How to Speak Dolphin Page 15

  “That’s funny. Lily said—”

  My heart’s flip-flopping around in my chest like a fish out of water, and my hands start to shake. I jam them between my thighs and the seat. “I called Sandi,” I say to Don, keeping Zoe out of it, and say to Sandi, “And I told Don that you had called.”

  Don pushes his chair back and stands. “I’m sorry about this,” he says. “Let’s go.” He heads for the door.

  “Not until I finish.” My voice quivers. I sit up straight and take a deep breath. “You owe it to me to listen.”

  “Oh, Don, let her talk.” Sandi gives me a patronizing smile. “I’m sure, as Adam’s sister, she has legitimate concerns about his progress.”

  “My concern is for Nori. I’d like you to show my step … my dad and me some statistics on how beneficial dolphin-assisted therapy is.” This is when it occurs to me she might have some. I didn’t look at the date on that journal article.

  “What kind of statistical information?” She retreats behind her desk, leans, and straightens her nameplate before sitting down. She’s dotted the i in her name with a tiny red sticker-heart.

  “What do you have?”

  Sandi leans back and forms a church steeple with the tips of her fingers. “Well, sweetie, let’s see. The first pilot studies of dolphin-assisted therapy took place at Ocean World in Fort Lauderdale in 1978 and 1979. Since then, research has shown that two weeks of DAT is just as good if not better than other traditional treatments. Reports indicate that a two-week program significantly increases language, speech, and motor skills among children with various disabilities when compared to the more conventional speech or physical therapy programs that can last six months or more.”

  “I’d like to see that.” I turn to Don. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Don stands with his back to the door. He doesn’t move or answer.

  I wish Zoe was here. I’d be braver. Instead, I close my eyes for a second and see Momma on the bridge at Ocean Reef, then I turn to Don. “Wouldn’t you like to know that there’s proof this will help Adam? Some evidence? Anything at all?”

  He walks over and sits down.

  I turn back to Sandi, whose smirky condescending little smile is gone.

  This is it. I win or lose depending on what I say next. “I don’t think this is doing anything more for Adam than swimming with any dolphin would do—” I look at Don. “Or playing with the stingrays, or buying him a puppy. It’s fun and it makes him happy.”

  “Don’t you think that’s important?” Sandi says.

  “I love seeing my brother happy, but not at the price of Nori’s freedom.”

  “Look,” she says to Don, “I’ve had years of experience working with dolphins and disabled children. I know it helps. EEGs of brain activity confirm that dolphins have a relaxing influence on people, and that lends itself to significant progress for children with disabilities.”

  Don’s coming back to her desk and sitting down has made her nervous. Now she thinks she’s got to argue her case for his benefit instead of mine. I wish I was as sure. If she starts with medical jargon and acronyms, I won’t know what she’s saying. I bet she’s counting on that. I already don’t know what to say next, and out of the corner of my eye I can see Don watching me. Sink or swim. “How does being relaxed help an autistic kid?” Lame. Lame.

  Don smiles ever so slightly, and Sandi takes it to mean she hasn’t lost him. “The theory is that it will result in an increase in their attention to stimuli in the environment and lead to enhanced learning, motor skills, language, and memory.”

  I glom on to one word. “It’s a theory?”

  “Well … the sample size is rather small and it’s a bit hard to find concrete data due to the absence of a control group, but personally I feel strongly that DAT is superior to traditional methods of intervention.”

  My insides light up. She just put down schools like Cutler Academy, the accepted best option for autistic kids.

  Don clears his throat. I hold my breath. “You do know that without a control group, it’s impossible to rule out the placebo effect, and therefore there is no proof it does anything.”

  Sandi stiffens. “Admittedly, there’s still a lot of work to be done.”

  “How much are you planning to charge other families for this program?”

  If I were her, I’d have been suspicious of that question, but she thinks Don wants to know what a great deal he’s getting. Her smile suggests he’s going to be pleased with the answer.

  “Once Nori’s training is complete, we’ll provide five forty-minute sessions for twenty-six hundred dollars. That’s average for this kind of treatment.”

  Don smiles at her. “And what does that include?”

  “Exactly what we’ve been doing with your son. An orientation session to make sure the child is comfortable with dolphins. Then he or she starts the series of therapeutic sessions where the child is allowed to play with the dolphins for a short time either from the dock or by going in the water with them. During that play time the children can touch or kiss the dolphin, dance in a circle with the dolphin, or ride on the dolphin by holding on to the dorsal fin.”

  Sandi stops to take a breath. Don doesn’t say anything, so she plows on.

  “It’s been suggested that ultrasound emitted by dolphins through echolocation clicks has a healing effect on the human body. This is one of the most popular theories behind DAT.”

  “What evidence is there to support this theory?” Don asks.

  He’s with me now, I can tell. I don’t move, or breathe.

  “Well, admittedly it’s mostly anecdotal.”

  “So you do know,” Don says, “that a human interacting with a dolphin differs from medical use of therapeutic ultrasound, which calls for repeated application at a specific intensity and duration?”

  “Yes. Yes. I know that.” Her tone is wary.

  He nods. “So, really, there’s no proof at all that dolphin-assisted therapy is anything more than a swim-with-dolphin program and lucrative employment for a therapist.”

  Don sighs, a letting-go kind of sigh, then stands and puts his hand on my shoulder. When I turn and look up at him, he kisses my forehead.

  “Dr. Moran, I hope you’ll continue to give this therapy the chance it deserves.”

  “Get your vet on the phone.”

  “May I ask why?

  “I’m rescinding my authorization to keep Nori.”

  The color drains from her face. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  “But why? I thought your son—” She has to search her mind for Adam’s name. “I thought Adam was doing so well.”

  “He is doing as well as can be expected for a kid with severe autism, but my daughter”—he takes my hand—“has shown me the error in my thinking. This is not a suitable place for any dolphin to live, and I’m not going to let you keep Nori.”

  Don and Suzanne are in the front of the car; Zoe and I are in the back with Adam between us. We’re following the truck carrying Nori across the Tamiami Trail. Three employees of the Dolphin Project—Kent, James, and Kristen—came over from Marco Island to pick her up. Kent is driving, and James and Kristen are in the back with Nori, who’s in a foam-padded crate. Kristen’s keeping Nori’s skin wet with a sponge, and calming her.

  We’re about two hours into the pretty quiet drive—except for Adam’s whining, and turning every once in a while to slap my shoulder with both hands like I’m a drum. We all jump when we hear Kent’s voice crackle over the walkie-talkie he gave us. “We’ve heard from Chris. The Dolphin Explorer is in the water and following a subadult group not far from the Jolley Bridge. Over.”

  “What does ‘subadult’ mean?” Don radios back, then adds, “Over.”

  “Nori’s age group. Between four and eight.”

  Adam doesn’t know Nori’s in the truck, and has been babbling and slapping me, his knees, or Zoe’s since we left home. Nothing I try—including pointing out alligators in the canal—has k
ept him quiet. It’s making for a very long drive. When he hears Nori’s name, he stops yammering and listens.

  “Thanks,” Don says, and glances in the rearview mirror.

  “Roger that. We’ll be turning toward Marco in another few miles.”

  A few minutes later, we see their truck turn left and the walkie-talkie crackles. “There’s a boat waiting for us at the base of Jolley Bridge. Just follow us. Over.”

  “Roger,” Don says.

  I duck my head so Don doesn’t see me grin at his growing comfort with the walkie-talkie language.

  The Jolley Bridge is high. Adam leans down, sees it, and begins to make sounds like a puppy crying, a prelude to screaming his head off. But Kent’s right turn signal flashes and he turns off the highway at the base of the bridge and drives to the end of a gravel parking lot. He pulls up next to a path to the water’s edge and cuts the engine. We pull in beside him and get out of the car.

  Kent comes over. “The boat to take us to meet Chris is on the beach at the end of this trail. Chris just radioed. The dolphin group he’s following is in the Marco River about two miles from here.”

  James and Kristen wait for Kent to lower the tailgate before jumping down. “We’re going to need a hand.” Kent signals Don.

  Don takes up one side of the sling Nori is in, then the four of them lift her up and out of the truck.

  They carry Nori to the guardrail, lift her over, and carry her down the path. Suzanne follows with Adam, who sees Nori for the first time and stares like he can’t believe his eyes.

  There is a gap in the guardrail, but if we cross there to reach the path through the sea grapes, I’ll have to lead Zoe across blocks of limestone that form a breakwater. The boulders are different sizes, heights, and spacing. I can’t imagine Zoe crossing them without breaking an ankle.

  Kent appears. “Need some help?”

  I say, “Yes,” and Zoe says, “We do not.”

  He smiles. “Go back down the road twenty yards. There’s beach access and you can walk back up to the boat.”

  There are branches to duck on the trail along the beach, so Zoe walks with her hand on my shoulder. By the time we reach the boat, they have Nori lying on the deck on top of what looks like an inflated blue mattress. The sling has been pulled from beneath her and rolled up. Kristen fills a bucket with water and Don helps her lift it into the boat. She ladles a full 7-Eleven Slurpee cup over Nori, careful to miss her blowhole.

  Adam is squirming to get out of the grip Suzanne has on him. “Who’s that?” She turns so Adam can see over her shoulder. He squeaks, starts to giggle, and holds his arms out to get close to Nori.

  Don helps Zoe board the boat and takes Adam from Suzanne.

  I climb onboard.

  Don asks Kent if Adam can sit with Nori.

  “First, let James get a few pictures of that nick in the top of her dorsal fin and that scar on her beak. That will help identify her in the future.”

  James circles Nori, snapping pictures, reviews them, then nods. “These will do.”

  The moment his feet touch the deck, Adam falls to his knees, crawls over, and stretches out beside Nori on the mattress, his face an inch from her eye. He murmurs to her and strokes her head.

  Kent starts the engine; Kristen pushes us off and hops aboard. The engine is loud in a way that would normally have Adam shrieking, but he doesn’t notice.

  Don’s watching Adam. I know he’s not convinced that releasing Nori is the right thing to do as far as his son is concerned, but it’s too late to turn back now. He senses me watching him and looks up. I expect he’s pretty mad at me and Zoe right now, but I can’t tell from his expression, which is flat and unemotional. He looks again at Adam, then turns his back to watch the water.

  I can still see the bridge when Kent slows the engine, picks up a pair of binoculars, and focuses on a flock of gulls above a group of dolphins feeding at the surface. A catamaran is following them. We motor slowly toward them until we’re alongside the cat.

  A man I assume is Captain Chris cuts the boat’s engine. The only sound is the slap of waves against the hull of the boat, the blows of the feeding dolphins, and the cries of the gulls.

  There are introductions all around. He takes my hand and pats it. “Congratulations, young lady.” He smiles and turns to Don. “The dolphins in this group are moms with their calves—a good group for Nori to first be exposed to. I don’t think we’ll do better.” He looks at Adam lying beside Nori, whispering nonsense words. His lips compress, then he says, “It’s time, if you’re ready.”

  Don lifts Adam, wrapping one arm around his waist and the other pinning his legs.

  Adam squirms, tries to kick, and begins to cry.

  “Adam.” I step in front of Don, put my hands on either side of Adam’s face, and make him look at me. “It’s Nori’s turn.”

  This stumps him, and he quiets.

  “Nori is going over to play with those dolphins. See them?” I point. “You have to let these people put her in the water.” I hold my arms out and Don hands Adam to me. “Dad’s going to help lift her over the side.”

  James sits on the gunnel, swings his legs around, and drops into the water. Don, Kent, Chris, and Kristen lift Nori over the gunnel and put the mattress in the water. It floats on the surface with Nori in the center. James holds it steady until Kristen slides into the water. They move to the front, one on either side. Kristen looks up at us. “Ready?”

  The five dolphins are about twenty yards away and completely ignoring us.

  “Give me a second,” I say. I’ve got Adam by the straps of his overalls, which is all that’s keeping him from climbing over the side. “No, honey.” My voice cracks with emotion. “It’s Nori’s turn.”

  Adam looks at me. There’s the pain and confusion.

  “ ‘Little Dolphin wants to play,’ ” I say—a quote from his Little Dolphin puppet book.

  At the same time, three of the five dolphins surface and blow. Adam watches them, then looks at Nori.

  “Are you ready, Adam?” I hold up four fingers, then fold them one at a time. “Four, three, two, one.”

  Kristen and James push down on the front of the mattress and Nori floats off.

  She lies in the water for a moment, then turns toward the boat and rolls on her side.

  “You know how it’s done. Tell her to go play with her friends.”

  Adam’s little brow creases.

  “Go on. Send her to play with those dolphins.”

  Adam lifts his arm, bends it at the elbow, then straightens it out, finger pointing.

  Nori flops sideways, gives a pump of her tail, and zips off to joins the other dolphins.

  For whatever reason, Adam has never said Nori’s name, or shown in any way that he misses her. It’s as though time and distance, for the bond they share, are meaningless. Don doesn’t think Adam has the emotional ability to miss her. I try to think that’s autism’s gift—not to miss a person or a thing so much your heart breaks.

  When the accident that killed my mother first happened, she died a hundred times a day, and I blamed myself. She was on her way home from taking her best friend, Judy, to the airport. She’d asked me to come along, but I wanted to stay home and play in the pool. I kept thinking that if I’d gone with her, we would have stopped for ice cream and she would have come to that intersection after that drunk driver ran the stop sign. Or I would have gotten out to hug Judy good-bye and that few seconds would have made the difference.

  I don’t blame myself anymore. It’s just what happened, and I’m finally able to think of her and not have that ache spread through me. I think she’s at ease now, too, knowing I’m the person she would have wanted me to be and that Adam and Don and I are a family.

  Adam will turn five on January 20, but since he doesn’t know one day from the next, we are celebrating this Saturday. Don is taking us to Marco Island to find Nori. At least, we hope to see her. Captain Chris told Don he’s seen her lots of times in the last
five months, but no guarantees. Either way, there will be lots of dolphins for Adam to squeak at.

  Suzanne, her son, daughter-in-law, and new grandbaby—a little girl they named Suzanne and call Baby Suz—are going on the boat with us. And Zoe, of course. If it hadn’t been for Zoe, we might never have convinced Don to set Nori free.

  Suzanne lives with us now. Don added a “granny unit” over by the hedge between our house and Mrs. Walden’s. Suzanne moved in a month ago.

  The drive to Marco Island is two and a half hours. Suzanne suggested getting earphones for Adam’s iPad. He watches one of his dolphin movies on the drive over.

  At the Marco Island Marina, we find the Dolphin Explorer booth and are directed to the dock, where we spot Captain Chris waving to us from one of the slips. With him is a large dog who bounds off the catamaran to greet us.

  “That’s Riley,” Chris says. “He’s an Australian Labradoodle, and he loves dolphins.”

  Under Don’s watchful eye, Riley sniffs Adam and licks his face, which makes Adam giggle.

  The Dolphin Explorer is a thirty-six-foot-long catamaran with room for twenty-eight passengers at fifty-eight dollars a person, but Don chartered it, so for this trip, it’s the eight of us. Kent, the guy who drove the truck the day we released Nori, gives safety instructions, points out where the life jackets are located, and reminds us we are to stay seated when the boat’s running. “We use the clock to share the location of the dolphins,” he says, “so if you spot one, refer to its location as if the bow is twelve o’clock.”

  As we push off from the dock, Captain Chris looks at Don and says, “There will be no getting in the water with the dolphins. Is that clear?”

  We nod—except for Adam. He hears “dolphin,” squeezes out a raspberry, and flaps his hand. Captain Chris kneels in front of him. “I need a lookout to help me find the dolphins. Will you do that for me?”

  Adam doesn’t answer or look at Captain Chris, but he marches to the port-side railing and waves his palm in front of his own face at the receding dock.