Dreamland Social Club(76)

He looked up at the back of the house. “Maybe you can just airlift the whole place over.”

“So you don’t mind?”

“You know me.” Marcus shrugged. “Not the sentimental type.”

She really did have to talk to Grandpa Claverack about the horse, but she had been letting herself be easily sidetracked, since she was sort of dreading having to see Freddy and his ponytail again. But it was the right thing to do to tell the old man he could have it, to maybe even show him the entry in Birdie’s journal that explained it all, or at least explained some of it. Just thinking of Birdie’s journal awakened that old itch.

And my God, the doodling.

“Okay, so here’s question, Mr. Unsentimental. If, totally hypothetically, you found Mom’s diary”—Jane lifted the fin-shaped fabric—“would you read it?”

“You found Mom’s diary?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “It really is hypothetical. I think it’s probably gone.”

Marcus tilted his head. “I would probably read it. But just out of curiosity. And probably only once.”

Jane looked up now. “And then you’d what, throw it out?”

“It would depend, I guess. On if it was any good, if it said anything meaningful. But I’ve read some diaries in my day, and most of them suck.”

“Whose diaries have you read?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He looked at his watch and got up. “I guess what I’m saying is, I’d have pretty low expectations. And I certainly wouldn’t expect it to solve the great mystery of life.”

On another day maybe she would have argued with him, would have said he was wrong. But maybe he had a point. There were things worth keeping and things worth letting go of, and figuring out which was which wasn’t that easy. Do you save an old journal if it’s boring? Do you save an old bar if it’s got rats?

Her fin was ready to be attached to the tail bit that she’d laid out on the table, so she pinned it in a few places, then slipped on the whole sequined concoction. Her entire lower half sparkled in the sun.

“It’s cool,” Marcus said before heading back into the house. “But the fin needs to be, I don’t know, firmer?”





A bell tinkled overhead when, a few minutes later, she pushed open the door of the bait-and-tackle shop next door in search of some stiff wire. There was no one at the cash register, but a male voice in some back room called out, “Right with ya!”

She started to cruise the aisles, looking for something that might help her fin stay finlike. She passed stacks of crab and lobster traps and endless spools of fishing line. There were rubber worms and tackle boxes and hooks as far as the eye could see. A refrigerator-freezer in the back right corner held boxes labeled FROZEN SEA BAIT. There were knives and scales and lamps and batteries and fishing rods and rod bags and a million other items Jane had never seen before. Overwhelmed, she wondered whether maybe she’d do better at a regular hardware store or a 99-cent store. Just because she was trying to make a mermaid didn’t mean a shop for fishermen would have the right stuff.

“Can I help you?”

Jane turned and saw an old man standing at the end of the aisle. He wore black pants tucked into big rubber boots and had white hair and wore a black-and-gold sailor’s cap. He was smoking a pipe, and the woody aroma suddenly filled the room.

“I’m not sure,” Jane said, thinking maybe she’d just back away down the aisle and out the door.

“You’re that gal who lives next door,” he said.

Jane nodded, then realized she shouldn’t have. What if he was a psycho? Now he knew where she lived.

“Preemie’s grandkid, right?” He puffed his pipe.

“Right.” It was too late to deny it.

“I miss that idiot.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t fish to save his life but acted like he was Hemingway.” He looked Jane over. “How about you? What are you trying to catch?”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that.” She eyed a box of rubber worms and decided to charge ahead. She was here. She might as well see if he had anything that would work. “You know the Mermaid Parade?”

He raised his brows at her, like she was an idiot.

“I’m making a costume for a mermaid funeral.” It probably sounded dumb, but she kept going. “And I just need some wire to help the fin stay fin-shaped.”

“A mermaid funeral.” He puffed and was momentarily blurred by white smoke. “Sounds sort of kooky.”

“It is.”

He shrugged and said, “Well, I guess we better have a look around.”

As he started to poke through bins and weave through the aisles of his tiny store, Jane thought to ask, “Did you know my mother?”

He stopped his poking and said, “I did. But only when she was a girl, you know. It broke Preemie’s heart when she died.” He looked up at her. “Yours, too, I’d imagine.”

“Was he an *?”

He raised his eyebrows. “The mouth on you!”

“It’s what everyone calls him.”

“He wasn’t an *.” Back to poking with a shake of the head. “He was mostly just having fun, but he didn’t know that his fun was sometimes at the expense of others. Like his daughter’s. But I liked him enough.” He held up a spool. “This should do the trick.”