Remarkably Bright Creatures(27)

Tova pulls on her rubber gloves. The pump rooms will get done, and the front windows as well. It will be a late night, but she has never minded staying up late.

“You’re a lifesaver, Tova.” Terry flashes her a grateful grin.

“It’s something to do.” She smiles back.

Terry shuffles around the papers and mess on his desk, and something silver catches Tova’s eye. A heavy-looking clamp, its bar at least as thick as Terry’s index finger. He lifts it absently, then puts it back down again, like a paperweight.

But Tova has the distinct feeling it’s not a paperweight.

“May I ask what that’s for?” Tova leans on the doorway, a sick feeling settling in her stomach.

Terry lets out a sigh. “I think Marcellus has been going rogue again.”

“Marcellus?”

“The GPO.” It takes a moment for Tova to parse the acronym. Giant Pacific octopus. And he has a name. How did she not know?

“I see,” Tova says quietly.

“I don’t know how he does it. But I’m down eight sea cucumbers this month.” Terry picks up the clamp again and holds it in his cupped palm like he’s weighing it. “I think he’s slipping through that little gap. I need to pick up a piece of wood to go over the back of his tank before I can put this thing on.”

Tova hesitates. Should she bring up the fried rice cartons in the break room? Her eyes fall to the clamp, which is now resting on top of the paperwork mess on Terry’s desk again. Finally, she says, “I don’t know how an octopus could leave a closed tank.”

And this is true, technically. She does not know how he does it.

“Well, something fishy is going on, pardon the pun.” Terry glances at his watch. “Hey, I can probably make it to the hardware store tonight if I leave now.” He closes his laptop computer and begins to gather his things. “Careful on the wet floors, okay, Tova?”

Terry is always reminding her to be careful. He’s anxious she’ll fall and break a hip and sue the pants off of the aquarium, or so the Knit-Wits say. Tova can’t imagine she would ever sue anyone, least of all this place, but she doesn’t bother correcting her friends anymore. And besides, she is always careful. Will used to joke that “caution” ought to be her middle name.

She replies, truthfully, “I always am.”

“HELLO, FRIEND,” SHE says to the octopus. At the sound of her voice, the octopus unfurls from behind a rock, a starburst of orange and yellow and white. He blinks at her as he drifts toward the glass. His color looks better tonight, Tova notes. Brighter.

She smiles. “Not feeling so adventurous tonight, are you?”

He sucks a tentacle to the glass, his bulbous mantle briefly heaving as if he’s letting out a sigh, even though that’s impossible. Then in a shockingly swift motion he jets toward the back of his tank, his eye still trained on her, and traces the edge of the tiny gap with the tip of a tentacle.

“No, you don’t, Mister. Terry’s on to you,” Tova scolds, and she scoots off toward the door that leads around back to the rear access for all of the tanks along this section of the outside wall. When she comes into the tiny, humid room, she expects to find the creature in the midst of escape, but to her surprise he’s still there in his tank.

“Then again, perhaps you should have one last night of freedom,” she says, thinking of the heavy clamp on Terry’s desk.

The octopus presses his face against the back glass and extends his arms upward, like a child’s plea to be carried.

“You want to shake hands,” she says, guessing.

The octopus’s arms swirl in the water.

“Well, I suppose so.” She drags over one of the chairs tucked under the long metal table and steadies herself as she climbs up, tall enough now to remove the cover on the back of the tank. As she’s unfastening the latch, she realizes the octopus might be taking advantage of her. Getting her to remove the lid so he can escape.

She takes the gamble. Lifts the lid.

He floats below, languid now, all eight arms spread out around him like an alien star. Then he lifts one out of the water. Tova extends her hand, still covered in faint round bruises from last time, and he winds around it again, as if smelling her. The tip of his tentacle reaches neck-high and pokes at her chin.

Hesitantly, she touches the top of his mantle, as one might pet a dog. “Hello, Marcellus. That’s what they call you, isn’t it?”

Suddenly, with the arm still wrapped around hers, he gives a sharp tug. Tova’s balance falters on the chair and for a moment she fears he’s trying to pull her into his tank.

She leans over until her nose nearly touches the water, her own eyes now inches from his, his otherworldly pupil so dark blue it’s almost black, an iridescent marble. They study each other for what seems like an eternity, and Tova realizes an additional octopus arm has wound its way over her other shoulder, prodding her freshly done hair.

Tova laughs. “Don’t muss it. I was just at the beauty shop this morning.”

Then he releases her and vanishes behind his rock. Stunned, Tova looks around. Had he heard something? She touches her neck, the cold wetness where his tentacle was.

He reappears, drifting back upward. A small gray object is looped on the tip of one of his arms. He extends it to her. An offering.

Her house key. The one she lost last year.