Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Phoebe
My friend Jay respects my wishes and stays out of sight for the rest of the day. Good. Glad he listened.
Tuesday morning, I comb through the applications I’ve received for the archivist and conservator positions. Jay doesn’t pop in. Neither does he stop by in the afternoon when I have Foster’s longtime handyman, Terry, come over to see me. He tells me he’s happily retired now but he’ll help me find a replacement for him.
Good for Jay. Jay is listening.
Do I look up at every sound the settling house makes, hoping he’ll poke his head in and say hello? That would be ridiculous and contradictory. The house does make a lot of settling noises, though. But good job, Jay.
I’ve been home from work for an hour when his name pops up on my phone. What’s Jay texting for? Does he think friendship means he should avoid me during work hours but crash my free ones?
Jay
There’s a med/large delivery truck here for you.
Phoebe
Me?
Jay
The museum. Hang on.
picture of a piano in the back of a paneled truck
Where do you want it?
Phoebe
I don’t want it! I didn’t request a piano.
There’s a pause of several seconds while I try to work out why a delivery guy has shown up with a piano.
Jay
This guy says it’s a donation.
pic of frowning man leaning against the truck
Phoebe
From who
Jay
Anonymous
Phoebe
Tell him we can’t accept it
Several more seconds pass.
Jay
He’s not leaving with it. Will leave in the driveway.
Phoebe
Can I fire this guy?
Jay
No. You didn’t pay him. Also, I’d have to do it. He looks feral. So no.
What am I supposed to do with a piano? Foster Martin’s collection is so extensive that the museum can afford to be choosy about what it acquires. Seriously, I need to work on the donation policy draft some more.
Blowing out a frustrated breath, I call Jay. “Do you need a piano in the cottage?”
“Nice try,” he says.
“Have him put it in the shed.” The shed is more like a small barn where the maintenance and landscaping tools are kept. It’s got a lot of room. One piano won’t hurt until I figure out what to do with it.
“I’ll tell him,” Jay says.
I thank him, and we hang up. Almost an hour later, I get another text from him. It’s a close-up photo of the piano brand followed by a screenshot of piano valuations. This one is weirdly tall, about fifty years old, and worth around a thousand dollars.
Another text comes in, this time a screenshot from the local marketplace page showing five similar pianos being given away to anyone willing to move them.
So we have a tall piano that won’t fit the house’s dimensions or aesthetics, has no historical value, and has negligible financial value. Awesome.
It will also have to be a problem for another day. No, another week. Until I get this first board meeting out of the way, I don’t have bandwidth for other people’s unwanted pianos.
Wednesday, Jay once again proves he’s a good listener by not coming around. At one point in the late afternoon, I spot him through the library window, turning into the street on a mountain bike, wearing a helmet. He hasn’t returned by the time I leave work.
“That’s fine,” I say, locking up the house behind me as I head to my car. “That’s what I want.”
Francie would be all over that statement. Who are you trying to convince?
I have no illusions. I’m trying to convince me.
Jay is my type. Jay would be another mistake in a line of them who look an awful lot like him. Not a long line, but even a medium line is embarrassing.
I’m not surprised when Jay texts after dinner.
Jay
Saw a package on the front porch when I was coming home.
Phoebe
You can stick it inside the door. Thanks.
Jay
Well …
Picture of a mound of small white objects
I squint at it, expanding it to see better. Are those …?
Jay
Picture of a handwritten note
The box was open and this was on top. It says, “Teeth, six gen Tapperts. Got jumbled but you can do science to get the age.”
Phoebe
Changed my mind. Please do not put inside the door.
Jay
Shed
Phoebe
Yes pls
It looks like a small box, but any size box full of human teeth is too big. I have never thought about it before, but it seems like it should be one of those unwritten rules of society. Apparently, we do need to write it down after all. The policy will definitely be having a "no teeth" clause.
Thursday I spend mostly in the vault, spot-checking Foster’s cataloging to make sure each artifact or document is stored appropriately. It’s no surprise to find that every one of them is both recorded and preserved correctly.
In one drawer, I examine paper dolls from the 1890s, complete with elaborate changes of clothing, all with the delicate paper tabs still intact. I wonder if it was a Martin child who played with these on the property and smile when I check the database to see that the dolls had belonged to one Georgina Martin back then.
Most of the collection isn’t Martin family personal belongings. I check on a couple of high-value landscapes by American masters and a silver flagon smithed by Paul Revere. I admire an antislavery medallion crafted by Wedgwood and a few embroidery samplers, one a map of Massachusetts as it would have been in 1840, another one fifty years older showing the alphabet and decorated with strawberry plants.
I spend another hour auditing before I return to the main house, and I hear music coming through Jay’s open cottage window, but he stays out of sight. I wish this didn’t bum me out, but it does. And because I’m ridiculous, when he still hasn’t made an appearance and it’s time for me to wrap up for the day, I can’t resist connecting one more time.
Phoebe
Whatever weird thing shows up after I leave …
Jay
Shed?
Phoebe
Shed
Jay
I tuck my phone into my bag, lock up, and drive home wondering if anyone has ever been this dissatisfied with a thumbs-up.
I keep saying I’m ridiculous. That’s not right. I’m pathetic, and pathetic requires an intervention—a serious one—and I plot it all the way home.