The doors are propped open when Tova arrives on Wednesday evening. It’s a bit earlier than usual, but Terry had sounded so wound up when he called. She’d left her supper plate unwashed and poured a hasty bowl of kibble for Cat before hurrying down to the aquarium.
Is this about the open door? Her stomach lurches, remembering what happened when Cameron left the back door open and Marcellus tried to escape. But a moment later, Terry comes sauntering out with a broad smile and a wave.
“What’s happening here?” she asks, approaching.
“Big night. And I don’t mean only because it’s your second-to-last day.”
Tova tilts her head.
“We’re getting a delivery,” Terry continues. He’s downright giddy. “Never thought it would happen before you left. And I called you because I thought you’d want to be here to meet it.” He laughs. “It. Listen to me! Her. I thought you’d want to meet her.”
Who on earth is “her”?
Before Tova can ask, a truck rumbles into the parking lot. With a series of loud beeps, it backs up toward the doors. A gruff-looking man loads a wooden crate from a refrigerated enclosure onto a forklift. At first, the delivery person seems keen to deposit the large box right there, but Terry talks him into helping him transport it inside. Clutching her pocketbook, Tova follows the two men as they guide the
huge crate through the open doors and around the curved hallway, which seems to be quite a project.
She trails them into the pump room, where they deposit the crate. It sloshes audibly as they edge it onto the floor. In a flash, the delivery driver has vanished with the forklift.
“Keep an eye on that for a minute, will you, Tova?” Terry says. “I need to go sign the paperwork.” He trots away after the deliveryman.
Tova takes a closer look at the crate. On one side, in big, red, stenciled letters, it reads: THIS SIDE UP. On the other it says: LIVE OCTOPUS.
“Keep an eye on it. What’s that supposed to mean?” Tova asks Marcellus as she peers through the narrow glass panel on the back of his tank. The LIVE OCTOPUS crate sits silent in the center of the room, so still that Tova wonders whether there’s anything alive inside at all. What is she meant to be keeping an eye on?
Marcellus waves an arm, a noncommittal gesture. He doesn’t know, either.
“I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?” Tova muses. “In any event, it looks like you’re about to have a new neighbor.”
A couple tanks down from Marcellus, there’s one that’s been emptied. Pacific nettle sea stars were there before. Where have they gone? The empty tank looks too clean, its water too clear. Tova pokes her head out of the pump room; Terry’s nowhere in sight. Quickly, she drags out the step stool and lifts the octopus tank’s lid. Marcellus pokes the tip of an arm through the surface of the water, and Tova lowers her hand. He curls his arm around her wrist in a gesture that’s well beyond familiar now, and there’s something almost instinctive about it, like the way a newborn baby will clutch at its mother’s finger.
But Marcellus isn’t a baby. As octopuses go, he’s an old man. And now his replacement has arrived. Footsteps echo from the hallway, and Tova yanks her hand from the water, climbs down, and tucks the stool under the tank. She’s
drying her arm on the hem of her shirt when Terry strides back in, holding a hammer.
“What do you think? Shall we open her up?” “Your new octopus,” Tova says, confirming.
“Yes! A bit ahead of schedule, actually. But she’s a rescue, rehabbed by a group up in Alaska after she got trapped in a crab pot and tore herself up trying to get out. I couldn’t say no.” Terry cracks open one edge of the crate with the tail end of the hammer.
Tova folds her arms. “Ahead of schedule?”
Terry sighs. “Marcellus is . . . well, Tova, I’m sure you’ve noticed, but he’s very old for a giant Pacific octopus.” He heaves up the crate’s lid, grunting. “Feisty old man, though, isn’t he? Determined to outrun his life span. But Dr. Santiago and I aren’t sure how much longer he has left. He was in such bad shape this morning, he might only have weeks or days left.”
“I see,” Tova says. She glances over at Marcellus’s tank, but he must be tucked away in his den, because he’s nowhere to be seen now.
“It’s amazing how long he’s lived.” Terry shoots Tova a curious look. “Did you know Marcellus was a rescue, too?”
Tova lifts a brow, surprised. “I did not know that.”
“He was in rough shape when we brought him in. Missing half an arm, his body all chewed up. Didn’t think he’d make it through the year. And here we are, four years later . . .” Terry smiles and shakes his head. “He’s been a good boy. Except when he’s roaming around the building at night.”
Tova’s pulse quickens. After all this time . . . now she’ll be scolded for enabling. For throwing out that horrible clamp.
At the look on her face, Terry says, “It’s okay, Tova. At the end of the day, I’m not sure any sort of security measure would’ve worked.” He shakes his head again. “The new one will have better manners. I hope.”
Inside the wooden crate is a steel barrel, its top fine mesh. Something sloshes and slaps inside.
“Well, let’s take a look, shall we? I wish we could call her something, but I promised naming rights to Addie, and she stayed up half the night last night brainstorming and making lists.” At the mention of his daughter, Terry grins. Tova knows Addie was four when she named Marcellus, so now she’s eight, and still reveling in the joy of naming an octopus, which is rather sweet.
“She’ll come up with something wonderful, I have no doubt,” Tova says.
The barrel’s lid pops off easily, and Tova can’t help but chuckle. Marcellus would’ve never endured a journey down the coast in such a flimsy enclosure. He’d have slipped out somewhere off the coast of British Columbia.
“There she is,” Terry says softly.
Tova peers in. The octopus is huddled in the bottom of the barrel, which makes sense because there’s nowhere to hide in there. Tova is surprised at the creature’s salmon-pink color, so different from Marcellus and his rusty orange.
“Are you going to move her to the tank now?”
“Not tonight. I need to wait for Dr. Santiago. She’s coming first thing tomorrow morning.”
Tova watches the new octopus trail a tentative tentacle out from the clump she’s balled herself up in, then yank it back after a second.
“You think she’ll enjoy her new home?” “I honestly don’t know, Tova.”
Her eyebrows raise, taken aback by his candor. She’d only been making conversation, after all.
“Don’t get me wrong, we try our best,” Terry continues. “But look at Marcellus. We saved his life when we took him in, but he’s never been happy to be trapped in a tank.”
“He’s rather bored,” Tova agrees.
Terry laughs. “Life inside the Sowell Bay Aquarium never did satisfy him.”
Tova leans on a nearby chair, easing the ache in her back, and tilts her head at the crate. “I’ll mop around it,
then?”
“You don’t have to clean back here, Tova. You know that.” Terry carefully replaces the lid on the crate.
“I don’t mind. It’s something to do.”
“Well, Cameron will help you; he should be here soon. He said he might be a little late tonight.” Terry looks at his watch. With one final pat on the lid of the crate, he leaves, muttering to himself about water temperature and acidic balance.
Tova is left alone in the pump room with two octopuses and a strange sense that something is wrong.
“Well,” she mutters to herself, picking up her pocketbook. “I suppose I’d better start on the floors.” On her way to the supply closet, she peers out the front door, expecting to see Cameron’s junky old camper parked next to her hatchback. But there’s no camper.
AN HOUR LATER, Tova hovers in Terry’s office doorway, her fingers turning over her key card. He’s here late. She’s glad she caught him.
“Shall I leave this on your desk after we’re finished tomorrow?” she says, holding up the card.
“Sure, sounds good.” Terry drums his fingers on his desk. He still seems to be vibrating with excitement. “I just got off the phone with Dr. Santiago. She’s coming tomorrow to take a look at our new addition. She thinks we might leave her in the barrel a bit longer.”
“I see,” Tova says, trying to pump up the flatness in her voice. How can she explain to Terry that she doesn’t particularly care about this new octopus? That as far as she’s concerned, there will never be another Marcellus?
Terry continues, “Sounds like we might move her directly into Marcellus’s old space when . . . well, when it’s available.”
Tova swallows.
“So, Cameron never showed up tonight?” Terry stands and begins to gather his things, shuffling papers on his messy desk.
“No,” Tova says hesitantly.
“Strange. I hope he’s okay.” Terry zips up his computer bag. “And sorry you had to clean the whole place by yourself.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Tova smiles. “I will always fondly remember cleaning this place.”
Terry shakes his head. “You’re truly unique, Tova. And you’ll be missed around here.”
“That’s very kind. I’ll miss all of you, as well.”
He’s on his way around the hallway when Tova calls after him, “Terry? One more thing. Thank you.”
Terry tilts his head. “For what?” “For giving me this job.”
“I didn’t exactly have much choice,” Terry says. “What do you mean?”
“When I hired you. I didn’t have much choice. I knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He grins. “You’re a very strong woman, Tova. Do you know that?”
Tova studies the gleaming tile. Her sneaker leaves a fleeting print as she shuffles her feet. “Yes, well. It’s good to stay busy.”
Terry gives her a look. “I don’t mean strong only because you can wield a mop like no one I’ve ever met. Although that is true.” He grins again, more tenderly this time. “You know, when I was a kid back in Jamaica, my great-gramma used to say she was ‘old but not cold.’ She lived to her late nineties. To her last days, she was in the kitchen, baking raisin buns for us kids. She liked to keep busy, too.”
“Sounds like she was quite a woman.”
“As you are.” Terry clasps Tova’s small shoulder with his large hand. “If you ever change your mind, Tova, know that there is always a place for you here at Sowell Bay Aquarium.”
“I appreciate that.”
Terry treads carefully over the freshly mopped floors as he walks out.
