"The Oscar."
I looked at the tank. The fish looked back.
"You named him."
"The owner named him. I just maintained the usage."
"Kieran."
"Fine. I named him." He capped the brown bottle and set it back in his kit. "There was a volunteer at Shedd when I first started. Melvin Osei. Sixty-something. Retired CTA driver. He came in three mornings a week to help with the touch tanks, those shallow exhibits where kids can handle starfish and sea cucumbers."
"Okay."
"He didn't know who my father was. I don't mean he was being polite about it. I mean, he genuinely did not know. He'd never watched a hockey game in his life. He called me K and asked me to hold the bucket."
Kieran wiped his hands on a rag.
"On the first day, I introduced myself with my complete name. Force of habit. He said,That's a lot of letters for a kid holding a bucket.And then he showed me how to tell when a sea star was stressed. He said the trick was to watch the animal in front of you instead of the animal you expected to see."
The bar hummed behind us. Someone fed the jukebox. Van Morrison "Moondance."
"He volunteered for six years. Then his knees gave out and he couldn't do the mornings anymore. On his last day, he brought doughnuts for the staff and told me I'd be fine as long as I kept watching."
Kieran looked at the tank. The Oscar drifted toward the glass again. "So, Melvin."
It wasn't a joke or a quirk.
"Diagnosis?" I asked.
"Parameters are perfect. Melvin's just being an asshole."
I crouched beside him. "You do this a lot, right? Not only Shedd. House calls."
"Six tanks around the city. Seven, if you count my condo."
I winced slightly. Kieran was still too nervous about being seen to show me his home. "You have a tank at your place?"
"Thirty-gallon reef. Couple of clownfish. A cleaner shrimp named Gerald."
I stared at him. "You have a shrimp named Gerald?"
"The clownfish are Patty and Selma."
"After—"
"The Simpsons. Yes."
I laughed, too loud for the bar. The bartender glanced over momentarily and then went back to his crossword.
The image of Kieran Mathers—first-round pick and legacy defenseman's son—going home to a reef tank populated bySimpsonscharacters and a shrimp named Gerald was so completely him.
"When do I get to meet Gerald?"
"Whenever you want."
He offered me a hand. I took it. His grip was warm and damp from tank water.
We walked out together. The sidewalk was empty.
