Fight Song A Novel - By Joshua Mohr Page 0,50

“Hi, Dad,” Margot says. “Are you sure you guys aren’t getting divorced?”

“I’ll be home after your mom breaks the record.”

“G-Ma is packing up a lot of your stuff.”

“Don’t worry about G-Ma. Only worry about your mom and me.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

“Why don’t you want to come to the aquarium today?”

“I’ve been in the ocean all week.”

“Please?” asks Bob.

“Fine. Let me go get my iPad.”

“Leave it. Come on. Let’s go have some fun.”

“I need my iPad.”

Bob can make this concession, so long as she comes along. “Fine, go get it.”

Margot walks inside the house, and Bob hears some scratching noises coming from inside the glove compartment. Some of Schumann’s past peeping was obviously negative, yet these scratches sound supportive to Coffen, somehow optimistic, as though each rake of unruly rodent nail says, Way to play it, Bob. I think you’re on the right road.

“I have to be home by 2:30,” Margot says, walking back up to the car. “Ro and I are going to ancient Greece.”

Coffen has to be done by about that time, too, so he can go prepare for his big plan, his way of luring Jane to come with him to the show, with the help of French Kiss. “We’ll have you home in plenty of time to travel the world. Here comes your brother.”

The aquarium is on the outskirts of their suburb, bleeding into the adjacent one. If kids still liked going outside their rooms to play, this part of town would be immensely popular. There’s a bowling alley, a roller-skating rink, and of course the aquarium. But these escapisms aren’t in vogue.

Coffen had actually been surprised that the aquarium was still in business when Schumann mentioned it. Judging from the empty parking lot, he’s not alone.

In fact, to say that the sea horse exhibit is exhibiting a sparse public interest would be a vulgar euphemism. The aquarium is empty. Only the Coffens and a few straggling employees. Why would nobody come and bask in the unmitigated splendor of these underwater steeds? Anybody’s guess.

But the silver lining in this sea horse cloud is that Coffen, Margot, and Brent can easily view each aquarium. There are sixteen small ones, all in the middle of the room and shaped like little domes with varying species of sea horse. The nice thing about the size and shape of the individual orbs is that they allow a 360-degree view of the horses’ habitats—Margot and Brent rotate all the way around the tiny universes, following the creatures as they slalom about. Some of the sea horses are the size of coffee beans, while others stretch out six, maybe seven inches. There’s a wide array of colors and patterns on their bodies, but they all have those thin, elongated noses.

Coffen stands next to his daughter, watching the sea horses. “Is it better than seeing them online?” Bob asks her.

“It’s different. I don’t know if it’s better or not.”

“They are beautiful in person, aren’t they?”

“I can zoom in and get closer to them when me and Ro go swimming.”

“Right, but here you can actually appreciate their uniqueness. There are living, breathing sea horses contained in this environment.”

“Right, but if I zoom in I can really analyze that uniqueness.”

“Right, but seeing them here gives you a sense of scale.”

“Right, but if I swim up quietly, I can hold one in my hand.”

“Right, but that isn’t your real hand.”

“Right, but it serves the same purpose. There’s a fish in my hand that I’ll probably never get to see in the wild.”

“You should learn to scuba,” Bob says, hoping to find Margot a real-world hobby. “I’ll happily pay for those classes.”

“Maybe.”

Now there’s an employee’s voice calling, “Hey! Hey!” and waving at the three Coffens. “This one’s about to give birth. Get over fast and observe science firsthand.”

They make their way to the aquarium in question.

“How do you know?” Coffen asks the woman.

“Because I’m a college-degreed scientist is how,” she says.

The particular sea horse in question is in the dome alone. It is bright orange, almost fluorescent orange, or that’s the association Bob makes. It’s near the bottom of the tank and has wrapped its tail around a rock to steady itself. A hole has opened in the abdomen. Its body lunges in staccato, contracting motions.

“She’s going to be a mommy?” Brent says to the crabby scientist.

But it’s Margot who answers: “A daddy. With sea horses, the daddies give birth to the babies.”

“Aren’t you a smart girl?” the scientist says.

“I spend a lot of time under the