Chapter 20 Lili
Twenty
Lili
A couple of hours later, I’m beginning to understand why my dad might have skipped these pages. The passages we’ve been able
to partially transcribe are all from somewhat heated entries regarding escalating tensions between the American and British
forces:
1776 Friday, February 9. The Congress have ordered that no Nantucket vessel be supplied with provisions unless they have a
permit signed by three Justices of the Peace of Barnstable. Stephen Paddock has been off to get a number signed and came on
today with them. Paddock tells that the Americans have got possession of Dorchester Hill, which commands Boston.
1776 Saturday, March 29. Hear there is an Act of Parliament to burn sink and destroy all American vessels.
1776 Tuesday, July 16. Sturgis Gorham came here this afternoon, had just come to the Island.
Brings the Declaration of Continental Congress, declaring America to be free and independent States.
Horrible! I wish they and all their well-wishers had been strung 50 ft in the air before they had been suffered so far to bring about their wicked and ruinous plans.
I believe the only motive they have in view is to aggrandize themselves, they care not for their bleeding country; the Lord reward them according to their works.
Her handwriting gets even messier after that, her increasing anger evident with each barely discernible stroke of her quill.
I’m getting to the point where I’m starting to dread what she might write next.
I don’t realize I’m voicing the thought out loud until Wren takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “A lot
of people were upset about the war. That doesn’t mean they did anything more than write about it. But I don’t think we’re
going to get anywhere tonight. The light isn’t great, and I feel like we might need the originals to figure out the rest of
these words.”
He’s right. I’ve had the same thought for the last twenty minutes now, but hadn’t wanted to admit it. I can’t shake the feeling
that we’re close to something though, something even my dad didn’t know, and that need to dig that I inherited from him is
hard to ignore.
Reaching up, I switch off the bright overhead light, then take the tablet and turn that off too. There’s still moonlight spilling
in through all the windows, but the sudden darkness feels intimate.
“We might not find what you want. You do know that.”
Goose bumps ripple over my skin at the sound of Wren’s voice, low and quiet in the dark. “Mitchell lied about the smuggler’s
hole.”
“Yeah, she did. But smuggler’s hole or not—”
“—even Kezia’s own words aren’t helping us right now,” I finish for him, and let my head fall back against the seat.
He’s silent for a moment, then softly says, “What do you want, Lili?”
“Right now I’d settle for a magnifying glass and a good two-thousand-lumen lightbulb.”
I loll my head in his direction when he doesn’t say anything. My eyes have adjusted to the moonlight, and his serious expression
makes me sit up straighter. “You know what I want.”
He shakes his head. “To prove Kezia Gardner wasn’t a smuggler?”
“Yes.”
“I just wonder sometimes.”
“Did you just admit to thinking about me?” I say it lightly, trying to brush off the tension building between us.
“More than I should.” His voice is a grumble, barely audible, making me question what I truly heard. Then, louder, he says,
“I know you want to figure this out, and you made me want answers too. But do you wonder why you’re doing this?”
I’m completely taken aback by that, so much so that I can’t answer right away. He lets the silence stretch, and I don’t know
if I’m grateful for that or not.
Finally, he says, “Your dad, this was all his obsession long before it was yours, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s my history too.”
“Okay, but how much are you willing to give up for it? Do you really want to spend the rest of your summer in a mermaid museum, wasting all your free time with me, staring at an old diary that we may never fully understand? Or worse, we will, and it’ll confirm what everybody but your dad already believes? ”
“Whoa.” I laugh a little and push my bangs back off my forehead. “Look, it’s late and we’re tired, and I think we both need
a break from the past.”
He doesn’t let it go. “It’s a fair question.”
“We have different opinions on that.”
“We usually do.” He pauses. “So?”
I think about the path my dad wore down in his rug and shake my head. “I don’t feel like I’m giving up all that much. I like
the museum and trying to read this diary with you. Maybe I’m not getting to spend as much time with my mom and sister as I
thought I would, but they understand.” Mom does, sort of, and Goldie will too once I get to share everything we find with
her. “And I’m not obsessed in the same way he was. Don’t get me wrong, I want to know, but I wouldn’t sacrifice everything
else in my life to find out.” Then, something slips out—something I’ve never admitted to myself before. “Like he did.”
I glance at Wren, gauging if he really wants to hear this. He’s looking right back at me, brows furrowed slightly, waiting
for me to continue.
Finally, I say, “My dad was adopted. Did I ever tell you that? His parents died when he was a baby, and it was actually friends of theirs who adopted him. Really nice people, but he never thought of them as his family. They took him away from the island and he spent the rest of his life trying to get back a piece of what he lost. I won’t pretend it wasn’t an obsession; it was.
He wanted to learn everything he could about his parents, and his grandparents, and everyone that came before them.
” I stare down at the notebook in my lap, running my fingers over the worn leather.
“And when I started showing an interest in our family history, I became interesting to him, too.” There’s a note of surprise in my voice that even I hear.
I’ve never thought about it that way before, but I know instantly that it’s true.
“His obsession ruined our family, I know that. I used to blame my mom when I was younger, but he was the one who wouldn’t stay.
This is where he wanted to be, even if we couldn’t afford to uproot and be here with him.
” I shift to face Wren, tucking my legs under me.
“And now I’m here, because . . . I don’t know, it makes me feel like I’m closer to him somehow.
” My voice falters slightly. “Is that pathetic?”
I feel Wren’s gaze on me, intense, and for a moment, I can’t help wishing it was his hand instead. “Pathetic isn’t a word I’d use to describe you.”
Heat pulses through my chest, not just from his words, but from the way he says them—deep yet soft, almost like a caress.
At least, that’s how they feel.
Actually, I’m feeling a lot of things right now, and I’m not sure I should be feeling any of them. I know I shouldn’t be encouraging
either one of us to open up like this, but I can’t seem to stop that either.
“Will you tell me about your mom?”
“What, I owe you now because you told me about your dad?” His gaze trails over my face, and I shiver.
“No,” I say quickly, “but you’re not the only one who wonders sometimes.”
He takes a long breath. “What do you want to know?”
“Is she still alive?”
His answer is immediate. “I don’t know.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“She left when I was three.”
He’s not offering any additional information or elaborating at all. He’s making me ask for every detail.
“Has she tried to reach out at all, or have you tried to talk to her?”
“No.”
“What about your dad?”
He doesn’t answer, and I realize he probably wouldn’t even know.
“You know you could just tell me what happened instead of making me drag it out of you.”
He stares at me, a slight smile curling at the edges of his mouth. “I could.”
I inhale through my nose. Even now, he’s pushing my buttons. But before I can ask another question, he starts speaking.
“She was a tourist visiting the island with her family during the summers until she met the boy who made her want to stay.”
A tourist. No wonder he wasn’t warm and friendly when he met me.
“My dad, he was gone from the start, would have followed her halfway around the world if she’d let him,” he says quietly, almost distant.
His fingers tap once on the steering wheel, then still.
“But then my grandfather died and the museum became his responsibility.
By then I was already on the way and I guess she felt trapped.
Trapped by this island, trapped by a man whose novelty quickly wore off, and then trapped by a baby that would forever tie her to both of them.
“She made it three years,” he continues, his voice light, but his knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “I’m sure she surprised
even herself. My dad would have given up everything here and gone with her, anywhere that he thought she’d be happy. He didn’t
understand for a long time that we were a big part of what she wanted to leave behind.”
When he finishes, I’m left with no words—nothing to offer except the empty space between us.
His eyes drift to the windshield before settling on me. “Did that answer your question?”
I nod, but another one lingers. “Do you remember her?”
“No. But I’ve seen pictures. She was pretty in that way a lot of tourists are.” He pauses, then adds, “Pretty like you.”
I blink, caught off guard. “I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.”
He doesn’t answer and I don’t think I want him to.
“Would you ever want to find her?”
He doesn’t break his gaze from mine. “No.” Then he leans back, making me realize just how close we’ve gotten. “I don’t need
to chase after the love of someone who chose, long ago, not to give it to me.”