by Leah Atwood
“There are plenty of kind people.”
“I suppose there are. We’ll leave you to your good work. A joy to meet you.” He collected Stephen and led him away with a look over his shoulder at her.
Why didn’t he ask about Sunday? Was he leaving town? Why hadn’t she suggested that evening, another day, Saturday evening? Her calendar was stark beyond Saturday.
He was gone, just like that, and she felt the desire to go after him, chase him in a way most unbecoming of a Dr. McDowell.
She didn’t.
Lacey watched Gabriel stretch his suckers to different parts of the glass. “I hope Pablo finds a friend for you. That way, at least one of us won’t be alone, buddy.”
I am with you always, to the very end of the age.
Chapter Three
The aquarium felt quiet, deep sea quiet, and Lacey had trouble keeping her eyes open. Biologist on duty 24/7. It was practically a Seattle Aquarium slogan. Pablo told the volunteers how important this was, and they, in turn, told visitors.
She’d seen guests turn and scan the room for someone who looked brilliant enough to be a marine biologist. Eyes never stopped on her. It was, in part, her youthful looks, but more because they were searching for Jacques Cousteau.
Jacques Cousteau didn’t work at the Seattle Aquarium.
She sipped a mocha, purchased from the café down the street. It wasn’t bad, but a mocha wasn’t the same without a foamy Ace’s big octopus eyes staring up at her. She sighed. A grown woman sad because she didn’t have a cartoon in her foam. No. She was sad for a different reason, a reason she didn’t care to admit.
Her mouth tasted post-cuppa bitter. She should have told Pablo she couldn’t take the night shift before her ten a.m. interview. Maybe she could slip onto the cot and nap for a few hours. She slapped her cheeks. Another slap resounded, a thud familiar and chilling all at once.
Grabbing the trash can used for only one purpose, she raced to Gabriel’s tank. A dark blob quivered on the floor, confirming her fears. He’d pulled himself over the top, the edge of the tank. “Were you trying to fly, angel? Now what? You can’t exactly climb back up. You know, it’s a good idea to have a plan before you pull yourself out of your tank.” She caressed a silken leg, a soft tentacle, doing the gentle pull-away-dance as suckers found her wrist, her arm.
Was it time to give Gabriel wings? In a way, since he’d die after mating, keeping him mate-less allowed him a freer, fuller life.
Keep telling yourself that, Lacey.
“Are you feeling the call of the wild, my friend?” She touched his head between his eyes. “Sweet thing.” She sniffed, taking in his sea smell and loving it. How many people got to touch an octopus? Hers was the most wonderful job in the world.
Had he escaped to head for the tidal zone in search of bivalves? “Are you hungry for clams and oysters?” Octopus did hunt at night. In the morning, she would add them to his tank. That should keep him happy.
If it was food he wanted.
She pressed her lips together. Right now she had bigger problems than Gabriel’s diet or whether he was ready to mate. Likely, she could get 75 pounds of octopus into the garbage can without being bitten. But, once in there, how would she get him into the tank when she couldn’t heave him more than a few feet?
“You’re a smart woman, Lacey. You’ll figure it out.” Except it seemed more an issue for brawn than brains.
Sam was on call. She would, no doubt, bring Brett, and though he was strong, Lacey might be willing to throw herself from the pier to avoid him.
How strong was Anders? She shook off the thought. She couldn’t call him anyway.
A rope and pulley might do the job. They had some in the supply room.
It wasn’t hard to rig the pulley. Lacey knew her knots, courtesy of Ian and his particular brand of brotherly aggravation. Yes, she’d untied rope from her doll’s necks, her dresser drawers, and the bathroom door.
Gabriel watched her in a way that made him look more like an alien than an octopus.
She pushed him toward the can, a place he seemed to want to go. “Okay buddy, hang on.” She pulled hand over hand, and the garbage can lifted. This was going to be easier than she expected. With that thought, the can no longer had weight, and an awful sound smacked nearby.
“That has to hurt.” Did octopus bruise? Blood vessels broke, even with copper blood. She pushed him into the can again and tied a rope across the top.
It got him to the top, but he gripped the sides and the rope, refused to be dumped into the water. “Please, Gabriel. You’ll die if you don’t go back in the water.”
Gabriel wouldn’t leave, so Lacey did what she had to.
Pablo’s voice woke her from a sound sleep. “I gather since we have a garbage can floating in Gabriel’s tank, you had an incident?”
Lacey jerked upright. She’d been dreaming about sitting at Golden Gardens Beach with Anders and watching Stephen build a sand castle. It had been nice. Really nice.
“I’m sorry. I must have dozed.” Failed by her mocha. Not a complete fail. It had worked its magic on her breath. She moved her tongue away from the walls of her mouth, floating it in the center as best she could. It didn’t help. She wiped the drool from her cheek to feel a pen imprint on it. Lovely. At least she’d have time to shower before her interview.
“It’s okay.”
Lacey rubbed the pen groove lining her cheek, the cross from the pocket clip embossed in the center like a bumper-sticker, a brand proclaiming her faith in a way more forward, more evangelical than Lacey ever had been. If it wasn’t gone by the interview, it would be a real conversation starter.
“I’m surprised you managed to get him back in his tank alone. Next time, call someone, Lacey.”
“I wanted to get him back in ASAP.”
“Understood, but what if you hadn’t been able to get him back in?”
“I would have done whatever I had to do to get him back in.”
Pablo sighed. “If you went outside and asked the first passerby to help out of desperation, it could go badly, Lacey, a pretty little lady like you…”
The fact that he was old enough to be her father didn’t lessen the lift she got from his words. Brett dumping her had wreaked more havoc on her self-esteem than she’d thought.
“Is it a problem for you to work with Samantha?”
“It’s not. Sorry. Next time, I’ll call. I need to get home and shower.”
“Shower? How about sleep?”
“I have an interview at ten.”
“Interview? For the research vessel? Awesome! You should have told me. I would have had Roscoe take night.”
“I felt awkward saying anything.”
“I want you to have your dream. I want good things for you—someone better than Brett.”
Lacey sighed.
“Hey, I know rejection is hard, but he let you go because he didn’t measure up.”
“Not quite how he worded it.”
Pablo picked up her pen. “No doubt. But God has something in mind for you.”
“I didn’t know you believed in God, Pablo.”
“Well,” he smiled, “I don’t wear my belief on my cheek, but yes, I do.”
Lacey touched her cheek. Why did it feel wrong to hope the mark would fade fast?
“I may have a lead on a friend for Gabriel.”
“I’m going to try bivalves today, see if they whet his appetite.”
“That sounds good, but a Christmas match would bring people in more than Santa diver. It would get us through the off season.” He turned the doorknob, and was gone.
One didn’t have to have a mate for fulfillment, did they?
Is that a question about you or Gabriel?
She’d have to get used to the idea of giving him up. She was going on a research journey—that is, if she didn’t bomb the interview. She had two hours to shed the cephalopod and stale coffee smell, and look professional.
Mike, the janitor, was pulling th
e garbage can out of Gabriel’s tank when she arrived with a box of clams and oysters. He shook his head. “Pablo asked me to drain two feet from his tank. Sad to reduce his swimming space, but a dried-up octopus would be worse, huh?”
Gabriel looked out at her as though she’d betrayed him.
She put her hand near the glass. I’m so sorry buddy. “It would be. Mike, can you give Gabriel these bi-valves? I need to get home and get showered.”
“Hot breakfast date?”
Not even. “An interview.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I’m interviewing for a six month research voyage.”
“The NOAA vessel? I hear competition is fierce. Half the marine biologists in the country are interviewing.”
“Thanks, Mike. I’m already half scared to death.”
“The things we most want scare us the most.”
“Deep.” Lacey was just about to turn and head for the door when she saw a pair of swaying moccasins under the tube. Her heart sped up. What was Anders doing here before the aquarium opened? “Hey, Stephen, what are you doing here so early? Where’s your dad?” She glanced around.
“At the hotel.”
“You came by yourself?”
“I know the way. I think Gabriel’s sick. He looks like puke.”
Gritty, but true. “He had a rough night, pulled himself from the tank. We’re adding more bivalves—clams, mussels and oysters to his diet. Hopefully they perk him up. Stephen, your dad is probably frantic. Do you know his number?”
“858- 454 something.”
“That something part is pretty important.”
“I know where the hotel is. I’ll show you.”
He dashed off, and she followed the best she could. There was no time to look up hotels on her cell as they raced down the street, passed a man playing flamenco guitar, her favorite.
Stephen stopped in front of the waterfront hotel. His voice went sing-songy, like a commercial, “In the heart of downtown.” He took her hand and pulled her up the walk and into a white marble lobby. Triangles made an odd game of hopscotch across the floor, and wood pillars rose to an otherworldly dome.
She took Stephen up to the counter.
The girl in a pressed white shirt and red and gold thread scarf tied around her neck in an elegant knot looked up. Her nose twitched. “May I… help you?”
“Hi, I work at the aquarium down the street. This little boy went there on his own, and I’m certain his dad will be wondering where he is. What room number are you in, Stephen?”
The girl’s expression softened. “Oh! I see. Bobby,” she called to the man picking up a wrapper from the lobby floor, “it’s the missing little boy. What was his room number?”
“423.” Stephen’s small voice came.
“Uh, 423.”
“I told you I knew, Lacey.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “You sure did. You’re smart, but you still can’t wander from your dad. It’s not safe. There are dangers worse than getting lost.”
“Bad guys.”
“Yes.”
“Stephen!” Anders rushed in and scooped Stephen into his arms.
“Put me down, Dad. Please. I want down.” He wriggled like a cephalopod.
“Lacey. Thank you so much for bringing him back.”
“Actually he brought me. He knew exactly where you were, even the room number.”
“I wasn’t lost, Dad.”
Anders put a wriggling Stephen on the floor and stood, doing a double-take as he saw her cheek.
She put her hand up. There was no longer an imprint, but some hint of the cross must still be there.
“How was the wedding expo? Did you and Sam finalize any wedding plans?”
“Me and Sam?” Realization hit. Anders thought Sam was her fiancé. If it wasn’t so ironic, she might have laughed. “Sam, Samantha, is my friend. You met her. She’s marrying my boyfriend of six years.”
“Oh.” His face turned pink. “I’m sorry. I thought… That’s rough, and I probably just made it worse.”
“It’s okay. We parted amicably.” It was Brett’s word, not hers. She cleared her throat. “We weren’t right for each other.”
“Six years is a long time.”
Her vision fogged and tears spilled over. “It is.” She pushed her hand, her fingers under her eyes, turning the back of it smeary dark, like a bruise. “Not a good thing for me to think about right now.” She rubbed tears streaked with mascara out from under her eyes. “I have an interview in about half an hour, but I’m such a mess, maybe I should call and reschedule.”
“Don’t do that. I’ll call you a cab while you clean up.” He pointed toward a restroom on the side.
“I was up half the night with a lovesick octopus. I smell like fish, and I look awful. I’m going to bet I’m the only one interviewing who smells like an ocean.”
“Do you want the job?”
“So much.”
“Then slip into the bathroom and wash up. You’ve got this.”
She grabbed him in a hug, a bad idea, since it made her stink more apparent.
“No hugs for me, please, Lacey.”
“I won’t hug you if you don’t want me to, Stephen.”
She stepped through the bathroom door. A woman dropping a paper towel into the trash passed her and stared as though fearing Lacey might take up residence. The mirror told her why. She looked worse than she thought. A quick wash and reapplication of mascara and eye-liner helped. Her brush, however, was probably on the sink counter at her apartment. Maybe her loopy hair wouldn’t be so bad if she finger-combed it and twisted it into a knot.
The hairband snapped apart and flew into the stall to land beside the toilet. A search through her purse didn’t turn up another. She’d have to wear her hair down. “Calm thyself, Lacey.”
You’ve got this. Anders’ voice.
Wetting her fingers, she combed through her red mane. Not too bad. It might have been a style chosen on purpose.
She practiced a smile. A red cross decorating her cheek caught her attention. She had nothing to cover it with. If she got the job, it would be a miracle. “Lord, blind their eyes.” One last glance at her notes would have helped, as well.
If ever she wanted to cling to God’s hand, it was now. Strange that the cross branding her cheek, stressing her, was the very thing comforting her insides.
“Ah well,” she announced to Anders, who stood watching Stephen trace the floor pattern with his finger, “at least I love my job at the aquarium.”
“You look great.” He handed her a cup of coffee.
It was a clear exaggeration, but she appreciated it. “Thank you for the coffee and kind words.”
“Picture us in the foam, cheering you on.”
“Thank you.”
He lifted his chin in a shy cowboy smile that didn’t fit with his pressed dress shirt in the slightest.
Stephen watched from the floor, his brown eyes evaluating her the way kids did before giving an all too honest opinion. “You look like Jean Grey.”
An opinion, but was it good or bad? Lacey combed her fingers through her stiff hair. Okay, going for basics, was that Jean or Gene, male or female? “Who?”
Anders smiled down at Stephen. “Phoenix from X-men. Stephen discovered X designs on the floor and we’ve entered the world of X-men. He’s like a mirror exposing my nerd roots.”
“Nothing wrong with that. My nerdiness has caused me to, instead, memorize a great chunk of the more than 3,000 varieties of nudibranchs. I hope Phoenix is, at least, female?”
“Very.” His cheeks reddened and he focused on Stephen. “He’s right, you know.” He cleared his throat. “Your taxi should be here any minute.”
“You ordered me a taxi. Thank you so much.” Tears threatened. Lame, Lacey. She willed them to stop.
“No. Thank you for bringing Stephen back. I’d like to take you to dinner tonight, Lacey. Would that be okay with you?”
&nb
sp; Her face burned. “I’d love to go to dinner with you.”
“Great. Give me a call when your interview is done and we’ll arrange a time.” He handed her his card.
“Thanks. I’ll do that. Talk to you soon.” She slipped the card into her purse and, lifting her coffee, as if in a toast, took a sip and turned to head to the doors. A mocha, just the right sweet, just the right java. Perfect. She glanced back.
He was watching.
Brightness shone through her world of frets and fears. Dinner with Anders. Beyond that, he thought she looked like Jean Grey, and he seemed to think this was good.
Chapter Four
The NOAA research doctors had been friendly, and didn’t mention Lacey’s unprofessional look or marine smell. With that out of the way and a nap and shower, Lacey felt ready to face her next fear, another thing she wanted so much it terrified her.
She stood to get her purse, Anders’ card, but before she’d taken two steps, her cell phone buzzed. “Hi there, Lacey. How did the interview go?” Anders.
“Surprisingly well. Now the waiting begins. I guess I can hope that the rest of the candidates smell worse than fish—like maybe raw sewage.”
“Call me wacky, but I happen to think fish smell great, and I love the ocean. Are you still up for dinner?”
“I’d like that.”
“Great! Then, I’ll pick you up. Can I get your address?”
“I live at 10 Mercer. Apartment 209.”
“Perfect. I’ll be by at seven.”
“See you then.”
Only when she hung up, did it occur to her that he’d called her. He had her cell number. Did they give it to him at the aquarium when Stephen went missing? Sam would have. Despite being at a wedding expo, Sam kept turning the conversation to Anders. Kind of funny that Anders thought Sam was her fiancé.
Funny in hindsight.
What would she wear? Simple black, a warm shawl to cover bare shoulders. She had an hour to kill, so she looked up Jean Grey—fighting for the peaceful coexistence of mutants and humans as Marvel Girl and later Phoenix. Wasn’t that kind of true for Lacey, as well? Except her mutants lived in the sea and ate a dwindling supply of fish and clams. The site had different versions of Jean Grey, one with a mane of red-brown hair, not unlike Lacey’s.
