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1
Milo
I sit impatiently waiting for the sea cowto take the bait. My knees bounced, and a waterfall of sweat drips from my back with the pressure, almost as if I held my own heart in my hands.
Marty stares at her but stays to the right of the lagoon.
“Come on, man. You’re her hero. Go say hi. Push a nice head of cabbage over.”
A snort of some kind sounds as he seems to argue, still too shy to make a move on the pretty manatee we came across on our morning run slash swim. She was tangled in some old fish net near the boat dock yesterday.
Marty has the freedom and access to swim in and out of Grand Rapids Refuge whenever his heart desires, and I usually leave a tank door open for him. It’s because we’re besties, but the town says it’s on account of him being raised here and constantly fed by the locals and tourists alike since he’s so people friendly. In other words, the giant sea cow is spoiled rotten.
It’s all thanks to him this pretty girl followed us home and is letting me care for her. I’ve had little to no sleep because I woke every few hours to check on our newest resident. She seems healthy but not happy, and that’s where I’m hoping the fearless hero, Marty, comes in and helps her feel more comfortable while she heals from a deep scratch on her side. I’m assuming it’s from a boat propeller, since that’s usually the case around here in the Florida keys.
Tossing in another head of cabbage, I turn to refill my coffee, yawning even though it’s late morning. It’s never been a burden or chore to care for the animals, but this morning, I notice losing sleep is taking a toll. The thought makes me think of my pregnant sister, Robin. Will she let me move in and help with the late night feedings? Will she punch me in the throat? The woman is more stubborn than Ebenezer Scrooge. The fact she still won’t tell me the identity of the father of her unborn baby sours my mood. Love is in the air for my manatee friends. I know that as much as I know my sister deserves better than a loser deadbeat who knocked her up then bailed.
Before my thoughts spiral into another phone call, asking her who he is and where I can find him—and beat him—the bell above the lobby door chimes.
“Help! Emergency!”
“Axolotl emergency!”
“Hello?”
A chorus of voices sound as I hurry through the swinging doors to find a frantic little boy, a woman who looks like him with dark hair and matching noses, and a woman who’s so beautiful my brain glitches for a moment.
“Hi, can you help us?” The beauty asks.
“I got ripped.”
“Ripped off,” the boy’s mother corrects. The two are similar in looks, but the other woman has crazy blonde curls and bright blue eyes that match the shallow blue of the sea outside, and looks the opposite of them. Who is she?
“We have an axolotl emergency, and someone at Gum Drop Grocer said you were the man to help.”She asks.
I’m the man. I absorb every word, and still, I stand soaking up her sunshine. Each freckle that maps across her nose. The gold neckless of a manatee hanging on her tan chest. The way she licks her lips before tucking her hair behind her ear and clearing her throat.
Fuck, I’m staring at her like a total creep.
“Yes. Yep. I’m your man. The man.” I shake my head, but it clears nothing. When she steps forward with the boy, I finally peel my attention from her and look to the small plastic tank and the pink axolotl inside.
“Who do we have here?” I ask, happy for the distraction.
“This is Pancake, and I love him already, but my mom said he’s a rip off.”
“No!” The kid’s mom quickly tries to cover her son’s crass words but seems to give up with a heavy sigh. “Well, yes, if he’s dead.”
Upon inspection, I can see the axolotl or Ambystoma Mexicanum, has lost an arm and is very skinny.
“Where did you find this little guy?”
These guys can only been found in a small lake in Mexico but have become wildly popular pets, much to my dismay. This poor guy is exactly why trends with pets are always a bad thing. Everyone wants one, then they don’t take care of it and the animal suffers.
“Craigslist weirdo,” the boy says, making me and the knockout laugh. More questions flood my mind. Who is she? Another tourist? Maybe, a relative or friend to the boy’s family.
“I’m not apologizing for that one,” the mom says, gigglingalong with us.
“Don’t you guys know you shouldn’t talk to strangers,” I joke while I inspect the condition of the pet.
