I do know that I should try.
“Can we talk about the mermaid tour for a minute? I had some thoughts I wanted to run by you.”
Dad scoops grated cheese into the eggs. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that too. Did you get those pictures for the website?”
“Yeah, the new girl”—I shouldn’t say her name—“she took them. I was going to sort through them later.”
“Good. And you saw the reviews?”
“I did, and I kept them in mind while working on the new script.”
He slides a chipped plate in front of me, the same one I’ve used since I was a kid, and then transfers the omelet onto it. “Let me see it once you have a working draft.”
The food looks perfect, but my appetite vanishes. “Why?” I ask, pushing the words past my teeth. “You want to check my spelling?”
Dad turns to face me, leaning back against the counter with his own plate. “I’ve thought about it, and I agree, removing you from the tour is not the right call.”
I blink, my fork pausing halfway to my mouth. “What changed your mind?”
He doesn’t answer right away, instead shoveling food into his mouth with mechanical efficiency. When his plate is clean, he finally looks at me. “Wren, the tour is about our family. What’s the one thing I always tell guests?”
I frown. “Please don’t lick the display glass?”
He doesn’t smile. “You’re still Captain McCleave’s descendant. People recognize that. It’s a strong part of our narrative, and I don’t want to lose that.” He leans forward slightly, his tone softening. “I thought maybe taking you off the tour would be the answer to our problem, but I think it’s best if you stay on the boat with Tate.”
I study his face to make sure I heard him right. “Wait, really? Because that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I tell him about the changes I made in the new script, about reframing the historical details to coincide with more mermaid mythology. I even offer to ask Tate for help on my delivery since, Lili’s right, it needs work.
But when I’m done, he just sets his empty plate down, slowly so it doesn’t bang. “Wren, you’re not understanding me. I want Tate doing the bulk of the tour. You’ll still be there, you can even tell people about McCleave and how he found Nerissa and later Nereus while they’re taking pictures during the scene.”
While they’re too distracted to listen, he means. The mermaid tour is the only thing about McCleave’s that’s felt like I’ve had any meaningful impact on. I don’t want to just give it up, and I tell him as much.
But he shakes his head. “You read the reviews. What you’ve been doing isn’t working.”
“I know.” The kitchen feels smaller. Tighter. “And I get that there’s a problem, but I think I can fix it if you’re willing to let me try.”
Dad finishes his coffee and lays a hand on my shoulder as he passes me. “This will work out. You might even like it better this way.”
“And if I don’t?” I say as he’s leaving the kitchen, my voice sharp now, like I can cut into him the way he just cut into me.
He pauses. Just for a second. But it’s empty, a reflex, not a hesitation. Then he keeps walking, like I never said anything at all.
The frustration builds in my chest, tightening around my ribs until it feels like I might choke on it. I thought maybe—just maybe—if I actually tried this time, something would change. That if I put in the work, if I gave him a reason to listen, he would.
But it’s the same as always.
I grip my fork so hard it digs into my palm, then drop it onto the plate with a sharp clatter. The omelet sits there, perfect and untouched. A waste.
Sixteen
Lili
I’d followed Wren out when he left earlier, then stayed outside on the front porch after he was gone. The wood for the new railing is piled up under a tarp in the yard, waiting for Mom to measure, cut, and nail it into place, and then for Goldie and me to paint it.
But I’m not thinking about work, on the house or on the diary, as I hug my knees to my chest and look up. The sun set some time ago and now the sky is clear and full of stars, each one glowing quietly, like a tiny light in a vast, peaceful sea. They are beautiful from this spot, and I hope Dad got to see them on a night just like this. I wish I’d been here to see them with him, but I’m trying very hard not to blame him for that choice, when I know he thought he was so close to the answers he made sure I wanted every bit as much as he did.
The house is quiet when I slip back through the front door some time later. The moonlight follows me inside, streaming through the curtainless windows, bathing the now wallpaper-lessroom in a pale glow, and the only noise is the faint creak of the hinges as I ease the door shut behind me.
I toe off my shoes, the cool wood of the floorboards chilling the soles of my feet as I tread softly toward Dad’s study.
