This sort of photo is missing from Tova’s mantel at home. Erik would’ve started at that university in the fall if that summer night had never happened.
Terry picks up the chopsticks and scoops up a bite of rice in a smooth, expert manner that strikes her as impressively natural for a boy who, Tova knows, was raised on a fishing boat in Jamaica. Young people pick things up so easily. After chewing and swallowing, he says, “Sorry to hear about your brother.”
“Thank you,” Tova says quietly.
Terry wipes his fingers on a thin takeout napkin. “Ethan mentioned it.”
“It’s quite all right,” Tova says. It must be a challenge for Ethan, drumming up things to converse about while ringing groceries. Heaven knows she would detest such a job, having to chitchat all day long.
“Anyway, I’m glad I caught you, Tova. I have a favor to ask.”
“Yes?” Tova looks up, grateful for the speedy switch of topics. Finally, someone who doesn’t insist on nattering on for hours about her loss.
“Any chance you could wipe down the front windows tonight? Just the inside.”
“Certainly,” she replies, then adds, “I would be pleased to.” She means it. The broad windowpanes in the lobby are always collecting grime, and right now nothing would make her happier than to spray them down and work her cloth over the glass until every last smudge and streak is banished.
“I’d like the front to look nice for the crowds this weekend.” Terry runs a hand down his face, which looks exhausted. “If you can’t get to all the floors, don’t worry about it, okay? We can catch up next week.”
Fourth of July is always the aquarium’s busiest weekend. Back in Sowell Bay’s heyday, the town used to put on a big waterfront festival. These days, it’s just busier than average.
Tova pulls on her rubber gloves. The pump rooms will get done, and the front windows as well. It will be a late night, but she has never minded staying up late.
“You’re a lifesaver, Tova.” Terry flashes her a grateful grin.
“It’s something to do.” She smiles back.
Terry shuffles around the papers and mess on his desk, and something silver catches Tova’s eye. A heavy-looking clamp, its bar at least as thick as Terry’s index finger. He lifts it absently, then puts it back down again, like a paperweight.
But Tova has the distinct feeling it’s not a paperweight.
“May I ask what that’s for?” Tova leans on the doorway, a sick feeling settling in her stomach.
Terry lets out a sigh. “I think Marcellus has been going rogue again.”
“Marcellus?”
“The GPO.” It takes a moment for Tova to parse the acronym. Giant Pacific octopus. And he has a name. How did she not know?
“I see,” Tova says quietly.
“I don’t know how he does it. But I’m down eight sea cucumbers this month.” Terry picks up the clamp again and holds it in his cupped palm like he’s weighing it. “I think he’s slipping through that little gap. I need to pick up a piece of wood to go over the back of his tank before I can put this thing on.”
Tova hesitates. Should she bring up the fried rice cartons in the break room? Her eyes fall to the clamp, which is now resting on top of the paperwork mess on Terry’s desk again. Finally, she says, “I don’t know how an octopus could leave a closed tank.”
And this is true, technically. She does not know how he does it.
“Well, something fishy is going on, pardon the pun.” Terry glances at his watch. “Hey, I can probably make it to the hardware store tonight if I leave now.” He closes his laptop computer and begins to gather his things. “Careful on the wet floors, okay, Tova?”
Terry is always reminding her to be careful. He’s anxious she’ll fall and break a hip and sue the pants off of the aquarium, or so the Knit-Wits say. Tova can’t imagine she would ever sue anyone, least of all this place, but she doesn’t bother correcting her friends anymore. And besides, she is always careful. Will used to joke that “caution” ought to be her middle name.
She replies, truthfully, “I always am.”
“HELLO, FRIEND,” SHE says to the octopus. At the sound of her voice, the octopus unfurls from behind a rock, a starburst of orange and yellow and white. He blinks at her as he drifts toward the glass. His color looks better tonight, Tova notes. Brighter.
She smiles. “Not feeling so adventurous tonight, are you?”
He sucks a tentacle to the glass, his bulbous mantle briefly heaving as if he’s letting out a sigh, even though that’s impossible. Then in a shockingly swift motion he jets toward the back of his tank, his eye still trained on her, and traces the edge of the tiny gap with the tip of a tentacle.