“I know that feeling,” said Hudson. “I’m kind of putting things off as well. I was hoping that walking around would help me focus a little better.”

Ben stood up. He could tell that, despite his comments, Hudson was hoping he wouldn’t leave. He recognized the pull of procrastination. After all, he was deep in its thrall himself. The temptation to suggest a second cup of coffee was strong. But he fought it off, telling himself that it was for Hudson’s sake that he was leaving.

“You know,” he said. “I might be able to arrange for you to get inside Ricketts’s place,” he said, surprising himself.

Hudson’s head snapped up. “You’re kidding,” he said.

“I might,” Ben repeated. “I’ll ask around. Monterey is a pretty small place.”

“That would be amazing,” Hudson said, fumbling in his backpack. “Here’s my number.”

Ben accepted the piece of paper. Hudson’s obvious excitement was refreshing. It wasn’t often he saw someone so happy over the prospect of seeing the inside of a marine biologist’s office. He couldn’t even stand to be inside his own at the moment. He lifted the paper. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

He left Kalisa’s followed by Hudson’s repeated thanks. What a peculiar day it had been, he mused. First his run-in with the fisherman, and then an entirely different kind of run-in with Hudson Jones. And all of it completely accidental, occurring only because he’d decided to take a walk. Had he sat in his office, stewing over his problem with Caddie, he would still be there, undoubtedly no closer to finding a solution. This, he thought, was infinitely better.

As he walked, he thought about Steinbeck some more. How long had it been since he’d read Cannery Row? He thought back, realizing that it had been at least ten years. He’d read it first in grad school, simply because, as he’d told Hudson, reading Ricketts’s classic Between Pacific Tides had led him to the Sea of Cortez material coauthored by Ricketts and Steinbeck, and then to Steinbeck himself. But his interest in Cannery Row, both the place and the book, had at that time been only tangential to his interest in Ricketts’s scholarly work. It wasn’t until he’d moved there that he’d thought to read the book with a different perspective.

Maybe it was time to look at it again. After ten years, surely his perspective on Monterey had changed enough that his reading of the book would be more nuanced. And he hadn’t read anything for pleasure in, well, in too long.

He was passing the aquarium. Stopping, he turned and walked toward the members’ entrance at the rear of the building. Flashing his card, he walked up the stairs past the jellyfish exhibit, crossing into the main building via the walkway, and descended past the life-size orca models that were suspended from the ceiling as if they were flying. Then he entered the teeming gift shop, moving through the mobs of tourists looking at stuffed seal pups and dolphin calendars. The book section was at the rear of the shop, inconveniently nestled between the posters and a storeroom door. Fortunately, it was sparsely populated, and he had no trouble finding the well-marked display of Steinbeck-related material.