Dad was in California for work. He was there to save four hostages being held somewhere in Los Angeles. During the day, he would visit banks and grocery stores and ask the employees about who they missed the most in their lives. He would draw the people they described on notecards, then at night over dinner, he’d compare the cards to pictures of the hostages to see if anything matched up.

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The night the hostages were executed, Dad was at a casual dining restaurant that offered live octopus. They were kept in a tank in the lobby. For an extra dollar, diners could pick which one they wanted.

Before Dad was seated, the host got a phone call. He listened, then said Dad’s name.

Dad held the phone to his ear. The voice identified itself as the kidnapper. He said Dad could go home now. Then, there were four gunshots and three screams.

Dad put the phone down and sat in the lobby. He watched the octopuses swim around each other. They looked like a single, writhing creature.

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After a time, he took out a notecard. He drew the octopus that he wanted and handed it to the host, along with a dollar bill. The host sorted through the tank, but the octopus Dad had drawn wasn’t there.

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The next day, Dad went back to pick a different octopus. The host was waiting for him. Every octopus, except for one, matched his drawing from the day before. The one that didn’t was smaller than the others and so pale, it was almost translucent.

A waiter brought out one of his octopuses in a glass bowl. He warned Dad that once he started, he couldn’t stop. If he did, the octopus would attach to the lining of his throat and he would suffocate.

Dad put the octopus in his mouth and made a choking sound. He stood up and waved his arms in distress. He fell to the floor and pretended to be dead. Octopus arms swung around from his mouth, searching. Then, Dad bit down. And he bit down again. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he got to his feet, the staff and diners rewarded him with applause.

Dad went back every day and put on the same performance. People would come in off the street to watch and oftentimes stay for a meal themselves. He was a reliable attraction, and it didn’t take long for word to spread.

Once his octopuses were gone, and Dad could go to other restaurants again, he found that no matter what he ordered, the manager there would bring out an octopus of their own, and they would tell him that his meal was free as long as he put on a good show.

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This was Dad’s first hostage case and it was strictly probationary. Before this, he tracked down missing mail. If someone didn’t get a letter they were expecting, they opened a case with the company Dad worked for, and he would find it. He had a one-hundred percent success rate even though not every letter made it back to its intended recipient. Sometimes, the people who got the wrong messages needed them more than the right people.

As letters were replaced with emails and text messages, the margin for delivery error evaporated. The hostage job was a lateral move, but it offered more stability.

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Dad stayed in California until he retired. Now, he lives with Claire and the kids and me. He never told anyone but us that the hostages were killed, so the company sent someone to replace him. Gary. Gary is still out there trying to save people.

Paisley and Preston had never met their Grandpa before so we thought this was a good opportunity to make up for lost time, and for them to learn about his life. But all they cared about was the octopus. Every day they had more questions for him. More than anything they wanted to see him eat an octopus.

None of the restaurants here serve anything alive. So, Dad did the next best thing. He skinned a Roma tomato, rolled it in olive oil, and covered it in salt. He put it in a bowl and put the bowl on the table. He told the kids that the tomato might look harmless, but if he slows down when he eats it, he could suffocate.

He put the tomato in his mouth and bit down. Juice and seeds spurted out and ran down his chin. He flailed and collapsed and pretended to be dead.

The kids loved it. Paisley would hold a hand under his nose while Preston found something to lay over his face. Sometimes it was a dishtowel, sometimes an old t-shirt. Then, they sat on the floor next to him, vibrating with excitement, waiting for him to move.

When he did, they celebrated like they had witnessed a miracle.

They did this every day.

When we didn’t have tomatoes, anything even remotely octopus-like would do. He did pickled beets. Kiwi. Cranberry sauce. The list goes on.

It was hard-boiled eggs that finally did him in. He did three at once and one of the yolks got stuck in his throat. When Dad slumped over and crumpled to the floor, Paisley checked his breath and Preston covered his face. They sat next to him and waited. By the time they came to get us, he was already cold.

Before the ambulance arrived, we got a call from Gary. He had good news. They found the hostages.

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Dad’s old company flies us to California for the press conference. It’s being held in a high school gym. There are no journalists or officials or onlookers. Just four chairs on the floor for us, and four chairs on the stage for the hostages. Gary explains that they can’t publicly announce the hostages are free until the people who held them have been caught. He points down the gym at a TV camera and says a recording will be released once it’s safe.

Claire checks her phone for messages. There are people she grew up with who moved to Los Angeles. She messaged them about getting together before we left but no one replied. There is a life out here that could have been hers. She wants to get as close to it as she can.

The high school students have been working on a play. They left the backdrop on the stage. It’s a hand-painted skyline. Paisley asks the hostages if they were held in one of the painted buildings. They say they were but they can’t tell her which one because out here, the buildings move. Usually, it’s just within a few blocks, but their building kept going until they were in the desert. They ask Paisley if the buildings move where she is from. She says we’re from Ohio. We don’t have buildings, only houses, but they move all the time.

The hostages take turns at the microphone, detailing the tortures and indignities they endured. They say all of that is over now, thanks to the hard work of Gary and my dad. We all join them on stage. The hostages embrace us and tell us how grateful they are to be free. I tell them that they were always in our thoughts and we never gave up hope.

The hostages invite us to dinner. They insist. They have a room reserved at a popular Pioneer-themed restaurant.

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Before anyone orders, a server approaches our table with a glass bowl. The manager is with her. She places the bowl in front of me. The octopus is translucent and still. It is not something that has ever thrived.

The manager says that if I put on a good show, the hostages will eat for free at any restaurant chain owned by the EmilyFoods Corporation for the rest of their lives.

Preston tears his napkin into confetti.

I think about skinned tomatoes and olive oil and what it feels like to suffocate from the inside.

The octopus comes to life in my mouth. The suckers attach to my throat. It’s not fighting to get out. It is pulling itself down. It takes less than a minute, far less, and it’s in my stomach, still whole. I never even moved.

There is a smattering of disappointed applause.

My son throws his confetti in the air. Most of it sticks to his hands.

The manager shakes her head and goes back to the kitchen.

Gary tells the hostages this doesn’t change anything. He has a company card. They can still order whatever they want.

We don’t stay for the meal. No one tries to stop us from leaving.

Gary meets us at the door. He has a non-disclosure agreement.

With my dad, we couldn’t tell anyone the hostages were dead. Now that he’s gone, we can’t tell anyone they’re alive. This feels good. It feels like we’re growing.

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We make arrangements for the next flight home. At the airport, we stand at the gate, waiting in a crowd. As we listen for the gate agent to tell us we can board, the octopus pulls my insides together so that I know it’s still there. Then, it pulls harder, so I know that it will always be there.

The gate agent is done with her announcements and the crowd is gone. We go to the giant windows and watch the plane taxi down the runway, gain speed, and take off. We watch until it disappears in the sky. We watch until we can no longer see where we think we are supposed to be.

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