I straighten again and give my forehead another swipe. “There are a handful of circumstances where it’s legal, mostly involving proper permitting at the time of mounting…though I think it would have a leg band if it was all done aboveboard. Or if it’s quite old, like pre-1940ish, and you can prove it, you might be able to apply for a permit to have it legacied in. That would at least give you the necessary documentation and make it eligible for donation to a museum or a university or something so you can get rid of it.”
“Well? Is it old enough ?”
I blink. “Why do you think I would know that?”
“Whywouldn’tyou? Don’t you have a master’s degree in this stuff?”
“I must have slept through most of my senior seminar on Precisely Dating Glass-Enclosed Taxidermy in Dim Light.” I raise my eyebrows, catching another drip of sweat leisurely making its way down my forehead. Between the heat up here, the way Nicole is looking at me, and the situation in general, it’s rather tempting to pass out.
Nicole groans and covers her face with her hands. “So, what should I do? The internet made it seem like the police will immediately throw me in jail if anyone ever finds out I have this.”
“A hefty fine would be more likely,” I say absently, remembering an article inTheSuna few years back about a New England woman having to pay a fifteen-thousand-dollar fine because she tried to sell a folding fan made of blue jay feathers on Facebook Marketplace. “Your options seem to be to cover it back up with the ugly quilt and pretend it doesn’t exist, thereby leaving it as a problem for your next of kin, chuck it in the Inner Harbor and hope it sinks, or find out definitively where and when Goose Willis here is from…” I trail off as Nicole stands with arms crossed, giving me a death stare. “What? Do you prefer Liam Geeson? Tom Honks?”
“Callahan Zane Leitner, I know you arenottrying to give this incredible burden that my late aunt foisted upon me a cute little nickname.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I know this must be stressful for you,” I apologize, heroically resisting the urge to blurt out any of the other five pun names that just popped into my head. “Anyway, figure out this thing’s origins and it’ll still be illegal to sell, but with proper provenance you can at least keep it or donate it somewhere without summoning the wrath of the federal government.”
She pauses for a moment, thinking over what I’ve said. “Yeah, okay. I want to do that. I want to donate it. So that it diedfor a good cause, at least. As much as I would like to throw the damn thing into the harbor. Icky dead bird in my house…” An exaggerated shudder goes through Nicole’s body as she trails off, and I find my eyes drifting to her chest as it jiggles beneath her T-shirt. So strange to think those are the breasts that played such a pivotal role in all of my most formative sexual memories. But whatever memories her breasts are making these days are absolutely none of my business, so I forcibly return my attention to the goose.
“I could…research it a bit, I guess. See what I can figure out for you,” I hear myself say. Wait, I couldwhatnow?
Nicole’s sable eyes light up, full of the same open relief they held when I arrived. “You’d do that? Seriously?”
What am I supposed to say?No. I actually only said that because I was trying desperately to stop thinking about the first time I got to touch your boobs and blurted out the first non-boob thought I had.That would go over well, I’m sure. Besides, there is still a part of me that would go to the ends of the earth for this woman. Habit, I guess, after spending nearly half of our lives as not only lovers but friends. I’ll always care for her. And I guess sometimes caring looks a lot like stupidity, because my actual response is “Sure. Why not?”
“Oh, thank you, Cal! Thank you so much. I knew you would know what to do.” She leans in and kisses my cheek, enveloping me in her scent and a million more unwanted echoes of the past. “Isaiah should be home any minute. He can help you get the thing into your car.”
“Help mewhatnow?”
A faint, deep voice calling Nicole’s name drifts up through the floorboards. “Oh, that’s him,” she says with an excited smile. “Perfect timing.”
I didn’t really intend to offer to help research this goose. And I really,reallydidn’t intend to take it into my own possession. I guess I assumed it would be staying here in the attic, and I would come visit it as needed, perhaps even establishing a nice, healthy, mature friendship with my ex and her husband in the process. Now this probably illicit bird is going to become my own personal liability? “Nic, wait! I never said I would take—”
But she’s already hurrying down the narrow little staircase, eager to throw herself into Isaiah’s muscly embrace.
Maybe I owe her this. Because her face never lit up the way it just did when we were together. That’s a whole lot of years of not having the joy she deserved. It’s not that I think it’s all my fault exactly, but I’m sure it’s notnoteither.
I stare at my unwelcome new companion in its case. The goose’s glass eyes seem to look right past me, no matter the angle.
I sigh. “I really need to find a therapist, James Van Der Beak. This is getting ridiculous.”
TWO
Callahan
I inherited from mymentor, Graham, one of the easiest commutes in the entire city when he willed me the apartment above Virtu Antiques and Collectibles three years ago. All I have to do is close the door, lock it, walk downstairs, and I’m in the shop. This morning, though, I need to check on the goose, which is hopefully still in the back of my Chevy Suburban (also formerly Graham’s), so I leave through the rear fire escape instead. After ensuring the bird is still there and fully hidden beneath the hideous quilt that Nicole was plenty eager to also unload on me, I decide to take a brisk walk before heading into work. The fresh air and exertion will do me good. Maybe it will even disperse some of the nervous energy that kept me awake half the night thinking about the way things used to be. Before Graham died. Before Nicole left. Before I agreed to what I think might technically qualify as a criminal conspiracy.
Though I’m already running a bit late after my jaunt through Wyman Park, I pop into the coffee shop a few doors down fromVirtu. I’m going to need my business partner, Harold, in as good a mood as possible today. Despite being a sixty-year-old man, Harold has always had the soul of a woman in her mid-twenties, so I figure a pumpkin muffin and oat milk vanilla latte will not go amiss.
Mindy’s working the register this morning. Of course she is. When it rains, et cetera, et cetera.
“Hi, um. Good morning,” I say. “Can I get a medium dark roast, a small oat milk vanilla latte, a pumpkin muffin, and a, uh…” What would Inés like? “A lemon poppyseed scone?”
“I don’t know, Callahan,” Mindy says. “Canyou?”
I cringe internally at the sharp tone of her voice, but figure I’ll give it another try. “Um…mayI get a medium—”
“Or are you just going to take a few sips of the latte before you decide you’re not actually interested in enjoying it and then throw it in the garbage?”
