When he moved at this speed, stepping just a little deeper into the water each day, standing still while he tallied the results, Kat and Mother didn’t seem to get alarmed. However, the morning he stepped in deep enough for the water to reach his gut, both Kat and Mother stopped what they were doing and turned toward him, moving in closer.

Tibbet said something, but Cora wasn’t wearing her glasses so she couldn’t hear it. He had his hands up and looked alarmed.

She asked—What’s going on?

He gestured to the dolphins. They were facing him, intent.

She ducked her head under the water. The dolphins’ sounds (clicking and crinkling) were intense. From this angle, with her eyes, she could see Tibbet’s skinny pale legs and his bathing trunks and his slightly distended gut above. She had no idea why Mother and Kat were reacting this way, what it was they were sensing. They were not acting aggressive or upset, just intent, studying something.

From that day on, each time he got into the water, they clicked at his gut and were gentle with him.

* * *

The skin on Junior’s underside had become pink and angry-looking, from being scraped against the floor of the pool as he swam around, so Cora added water to the pool one night. In the morning, the water was an inch deeper.

Walking to the bathroom, she found this single inch made a big difference. She had to lean her torso forward and sway from side to side. If she wanted to move faster than a walk, she had to surge forward with each step, yanking her knees high.

Still, Junior was able to swim more easily, without rubbing against the concrete with every movement of his tail. He appeared so happy with this extra inch of water. He shot through the water, round and round, then came back to rub against her. His teacher, his fellow prisoner, his prison guard.

* * *

On the eighth day in the homearium, Cora found what looked like several kernels of black rice on the stove. She was moving her hand toward the rice, about to sweep it off into the water, when she understood feces and jerked her hand back.

The rats on the island were fast moving and feral. At the restaurant she’d worked at, they left droppings in the cupboards and on the counters. After closing, she occasionally glimpsed the creatures moving along the rafters of the building. Their bodies undulated as they ran—furry water or snakes with feet.

The question was, how could a rat reach the stove, which hung in the air 2 feet above the water?

She figured it out by process of elimination. From the side: no rat could jump the 15 feet from the edge of the pool to the stove.

From below: no rat swimming in the water could jump 2 feet up onto the stove.

So, her eyes moved reluctantly up to the rafters above. It was so easy to imagine a rat climbing down the chains that the stove hung on.