A warm feeling spreads through me. “I don’t mind at all!”
I put her great-aunt’s number in my phone and promise I’ll call her later.
“Thanks so much,” the cashier says. “We worry about her so much. She’s ninety-six and still living alone, if you can believe it.”
I go a bit still. Ninety-six years old. Just like Jim. I wonder, for a moment, if I can take the pain of getting close to someone else, just to lose them. But then I shake my head. Of course I can. And anyway, what I feel about Jim isn’t a bad pain. It’s a happy pain, and I wouldn’t give up a single moment with him to get rid of it.
“That’s amazing,” I tell the cashier. “I’ll call her later today.”
I head back out onto the sidewalk and wander in the direction of my apartment. Halfway there, I pass the barrel museum. Myfeet slow down automatically, and I turn to stare up at the beautiful building. I don’t want to see Shelley, but I can hear the familiar clank of Trey’s tools. And I’ve missed this place so much. It isn’t the Met, but it’s just as special in its own way.
I walk forward determinedly and swing open the door. The familiar smell of smoke and wood envelops me like a warm hug.
The girl at the front desk looks like she’s in her early twenties, with long blonde hair dyed pink at the ends. She gives me a bright, welcoming smile. She must be the other university student Shelley hired. I wonder if they’re related too.
Probably not. This girl looks way too friendly.
“Hi, there,” she says. “Did you want to buy a ticket?”
“Uh—actually, I was just hoping to say hi to Trey. I used to volunteer here.”
“Oh, cool! You can just go on back.”
I thank her and head to the back, where Trey is doing a demonstration for an eager-looking family of tourists. He smiles when he sees me come in, but I can tell he’s only a few minutes into his demonstration. I wave at him to indicate I’ll walk around for a little while.
As I wander through the rooms, a bright, crisp voice catches my ear.
“Such a kind man,” the voice says. There’s a murmur of agreement.
I drift toward the voices curiously. In the eastern room, the one that houses tools from the 1890s, three older women I recognize from the Barrel Into Summer event are gathered around Shelley.
“I knew Jim since he was a teen. He used to work the ice-cream stand down on Lorway Beach,” says one of the society women.
“I met him through his son,” says another one. “Herman and I taught at the same school for a few years. He was the one who called me last night. He knew I’d want to know.”
I edge closer, hidden from view by a convenient pile of barrels. I don’t want Shelley to see me, but it’s really nice hearing the women talk about Jim. I bet there are people all over Waldon who have stories of him, people who will hear that he’s passed and spend a few minutes thinking of him. My lips turn up gently. I guess that’s all any of us can hope for after we’re gone.
“We justlovedhaving him work here.” Shelley’s loud voice breaks into my reverie. “He was such a funny little man.”
My head jerks back indignantly.Excuseme? A “funny little man”?
“We should put a plaque up,” one of the society women says. “Something to commemorate his work here.”
“Oh, of course,” Shelley says. “It’s going to be such awrenchworking here without him.”
The women titter sympathetically. Meanwhile, I’m so furious I can practically see the veins pulsing behind my eyes.
It’s none of your business, I tell myself firmly. You don’t work here anymore—it’s not your place to stick your nose in—
“Jim was like a grandfather to me,” Shelley says. “I wonder if we should give all the staff a few days of paid leave, to process the loss.”
My temper splinters. Screw it. I’mmakingthis my business.
“That’s total crap!” I snap, emerging from behind the barrels. Shelley’s face goes slack with surprise, while the society women blink at me, startled.
“Er—I’m sorry?” one of them says.
“That’s total crap,” I say again, my eyes on Shelley. “You didn’t like Jim at all. You tried to fire him!”
