“He wouldn’t let me search for something that wasn’t there, he wouldn’t.” I shift it to the side so he can see the photo of me and Dad. I’m probably only seven, crouched barefoot in the damp sand at the beach, turning a rusted iron nail over in my hands. Dad kneels beside me, his cap on backward, pointing toward the empty stretch of water where theBonitowrecked over a century ago. There’s nothing left of it now, but I’m watching him like if I listen hard enough, if I look long enough, history might still be hiding somewhere beneath our feet.
I’ve never forgotten that feeling and I can’t now.
Beside me, Wren stares at the photo, his gaze lingering a little longer than I expected. There’s a shift in his expression, a subtle tightening of his jaw, as if the image has triggered something he’s not ready to talk about. For a moment, I wonder if he’s seeing the same kind of connection between me and my dad, maybe even feeling a bit of regret about his own relationship with his father. But then he looks up, his face unreadable.
“Where is that, Great Point?”
I nod. “It was always one of our favorite beaches. We went there every summer, until we stopped coming to visit. But I know my dad spent a lot of time there over the last few years.”
Something about that answer makes him uncomfortable. I can’t tell if it’s pity or understanding on his features, and honestly I’m fine with either if it means he’s willing to try a little longer.
“The notebook,” he says after a moment. “Is that all your dad has or—”
“No,” I answer too quickly. “He had an entire home study full of research material on Kezia and our family. I thought the notebook was the most important, but maybe there’s something else.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he says, rereading over the words on the postcard. Then he groans, a sound so deep and almost primal that it makes me shiver. “All right, let me grab something real quick and I’ll meet you outside.”
Fourteen
Lili
Twenty minutes later, we both go quiet as we pull up in front of my very historical, very not accessible home.
Before, when Wren dropped me off at night, it had just been a shadowed outline, a place I disappeared into while he drove away. I don’t think either of us considered the logistics before, but looking at it in the afternoon light, the problem is glaring. Short of army crawling up the front steps and through the door, I don’t see how he’s supposed to get inside.
I’m sure he’s done worse living on Nantucket, but I’d rather he not have to struggle just to get inside my house. But since feeling bad doesn’t actually solve the problem, I start thinking. “How many inches of clearance do you need on each side to fit through the door?” I ask. “And are you okay with me pushing from behind if it’s tight? Taking the door off the hinges is probably the easiest first option, otherwise—hmmm,” I mutter, chewing on my bottom lip.
When I glance at Wren, his eyes quickly dart away, like I’ve caught him staring.
“We’re not taking the door off,” he says, his voice uncertain, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as me. “Back door?”
I brighten. “That could work.”
There’s only a slight step up over the threshold in the back, which Wren pops up and over without too much difficulty.
I follow behind him, the now smooth-as-butter floorboards creaking as I move through the living room. There’s a mug on the table, probably mine, still half-full from hours ago. Before I can make it to the study, Mom’s voice calls down.
“Lili? Is that you back already?”
I hurry to the base of the stairs, tilting my head up to answer. “Yes, and I’m not alone!”
A beat of silence. Then, clomping footsteps.
Goldie appears first, leaning over the railing at the top of the stairs. “Hey, Tour Guy.”
“Yeah, hey,” Wren says, but he’s looking at me as if I told her to call him that.
I didn’t, but I’m happy to take credit for it.
A second later, Mom emerges. I’ve told her about Wren, of course, but I still introduce him.
“Wren, this is my mom, Mia. Mom, this is Wren, my sort of... boss?” I turn to him for maybe a better word, but he seems fine with that one.
Mom smiles warmly. “It’s great to finally meet you, Wren. Lili’s told me about your family’s museum. It sounds incredible. I hope I’ll get to see it before we leave.”
I watch Wren closely, half expecting him to tense at the mention of the museum, but he just shakes her hand. “Great to meet you too. And you’re welcome anytime.”
Mom eyes me, a silentWhy are you home unannounced with company?written all over her face, but before I can explain, Wren does it for me.
