by Leah Atwood
“Trouble finding your key?”
“It’s usually on a keychain. I took it off so my purse wouldn’t weigh as much. I hope it didn’t fall out when…”
“Hope not, too.”
An image of Brett picking it up made her shiver. “Ah. Here it is.”
“Oh. You’re freezing. I’ll get going so you can go inside and warm up.” He took her hand, leaned toward her for a kiss.
“Thank you. I…” She what? What was she thinking of saying? This was a time for not saying. Look up. Kiss him! She stared at the hand holding hers, the dark hair on the back of it, the tendons.
He lifted her hand to his lips. They tickled across her wrist, her palm, following bumps, the folds of her hand, lines some would say held her future.
Her body came alive. Her soul did some cephalopod-like reaches and stretches. A ragged breath slipped out, a beautiful sigh, as though he’d, instead, kissed her lips.
“Until Saturday. Unless Stephen wants to go see that octopus of yours again. He’s quite enamored.”
“He’s not alone.” They were talking about more than a boy and an octopus, and her words remained true.
“What time should we be ready?”
“Six? I’ll check the ferry schedule and see.” She opened the door and stepped inside, releasing smells of grilled cheese sandwiches and honeysuckle-rose shampoo—much better than the egg salad she’d considered. Whew!
“Perfect. Goodbye, and thanks for a wonderful evening.”
Her cheeks warmed again. “Goodnight, Anders.”
He walked the path, past the rhododendron, as she shut the door.
If she got the job, she’d miss the rhodie’s late April bloom, the hot pink blossoms, and beautiful NW bumble bees moving from flower to flower. Hands on her chest, she breathed deep, kicked off her shoes, and whirled an imitation waltz as she hummed her second favorite My Fair Lady song.
Chapter Five
The call came on Thursday evening, a call she answered with more than a little trepidation. “Dr. McDowell?” A female voice. “This is Dr. Ono from NOAA. I wanted to let you know that we consider you the most qualified candidate. The job is yours if you are interested.”
She got it? She got the job. She sat on the edge of the chair, and nearly fell to the floor. “Thank you! I am.”
“Wonderful. The Oystercatcher leaves port Wednesday the 24th at 11 am. I’ll email you a recommended packing list. Any questions?”
“Not that I can think of. Thank you.” They were going to change their minds if she didn’t say something besides “thank you.” But all other possibilities seemed to leave her mind. She almost said it again. “I’m looking forward to this journey.”
“We are, as well. See you soon. Oh, and Dr. McDowell, you have a right to be excited.”
“Thank you.” She did it again. She hung up before any more stupidity spilled forth.
She had to call someone and tell them the good news. Only one face came to mind—Anders’. She had an excuse to call him. He’d asked her to. They had to make plans for the proposed ferry trip to the Olympic Mountains, pick a time that would work to get there and back in a day. He seemed okay with the proposed six am wake-up. Was Anders a morning person? She didn’t know. How little she knew about him, but she found herself looking forward to finding out.
What if he didn’t want a long distant relationship? It was only six months. The evening after the interview had dragged waiting for Anders to pick her up. What would six months feel like, and was he willing to wait? Was she?
Her research journey could change everything, but how could she not go? How could she give up her dream, her life… for a potential mate? The desire to climb from the proverbial tank and throw herself to the floor grew.
She imagined the weekend’s ferry journey, the deck in the front, seagulls winging beside them, necks moving, almost robotic as they scanned the horizon. December winds would sweep the Sound, send her hair across her face. An orca would surface, blowing a horse-like snort, his strong dorsal fin guiding half-grown calves and female orcas to the best salmon runs. In the thrill of it, Anders would lean forward, and their lips would meet.
She smiled at herself. No, she wasn’t going to throw away her research opportunity. She was the most qualified candidate out of nearly a hundred—something to be proud of. Unless she misjudged him, Anders would be proud, as well. He’d want her to go.
She looked over at her purse and flushed as that evening’s joys and moments of mortification came back to her. “Well, my Prodigal purse, where did I put that card?”
His card didn’t meet her fingertips in any of the usual pouches, or even the unusual ones. Her lips tingled as she emptied it onto the coffee table, piling all paper in a separate stack. Where could it be?
Then she knew. No doubt, somewhere along her purse’s journey, Anders’ card fell out. A horrible queasy feeling filled her. Would he call again?
I’ll look forward to your call.
He was the one to ask her out, to come to her work and ask again. He’d been the one to pick up the phone and invite her to dinner. The ball was in her court, and her turn was overdue. Would he take the lack of call as a “no vacancy” sign?
She had a sleepless night. Excitement battled longing and frustration. For a moment she even decided she couldn’t go on the research trip, decided she had to remain in Seattle and see where the relationship went.
At 3:15 am she sat up, inspired to check caller ID.
He’d called from his hotel phone.
Would it be too weird to call the hotel? Weird or not, she was going to do it. Tomorrow after work.
By Friday evening, she hadn’t called. Maybe it scared her that she was willing to give her future to a man she barely knew, and was afraid another time with him would seal the deal. Or perhaps she was earning her brother’s oft-mentioned C.S. degree.
She checked her phone. No message, no phone number in her call history that could be his. Had she overstated an opinion, stepped on his toes with her tree-hugger comment? He hadn’t seemed anything beyond smitten.
When her apartment door had shut, leaving Anders, and the feel of his kiss on her palm, “I Could Have Danced all Night” replayed in her head, turning to humming until she gave in to singing it, and still it kept on some more.
Did her not kissing him say something she didn’t mean to say?
She’d kissed others on first dates before. Why hadn’t she kissed the one guy she really wanted to kiss?
Or was it the way she kept bringing up her research journey? He’d had someone else leave him and Stephen behind. He needed steady, reliable, present.
The desire to turn down the position flared again. She could be happy staying in Seattle, helping Anders find a home. Turn down your dream for a man you barely know? No. That was illogical, foolish, too animal instinctual… too Gabriel. Gabriel. She pictured his bumpy skin telling the world how he felt. His eyes begged her, but was it to stay or let him go, let him live the life he needed to live? She swallowed. Putting her feet on the wall above her headboard, she pulled out her book and let her eyes run over words while her mind replayed scenes from the restaurant.
You have the most charming glow about you, Lacey. I don’t know that I’ve seen its like before.
He’d liked her. Yet, her phone remained silent.
She put down her book and called the landlord to explain the upcoming situation. Most of her bills were paid by direct deposit, so that part was covered. Her phone buzzed. Relief settled over her. A text message. Sam. “Found the perfect dress!”
She shouldn’t feel angry that Sam’s message wasn’t from Anders. An, “I’m so glad!” flew from her fingers.
Christmas Eve morning dawned bright and blue with wisps of pink highlighting the sky in an other-worldly way, looking friendly despite Lacey’s stormy mood. She rechecked her packing, ate breakfast, and headed to the waterfront. Her bags were heavier than she expected, and by the third block, she regretted her he-m
an pride at not calling a taxi. Sweat soaked her shirt where the duffel straps hung.
The waterfront was decorated for Christmas with lights and wood cutouts painted like a tree, a star, a tin soldier. What would Christmas be like on a ship? Gray. Gloomy.
Come on, Lacey. Get a grip.
She hitched her duffel higher, to a place on her shoulder where it didn’t yet hurt. Warm clothes weighed a lot, wools and artificial fibers, crafted to keep a person alive in bitter weather.
Yesterday had been a tearful day at work, saying goodbye to people and creatures. Gabriel had stayed out in the open, watching her, as though understanding her goodbye and knowing she meant to leave him. Her eyes watered in the cold morning air. Ocean smells—seaweed, salt water, a hint of fish. The smells she considered balm only made it worse. “Goodbye Gabriel.”
Today, Gabriel’s Christmas companion would arrive. If they mated, the two would be released shortly thereafter. He might delay mating until spring, but even if he did, he’d be gone when she returned.
Samantha and Brett would be married by the time she returned. She’d miss the event. That one, at least, was okay with her.
She wiped a tear before it could snake off her cheek, and the one following, tears not falling due to a wedding, or even Gabriel.
In six months, Anders would be gone, checked out from the waterfront hotel and living somewhere in the greater Seattle area, or maybe back in San Diego. She had no idea what company he worked for. She’d let him slip away.
There are other fish in the sea.
People were not fish. Even fish were far from interchangeable. She liked this guy. Love? That was another story, but how could she leave and not see where time together took them?
How could she stay and discover she threw away her dream only to have him decide she wasn’t cute enough in a ponytail, or smelled too fishy?
He wouldn’t.
Her duffels clunked in a rhythm that seemed to say, “Turn around. Turn around.”
The ship would sail in just over an hour. She could call the hotel, talk to him, ask for his cell number. Too little-too late as it felt, she called the number. So easy. Why hadn’t she done so before?
“Seattle Edgewater Hotel. This is Tanya. How may I help you?”
“I was wondering if you might connect me to Anderson Davis.”
“Room number?”
“I can’t remember.” She flushed.
“Ah. Here. He checked out two days ago.”
“He did? Oh no! Can you give me his cell number?”
“I’m sorry. We have a strict guest confidentiality policy.”
“Of course. Thanks anyway.” How odd that saving the world through marine biology suddenly felt so trivial.
It’s because he’s the one who got away.
She’d been fine with letting Brett swim off.
There was more to it than that, much more. She walked the gang-plank to the Oystercatcher. A man in his early twenties sat at a folding table. “Good morning! Name?”
“Dr. McDowell.”
“Dr. Lacey McDowell.” He made a note. “Welcome aboard. This was left here for you.” He indicated a steaming cup, an octopus swirled into the foam. Ace-faced. Only one person could have brought it.
“How long ago?”
“Not five minutes. Still too hot to drink.”
She dropped her bags and raced back along the gang plank, eyes searching the sidewalk and street for a handsome man, with or without a small boy or a limo. There was no sign. Her heart felt heavy as she re-walked the plank.
The young man at the table smiled at her. “Forget something?”
“Lost something.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Maybe I could make it up to you.” He tipped his head, eyebrows rising.
“Thanks, but I’ll be okay.” She picked up the paper cup, breathed in the bittersweet mocha smell, and studied the Ace smile.
“There’s a powwow at ten-thirty, and they’ll tell you where you’re bunking—give the tour before we cast off. Until then, feel free to wander the ship, get to know her. The bow is especially good for contemplation.”
Oil smells hung thick in the air despite the December breeze with its ocean seaweed and salt scents. Lacey found herself drawn to the land side of the boat, starboard. She watched the walkways following the waterfront, studied passing cars in hopes of spotting a limo.
Maybe Stephen would show up on the ship, and she’d have to miss the boat to get him back to Anders. Was she really hoping a sweet little boy would go missing, hoping to lose her lifelong dream? Maybe the voyage wasn’t what she wanted.
It was. And yet, another dream had worked its way into her heart. “I understand how you feel, Gabriel.”
A giggle came behind her, rolling and delighted as a baby’s laugh. “I’m not Gabriel.”
She turned to see a small boy, hair wild as if he’d slipped away from the hotel while his dad slept. “Stephen!” She bent and grabbed him in a hug. He stiffened, but didn’t squirm away.
Hand flat, he patted her back. “Dad said you were leaving on this ship. Gabriel’s sad about it.”
Did he really mean he was sad, or Anders was sad? An image came of them waiting on the dock when the Oystercatcher returned. Please, God, let it be so.
“Did you find a mate?”
She jumped. Oh, he meant for Gabriel. “Yes. She arrives at noon today.”
“Good. Then he won’t miss you so much.”
“Much as I love him, I’m not sure Gabriel cares whether I’m there or not. But I can tell you, I’ve sure missed you and your dad.” She took Stephen’s hand, its soft-finger feel balm to her heart. “Come on, we have to find him quickly so I don’t miss my boat. My guess is he’ll look for you at the Aquarium.” She pulled him toward the gang-plank.
He yanked against her arm. “No, Lacey. Stop. I’m staying on the ship with you.”
Her heart clenched. “I wish you could, honey.”
Seeing Anders again would make the trip to the Aquarium worthwhile. She’d leave with his number and basic information. Even if she couldn’t call him from the ship, she’d have a way to find him. Hope in the form of a wandering six-year-old cupid.
Stephen pulled again. “He’s here, Lacey. My dad is here.”
“What? On the Oystercatcher?” Had he come to say goodbye to her?
“Yes.”
She smiled. What a wonderful Christmas gift! When she left, would Stephen ask about her the way he asked about his mother? Maybe that trauma was what Anders had wished to avoid.
“Lacey.” A sad voice came behind her.
She turned to see Anders, dressed in brown-tinted jeans, and an off-white v-necked sweater with a blazer over it. His jaw-line held onto a couple days stubble. It looked good on him.
“What are you doing here?” Lacey rubbed Stephen’s hand with her thumb. Her tone sounded unwelcoming. Not the way to bring the “I had to see you” words she wanted Anders to say.
“Doing here? I work here.”
“What?”
“Dr. Anderson Davis, research director.”
As though mimicking someone else’s words, Stephen spoke. “Lacey is going to live with us on a ship. Won’t that be fun?”
“I’m watch-dogging the operation—‘the Man.’ I thought you knew. You have my card.”
“I never saw it, and then I lost it in the great rotating restaurant purse fiasco.”
“You lost my card.” Relief settled deep in his face. “I thought I muffed things and that’s why you didn’t call. Then, part of me wondered if you agreed to go out with me so I would influence the interviewers.”
“I got the job because of you?”
“Not even. You wowed them with your expertise and bubbly enthusiasm. They almost hired you on the spot. They were a bit afraid they’d been influenced by your heroic act of returning Stephen to the hotel. Then too, there was some reluctance because of your tattoo.”
; “Tattoo?”
“They were impressed with your faith, but wondered if an extremist might make for a difficult six month ocean voyage.”
“Oh, that tattoo.” Lacey touched her cheek. “An imprint from my pen. I fell asleep on it.”
“I told them it was something of the sort.” His eyes shone like incoming tide, but then seemed to ebb. “I hope it won’t be awkward for you to work with me, Lacey.”
“Because I like you so much?”
“You do?”
Her face went feverish. “Awkward as it is for me to admit after knowing you such a short time, I totally do.”
Someone leaned forward, maybe both of them. Their lips met, gentle and soft—uncertain, and then primal and passionate as spawning salmon. In the shared breath, hunger reached into her, unbending and wild enough to make her pull away.
Lacey panted as though she’d been under water. Six months. With Anders. What if she didn’t have the strength to fight her instincts?
In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your path straight.
Anders took her hand, his palm warm and wonderful, and he cleared his throat. “I foresee many cold showers.”
Sun shone on the water, sparkling, flashing like fireworks against the side of the ship.
Fingers brushed her palm, bright eyes echoing the water’s greeting. “Welcome aboard the Oystercatcher, Dr. Lacey McDowell, and Merry Christmas.”
The End
Cephalopod Cupid is Kathleen's first published story. Connect with Kathleen on her website at: www.findinghopeinhardtimes.com.
About Author
Kathleen Freeman
Kathleen Freeman started making up stories at an early age. The desire to be a writer competed with other career wishes such as teacher, park ranger, counselor, marine biologist, and brain surgeon, until she came to the conclusion that writing let her be all that and more. This story, Cephalopod Cupid, is the first to bring her sea life passion to the page. Kathleen has lived in the Seattle area for almost twenty-seven years, has two sons, and has the joy and delight of being married to Mr. Wonderful.