Stop giving me that look.”
In response, while still glaring at Cameron, the octopus hooks the tip of an arm through the tiny gap over the pump filter in the back of the tank. A threat.
“I know you can hear me.” Cameron rubs his forehead wearily. What is he even saying? Octopuses can’t understand English. Or any other language. Right? “You hungry, bro? Where were you earlier when I was circling the building with a bucket of mackerel? You’re too good for that?”
The creature blinks at him, all innocent and coy. His arm, just the tip, slips through the gap.
“Oh no you don’t. No escapades tonight.” The mop clatters to the floor in the curved hallway as Cameron dashes off toward the pump room around back. He should fix the stupid tank so it can’t pop open, in spite of what Tova says about the monster’s so-called need for freedom. It’s not like she’s even here. Which is weird. He wouldn’t have guessed she’d be the type to ghost, but as the night goes on, it’s becoming increasingly clear she’s not going to show.
Maybe that’s why the damn kraken looks so incensed.
“Stay,” he commands, looping a scrap of twine he found on the counter through the slit in the lid, then around the support post next to the tank, and tying a firm knot. The octopus drifts toward the gap, gaze glued to Cameron’s handiwork. Then he fixes his withering eye on Cameron for a
long, hard moment before jetting down into his den, leaving a flush of bubbles in his wake.
“Good night to you, too,” Cameron mutters. The tiniest bit of guilt nags him, but it’s for the best. The thought of dealing with a roaming octopus without Tova here to help him is honestly terrifying. Which must be why he jumps out of his skin when something dings.
It’s his phone, his new one. He’s not quite used to the sounds it makes yet. He couldn’t bring himself to spring for the super-high-end one, but this one is decent. At least the battery lasts more than, like, ten minutes.
Could it be Avery again? His pulse thrums just thinking about it. They’ve been trading flirty texts all day. But when he checks, the text isn’t from Avery. It’s from Elizabeth, and it just says: Call me.
The baby. When was it due? Seems like yesterday he arrived in Sowell Bay, but it’s been two months. Propping his phone on the supply cart, he pops in his earbuds and calls her back.
“Hey,” comes Elizabeth’s immediate answer.
“Lizard-breath? Are you okay?” Cameron realizes his heart is still racing. A lot of shit can go wrong, having a baby. But she laughs softly at his tone of voice, which probably means she isn’t bleeding out in a hospital bed.
“I’m fine, Camel-tron. Well, mostly. My doctor put me on bed rest.”
“Bed rest?”
“Yeah, I was having contractions. And they want the alien to cook for a few more weeks.”
“Yikes. Well, you don’t want a half-cooked alien.” “So now I’m stuck in bed.”
“You mean you’re literally lying around all day? Sounds amazing.” Cameron wrings the mop.
“It’s horrible! I’m so bored.”
“At least Brad’s waiting on you hand and foot, right?”
“He tried to make me a grilled cheese sandwich and the fire department came.”
In his earbuds, Elizabeth laughs, and the sound seems so close. Suddenly, an awful, hollow feeling settles in the pit of Cameron’s stomach.
“Anyway,” Elizabeth goes on. “I was watching some show on the travel channel the other day. Because this is how I spend my days now. I swear I watch fourteen hours of pointless television a day.”
“Still sounds pretty awesome,” Cameron says. He bends down to pick up a candy wrapper from the floor.
“It sucks. But anyway. Simon Brinks was on the show. They were interviewing him about trends in vacation home sales or some boring thing. I hadn’t been paying much attention, until I heard the name. It made me think of you. Thought I’d call and see how it’s going.”
“Not making much progress on the Simon Brinks front, unfortunately.” Cameron fills her in on his dead ends so far.
“Do you like it up there, at least?” The question is punctuated by an alarming grunt. “Sorry, my back is killing me. I had to turn over. Just imagine a whale trying to flop itself over on a beach.”
“Damn, Lizard-breath. That’s quite an image.” He laughs. “But yeah, I guess I like it all right.” He pauses. “I met a girl.”
Elizabeth squeals, and the next section of tile-mopping goes by quickly as Cameron gives her the PG version of his evolving relationship with Avery.
By the time they hang up, he’s looped all the way around, back at the octopus exhibit again. The big fella is hanging out in the lower corner of the tank, watching him as its arms waft lightly in the water.
“Good boy. Good octopus,” he mumbles. Keys jingle from the front lobby.
Tova? He’s surprised at how happy this makes him.
But the footsteps that follow are too heavy, their clip too quick. After a moment, Terry comes striding around the bend. Cameron tries to hide his disappointment.
“Hey, kiddo.” The boss man smiles broadly. “Everything going okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s great.” Cameron lifts his chin, trying to look professional. Good thing he didn’t get caught talking to Elizabeth on the phone.
“Excellent. Just popping in to check up on your work.” Cameron’s eyes widen.
“Totally joking! I left something in my office earlier.” Terry chuckles.
“Good one, sir.”
“Keep it up, kiddo. I’ll go around the other side so I don’t mess up the clean floor.” He’s almost around the bend when he pauses and turns back. “Oh, Cameron. I’ve been meaning to check on that paperwork. You have a chance to fill it out yet?”
“Um, not yet.” Terry has been periodically prodding him to fill out some housekeeping personnel form for a while now.
Terry folds his arms. “It’s been two months.” “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Make it a priority,” Terry says. “I know it’s a pain, but I’ve let it slide long enough. Rules are rules.”
“I’ll do it tonight.”
“Oh, and could I trouble you for another copy of your driver’s license? I know we made one when you came on board, but I can’t seem to find it.”
Cameron pats his back pocket. His wallet is there. “Uh, sure.”
“Wonderful,” Terry says. “Leave it on my desk before you go tonight, okay?”
“Will do, sir.”
PAPERWORK IS NOT Cameron’s strong suit. Sitting at the table in the aquarium lobby, pen poised over the crumpled hiring form bathed in blue light from the tank, Cameron can’t help but remember the Merced Valley drama.
Merced Valley Technical College might not be Ivy League, but they recruited Cameron once. They even offered him a full scholarship. All he had to do was fill out some paperwork. Free money for signing some forms.
Cameron browsed the course catalog and picked out his classes. He was especially looking forward to philosophy. But the scholarship forms sat in a pile on his coffee table, collecting grease spots from pizza crusts and sweat rings from beer cans.
Aunt Jeanne had been furious. Accused him of throwing his future away for no reason. All he had to do was fill out some damn forms! It would’ve taken twenty minutes. What’s wrong with you? she asked.
It’s a good question.
Ten minutes later, the aquarium personnel form is done, and as he deposits the paper on Terry’s desk, he remembers he was supposed to copy his license, too. The dusty photocopier in the corner of Terry’s office sounds like a spaceship taking off as it comes to life with a series of buzzes and beeps. Cameron helps himself to one of the mints from the little jar on Terry’s desk as he waits.
When the machine is finally ready, he puts his card on the glass and presses the big green button. Which apparently triggers a series of beeping alarms.
Paper Jam in Drawer C, Cameron reads on the tiny screen. He squats down and squints at the drawers. There are only two: A and B.
Impossible.
He opens every tab, drawer, and door he can find, but there is no Drawer C nor any whiff of a jammed paper anywhere. He jabs the green button again, but the screen just blinks the same message. Turns the whole thing off,
then on again, three times. It will not relent on its insistence that there is something stuck in this nonexistent drawer.
“Designed by idiots,” he mutters, plucking his driver’s license from the glass and switching the machine off for good.
With a shrug, he drops his license on top of the forms on Terry’s desk. He can get it back tomorrow night.
