Page 104 of Instant Karma

I know him immediately. And—yes—the cloudiness in his eyes is probably a dead giveaway, but I think I’d know him either way.

I check the chart, and there’s the name I gave him, right at the top. Lennon.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, folding my arms on top of the wall that divides us. “How are you doing?”

Lennon lifts his head and then pushes himself up onto all four flippers and waddles closer to me. He looked so tiny on the beach, and I know he’s still significantly underweight compared with a healthy sea lion, but even still, he seems much bigger today. His head, when he has himself pushed up to his full height like this, is nearly to my waist. He nudges his nose forward, right at me, his black whiskers twitch, and—

Oh, I can’t help it. I break down and reach over the wall to give the top of his head a caress. He presses it into my hand.

“Holy schnikeys, you’re soft,” I muse. It’s the first time I’ve touched one of the animals, and while I was aware that they used to be hunted for their fur and turned into luxurious coats, I hadn’t understood why until now. Who wouldn’t want to be wrapped up in something so silky soft? Of course, the thought makes me feel a little bit like Cruella de Vil, but I shrug it off. “Don’t worry. I won’t turn you into a jacket. It never gets cold enough around here anyway.”

Lennon ducks back and, to my amazement, lifts one flipper and gives it a rapid shake.

“No way,” I breathe. “Did you just wave at me?”

He sticks his nose at me again. Laughing, I pet him, with no reservation this time. I’m startled to find my eyes steaming with emotion. “I’m happy to see you, too. You seem to be doing a lot better than you were yesterday.”

My heart feels like a balloon, expanding and swelling until my whole chest is full.

I’ve never really loved an animal. Not even that gerbil.

But wow. I am suddenly, inexplicably smitten with this little big pinniped.

I study him, which I didn’t have the time to do on the beach. His front side has an almost golden hue, while his head and back are darker, like aged bronze. His whiskers are shorter than most of the others I’ve seen, and there’s a collection of white freckles between his eyes. Like the others, he also nowsports symbols shaved into his fur—two dashes and an upward pointing arrow. I don’t know what number that is.

The wounds on his body don’t look so bad now that they’ve been cleaned. He might be injured, but he looks worlds better than some of the animals I’ve seen in Quint’s photos.

Plus, he’s gorgeous. The best-looking sea lion I have ever, ever seen.

I make a show of glancing over at the harbor seal in the next enclosure, before leaning down toward Lennon and whispering, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite.”

His head bobs up and down a few times, as if this comes as no surprise. Then he starts to flipper his way around his little cubicle, inspecting the blanket in the corner, the drain, the small tub of water. He strikes me as extra precocious and I know he won’t be in here for long. In no time, he’ll be out in the yard, making friends with the other animals.

I sigh.

During my first days at the center, I was sure that the hardest part of working here would be dealing with the reek of dead fish that permeated the air, the walls, and—by the end of the day—my clothes and hair. But that’s not the worst part at all.

Trying not to form bonds with the animals is far, far more difficult. At least, it is now. Funny how it didn’t really strike me as anything too terrible when they were just a bunch of strangers from the ocean. It was kind of like going to the zoo every day. You might stop and watch your favorite animal for a few minutes, but pretty soon you get bored and head off to find a pretzel.

But this isn’t like that at all. With Lennon, I’m attached.

Don’t talk to the animals, they tell us. Don’t play with them. Try to avoid even making eye contact with them if you can. They can’t become reliant on people. They can’t become dependent.

But despite knowing this, despite the importance that everyone puts on this rule, I feel a spark of defiance behind my sternum.

Stepping back from the wall, I glance up and down the corridor. It’s lunchtime. Most of the volunteers have gone on their break. Rosa and Shauna are around somewhere, and probably Dr. Jindal, too, but I haven’t seen any of them all day.

Sure that the floor is empty—of humans, at least—I reach down and unhook the latch on the gate. It squeaks a little as I pull it open.

Lennon barks excitedly when I step inside.

I shush him, holding my hands in what I hope might be a calming motion. He immediately waddles forward and tries to nip at one of my fingers.

“Hey, none of that,” I say, pulling my hands away. “I don’t have any fish for you.”

Although he no doubt can smell it on my fingers.

“I’m sorry. I should have brought you a snack. Next time, okay?”

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