Remarkably Bright Creatures(26)

“It’s a blessing to go peacefully,” Barb says, clasping her bosom.

“And the facility was quite nice.”

“Oh?” Barb cocks her head. This is new information to her. Tova hadn’t mentioned her trip to Bellingham to the Knit-Wits, and it seems, for once, Ethan Mack has kept mum about something while ringing up groceries at the Shop-Way.

“Yes, I went to fetch his personal effects. Mind you, there wasn’t much. But the home was clean and well-run.”

“Where was he?”

“Charter Village. Up in Bellingham.”

“Oh!” Barb jams her glasses back on and thumbs through the magazine on her lap. “This place here?” She holds up a full-spread advertisement featuring a photo of the stately Charter Village campus, its lawn unnaturally green under a cloudless sky.

“Yes, that’s the one.”

Barb moves the page inches from her nose, squinting at the small print. “Look! It says they have a saltwater pool. A movie theater.”

Tova doesn’t look. “Do they really?”

“And a spa!”

“It was certainly fancier than expected,” Tova agrees.

With a dismissive exhale, Barb shuts the magazine. “Still. My Andie would never put me in a home . . .”

“Of course not.” Tova nods, her lips not quite a smile, not quite a grimace.

Barb fans herself with the magazine. It gets hot under the helmet dryers.

“Yes, well.” Tova picks up a well-worn copy of Reader’s Digest from the low table next to the dryer and pretends to read the table of contents. Naturally, she knows about the saltwater pool and the movie theater and the spa. The packet she’d taken from Charter Village is sitting on her coffee table at home. She’s read through it three times, at least.

“Ready, Tova?” Colette’s chipper voice calls from across the salon. Tova pushes the space-age helmet up and gathers her pocketbook, bidding Barbara Vanderhoof a polite farewell before going to get her hair finished.

THAT EVENING AT the aquarium, Terry’s office light is on. Tova pokes her head through the door to say hello.

“Hey, Tova!” Terry waves her in. A white takeout carton sits atop of a pile of papers on his desk, a pair of chopsticks sticking up like antennae, propped in what Tova knows is vegetable fried rice from the one Chinese restaurant in the area, down in Elland. The same sort of carton that lured the octopus from his enclosure that night.

“Good evening, Terry.” Tova inclines her head.

“Take a load off,” he says, nodding at the chair across from his desk. He holds up a fortune cookie in a plastic wrapper. “You want one? They always give me at least two, sometimes three or four. I don’t know how many people they think I could be feeding with this one pint of fried rice.”

Tova smiles, but doesn’t sit, remaining in the doorway. “That’s kind, but no thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, tossing it onto the clutter. The state of Terry’s desk, with its haphazard piles and scattered papers, always makes Tova’s palms itch. When she comes through later with her cleaning cart, she’ll empty the trash, dust the trio of frames behind the desk. Terry’s toddler daughter on a playground swing. Terry with his arm draped around an older woman’s shoulder—his mother, with deep brown skin, a crown of dark curls, and Terry’s same broad smile. An unseen breeze lifts the sleeve of Terry’s gown, a purple-and-gold tassel dangling from the his mortarboard cap. Next to the photo is the related degree: bachelor of science, summa cum laude, in marine biology, awarded to Terrance Bailey from the University of Washington.

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.