“What in the hell,” he mutters to himself, staring at the vehicle’s innards. He recognizes the major parts. Engine block, radiator, battery, dipstick. Thingy that holds the blue stuff that cleans the windshield.
The new belt was sitting there the whole time, right there in the glove box. Why didn’t he have it replaced? That squealing noise. It was never going to go away on its own.
It certainly did not go away during the last twelve hours of driving.
Well, that’s not exactly true. The squealing did disappear . . . along with the power steering, on this barren stretch of interstate outside Redding, a hundred-something miles south of the Oregon-California border. Is there anything Cameron can’t fuck up? His attempt to flounce after a humiliating failure is, itself, a humiliating failure.
How very meta.
“Okay, I can do this.” He blows out a breath, then squints again at the video, propping the phone on the bumper. There’s no other option. If he keeps driving, it won’t be long before the engine overheats and shits the bed. Well, that’s not exactly how the video described it, but . . . it’s not good.
Besides, putting in the new belt can’t be that hard, and he, Cameron Cassmore, is a goddamn genius.
It’s time he started acting like one.
The Eel Ring
On Thursday afternoon, Tova’s last day of work, Janice Kim and Barb Vanderhoof materialize on her porch with a rectangular box.
“Come in, won’t you?” Tova says. “I apologize for the state of the house. All the packing is just . . .” She sweeps an arm around the clutter. “I’ll put on coffee.” That’s one thing that hasn’t been packed yet: the percolator. It will be the last thing to go.
She takes the box from Janice, assuming it’s some sort of casserole, but it’s far too light. She sets it on the kitchen counter and flips open the lid, revealing a small sheet cake shaped like a fish. Congratulations on Your Retirement, the icing reads.
“You shouldn’t have!” Tova laughs. “But it’s accurate. I’m actually retiring.”
“At long last,” Janice says, producing a parcel of paper plates and disposable napkins.
“I’m sure you’ll talk them into hiring you to dust baseboards at Charter Village,” Barb adds, lowering herself into a chair at the kitchen table.
“Well, I’m not ruling it out,” Tova says, smiling. The percolator hisses as the coffee brews, and Tova stoops down to run her hand along Cat’s back as the animal strolls into the kitchen.
Janice regards Cat skeptically. “What’s happening with that fella?”
“Well, he can’t come with me,” Tova says. “I suppose he’ll go back to living outside full-time, unless one of you is in the market for a pet?”
Janice holds her hands up. “Peter’s allergic. Plus, Rolo is terrified of cats.”
Cat leaps up onto Barb’s lap, landing on light paws, and purrs loudly as he stretches upward and rams his furry head into her chin.
“I’m a dog person,” Barb says. She scratches behind Cat’s ears. “My, you’re soft, though, aren’t you? Did I tell you all about the cat Andie’s kids found last year? Lives in their bedrooms now, sleeps with them under the sheets and blankets. I told Andie she needed to make sure the thing was treated for fleas, because you never know what animals bring in from outside, do you? Anyway, then she said—”
“Look Barb, he’s totally into you.” Janice giggles. Cat is licking the back of Barb’s hand now, as if he’s grooming her, still purring like a buzz saw.
“I already treated him for fleas, of course,” Tova says pointedly.
Barb looks from Janice to Tova. “But I’m a dog person!”
Tova laughs. “People can change, Barbara.”
“Even old folks like us,” Janice adds.
“Oh, all right. I’ll think about it,” Barb mumbles, but she’s rubbing Cat on his gray belly now. His eyes are closed in bliss.
Tova pours everyone coffee. “Have you both had supper? I could heat something up . . .”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” Janice waves her off. “Not with everything else you’ve got going on here.”
A saucy smile curls Tova’s lips. “Let’s have cake for supper.”
TOVA CLEANS ALONE on her last shift at the aquarium. Her last time mopping the circular hallway. A final swipe of each pane of glass. As she finishes up, she takes extra care to scrub one last time under the sea lion statue’s tail. Who knows when it will be attended to again?