an idea,” I say, but over Adam’s screams, no one hears me. I say it louder.
“What?” Don snaps.
“Cut his hair out where he can see the barber pole.”
The manicurist gives a short, sharp laugh, and the kid grins at her. I hate him, and her.
Don snatches Adam out of the chair and carries him outside. As soon as Adam realizes he’s won, he stops screaming. Don holds him up so he can see the barber pole turning. He’s instantly mesmerized.
The barber follows with his comb and scissors. There’s a stool by the door with a dead potted plant on it. I put the plant on the floor and carry the stool outside. Don starts to put Adam on it, then decides it’s better to sit on it himself and balance Adam on his knee. The barber goes right to work, and Adam is oblivious. His little legs bounce, and he’s jabbering to himself, but is otherwise unaware his hair is cascading to the walkway except what clings to Don’s pants.
There’s a cheese shop two doors down. People going in and out smile at us, like we’re a normal family.
“I can’t imagine why we never thought of this before.” Don smiles at me.
We? I think, but don’t say so. “What about his nails?”
“Take his shoes off and see how he reacts.”
I do. Adam ignores me, but his legs swing back and forth. His toenails are too long for him to wear any shoes except open-toed sandals. His fingernails are lethal weapons.
The barber glances inside at the manicurist and sees she’s still doing the same hand. She’s smiling and giggling. The barber turns to me. “Tell Sherry to get out here.” His tone is sharp, and I should wonder who he thinks he’s talking to, but I’m also used to feeling desperate to get something involving Adam over with. Instead I smile. I know trimming Adam’s nails terrifies her, and she deserves it.
Sherry glances at me when she wheels her little stool out. I imagine she and that boy were laughing at Adam, so I don’t smile or anything.
“Will you hold his foot?” Sherry says to me.
“I’ll do it,” Don says.
Adam’s haircut is over, so Don shifts him from his knee to his lap and pins one leg at a time to his long thigh. Adam leans his head back against Don’s chest, stares up at the barber pole, and swings his free leg. Don puts his chin on the top of Adam’s head.
This is when I forgive Don everything. It’s pitiful to see how much he loves his son and has to pretend in a quiet moment that Adam feels it, too, because he doesn’t wiggle free or scream.
The toenails get clipped pretty easily, but about the time Sherry starts on the nails on his right hand, a car goes by with its woofers pounding. Adam yanks his hand away, covers his ears, screws his face up, and starts to cry.
“That’s it,” Don says. “We’ll do the other hand when he’s asleep.”
Sherry couldn’t look more relieved. Her hands actually shook as she worked, knowing if she cut him he’d flip out.
Don pays while I get Adam in the car. It’s two thirty.
Don drives two blocks and turns left. Not toward home.
“Now where?”
“We need milk and eggs. I’ll stop at Publix, and you can run in.”
He finds a parking place in the shade, and rolls down the windows. “Take Adam with you. I need to make a couple of calls.”
I don’t bother arguing. It’s quicker just to get it over with. Adam’s harness is at home, so I carry him across the parking lot and into the store. The carts are near the customer service desk, where a girl with Down syndrome is standing with both pockets of her sweatpants pulled inside out. “I had a five-dollar bill,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” the customer service lady says. “No one has turned it in.”
I put Adam in the child’s seat of a cart and fasten the seat belt.
“I’m not supposed to lose money.” The girl crosses her arms on the counter and puts her forehead down.
I turn my back, pull the money Don handed me from my pocket, and take a crumpled five from the wad. “Excuse me,” I say to the customer service lady, “I just found this on the floor.” I hand the five over the top of the girl’s head.
The woman’s brow crinkles in disbelief at the chances of the girl’s money being found, then figures it out and smiles. “Miss.” She pats the girl’s elbow. “This young lady has found your money.”
The girl lifts her head, looks at the five-dollar bill, then turns and throws her arms around me.
Eggs and dairy are at the back of the store. I’m feeling like a kind and thoughtful person as I wheel my brother down the aisle.
There’s an old lady standing in front of the organic, cage-free brown eggs. She leans over her walker and holds a magnifying glass to each price tag. Her hearing aid is whistling. It must sound a little like a dolphin whistle to Adam because he imitates it. I steer the cart over to get milk first.
I come back with the milk, and she’s still inspecting the prices. When she leans toward the next one down the line, she passes gas. I stifle a giggle. Adam imitates the sound, which sounds like the raspberry Nori makes.
“Shhhh.” I put my finger to my lips.
Another lady walks up, smiles at Adam, and takes a carton of eggs.
The old lady farts again, louder this time. Adam mimics the sound, then leans his head back against my chest and says, “Noisy bottom.”
The woman with the carton of eggs bursts out laughing; so do I, then gasp. “Adam. Oh, my god.” I undo the seat belt, pick him up, hug him tightly, and run down the aisle and out the front door of the store.
Don jumps and his cell phone pops out of his hand and drops between the seats when I shout, “Guess what!”
“Jesus, you scared me—”
I’m grinning from ear to ear.
“What?”
“Adam spoke.”
“What? No.” Tears swim in his eyes. “What did he say?”
I remember Don’s wish to hear Adam call him Daddy, but I can’t help myself, I start to laugh. “An old lady over by the eggs farted, and he … said—” I’m laughing so hard I can’t catch my breath.
Adam creates another raspberry and says, “Noisy bottom.”
A tear runs down Don’s cheek. He swipes at it and starts to laugh—
a laugh as full of joy as a laugh can be. He opens the car door, takes Adam from me, and lifts him into the air.
Adam does another raspberry, then swings his arms like a swimmer and giggles.
“It’s the dolphin.” Don beams. “I told you.”
Happiness turns to a lump in my throat.
On the drive home from Publix, my cell phone rings. It’s Zoe. “I thought you were going to call and tell her we’re running late,” I say to Don before answering.
“I did.”
“Hi, Zoe.”
“Where are you?”
“We’re almost home.”
“Can you come here instead? I want to teach you to play backgammon.”
Backgammon? “Sure. I guess. Can you drop me at Zoe’s?” I say to Don.
Zoe’s at her desk. There’s a backgammon board open on her bed. “Mom, are you still here?” Zoe says.
“She’s gone.”
“Good. Close the door.”
I check the hallway, then shut the door. “Backgammon?”
“Sure. After we call AquaPlanet.” She maximizes the Skype screen.
“What about your mother? Want to use my phone so you don’t get in trouble?”
“Don’t worry about me. Your stepfather is wrong and so is Mom. Nori can’t wait for our parents to see we’re right about this.”
She puts it on speaker so I can listen, and lowers her voice, trying to sound like an adult. I cover my mouth to muffle a giggle.
“Good afternoon. AquaPlanet.” It’s a young guy’s voice. “How may I direct your call?”
“This is Dr. Moran’s assistant. He’s been treating a dolphin at the Bayside Oceanarium. I believe her name—let me see.” Zoe noisily fans a few pages in a book on her desk. “Here it is. Nori. She’s doing beautifully, and we’d like to schedule a release date. I’m sure we’d all like to see her back with her mother and the rest of her pod.”
“I’m sorry. I just schedule trips. Could you call back later this afternoon? The owner is out with a group now.”
“This is my third attempt to reach him.” Zoe’s voice drops lower. “I could give you our number here at the office and perhaps he could call when it’s convenient for him.”