38
The next morning, I wake with the sunrise. A loose spring in the Airbnb mattress is digging into my spine, which is probably
what woke me, but I don’t really mind. The whole apartment is suffused with a golden glow, and a warm breeze is sifting in
through the window.
I dress in a T-shirt and shorts and head out into town. There’s a small stack of flyers left in my bag, but I don’t really
have any intention of putting them up today. I just want to walk around for a while, thinking of Jim.
I’m half-expecting a wave of grief to hit me, but instead, I’m filled with the same strange peace I felt yesterday. Jim’s
son Herman and I sat out on the porch for a while yesterday, sharing memories of Jim until the coroners arrived. Afterward,
I texted Rose and Trey, and the three of us met up for dinner. Rose cried for a little bit—she knew Jim even better than I
did—but I could tell she wasn’t really sad for him . She knew he was ready. He’d been ready since his wife died.
We spent the rest of the night telling stories about him, laughing and tearing up and lifting our glasses to his memory. There
isn’t going to be a funeral—Herman said Jim was very firm that he didn’t want one—but in a way, remembering him with Herman
and Rose and Trey felt like a truer way to honor him.
I wander toward the waterfront and wind up near the post office, which overlooks the water. I sink into a bench nearby and take deep breaths of ocean air. I know the weather doesn’t really revolve around me and my life, but I swear the air feels a bit stiller today. Like the whole world is taking a minute to remember Jim.
Part of me wishes I could stay in this quiet, peaceful place forever, but the sun rises and the world wakes up like it always
does. The lazy Waldon traffic picks up behind me, greedy seagulls swoop over my head looking for food, and a runner’s dog
wiggles out of his leash and leaps off the wharf to chase after a sea duck, sending about fifty of them springing into the
air.
I smile and get to my feet, heading to the local bakery. As I approach, the door swings open and Kiara emerges, cappuccino
in hand.
She stops dead in her tracks when she sees me, then gives a delighted shout that startles an old man walking by.
“No fucking way!” she says, making the same old man scowl at her. She crosses the sidewalk in two quick bounds and throws
her arms around me, spilling cappuccino down my back. I hug her hard, beaming into her hair.
“I’m sorry I didn’t text,” I say, while she drags me to a little table outside the bakery. “I saw your mom a couple days ago,
but I made her promise not to tell you. No offense, but—”
“I can’t keep a secret,” she interrupts. “Duh.”
I smile. “I didn’t want John to hear that I’m back secondhand.”
“And are you back for good?”
“Back for good,” I confirm.
She grins and leans back in her chair, pushing her sunglasses onto the top of her head. “John is going to freak.”
I smile thinly. “In a good way, I hope.”
“Of course! I’ve never seen him as bummed out as he has been since you left. I mean, it’s John , so he’s not, like, sobbing into a pint of ice cream or anything. But he’s got this broody, pensive thing going on, it’s
been driving me nuts.”
I make a noncommittal sound. I don’t want to get my hopes up too much. “We’ll see what happens when he gets back.”
Kiara grins. “Either way, I’m glad you’re back. Do you have time to grab a coffee? On me,” she adds, seeing me hesitate.
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again and smile. “That would be really great.”
We drink coffee and catch up until she has to head to work. As I take our empty cups back inside, the cashier waves me down.
“It’s Emily, right?” she says brightly. “I told my great-aunt about you yesterday. I gave her your number, but she was wondering
if you could give her a call sometime? She doesn’t know how to use her phone that well, so she hoped you wouldn’t mind calling
her...”
A warm feeling spreads through me. “I don’t mind at all!”
I put her great-aunt’s number in my phone and promise I’ll call her later.
“Thanks so much,” the cashier says. “We worry about her so much. She’s ninety-six and still living alone, if you can believe
it.”
I go a bit still. Ninety-six years old. Just like Jim. I wonder, for a moment, if I can take the pain of getting close to
someone else, just to lose them. But then I shake my head. Of course I can. And anyway, what I feel about Jim isn’t a bad
pain. It’s a happy pain, and I wouldn’t give up a single moment with him to get rid of it.
“That’s amazing,” I tell the cashier. “I’ll call her later today.”
I head back out onto the sidewalk and wander in the direction of my apartment. Halfway there, I pass the barrel museum. My feet slow down automatically, and I turn to stare up at the beautiful building. I don’t want to see Shelley, but I can hear the familiar clank of Trey’s tools. And I’ve missed this place so much. It isn’t the Met, but it’s just as special in its own way.
I walk forward determinedly and swing open the door. The familiar smell of smoke and wood envelops me like a warm hug.
The girl at the front desk looks like she’s in her early twenties, with long blonde hair dyed pink at the ends. She gives
me a bright, welcoming smile. She must be the other university student Shelley hired. I wonder if they’re related too.
Probably not. This girl looks way too friendly.
“Hi, there,” she says. “Did you want to buy a ticket?”
“Uh—actually, I was just hoping to say hi to Trey. I used to volunteer here.”
“Oh, cool! You can just go on back.”
I thank her and head to the back, where Trey is doing a demonstration for an eager-looking family of tourists. He smiles when
he sees me come in, but I can tell he’s only a few minutes into his demonstration. I wave at him to indicate I’ll walk around
for a little while.
As I wander through the rooms, a bright, crisp voice catches my ear.
“Such a kind man,” the voice says. There’s a murmur of agreement.
I drift toward the voices curiously. In the eastern room, the one that houses tools from the 1890s, three older women I recognize
from the Barrel Into Summer event are gathered around Shelley.
“I knew Jim since he was a teen. He used to work the ice-cream stand down on Lorway Beach,” says one of the society women.
“I met him through his son,” says another one. “Herman and I taught at the same school for a few years. He was the one who called me last night. He knew I’d want to know.”
I edge closer, hidden from view by a convenient pile of barrels. I don’t want Shelley to see me, but it’s really nice hearing
the women talk about Jim. I bet there are people all over Waldon who have stories of him, people who will hear that he’s passed
and spend a few minutes thinking of him. My lips turn up gently. I guess that’s all any of us can hope for after we’re gone.
“We just loved having him work here.” Shelley’s loud voice breaks into my reverie. “He was such a funny little man.”
My head jerks back indignantly. Excuse me? A “funny little man”?
“We should put a plaque up,” one of the society women says. “Something to commemorate his work here.”
“Oh, of course,” Shelley says. “It’s going to be such a wrench working here without him.”
The women titter sympathetically. Meanwhile, I’m so furious I can practically see the veins pulsing behind my eyes.
It’s none of your business, I tell myself firmly. You don’t work here anymore—it’s not your place to stick your nose in—
“Jim was like a grandfather to me,” Shelley says. “I wonder if we should give all the staff a few days of paid leave, to process
the loss.”
My temper splinters. Screw it. I’m making this my business.
“That’s total crap!” I snap, emerging from behind the barrels. Shelley’s face goes slack with surprise, while the society
women blink at me, startled.
“Er—I’m sorry?” one of them says.
“That’s total crap,” I say again, my eyes on Shelley. “You didn’t like Jim at all. You tried to fire him!”
Shelley’s cheeks flush dark red.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” one of the society women asks, looking at me in faint alarm. She seems to be the leader of the group.
Her white hair is short and tightly curled, and the shiny button on her dark-green jacket gleams in the dim light.
“A volunteer we had to dismiss,” Shelley says quickly. “Mentally unstable,” she adds in an undertone.
“I am not!” I say fiercely. “My name is Emily, ma’am,” I add to the society woman. “I volunteered here earlier this summer,
and I was Jim’s caregiver for a while.”
“Oh, Emily !” the woman says. Her suspicious frown melts away. “Of course.” She holds out a hand to me. “I’m Elaine MacQuarrie. I think
we met at one of the events. Jim told me all about you,” she adds pleasantly. “He said you designed that fabulous new exhibit,
the one children can take photos with.”
I smile. “Yes, ma’am. And I organized the Barrel Into Summer event, and the Canada Day event. With Trey and Jim’s help, I
mean.”
“She means she pitched in,” Shelley says.
I glare at her. “I didn’t pitch in . I organized everything. And you didn’t even want me to do the events in the first place.”
Shelley makes a dismissive noise and shoots the society women an incredulous look, as though she expects them to agree with
her. But instead, all three women are frowning at her.
“Is that true?” asks Elaine.
Shelley lets out another scoff. “Of course not.”
“No? Then who was the caterer for the Canada Day event?” I demand. “What was the prize for the scavenger hunt? What brands of soda did we sell?” Shelley’s mouth moves soundlessly for a moment, and she looks at the society women again, as though she expects them to jump in. “You can’t tell me,” I snap, “because you have no idea. You sit in your office all day scrolling through Facebook, letting this beautiful museum go to waste. You don’t care about any of it! You just want to get paid to do nothing.”
A muscle twitches furiously in Shelley’s jaw, and her whole face has turned a red-purple color. I can sense how badly she
wants to shout at me, but she also seems keenly aware that the society women are watching her.
“This is very inappropriate, Emily,” she says instead, in an exaggeratedly patient, condescending voice. “We’re all very grateful
for your volunteer work, but what you don’t seem to understand is that there’s a little more to running a museum than picking
soda brands . I’m terribly sorry for the disruption, ladies,” she adds to the society women. She shakes her head regretfully. “All this,
on the day after Jim’s death—”
“You didn’t give a damn about Jim,” I say. “How dare you pretend like you cared about him? Don’t you have any shame?”
“Ridiculous,” Shelley says, shaking her head in that stupid way again. “Ridiculous.”
“It is ridiculous,” I say. “It’s ridiculous that you’re paid to scroll through Facebook in your office all day while volunteers do all the work. Trey is by far the best part of this place, and yet the minute you had the chance to give out proper salaries, you threw them at your daughter and her friend instead of him!” I let out a sharp laugh as I realize how terrible it actually is. I turn to the society women abruptly. “You should hire someone else as manager. This museum deserves someone who’ll treat it with the care it deserves.”
“Hear, hear,” says a deep voice behind us. Trey is leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, looking as though he’s
been standing there for quite a while. “And if it helps your decision-making process,” he adds, smiling charmingly at the
society ladies, “I plan to resign immediately if you don’t.”
I grin at him and turn back to the women, breathing quicker with triumph. Elaine and the others exchange uncertain glances.
They don’t seem to know quite what to make of the whole situation.
“This is insane,” Shelley says, red with fury. “You two are slandering me. I could have you up on charges .”
Trey rolls his eyes. “You do that.”
A beat of awkward silence falls; the only sound is the heavy huff of Shelley’s breath. The tourist family who were watching
Trey earlier poke their heads into the room, then back out immediately when they see all of us standing there.
Smart family.
“Well,” Elaine says finally. Then again, “Well.” She glances at the other two society women. “I suppose we’ll—take this back
and discuss it.”
“You can’t be serious!” Shelley snaps.
She seems to realize right away that it’s a mistake. She tries to backtrack hastily, adopting a calm, pleasant tone that doesn’t match her reddened face. “What I mean is, of course we should all discuss it, obviously.” She draws a circle with her hand to indicate herself and the society women. “If there are any problems at the museum, I’m perfectly happy to fix them. Not that I think we’ll find anything worth fixing.”
Elaine’s eyebrows lift. Again, I can see Shelley realize she’s made a mistake, but it’s too late—the words are out. What Shelley
meant, I’m sure, is that she wouldn’t find any problems that needed fixing. But that’s not what she said. And all the society women heard it.
“Hmm.” Elaine frowns at her, and the tiniest flicker of distaste crosses her face, one that’s mirrored on the faces of the
other two. They aren’t stupid, these women, and it’s clear they care deeply about their society. Shelley’s mediocre job performance
over the past few years can’t have escaped them.
Perhaps Shelley realizes it, because a fresh wave of mottled color perfuses her face. “This is ridiculous,” she says again.
“I have other job options, you know. I could make twice the money I make here managing the call center in Charlottetown. They
already offered me the job,” she adds pointedly. “And I was going to turn it down because of my dedication to this place,
but if my work is no longer appreciated —”
“Perhaps that would be best,” Elaine interrupts.
Shelley’s face goes slack, like she’s been slapped. “Excuse me?”
Elaine straightens her suit jacket. “Well, if you have another offer on the table, we’d hate to keep you from it,” she says.
“We certainly wouldn’t expect you to turn down the chance to earn more money.”
I exchange a wide-eyed glance with Trey. Elaine’s voice is prim and polite, but there’s a crispness to her words that warns
arguing with her would be a very bad idea.
“I mean—” Shelley stammers. “If I’m not appreciated —”
“Certainly we appreciate you,” Elaine says. “We’re so grateful for your services all these years, aren’t we, ladies?” The
other women nod. “When does the call center want you to start?” she asks Shelley pleasantly.
“Well—I’m not sure there’s a date —I’d have to email them—”
“And Emily.” Elaine turns to me. “When might you be able to step in?”
I blink at her stupidly. “Step in ?”
“This is the candidate you’re putting forward, isn’t it, Trey?” Elaine asks.
Trey grins. “Yes, ma’am. You know she did an internship at the Met, in New York?”
“How impressive,” Elaine says.
“My daughter’s been to that museum,” one of the other society women adds, nodding knowledgeably.
Elaine turns to me again. “I assume you’re interested in the job?”
“Well—I mean, yes—” I stammer.
“Wonderful.” She claps her hands together. “I’d say this timing works out splendidly, don’t you, ladies?”
“Perfect,” says one of them.
“Quite convenient,” says the other.
I swear their eyes are twinkling. I have a sneaky feeling I’m not the only one who’s been holding a grudge against Shelley.
But as much as the idea of running this place thrills me, my stomach twists as I think of my caregiving business.
“The thing is,” I say guiltily, “I’ve already got a job. Or, well—it’s only part-time right now, but I’m hoping it’ll grow
over time—”
“You can’t be a part-time manager,” Shelley says immediately, her eyes sharp with malice.
Elaine frowns. “We do need someone here full-time.”
“What if she shared the job?” Trey chimes in.
The society women brighten. “You could do that, Trey?” Elaine says.
He pulls a face. “Oh, god, no. But Rose knows as much about this place as anyone. I’m sure she’d love to split the job with
Emily.”
My heart is beating faster in my chest. Working here as comanager with Rose and building up my caregiving business at the
same time... Dream job, shouts an urgent voice in my head. Dream job .
“Now hang on—” Shelley says furiously.
“I love that idea,” Elaine interrupts. “Rose is such a pillar in the community. She’d have to interview for the job, of course—you
both would,” she adds, looking at me.
“Of course,” I say eagerly.
“Well, then,” Elaine says, while Shelley gapes at her furiously. “What an exciting day! Let’s pop into your office, shall
we?” she adds to Shelley. “We’ll have to fill out some paperwork, I’m sure—”
She holds out a polite arm and guides Shelley from the room. Shelley barely has the chance to glare at me furiously before
they’re gone.
“We’ll get your information from Trey, shall we?” one of the other society women says to me as she walks by.
“Er—yes, ma’am.”
“Very good.” Her eyes gleam mischievously. “Perhaps it’d be best if you made yourself scarce, while we’re in the office.”
I fight a giggle. “Yes, ma’am.”
The second they’re gone, I catch Trey’s eye. We stare at each other for one long, incredulous moment—then we burst out laughing.
“Can you believe that?” I demand, between hiccups. “Did you see Shelley’s face?”
“Rose is going to kill me for not taking a picture,” Trey says.
“You really think she’ll want to be comanager with me?” I ask.
He nods. “She’s been getting bored at the grocery store. And she’s always loved this old place. But I’ll talk to her tonight
and let you know for sure. Now get out of here before Shelley comes back out and strangles you.”
I break into giggles again. “Her fingers are probably super strong from all that scrolling on Facebook.”
“I’ll call you later,” Trey says, grinning.
I flee the room, still giggling, and wave goodbye to the blonde girl at the front desk, who looks amused, if slightly confused,
by my laughter.
“Have a nice day,” she calls after me.
“You too!” I call back.
She seems quite nice, really. I think I’ll keep her on, even if Shelley hired her.
I can do that, now. Now that I’m going to be the comanager .
I let out a silly, giddy squeal and do a quick spin in the parking lot.
Holy hell. I just got myself a job .