When the front door clicks open, Tova has just finished putting the cart back in the supply closet. Has Terry forgotten something and come back to retrieve it?
But it’s Cameron she meets in the hallway. He’s barreling toward the break room, eyebrows furrowed in angst. He stops short when he sees her, and the thunder on his face recedes for a moment as he registers surprise. He says, “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
Tova plants her hands on her hips. “Where have you been?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, it matters. This is your job, and you were supposed to be here hours ago.” Tova purses her lips. “That’s more than ‘a little late.’ And you might know you missed a rather big night around here. There’s a new octopus.”
Cameron doesn’t respond. Something about the boy reminds Tova of a coiled spring. The stiffness in his shoulders, the stompy manner in which he’s walking, the way he won’t look at her. She lays a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”
He shrugs off her touch and starts pacing. “Did something happen? Let’s see. Ethan’s a nosy asshole who has zero ability to mind his own business and also has zero faith in me. So much for that friendship. My only other friends? Back in Modesto? They just had a baby, and the band is over. Speaking of Modesto, did I mention my shitty mom? Who abandoned me? That’s been a real bummer for,
like, my whole life. My aunt tried to be a mom, and she tried her best, but she shouldn’t have to keep parenting me. I thought I had a girlfriend here, but she’s totally ghosting me. I guess she’s pissed that I bailed on our date, even though I went there in person to tell her I couldn’t make it because something came up that was only, like, the most important meeting of my pathetic life. Or so I thought.” He stops, rakes in another breath. “Also, my luggage? From my flight up here, two months ago? Is apparently taking an extended vacation in Italy. Not that I even need it anymore.”
Tova realizes she has flattened herself against the tank behind her, as if all those words had been a strong wind. She straightens and pats her hair, like it might have been blown out of place, too. She’s not really following, but she nods as if she is.
“And that’s not even the best part.” Cameron digs in his pocket and pulls out a chunky ring. A man’s class ring, it seems, although Tova only catches a glimpse of it, sitting on the boy’s palm, before it’s swallowed up in the angry fist clenched around it. He’s pacing again. Bitterness like static electricity infuses his voice as he continues, “The best part is that all of this was totally and completely pointless. It wasn’t even him.”
“Who wasn’t who, dear?” Tova lays a hand on his shoulder, but again he flinches away.
“He wasn’t my dad. The reason I came to Sowell Bay. The guy I spent all that time tracking down. He was just some old friend of my mom’s. It isn’t even his ring.”
“Then whose is it?” “Guess I’ll never know.”
Tova finds herself nearly speechless. Finally, she simply says, “I’m so sorry, Cameron.”
“Me too.” He swallows. “I mean, because all of this was such a waste of time.”
“It’s okay to be upset when you’ve lost someone,” Tova says quietly.
Cameron mutters something Tova can’t quite hear, then stomps off toward the front entrance. She follows, keeping up as best she can. Is he really leaving?
To her surprise, instead of out the front door, he heads into the pump room. She watches, astonished, as he navigates around the LIVE OCTOPUS crate, still sitting there in the middle of the room, and yanks off the lid to the wolf eels enclosure and drops the class ring in. It floats silently to the bottom of the tank and vanishes in a cloud of sand.
“Eels. This belongs with you,” he mutters bitterly.
Tova stares at the tank. What on earth? One of the wolf eels returns her gaze, its needle teeth gleaming in the blue light.
She clears her throat. “Would you like to sit and have a cup of coffee, dear? Obviously, I’m finished with tonight’s work, but we could talk through what needs to happen tomorrow. My last day. Make sure there’s a smooth transition.”
“Coffee?” Cameron says this like it’s a foreign word. For a moment, he looks drained, like a wind sock fallen flat. He gives his head a quick shake, and just like that the storm is raging again. “Nah. I just stopped by to grab my hoodie from the break room.”
He stalks out of the pump room, and Tova trails him. “But what about tomorrow?”
“There’s no tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder. “Terry never offered me the job. Why would I stay? How incompetent do I have to be to get passed over for a job emptying trash bins and mopping floors? I mean . . . no offense.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s a misunderstanding. Terry has been quite distracted; the new octopus—”
“I’m done with misunderstandings.” He ducks into the break room and emerges a moment later with his sweatshirt tucked under his arm. “Anyway, I’m out of here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Headed back to California.” Cameron avoids meeting her eyes directly. A sad, sardonic smile spreads over his face. “Road-trip time.”
“You’re leaving now?”
“Yep.” Cameron’s tone is clipped. “Would’ve already been gone, but being the idiot I am, I left most of my shit inside Ethan’s house earlier today. Laundry. Even my guitar. Came back to get it.” He holds up the sweatshirt. “Figured I might as well grab this, too.”
“You’re leaving, and you haven’t told Terry?” “He’ll figure it out.”
“And what do you think will happen when you fail to show up tomorrow?”
“He’ll fire me?”
“And who will prepare food for so many of our . . . friends?”
“Not my problem. It’s not exactly rocket science.”
Tova gives him a stony stare. “This is not the way a person should end employment.”
Cameron shrugs. “How would I know? I’ve never had a chance to quit a job. I always get canned. It’s kind of my thing.” He stomps into Terry’s office. She follows, and watches as he plucks a piece of paper from the printer tray and scribbles a note, which he folds and deposits on Terry’s desk.
“There. Is that better?”
She picks the note up and hands it back to him. “Leaving your boss high and dry without proper notice . . . you’re better than that.”
“No, I’m not.” His voice cracks. He tosses the paper onto the desk. “I’m really not.”
