Devil's Claw

by Valerie Davisson

  All the way on the elevator ride back up to the main floor, Amy continued peppering Dennis with questions. “When will she eat solid food? What do they eat?”

  “Not yet, and she’ll eat a lot of different foods eventually. Otters eat lobster, crab, clams, shrimp, oysters, octopus, abalone—all restaurant quality, too. They eat better than we do,” he laughed, then added, “An adult sea otter has to eat about a third of its weight every day just to survive. The food bill for one otter can be over thirteen-thousand dollars a year.”

  That would probably be enough to keep a family of four in macaroni and cheese, Logan thought.

  They said goodbye at the door, which Dennis closed behind them, promising to be on time in the morning.

  Not only was Logan almost as excited as Amy about being able to work up close and personal with a baby sea otter, she also wanted to make sure her daughter didn’t overdo it. With all of them sharing responsibility for just one shift during the day, if Amy needed a break, they could make sure she got one. Gina said she was welcome to the cot in her office any time.

  On the drive back toward the cottage, the adrenaline that had carried Amy through the otter pup’s rescue was obviously depleted. Before they pulled onto PCH, Logan looked over at her. Head resting against the window, she was already half asleep.

  7

  Thursday, July 2, 2015, 9:30 p.m.

  Exhaustion didn’t hit Gina until the sun was well over the yardarm. Sinking into her chair, elbows on her desk, she rubbed the back of her neck. Dennis should be here soon. She sent him home earlier, for a few hours’ rest before starting his shift. She had an apartment in town but planned on staying here tonight. She didn’t want to be too far away. At least the first few nights.

  Otter 1 was doing fine, but the chances for any orphaned pup were extremely low. Not only did they have to survive the first few weeks, but then they had to learn how to be otters. Gina knew their job would be to teach Otter 1 to swim, dive, find food, groom herself, avoid danger, and do all the other things necessary for her successful survival in her natural habitat. Only about ten percent of rescued otter pups achieved the skills and health necessary to be released back into the wild and live long enough to mate and have pups of their own. And that was the gold standard—to increase the southern sea otter population in the wild.

  To keep this goal in mind and avoid getting too attached, rescued pups were given a number, not a name.

  Until an hour ago, Gina hadn’t decided whether or not to dedicate the hours and resources necessary to rehabilitate the pup. Of course, that’s what she wanted to do for every otter—that’s one reason Solange had built this place—but it wasn’t always possible. With a tremor of excitement and hope, she contemplated the work ahead.

  Tomorrow, she’d break out the Darth Vader suits. Her volunteers wouldn’t like them, but they were necessary. Consisting of a black welder’s mask and a big, dark rain poncho, the suit broke up a handler’s visual human form and kept the otters from becoming tame.

  The next few days would be busy, but she’d have to fit in the necropsy on the mother. These necropsies provided valuable data for understanding the subtle and sometimes layered causes of death, as well as general data on the recovering population. Although there were about twenty-seven hundred individual southern sea otters at last count, recovery was stalled. No one really knew why.

  Gina also knew she should make a phone call. She was technically breaking the law. According to US Fish and Wildlife, every injured or abandoned sea otter was to be taken to Monterey Bay Aquarium, the only center authorized to care for them. As a former Monterey Bay Aquarium employee, she had explained this patiently to many a well-meaning citizen who rescued an otter, thinking they could keep them in a tub of sea water in their garage. Luckily, the animal control officers hadn’t questioned her authority.

  Gina found herself in the awkward position of being on the other end this time. Now that she no longer worked for the aquarium, she was the unauthorized person wanting to take care of an orphaned otter pup. She was more than capable, and although the Southern Sea Otter Sanctuary was state-of-the-art, it was not yet officially recognized. Of course, her facility and her expertise were a far cry from someone’s garage. They were created specifically to handle this kind of situation, but still. Eventually, she’d have to make that call.

  She leaned back in her squeaky chair. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” Gina said out loud.

  “No pennies necessary,” Dennis said, dropping a bright, white In-N-Out bag on her desk. “Double-Double. Large fries, crispy. Sauce on the side. Diet Coke.”

  He sat down opposite her and took out his own burger and drink. His was a lemonade. In-N-Out made the best.

  Until the smell of greasy French fries hit her, Gina hadn’t realized how hungry she was.

  “You are a god!”

  As they ate dinner, she brought him up to date on Otter 1’s progress so far, pushing aside her notes for tomorrow’s necropsy of the mother. Animal control brought her in this morning, and she was in the cooler in the lab.

  Dennis, leaving Gina to her paperwork, mixed up another gourmet clam shake for the pup and entered the isolation room.

  “Eeeeeee! Eeeeeee! Eeeeeee!”

  It was going to be a long night.

  8

  Monday, July 6, 2015

  Logan pulled a long, luxurious breath of salt air into her lungs and looked out over the rocky cove below. Hearing the ocean from her rooftop deck was one thing, but standing on the observation deck of the sea otter center, directly over the crashing waves, left her awestruck. Nature was amazing. It would surely cure any part of you that was broken.

  Just a few more minutes. Pushing back from the railing, she stretched her back flat and away, into a modified version of downward-facing dog. Mid stretch she got a good pop.

  Man, that felt good.

  June gloom was history, and after the morning marine layer burned off, July days were bright and warm. Every summer had its rhythm, and this year’s was turning into just the right mix of work and play. Amy was home and healing. Liam seemed good for her. She and Ben felt right. Fractals was running smoothly—they’d be ready for the new school year. The new recordings with Jeff and Brandon were even better than the last ones. Everything was better than she could have hoped.

  That should have been her clue.

  Since Thursday, when they discovered the abandoned otter pup, she and Amy had been coming out to the sea otter center every morning for otter duty. Amy was a natural.

  Liam joined them at the center the first few days, but soon realized three people on one shift was overkill. He’d been making himself more useful working on the kelp-bed restoration project with one of the local conservation groups they’d met at Tava’e’s.

  A visiting cousin of Tava’e’s, a man in his forties named Amosa, who worked with one of them, offered to take Liam out to see the section they were working on now.

  “We can always use another hand, bro,” he’d said.

  When Liam told him he couldn’t swim, Amosa was surprised, but undaunted. He promptly included swimming, paddling, and snorkeling lessons in his offer. In the meantime, they used a boat.

  Both men grew up on islands, surrounded by miles of ocean, but the ocean surrounding Liam’s island had a mean temperature of forty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Not exactly swimmer friendly.

  As Logan predicted, Jeff and Brandon enthusiastically signed on for the opportunity to work with a baby sea otter. Both boys managed to rearrange their summer job schedules to mornings. Gina put them on an afternoon shift that didn’t start until 2:00 p.m., so it worked out. Jeff always got there early so he could see Amy. Logan didn’t want to butt in, but her daughter seemed to be completely oblivious to Jeff’s crush on her. If she didn’t sit her down soon and talk about way
s to let the boy down gently, they’d have one heartbroken kid on their hands.

  “Mom!” Amy called from inside.

  Reluctantly, Logan left her ocean view for the darkened lab. It took her eyes a minute to adjust.

  “Gina said she’d be right back. Dennis’s truck broke down. She’s going out to pick him up. She said we could get started without her.”

  Amy was already heading for the isolation-tank room.

  Logan’s phone chose that moment to ring.

  “OK, hon, go ahead and get started. I’ll be right there,” Logan said, heading back out onto the deck for better reception.

  If Logan had looked back, she would have seen Amy grab her black poncho and mask from the hook on the wall, go inside, but not put them on. She also would have seen her scoop the tiny creature up into her arms after she hauled out and nuzzle against her fur as she towel dried her, whispering, “Sadie! How’s my girl?” going against all of Gina’s clearly laid out rules.

  “Hello, Charles,” Logan answered the phone, wondering why Charles Greuger was calling. He was the school board member responsible for hiring her to run the music/math program they’d named Fractals, but she hadn’t had much contact with him directly since the program got off the ground. He told her his philosophy was to hire good people, then let them do their jobs. Once he put her in touch with Mrs. Houser, the woman whose generous donations got the program off the ground initially and kept it going, he’d gone back to doing whatever it is superintendents do.

  Logan was grateful. Their arrangement wouldn’t have lasted long if he’d been a micromanager.

  “Good morning, Logan. Did I catch you in the middle of something, or are you free to talk?” he said.

  “No, I can talk—I’m down here at the sea otter center, so it’s a little noisy out here, but I lose the connection inside. Can you hear me over the seagulls?”

  “Yes, yes, I can hear you just fine,” he said.

  “What can I do for you?” Logan asked.

  “Well, I’m afraid I have some sad news, Logan. Mrs. Houser has died,” he said.

  The man didn’t pull any punches.

  “Oh my God, when? I didn’t even know she was sick. I mean, we just talked last week, and she sounded fine!”

  “It was sudden. She had a stroke. Her family didn’t give me any more details than that,” he said.

  “Oh, well of course,” Logan said. “Is there anything we can do? When you find out if a memorial service or funeral will be held, I’d like to—I’m sure everyone from Fractals will want to be there. I . . . She seemed so healthy. I’m just so surprised.”

  “Yes, we’re all in a bit of shock here, too.” He paused, then continued, “I’ll let you know as soon as I do about the service. And Logan . . . let’s get together next week. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but Mrs. Hauser hadn’t yet deposited the funds to the district for your program for the upcoming school year.”

  All funds, large or small, that financed Fractals or any other district-run program went through district special accounts. From there, employees were paid directly by the district as TOSAs, teachers on special assignment, so they wouldn’t lose their years of service. Another check was issued to the Fractals’ account that Logan administered.

  “I was going to give her a call, but of course now, I don’t want to bother the family at a time like this.”

  “Oh, of course. I agree,” Logan said.

  “OK then—I’ll have my secretary give you a call in a day or two to set something up for next week if you’re available. I’m sure by then the deposit will have been made. Mrs. Houser gave to many charitable foundations. She must have established contingencies for something like this.”

  Logan assured him she would make herself available and asked him to convey her condolences to the family. She would miss the sharp septuagenarian, but the practical side of her couldn’t help worrying about the funding.

  Mrs. Houser was Fractals’ major financial supporter. Without her last two major donations, the program would come to a screeching halt, and they were just getting started. She was so impressed with the positive effect the program had on children, she’d said she was taking steps to make her annual donations permanent.

  Logan was so grateful the woman saw beyond state tests. No test measured enthusiasm or love of learning, let alone the synergistic nature of music and math in the human brain.

  If the money didn’t show up in the next couple of weeks, Logan knew everyone who worked so hard in the program would be affected. They’d be scrambling for positions when most had already been filled for the new school year. Being permanent employees with the district, they had some rights and would still have jobs, just not the ones they’d given up. The district could place them at any school, any subject, any grade level.

  Bonnie once told Logan about a teacher made to teach middle school PE when she’d spent the last twenty-six years teaching kindergarten. This was a tried-and-true method the district used to force teachers who rocked the boat to retire.

  Being highly qualified teachers, Tilly and Jeremy would probably find work, but Logan, only having taught in the classroom as a substitute teacher for a year, had no such security. If Fractals was dismantled due to lack of funding, she would be out of a job.

  Again.

  9

  Monday, July 6, 2015, Afternoon

  You need a break.”

  Logan looked up from the clutter of paper she’d accumulated on the kitchen counter. Ben’s frame filled the doorway. He came in and kissed her on the forehead.

  What time was it anyway?

  She’d been making calls and trying to put out fires since after lunch.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’m just spinning my wheels here anyway.”

  “Good!” Ben said, sounding pleased.

  “Grab your beach stuff. Amy and Liam are going to meet us down at Pirate’s Cove. I’ve got supplies—we’re doing an early picnic dinner.”

  Logan’s eyes lit up. Amy had been feeling so much better. After making sure her phone was on and charged, she forced herself to leave it on the kitchen counter. Since they were going to be with Amy, there was no reason to take it. All other calls could wait.

  In Southern California, wardrobe changes are easy. Already wearing a T-shirt and shorts, Logan grabbed a hooded sweatshirt, some flip-flops, and a baseball hat. Mr. Prepared always kept sunscreen in his car.

  On the drive down, Logan told him about the private tour of SSOS and up-close-and-personal visit with a certain baby sea otter she’d arranged with Gina for his nephews, Cal and Cooper. Dennis would do the actual tour, but Logan knew enough to ask the woman in charge for permission before asking him.

  “They’ll love that.” Ben reached over and squeezed her leg.

  Pirate’s Cove was only four miles south of Main Beach, but with tourist traffic, it took forty minutes to reach. It was worth the drive, though. Known mostly only to locals, it was off a small side street. You parked, walked a couple of blocks, looked for the tall red house, and turned right. After a sharp left turn, you found the winding, unmarked, hidden set of stairs to the beach, put in years ago by the residents on either side. As long as you respected their space, they were OK with you using the path.

  This afternoon, it was glorious. Shielded by the rocks on either side, Pirate’s Cove was not only devoid of tourists, but absolutely sparkled. Picture postcard perfect.

  Amy and Liam were already there, blanket spread and waiting.

  Ben set the picnic basket down, shook hands with Liam, and gave Amy a hug. Liam had an ice-filled bucket dug into the sand next to him. Eyes sparkling mischievously, Amy was kneeling, sitting up on her heels on the blanket next to Liam.

  Something was obviously up.

  Before Logan could ask what was going on, Amy popped up off the blanket and wiggled the
fingers of her left hand, showing off a single brilliant emerald, flanked by diamonds, on a smooth platinum band. It was stunning. Logan couldn’t help but wonder how Liam could afford such a ring.

  “We’re official!” Amy said.

  “I know Amy already said yes in Africa,” Liam said, “but I wanted to make it official with my grandmother’s ring. It’s a family heirloom and it took a while to make arrangements to get it here.”

  It took half a beat for everything to register, during which Liam looked stricken, but Logan recovered quickly and reassured Liam he was welcome in the family.

  She looked directly into the young man’s eyes and added, “I couldn’t have chosen anyone better for Amy. The ring is beautiful and you two are a perfect match.”

  Liam pulled out the bottle of champagne, fumbled with it, and finally gave it to Ben, who opened it deftly and filled the plastic champagne flutes he’d spirited out of his picnic basket.

  The sun set right on cue.

  Life does have its moments.

  10

  Tuesday, July 7, 2015

  What time are Bonnie and Mike coming?” Ben asked, checking the temperature on the grill.

  “Around six. Just Bonnie, though. Mike’s working tonight,” Logan said, counting chairs.

  Mike was a firefighter, and Bonnie credited his twenty-four-on, forty-eight-off schedule for keeping their marriage intact.

  “Are the boys coming?”

  “Not sure. I think they’re at camp still, but if they do come, Cooper and Calvin will have someone to play with.” Calvin and Cooper were Ben’s nephews. Cooper’s first name was Trent, but last year, when a girl in his class told him she liked his middle name because it was cool, he’d refused to go by anything else, so Cooper it was.

  Their mom, Ben’s sister, was away on bridesmaid duty for one of her sorority sisters.