“Wow, what happened to you?” Chris Kayne asked when I entered the store. I was dirty, grossed-out, befuddled, and breathless. Willie plopped down on the beanbags, exhausted.
“Fell down a rabbit hole,” I sputtered out. “Can you give me a minute?” I barreled past Chris to the office bathroom. I scrubbed my hands and arms, trying not to accidentally brush up against Henry’s hanging socks that were pinned to a string running from the shower bar to the light fixture. I pulled off my scummy t-shirt, thankful I had a tank top on underneath, and threw the soiled shirt on the floor. Once my hands were clean, I splashed cold water on my face.
I gathered myself up, and met Chris at the counter. He had placed a short stack of books there, and smiled when I re-emerged, as if he had nothing better to do.
“Hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long,” I said, after a deep breath. He shrugged.
“Nothing else to do anyway,” he noted.
I scrunched my eyes together. “You sound bored.”
“That’s what happens when you’re a scientist in between projects. The novelty of leisure has dissipated. I need an occupation.” He tapped the stack of books. I entered the price of each book, as Chris raved about the upcoming Frankenstein Fright Night. He’d seen the ad in the paper, the flyers plastered all over town (where I could put them; most stores wouldn’t let me), and heard the radio spot on Tipee Island Talk Radio (they even cut me a deal since I had inadvertently given them so much to talk about).
“Very Vincent Price,” he remarked. I grinned. The radio ad had been an afterthought. I hadn’t wanted to do it. Radio celebrities Milo and Baby Chris had railroaded me over and over with my antics my first few weeks in Tipee. Still, they’d done an excellent job creating a spooky-sounding thirty-second spot. The radio and paying Rachel to pass out flyers on the beach had been my two biggest promotions.
“I’m really looking forward to it,” Chris finished as I bagged his books.
“Well, I should thank you,” I told him, “since you gave me the idea.”
“I did?”
“All your talk about Frankenstein the other day, and Great Aunt Laura’s attempted resurrection of the dead cockroach,” I said with a chuckle. “That image made the whole thing come together.”
Chris leaned in. “Any reanimation experiments going to happen on Fright Night?”
I laughed. “Just hoping to shock my business back to life.”
Chris smiled. “Anything I can do? You know how much I love this place. I’d be happy to help.”
“Thanks, but I have everything under control,” I reported, though it was hardly the truth.
“You sure you’re okay?” Chris asked. “You seem troubled.”
I smirked. “Trouble is my middle name. How are things going with my cousin?”
He shrugged. “She’s amazing, but I don’t think she’s that into me. I took her out on my father’s boat the other night, and she made me promise not to talk about science.”
I pressed my lips together, pained to hear it, and said, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Chris replied. “No one wants to hear some nerd rambling on about cellular research. What made it difficult was that I wasn’t sure what she would construe as science talk. I got caught up in her instructions and worried that I’d break the rule. Could I talk about the stars? Is that science? Could I talk about the sails on the boat? Was that science? Science is everything. So, I talked about nothing. I’m pretty sure I bored her. I bored myself.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry,” I returned.
With a short grin, he said, “It’s okay. It’s what always happens.”
I didn’t pester him about what he meant. The implications were clear. Chris, in spite of his Matt Damon style good looks, fat bank account, and awesome prospects, couldn’t keep a girl – the plight of nerds everywhere.
“Forget her rules,” I encouraged. “Be yourself. And if she doesn’t see what a great guy you are, then it’s her loss.”
He blushed, just slightly, and reached into the back pocket of his khaki shorts, where the edges of his tattered notebook poked out. He handed me a disc in a plastic sleeve. “This is for you.”
“What is it?” When I didn’t take it, he set it on the counter.
“Security footage from my welcome home party.”
“Oh, I’m not – I mean, I don’t think-” I sputtered out, looking at the disc like it was a spider crawling to get me. “I won’t have time. Besides, I’m focusing on the business.”
He shrugged. “Watch it. Don’t watch it. Up to you.” I thanked him anyway.
“Chris, I’ve been thinking about your mermaid,” I said, shoving the disc under the counter. “The heart is such an odd symbol to use for graffiti. Any chance it could have been done by an unhappy ex-girlfriend?”
Chris laughed. “I lived on this island for fifteen years and never had a girlfriend.”
“What about your dad?”
Chris shrugged, and his eyes dropped. It was an insensitive question, I realized too late. “Um, I wouldn’t know. Don’t think so.”
“What about David Love? He was so angry with your father at the party,” I said,” and obviously, the heart could represent him. You think he’d do something like that?”
Chris shrugged and shook his head. “Hadn’t really thought about it. It’s possible.”
Chris grabbed his books and headed for the door. “Let me know if you need any Frankenstein help,” he said again. The door jingled to life and he left. I found it odd that he hadn’t given the mermaid more thought. With a mind like his, one would think he couldn’t resist puzzles. I slathered my arms with antibacterial gel, contemplating Chris’ gift. Security footage from the party might prove the woman existed, but more than likely, she was never inside the building. What’s the point of watching all that footage if I’ll only end up more confused than ever? I wasn’t sure I wanted to jump down any more rabbit holes today.