She’s staring at the rows of shelves filling half the room. Gone is the uneasy expression she’d worn with Tate and in its place is open-mouthed awe I don’t expect from anyone, let alone a tourist. She might as well be seeing the ocean for the first time.
Her bag slips from her fingertips, landing with a soft thud. She moves toward the nearest shelf, craning her neck to take it all in before crouching down, then shooting back up. I watch her for awhile, distracted despite myself, noticing how she reaches out a hand only to draw it back as though afraid to touch anything,
When she stops in front of a long, rectangular crate, one of the oldest in the McCleave’s collection, she reads the label and her eyes widen. “Tell me that’s a joke.”
“We keep the jokes outside this room,” I say, unlocking my brakes and moving closer even though I know the exact contents of the crate she’s looking at. “A salvage crew working near Henderson Island found it along with other remnants of the wreck that matched the account of the surviving first mate, Owen Chase, exactly. McCleave’s paid $248 for it in 1903,” I add absently. “The old ledgers are in the filing cabinet behind you if you want more details.”
She whirls on me, her blonde hair swinging around so fast she nearly hits herself in the face. “You’re claiming to have a harpoon from the wreck of theEssexback here,” she breathes, her voice trembling with awe. “That’s like... having the weapon that took on Moby Dick hidden in your storage closet.”
“Melville only took inspiration from the sinking of theEssex, you know. Or did you miss that book while you were reading Margaret Ellison’s pseudohistory?” I say, my tone light, though part of me wants her to argue with me, to go toe-to-toe the way she did on the tour. But she just shakes her head, clearly stunned, and shifts her attention to another shelf.
“Edward Coffin, Andrew B. H. Wilson, Joseph Starbuck...” She says the names like they’re celebrities instead of some of the most important whaling captains of the nineteenth century, and for a second, it’s hard to watch. It’s the kind of reverence I never see around here.
When she spots the item currently set out on the table for routine cleaning and inspection, her voice drops to a whisper. “Does that bell sayRising Sunon it?”
She can see the embossed metal as clearly as I can. “Want to know how much we paid for it? It was a bargain.”
“No.” Her hands slide over the sides of her head and she spins away like she’s too overwhelmed to look at any more of it. “Why do you have all this back here and not out there?” She gestures vaguely toward the lobby.
“And where exactly would you suggest it go?” I head back toward my desk. “Next to the authentic mermaid anatomy chart or beside the golden comb of the infamous Rhine River siren?”
She trails behind me, voice cracking. “It just feels wrong for all of this to be hidden away back here.”
I bristle at the truth in her words, and the fact that there’s not a thing that I can do about it. “Yeah, well, tell that to the other tourists.”
“I guess I should be grateful that I’m seeing something few people ever will.” She stops walking and I can feel her stare. “Thank you for letting me back here. And for taking such obvious care of so much history.”
I tense at the praise. “And how would you know about that? Run a lot of conservation labs when you’re not out sightseeing?”
She doesn’t take the bait. “No, but I have been in a lot of museums. Someone is maintaining these items. I’m guessing it’s the same someone who knows the contents of the crates without looking.”
I don’t respond. I’m not a curator, and I’m well aware of how far short I fall.
She stares back at the shelves, her red lips caught in a thoughtfulbite before she slowly releases them in a smile. “You know, you shouldn’t have shown me this place, because now I’m never gonna want to leave.”
Except the tourists always leave, even the ones who swear they won’t.
“You’d rather I met with you in the taxidermy lab?”
Her nose scrunches up. “Ew. No. You have one of those?”
“Mermaids don’t make themselves.”
Her expression shifts from disgust to intrigue, back and forth, all in the span of a few seconds. “Something must be wrong with me because I kind of want to see it. Just once,” she adds quickly. “For the life of me I cannot tell how Nerissa...isNerissa. I can’t stop thinking about it.” Then she shakes her head. “But that’s not why I’m here. We have a deal, right? I’ll work here for free, doing whatever you need, and you’ll help me research my ancestor’s history.” She reaches for her bag. “My dad already has a lot of information but—”
“Whoa,” I say, drawing her attention to me. “That’s not how any of this is going to work. Seeing all this back here, you’re convinced I can help you, right?”
Her nod is slow, like she already knows there’s a follow-up to that question.
“Well.” I lean my forearms on my desk. “Now it’s your turn to prove thatyoucan helpme.”
Nine
Wren
Ten minutes after she leaves, I’m still processing our meeting. We’ve agreed to a loose schedule, but nothing’s final until Dad signs off on her.
I check my watch. It’s just before one. He’ll be in the lab.
