I just ran into Bert downtown. He said to use the key under the Skunk Ape statue to get into the kennel area. Use the green door to the left, then the keys for the kennels are on a hook.
She also included the name of the restaurant, a place I’d heard about but had never been. Unlike Uncle Bert, who was firmly still living in Old Florida, downtown was dotted with several new hip cafés and bars, the kind that served oat milk lattes and kombucha cocktails. So much had changed here in Wahoo since I moved away eight years ago, but Vera—who had moved back years before I did—had kept me mostly up to date.
k, I texted back.
First, I located the Skunk Ape statue, which was at the far end of the parking lot. It was about three feet high and made of a lightweight plastic. It resembled a yeti crossed with Chewbacca. Now that I was staring at it for the first time in years, I realized it might actually be Chewbacca, and not a Skunk Ape, which was Florida’s version of Bigfoot. I lifted it up and scooted out a dirt-covered key with the toe of my sneaker.
I blew the sandy dirt off the key, then went to unlock the green door. Because the place hadn’t changed in decades, a sense of childhood familiarity washed over me as I passed through a canopy of bamboo, which led to the outdoor kennels.
Made up of fiberglass-walled cubes and sturdy steel gates, this was the intake area for the new reptiles. I peered into each cage, curious to see the latest critters, but today the six bays were empty. I found the kennel keys on a hook and unlocked the first bay. There was a stack of large empty plastic tubs and a nearby spigot, and I filled two of them and placed them inside the kennel.
I returned to my truck, grabbed the gator, carefully removed the duct tape, and released it into the cubby, making sure the latch was secure so it wouldn’t escape. The reptile could chill in this shady spot until my uncle returned, and then he could decide where to let the creature loose. The sanctuary had a pond and a small swampy area, plus a huge man-made pond for the well-behaved smaller reptiles.
It was also possible that Bert knew of some other swamp to release the gator into. He was an expert trapper and fisherman, and had identified all sorts of secret wild spots. He’d promised to help me with the gator business, since I’d need assistance with any calls involving gators over about eight feet. Even though I was fast and careful with the reptiles, it paid to have someone help with the bigger critters.
Still, most people didn’t call about those. It was the young juveniles that gave folks problems.
As long as the reptiles were safe, weren’t harassing anyone, and were not turned into belts, I didn’t give a crap where they lived. Dad hadn’t killed gators unless it was absolutely necessary, and I wasn’t about to either.
After locking up, I made sure the key went back under the Skunk Ape statue.
Back in my truck, I sniffed my hands and reached for the wipes again. Gators smell like damp earth and rotten fish, with a hint of algae. It’s the only downside to trapping them. Well, that and the potential for danger, but I’d long since accepted that.
I’d prefer to take my chances with a gator than most humans, to be honest.
I roared out of the parking lot and drove to town, still salty about the probable development of the swamp. Why did everything beautiful in Florida have to be paved over?
Downtown was packed, with too few parking spaces for too many locals and tourists, all of whom drifted in and out of the little shops on Main Street. It was January in Florida, which meant the weather was peak perfection for both locals and tourists: sunny, dry, and relatively cool.
Me? I was still used to the cold weather of Boston, so by the time I got out of the truck, I was sweating my tits off.
Vera had asked me to meet her at a place called Cheesy Does It, a new and popular café in town. She knew of my love for toasted cheese sandwiches since we’d always made them as kids, so it was natural that she’d picked this place. The parking gods smiled on me, and a spot opened up right in front of the restaurant.
It was next door to one of the many reasons I’d come home: Vera was now the proud owner of Straight From the Heart, a store devoted to romance novels. She’d dreamed of opening a bookstore since we were teens, and we’d brainstormed the romance idea in college because we adored the genre.
During the pandemic, we’d both decided to follow our hearts and pursue our bliss. Or maybe this was a quarter-life crisis, a concept I’d long classified as clickbait. Either way, the two of us were going a little sideways in the career department this year.
She’d quit her job at the town library to open the bookstore, and opening day was in two short weeks. Meanwhile, I’d walked away from my job as a reptile feeder at the Boston Zoo and moved home, all to help Vera and keep Dad’s legacy alive.
My decision to come back to Wahoo had come at the end of a long and shitty year. When Dad was diagnosed with cancer, he’d asked me for two favors: take care of Vera and take over his gator trapping business. A global pandemic and his death were the universe’s way of telling me that I needed to make a life change and come home to be with my twin sister.
Vera and I figured that we’d help each other’s businesses with our collective money, time, and brainpower. She could help me trap gators and I could work at the store. We could both manage the short-term rentals of the three cabins on her property. Win-win.
And so I was back, in a place where I wasn’t sure I still belonged. Most of the six weeks I’d been home had been spent taking care of paperwork for our respective businesses and trying to feel normal again. That, and the holidays.
I wound my way inside Cheesy Does It, passing through a throng of people waiting for tables. Vera, who knew everyone in town, had gotten a prime seat by the window. She waved me over, and I plunked down across from her, my stomach growling at the delicious smell of grilled buttered bread and ooey-gooey cheese in the air.
“I’m shocked you’re already here,” I said.
“I’m trying to get better about being on time.” She was infamous in our family for being late for everything. She’d even been late to our father’s funeral.
She smiled, and it was like a blast of sunshine poured into the room. With her bright blue eyes, her milky skin, and the smattering of freckles on her nose, my sister had that special kind of inner beauty glow. Make no mistake, though: she could wrestle a ten-foot gator into submission if necessary. And she was only growing fiercer since starting that Krav Maga class. I eyed her defined arm muscles.
“Have you eaten here since you got home?” she asked.
I shook my head. I’d been too busy sorting through Dad’s estate and wrapping up the details of my former life. And getting reacquainted with my new one. For some reason, I’d been hesitant about slipping back into the Wahoo social scene since I’d arrived home. I’d even waited until after the holidays to officially begin trapping critters and, until today, had sent all gator calls to a man in the next town over.
I just didn’t feel like people-ing. Maybe it was because I’d dealt with so many in my job at the zoo, but all I wanted was to hang out at home with my kitten and read.