I’ve always hated the way guests study me once they make the connection, picking apart every feature like I’m some kind of relic of the past. I hated it even before I broke my back and gave them another reason to stare. Me and my wheelchair have been a fact of life for a while now, and we mostly don’t fight anymore—but I have no interest in being a tourist attraction.
Not now. Not ever.
“You’re really his descendant, aren’t you? So this place has been in your family for nearly a century and a half. I bet it’s changed a lot, more than just Nerissa out there?” Her eyes focus intently on me and she swallows before opening her mouth. “I was curious though—”
I cut off her question since I doubt it’s the innocent-kid kind. “I am related to him,” I say flatly. “But no, I’ve never seen a real mermaid. I don’t believe they exist. I don’t believe in sea monsters or krakens or anything else like that. But if you do, then by all means.” I flick a hand toward the lobby then move back behind the counter. “The Siren’s Hall is to the left, where we pretend mermaids played a pivotal role in maritime history. Inside, you’ll find old sea charts marked with dubious sketches of fish-women,dramatic paintings of sailors documenting their encounters, and an entire wall dedicated to mermaid sightings. The timeline stretches from ancient Babylonian mythology all the way to 2017—when police discovered a so-called mermaid wandering Fresno, proudly displaying webbed toes on both feet.”
I don’t check if that ruins the magic for her before I keep going. “If you’re in the mood for more, there’s the Sunken Kingdom Exhibit to the right—McCleave’s attempt at creating an immersive merfolk city. It’s got artifacts likeThe Little Mermaid’s actual ‘dinglehopper’ and a water tank where guests can fish for mermaid eggs, crack them open, and if you find an elusive golden mermaid figure inside, redeem it for anything on that shelf.” I point to the one above my head then lean my forearms on the counter. “And even more exhibits beyond those. Either way, I think I’m done answering questions for the day.”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t...” She trails off as the little girl returns, this time accompanied by her mom, and plops a full set of Nerissa accessories on the counter, excitedly talking about wearing it all to the beach later.
My original customer starts to back away as I take up arms against the register once again. From the corner of my eye, I catch her biting her lip as she glances between the entrance that leads into the exhibits and the exit as if trying to make up her mind which way to go. I could offer her a suggestion, but a moment later she sighs and starts to head farther into the museum.
“Hey. Tourist Girl.”
She turns back to find me holding up her bag.
“Don’t forget your T-shirt.”
Four
Wren
I watch as Tourist Girl walks past Nerissa, finish helping the little girl and her mom, then turn back to the stoic Captain McCleave and throw a stuffed starfish at his picture. It bounces harmlessly off the glass but I still wheel forward to retrieve it, ready to take aim again when hands clamp down on my shoulders from behind, hard enough to force a grunt out of me, as Tate’s laughter rings in my ear. “Hey, man. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I side-eye my best friend and hisRhode Island SucksT-shirt. “Where?”
“I don’t know.” He rakes a hand over his dense, coiled hair that is barely a shade darker than his deep brown skin. “Out front? Here?”
I huff out a laugh. “I’m stuck in the gift shop until Bethany shows up.”
Tate points a thumb over his shoulder. “I just saw her coming in.”
A moment later a middle-aged red-haired woman blusters in with the usual excuses about hectic mornings and faulty alarm clocks.
“If you could call next time,” I say,or, I don’t know, answer a text, “that would help.”
“You got it, boss.” But we both know she won’t, just like we know I’m not the boss. Yeah, sure, I could complain and maybe my dad would fire her, but then I’d be stuck in here all the time instead of just when I’m covering for her. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of people begging to work at McCleave’s.
“We’re running low on Nerissa necklaces. I need to go grab some from the back room.”
Tate falls into step beside me, his long, lanky strides easily keeping up as I push my wheelchair without any real force.
“Are you working today?”
He shakes his head. “Little dudes are driving me nuts.” Tate has eight-year-old twin brothers. “Figured I’d keep you company. Unless you’ve got a tour group waiting.”
There’s no one gathering around the Tours Start Here sign, so I guess not. “Why, you want to try your hand?”
“Hey, I’m here to mop floors and occasionally work the gift shop,” Tate says. “Not to give in-depth lessons about stuff that your family made up a hundred years ago.”
He’s not wrong about his role—or the exhibits. For some reason, I scan for Tourist Girl among the guests and catch a glimpse of her ponytail disappearing around the corner toward the Grotto, a dimly lit room meant to mimic an underwater cave with a bunch of fiberglass rocks, fake plywood shipwrecks, and a fog machine that gives you a headache if you stay too long. I quicken my pace. I’d really rather she not come back out here until I’m gone. “Please tell me the FeeJee mermaid is still being repaired.”
Tate bares his teeth in a grimace. “It’s fine. The lighting over there is bad, so instead of an actual monkey-piranha nightmare come to life, it’s more like ashadowymonkey-piranha nightmare. Bonus: no photo of your great-great-whatever-grandfather claiming he found it.”
“Just the cage he supposedly trapped it in,” I mutter.
“Right. Forgot about that.” But Tate is grinning now. “Speaking of mermaids, Eryn got her new tail. She show it to you yet?”
