Chapter Twenty-Five

Mr. Gibson met with us the next day.

Dad arranged the meeting. “Send him everything in advance. People hate to be surprised. He’ll want a chance to prepare his response.”

“But aren’t we giving him more time to think about how to shut us down?” I’d asked.

“Maybe,” Dad had said. “But he might decide—as I think he will—that you have too much evidence in Miss Darrel’s favor. If you throw everything at him in the moment, his hackles might go up and he might get defensive. If you give him time to process—and bring him along on the journey of your discovery, and ask him his opinion—he’ll feel like he has a say in what happens and more likely be agreeable.”

I’d stared at my father, impressed. “Dad. You’re kinda diabolical.”

“Thank you?”

“Did you ever play mind games on me as a child?”

He’d looked harassed. “All the time. Do you know how hard it was to get you to eat your vegetables?”

Rude. “I love vegetables,” I’d said, and flounced off.

Ethan and I headed back to the hotel where the conference had been, where Mr. Gibson was staying. The August afternoon was strangely crisp, as though fall lingered at the gate, waiting to come in whether invited or not. I spent the morning smelling things more strongly than usual, as though the cool air carried scents more clearly: the honey in my oatmeal, the scent of dead, scorched grass.

Mr. Charles Gibson waited for us in a windowless conference room. He sat at the head of a long table, tapping away at his laptop. When we entered, he smiled pleasantly. I wasn’t sure how much to distrust his smile and tried to withhold judgment.

“Good afternoon, Jordan, Ethan,” Mr. Gibson said. “How are you two doing?”

Ugh. Did we have to do polite small talk? But I guessed this wasn’t a denouncement in a movie; no chance for me to point my finger and cry “J’accuse!” (Besides, as Dad had labored to instill, pointing was rude.) “Good, thank you,” I said instead. “How are you?”

“Have a seat.” He gestured at the chairs; Ethan and I took the first two to his left. “Are you two excited to head to college? It’s your freshman year, is that right, Jordan?”

I nodded.

“And what will you be studying?”

“If you don’t mind,” I said, “can we talk about Andrea Darrel?”

He stilled, then smiled again. “Of course. It’s an interesting story you’ve sent me.”

It’s not a story, I wanted to burst out. Instead, I reminded myself what Dad had said, about how I needed to bring Mr. Gibson along on a journey, make him feel like we were in this together. I had to make him feel like the easiest thing to do would be to acknowledge Andrea Darrel, as opposed to feeling like I was an enemy combatant. “It is,” I said, my voice so calm it pained me. “I was surprised by a lot of stuff I found out.”

He nodded. “And you talked to Andrea Darrel’s descendants. Interesting they’ve never said anything before.”

“I think they felt like they didn’t have a case. But with the statements from Andrea’s diaries, and the date when Gibson claimed the discovery, and Gibson’s letter to his brother, the story seems pretty clear.”

“Hm,” Mr. Gibson said. “All right.”

All…right?

I blinked. I looked at Ethan. He blinked. We both turned back to Mr. Gibson.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Um—all right, what?”

“I’ve read the deck you put together. You’ve convinced me.”

“We’ve—what?”

“I believe you. Andrea Darrel discovered the comet.”

“Oh,” I said faintly. He agreed?

“So. That’s that, then,” Mr. Gibson said.

“We’re glad. Thanks,” Ethan said quickly, when Mr. Gibson seemed ready to send us on our way. Which was good, since I was so shocked I might have walked straight out. “Just to make sure—are you going to say something about it? I’m sure you get how important it is everyone know the truth, especially with all the attention on the comet in the next couple of weeks.”

“Yes, of course.” Mr. Gibson paused, but it felt more like a performance than a moment of thought. “I’ll have the foundation put out a statement. Why don’t you send along the contact info for Ms. Darrel’s descendants, so we can get in touch with them, too.”

“Uh, yeah.” Ethan glanced at me, where I still sat, stunned. “We’ll check with them.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, not an apology, but an excuse me, wait just one moment. True, Mr. Gibson had had a chance to sit and think on our deck before we arrived, and maybe Dad was right—maybe that was all he needed. Maybe powerful people were content as long as they believed they were the ones deciding the spin. And yet…“I didn’t expect you to be convinced quite so easily.” Dr. and Mr. Trowbridge’s faces flashed through my head, their amusement, their lack of surprise. “Did you—know?”

Mr. Gibson stared at me.

I stared at Mr. Gibson.

“No,” he said firmly. “Certainly not.” He closed his laptop and slid it into his bag. “Very nice to see the two of you again, and thank you for bringing this to my attention. Good luck at school—and please give my regards to your families.”

And he walked out the door and vanished down the hall.

I slowly pivoted to look at Ethan, who stared back at me, my own feelings reflected on his face. “Fuck,” Ethan said. “He knew.”

“He did, didn’t he?” I couldn’t close my mouth. It hung open by the gravitational law of astonishment. And something surfaced from the confrontation we’d had, which I’d replayed a hundred times in my mind. “He—had said Frederick Gibson didn’t marry an astronomer. But I never mentioned Andrea was an astronomer to him.”

“Jesus.” Ethan shook his head. “No wonder he’s going to put out a statement. There’s probably more evidence if anyone digs for it.”

Anger started to build inside me. “I hate this. And what if he kind of buries it? He’s probably not going to want anyone to even notice.”

Ethan grimaced. “Honestly, a big announcement would look good for him. Admitting and correcting a mistake like this? He’ll look sympathetic and progressive.”

Fury curdled inside me. Of course he would. No consequences for being condescending or keeping this hidden. “It’s not fair.”

“Let’s beat him to the punch,” Ethan said.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s put out something first. Why let him get the credit when you figured this out?”

For possibly the first time in my life, I considered not being impulsive. “Gibson might get mad if we say something before his official statement.”

“What’s he gonna do?” Ethan said with all the cavalierness of a rich white boy. “We’ve all agreed this should be public.”

I thought about it. Maybe whatever we posted wouldn’t make a splash, either. Probably it’d fly under the radar. But when I thought about this pattern repeating over and over, of women discovering things and men getting credit, I thought, well, screw that. I had figured this out. I wanted my name on this.

“Let’s go, then,” I said. “Let’s break this story wide open.”

Ethan and I spent the next few days making a video.

Or, technically, the triplets did. I wrote the script, but as soon as the triplets caught wind of what Ethan and I were doing, they wanted in.

“You need to make an impact,” Iris said seriously. “You need to construct a narrative.”

“We’ll start with your arrival on Nantucket,” Rose said, already making notes all over the handwritten pages I’d cobbled together.

“But it needs to be short,” Iris said. “People don’t have long attention spans. Under three minutes.”

“Do you think we can shoehorn the romance in?” Lily pursed her lips thoughtfully. “People love a romance.”

“What?” I flicked my gaze toward Ethan, who bit back a smile. “We’re not going to shoehorn a romance in.”

“Mm,” Lily said, nodding slowly. “You’re right. Nothing explicit, just enough to make viewers ship you.”

“Ethan can touch her hand at one point,” Rose said, still busy scribbling. “And she can bump his shoulder.”

Truly, these girls were terrifying.

“We’re going to need some establishing shots of you at Dr. Bradley’s office,” Iris said. “We need to make you look smart so people will take you seriously. Maybe wear a college sweatshirt. Does Dr. Bradley have any Harvard-branded stuff in her office? Or lots of books?”

“I’ll do costuming and set design,” Lily said. “I know you usually wear contacts, but wear your glasses for this. And no offense, but we’re going to tone down your eyeliner.”

I would have been offended if I hadn’t been so mystified by the way the triplets took over.

“Only Shira can control them,” Ethan murmured to me. “The rest of us don’t even try.”

“I’m truly astonished.”

“Last Hanukkah they made us all do a play. Memorizing lines and making swords out of carboard and tinfoil. They’re like a hurricane. A hurricane of triplets, that’s probably their collective noun.”

It took two days to shoot the video and another two to edit it under the exacting eye of Iris. I did exactly what the triplets asked, except for wearing a college sweatshirt. Instead, I wore my favorite black romper and bright red lipstick. But I answered the questions Rose asked and stood where Iris and Lily placed me. This included a gratuitous number of shots where I looked through the telescope on the roof walk or walked along the beach or gazed at the sky.

But by less than a week after Ethan and I had met with Mr. Gibson, the video was done, at two minutes and forty-seven seconds. We sent it first to Andrea’s descendants, who enthusiastically signed off. Then, summoning all my nerve, I asked Dad and Cora if they’d like to see it.

We’d told them what we were doing, but I felt terrified all over again as I set up the video on my monitor at work. Dad came to Cora’s office so I only had to go through this once—after finding Ethan’s stage fright kind of cute, it was embarrassing to realize I, too, hated the idea of having anyone watch anything I’d produced. I’d considered emailing it to Dad and Cora, but then I worried I’d be in too much agony knowing they could be watching it, but not knowing if they were.

I pressed play.

“I can’t watch,” I said to Ethan a mere five seconds in, from the back of Cora’s office. “It’s killing me.”

“It’s only three minutes long!”

“It’s already been three hundred years.” I backed out the door and into the hall, unable to watch my face on the screen for the zillionth time.

Ethan followed me as I curled up into a little ball on the floor. “Do you think they hate it?” I asked my knees. “They probably hate it.”

I could hear him crouching down in front of me, feel his warmth and then his hand on my leg. “You stood up to Charles Gibson himself. I think you can handle a video.”

“No. I cannot. It has defeated me.”

Another three hundred years passed, then the door swung open. “There you are!” Dad said, a huge grin on his face. “What are you doing out here?”

My head jerked up so fast I swear I strained my neck. Ow. “What did you think?”

“It was great!”

My jaw dropped, weighed down by shock. “Really? You liked it?”

“I thought it was amazing,” Dad said, and maybe he was contractually obliged to think/say so, but a warmth still spread throughout my body. I glanced at Cora.

She smiled. “I’m impressed. Short, to the point—you got everything across in an interesting and informative way.”

“So”—I looked back at Dad—“you think we can post it?”

“I don’t see why not.”

I looked at Ethan. He looked at me. The video was loaded and prepped to go on my phone, and we were within the timeframe Iris had given me during which a video gained the most views.

“Are you ready?” Ethan asked.

I wasn’t sure. It was scary, putting myself out there, not sure if the establishment would come yell at me or say I was a liar or be dismissive or put me down. But I had done the research. And I was right. Andrea Darrel had discovered that fucking comet.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.” I opened the app. “But. Yes.”

I hit post.

At first, there was nothing.

It was a letdown. Barely anyone viewed or watched it. It was tough to sit there, waiting for some grand finale, epic fireworks, and getting nothing.

“Come on,” Ethan said an hour after posting, when we’d only gotten a handful of views, not enough to engage any social media algorithms. “Let’s go sailing. The important thing is, we know. And if Gibson makes his announcement, maybe the media will pay attention then, and notice our video.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, though I felt pretty down. Still, I pulled myself together and went out on the water with Ethan.

It had rained the night before, and the sky was that strange washed-out color that followed a storm—as faded as a pair of jeans, leached of color by the torrents of water. The clouds, though, had depth, a darkish purple on the bottom, the top a shimmery warm white, like the sunny glow of twinkle lights.

“Turn your phone off,” Ethan said when I kept glancing at it.

“I might die of withdrawal.”

He pulled me closer and kissed the breath out of me. “You don’t think I can keep you entertained?”

“Nope.” I turned my phone off. “I very much think you can.”

“Where have you been?” Iris burst out when we returned to Golden Doors.

“Sailing,” Ethan said. “What’s up?”

But I knew. I could tell by the way she vibrated. “It’s the video, isn’t it?”

“It has taken off.”

“Like a comet?” Ethan joked.

Iris frowned. “Comets don’t take off.”

“They kind of do. Like from the Oort cloud,” he tried.

The triplets stared at him. “No,” Iris said, less, I expected, at his words than at him trying to joke in the first place.

I kissed his cheek. “I think you’re funny.”

“Look at this.” Iris swiveled her phone toward us. “You’ve got three hundred thousand views. You’ve also got comments from news journalists asking to talk to you. I’d check your DMs, I bet they’re crazy.”

I’d already started powering my phone back on. I had several missed calls, including Dad and Cora. I called Dad first.

“Sorry I didn’t pick up,” I said when he did. “Ethan and I went sailing so I didn’t obsess over the video. What’s up?”

“That sounds nice,” Dad said. “How was sailing?”

Just like Dad, to get distracted. “It was good. Why’d you call?”

“Ah. Well, I got an interesting call. From Charles Gibson.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Is he furious?”

“Yup,” Dad said cheerfully. “Luckily, you’re a minor, so they have to be furious at me, not you. And they don’t have any valid reason to be mad, they’re just angry you stole their thunder. They still have a few bureaucratic hoops to jump through before they can put out their announcement tonight.”

“Am I in trouble?” It didn’t sound like I was, but best to make sure.

“Nope,” Dad said. “Not at all! Let’s go out to dinner to celebrate.”

I called Cora next. “This is so fucking kickass,” Cora said, sounding as cheerful as Dad. She paused. “Sorry. I feel like I’m not supposed to curse in front of you.”

“Yes, you’ve ruined my impressionable young brain,” I said. “Do you want to come out to dinner with me and Ethan and my dad?”

“I don’t want to intrude…”

“Please,” I begged her. “I’d love if you came.”

“Then I’m in.”

I spent the night with my three favorite people on the island, celebrating.

And when I got back home, the video had crossed one million views.