Page 44 of Parker

“Last spring, huh?”

“Yeah. Weren’t you crabbing last spring?” I ask.

“I was. For Dungeness. Over by Kodiak.” A tiny smile lifts the corners of his lips. “Youkeeping track ofme,Park?”

“Not on purpose,” I answer honestly. “I guess I just notice when you’re not around.”

His grin disappears. “Because you get a break from me bugging you?”

I don’t have to say “yes.” He already knows the answer to his question, but I’m not prepared for the hurt and shame that squeeze his features. He looks down at his lap for a second, working his jaw, which tightens and releases. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are dark and roiling. He scans my face tenderly, then takes a deep breath and leans forward, like he’s got something important to say—

“We’re here,” says the driver. “Shark Reef. That’s twelve-fifty.”

We roll to a stop in front of the aquarium entrance, and the moment is broken.

Quinn takes a five and a ten from his wallet and hands it to the driver, then thanks him for the ride as we exit the car.

Once inside, we grab our tickets in a bland-looking lobby and are directed to an escalator. This is where things start getting fun. Jungle-theming, such that I would imagine at a place like Disneyland, surrounds us on both sides, with hanging plants above us and animatronic alligators grinning down at us as we ascend.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” asks Quinn, a boyish smile, one I remember from our shared childhood, taking over his face. “It’s cool, huh?”

“It is!” I agree.

We enter the first exhibit, which features a Johnson crocodile resting on the bottom of a pool in a small enclosure.

“See him?” asks Quinn, pointing at the massive reptile through the glass. “Tha’s a croc, mate!”

“Were you a fan of the Irwins growing up?” I ask him with a giggle.

“Wasn’t everyone?”

A Komodo dragon stares at us from its perch on a boulder. Quinn eyes it warily before reading a placard posted near the glass.

“Komodo dragons were responsible for five fatal injuries to humans between 1974 and 2012. Can you believe it?”

“And here’s me,” I quip, “wanting to adopt him.”

“Really?”

“No! Not really!” I say, hitting him lightly on the arm. “You know how I feel about snakes. Why would I want a reptile as a pet?”

“Well, you love turtles,” he points out.

“True. But you wanna know how many human fatalities there have been because of turtle attacks?”

“How many?” he asks.

“None!” I say, making a zero with my thumb and forefinger.

“Speaking of having a wild animal for a pet…” Quinn nudges my arm. “Remember when you told everyone you wanted a sea lion?”

“I was nine!” I say, rolling my eyes at the memory. “What can I say? Dad took us to the Dyea Flats in April, and there were hundreds of them, and they were so cute! You could walk right up to them! I was sure if I could find a baby who’d follow me home, we’d be friends for life.”

“How’d that go for you, again?” he asks, his dimples deep and his eyes shining.

“Not good,” I mumble.

“And why was that?” he asks, on the brink of laughter.

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