Chapter 2 — Caleb’s World

Caleb

The early morning air carried a sharp chill, the kind that seeped through Caleb Rivers’ khaki uniform and clung to his skin. He welcomed it. Dawn was his sanctuary, the brief pocket of time before the zoo bustled to life with its visitors, staff, and inevitable interruptions. The rhythmic crunch of his boots on the gravel paths grounded him as he made his way to the orangutan enclosure, clipboard tucked under one arm and his leather utility belt snug against his waist.

The earthy scent of damp leaves mingled with the faint briny tang from the penguin exhibit nearby. Caleb’s practiced eye swept over the grounds, cataloging every detail—the shifted position of the feed bins, the slight sag in the netting above the aviary. He adjusted the pouch on his belt, fingers brushing the smooth leather, and clipped a stray branch from a pathway with a pair of pruning shears. Order. He relied on it. Order didn’t fail you. People did.

When he reached the orangutan enclosure, Caleb leaned against the wooden railing, his breath visible in the cool morning air. Rufus, the older male orangutan, was already awake, lazily plucking at a rope swing. The animal’s dark, knowing eyes caught Caleb’s for a moment, their calm intelligence as unsettling as it was familiar. Caleb felt a flicker of something he couldn’t quite name as Rufus gave him a slow blink and resumed his task.

“Morning, Rufus,” Caleb muttered, his voice low. Rufus didn’t bother acknowledging him further, as if to remind Caleb that his presence was barely worth noting.

The baby orangutan would arrive later today. Caleb’s grip tightened on the railing as the thought settled over him. Fragile. Dependent. The weight of responsibility pressed against his chest. The care of a baby orangutan demanded perfection—no room for error. His mind drifted, unbidden, to his late fiancée. He could almost hear her laugh, light and warm, as she crouched beside him in this very enclosure, coaxing a frightened animal to trust her. The faint scent of lavender, her favorite lotion, seemed to hover at the edge of memory. Caleb blinked hard, forcing the memory to dissipate.

He exhaled sharply, turning his attention back to the enclosure. The ropes, the sturdy platforms, the gentle sway of the trees—it was all ready, meticulously prepared. But even so, the thought of the baby’s arrival tugged at him. He’d done this before, yet a pang of doubt coiled in his chest. Could he keep it safe? Could he do it right?

There was no room for distractions.

Caleb checked his watch and turned toward the staff entrance. There were other animals to see before the zoo opened, but his thoughts lingered on yesterday’s chaos.

The new artist.

His jaw tightened. He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but the sight of bright blue paint splattered across the walkway near the penguin enclosure had ignited a flash of irritation. The penguins had been skittish for hours afterward. He’d spent half the afternoon crouched by the pool, murmuring to them like they were old friends. And Ellie Harper—her wide, hazel eyes darting everywhere but at him, her cheeks flaming as she stammered out apologies—had been a whirlwind of nerves and paint-splattered overalls. She was utterly out of place. A liability.

Caleb rubbed the back of his neck, a flicker of self-awareness crossing his mind. Maybe he’d been too harsh. She’d looked so flustered, like a cornered animal trying to find an escape route. For a moment, a faint pang of regret surfaced before he pushed it aside. The zoo wasn’t a place for amateurs. Not when the animals relied on him to keep their world running smoothly.

The scent of fish and saltwater hit him as he approached the penguin enclosure. The penguins were already awake, their sleek black-and-white bodies bobbing in the pool or waddling across the icy rocks. Caleb paused, his sharp blue eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary.

“Morning, ladies and gents,” he murmured, tapping the railing lightly. One of the smaller penguins trilled in response, cocking its head as if sizing him up. Caleb smirked faintly, appreciating their straightforwardness. Penguins didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t.

Satisfied that all was in order, he turned toward the zookeeper’s office. The small, utilitarian space greeted him with its usual chaos: shelves lined with field guides and logbooks, a cluttered desk piled with paperwork, and the faint scent of leather and wood. He set his clipboard down and reached for the coffee mug that perpetually lived on the desk’s corner. The coffee was cold, but he drank it anyway, letting the bitterness jolt him back to the present.

The sound of footsteps preceded Dr. Priya Kapoor’s arrival. Her warm, steady voice broke the stillness. “Good morning, Caleb. I see you’re already hard at work. Or is that just you brooding?”

Caleb glanced up as she entered, her dark braid swinging over one shoulder and a clipboard of her own in hand. “It’s called multitasking,” he replied dryly, setting his mug down.

Priya smiled, unbothered by his gruffness. “I wanted to talk to you about the baby orangutan’s arrival. I know you volunteered to oversee its care, and I think that’s the right call. But I also know you have a tendency to take on too much.”

Caleb frowned, leaning back in his chair. “I can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “But you don’t have to handle it alone. The volunteers are here to help, and so is the rest of the staff. And Ellie—”

He groaned. “Not her.”

Priya tilted her head, unamused. “Ellie is here to contribute, Caleb. She’s not a zookeeper, but she brings something valuable to the table. Artistic talent isn’t a liability—it’s an asset. And you might find she has more to offer than you think.”

Caleb stared at her, his fingers tightening around the edge of his desk. “She spilled paint everywhere,” he muttered, his irritation flaring briefly. “The penguins were—”

“Skittish, I know,” Priya interrupted. “But she’s new. She’s trying. Not everyone is as comfortable here as you are.”

Comfortable. Caleb almost laughed. He glanced at the sketchbook on his desk, its leather cover worn smooth from years of use. It wasn’t comfort that kept him here. It was control. The routines, the tasks—they kept the chaos of his emotions at bay. The zoo was predictable. People weren’t.

Priya rose, her clipboard tucked under her arm. “Just think about it,” she said, her voice softening. “And try to be patient. You might surprise yourself.”

After she left, Caleb let the silence settle around him. He opened his sketchbook, flipping to the page he’d been working on the night before—a pencil drawing of the baby orangutan, sketched from a photograph Priya had shown him. The lines were precise, the shading meticulous, but the softness in the baby’s eyes tugged at something deep inside him. He lingered over the sketch for a moment, his fingers brushing the page, before snapping the book shut with a sigh.

There was no time for introspection. The animals were waiting.

Outside, the zoo was beginning to stir. Caleb made his rounds with practiced efficiency, pausing occasionally to greet an animal or exchange a few words with a passing staff member. At the aviary, a scarlet macaw squawked indignantly as he adjusted a feeder. At the savanna exhibit, a zebra flicked its ears in his direction before trotting off.

By mid-morning, Caleb found himself back at the orangutan enclosure. The space where the baby would soon arrive was empty, but Caleb’s gaze lingered on it. A pang of something—anticipation, maybe—stirred in his chest. He wasn’t sure what the next few weeks would bring, but one thing was clear: his carefully ordered world was about to change.

And despite himself, Caleb wasn’t sure if that was entirely a bad thing.