“I found this in my dad’s study.” I start to unwind the string wrapping around the fasteners. “I never thought to check under the rug, especially once I realized how much time he spent pacing over it. It wasn’t until we started packing up the room that I rolled it away and noticed the loose flooring.” I tip out the contents. “You were right, he did have pictures of the diary. He also had pictures of the letters and map. I didn’t remember it until I saw them, but that first day I met you, Mrs. Mayhew told me he used to help get her Christmas decorations down from her attic. I don’t know if that was an excuse to look for something he already suspected was there, or if he stumbled upon the album while actually trying to do something kind for her.”
I show him another picture without any writing on the back to indicate where it was taken. The front shows a close-up of an auction listing from 1918 for a lot of early American artifacts from Nantucket that included “a diary of unknown authorship thought to date back to the late eighteenth century, containing entries that may shed light upon the coastal life and trade of the period.” It was marked as sold to Mr. Harold W. McCleave of Nantucket for $135.
“That’s my great-great-grandfather,” Wren says, sounding almost impressed as he moves farther down the table to look at more. “So that’s how your dad knew to look for the diary at the museum.”
Finally, I lay out the pieces of paper, side by side, even though it’s obvious what they are from a single glance, especially once I open my dad’s notebook beside them.
The pages were cut out of his notebook so neatly, so close to the spine, that we missed them time and time again, but it’s clearnow. “Those entries we thought he didn’t transcribe? He did, and he figured out everything.”
I mentally fought against the accepted narrative surrounding Kezia for so long, not because of some deep-seated need to exonerate my ancestor, but because I wanted to exonerate my dad. And instead, I found all I’d ever need to condemn him for what he took from us.
“All those maybes I said to you last time we were here? They weren’t maybes. I think that’s why he tried to hide all of this. He made sure I’d find his notebook and see that he was trying all these years to find proof for us, but not all the other pieces that would prove it was all a waste.”
My feelings are still very complicated where my dad is concerned. That pendulum has swung from one side to the other this summer, and while it’s still swinging, I’m beginning to understand that when it settles, I won’t change my mind about this.
“I’m not going to hide from it,” I say, pushing it all toward him. “The museum can have all of it, every page of my dad’s notebook, if you want it. It’s something real now, and if you ever want McCleave’s to display any of it and Kezia’s story, warts and all, I want you to know you can. All the remaining Gardner family are giving you our blessing.”
I hear Wren moving toward me, but he remains silent.
“I know you have your dad and Nerissa to contend with, but maybe it can be a way for McCleave’s to start becoming the kind of museum you want it to be.”
He’s right beside me now, looking over the items I spread out. “And that’s what you want?”
What I want is to build it all with him, to stay on this islanduntil no one ever confuses me with a tourist again, especially not him, but there’s no point in saying any of that. “I’d like for my dad to be credited for his research. I’ve thought a lot about that, and I think it’s right that people know what he did. He may not have wanted to tell anyone else what he found, but he left too much for me to ignore. Maybe I’ll find a way to think that he was trying to protect me from his own failures, but even if I never quite get there, the truth is we wouldn’t have found anything without him.”
When I look at Wren again, I find him staring at the Shelves, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Maybe he’s smiling? I can’t really see unless I stretch sideways since he’s still not looking at me.
“It’s just that I’ve already been working on a different exhibit, with the harpoons from the wreck of theEssexyou commented on the first day you came back. I got the idea from something you said about it being like having the weapon that took on Moby Dick.”
I stare blank faced at him. “I don’t remember saying that, but you’re turning it into an exhibit? You’re doing it?”
He’s definitely smiling now. “I pitched the idea to my dad to tie it into the inspiration for Melville’s book, and he went for it. We needed something to replace another exhibit last-minute, and I decided I didn’t have anything to lose from trying.”
“Wren, that’s—” I start toward him without thinking as if I’m going to hug him, only to skid to a stop, realizing that’s not okay for me to do. I’m grinning though, I can’t control that. “—amazing. I’m really happy for you.”
He nods almost shyly. “Yeah, it was time. It’s not done yet, but if it goes well, I already have a few more ideas.” He half turns to his desk, inclining his head as if he wants me to follow. “This is whatI was thinking of doing next.” He gestures for me to go ahead of him, even grabs the back of a nearby chair for me to sit in.
I do, but cautiously, since he’s got the oddest expression on his face, almost like he’s nervous, which I’ve never seen him be before.
When I sit and look down at his desk, I frown. “What is...” But I don’t finish the question. It’s incomplete, more so after everything I just told him, but it’s all our research into Kezia, including my dad’s, only it’s organized and laid out like a museum display. There’s even a mock-up of what the final exhibit would look like with colored maps and timelines. And there’s a picture of Wren and me working that I vaguely remember Tate taking one day, and next to that is a photo of my dad sitting here, at this same desk, reading Kezia’s diary.
I bring a hand to my mouth to hide its trembling. “I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t know the ending yet, but I thought maybe the journey into her life was enough to show the world, or at least as many people who come to McCleave’s anyway.”
I’m still covering my mouth, and I can feel that my eyes are getting dangerously close to spilling over with tears.
“We can make it better now, more complete, if that’s what you really want.”
I nod, because I do want that, so much I’m afraid of saying it out loud. “Where did you get the picture of my dad?”
Wren’s voice is closer now, right behind me. “I was worried he might turn out to be some kind of thief, so I took it in case I needed something to show the police later. I forgot all about it until I started putting this together.” He pauses. “I was planning to show you everything once I had a better mock-up, but despite Tate’s best efforts, you’re seeing it early.”
I close my eyes when he moves even closer and says my name. My heart is already a frantic drumbeat threatening to leap out my chest, and I don’t trust myself to look at him right now.
“Lili.” He repeats my name a second time, but it’s not until he softly says, “Tourist Girl,” that I chance glancing at him.
“I wasn’t who I want to be when you were here last time, and I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you.” He clears his throat and adds, “And what I said about you leaving because of everything with me and Eryn—”
