Remarkably Bright Creatures(93)

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.”