The Museum of Heartbreak - Meg Leder Page 0,12

Are you ready? Their findings suggested it was four-chambered ! Can you believe it?”

We all stared at him.

“That would mean that dinosaurs were closer to us than we ever thought, that they were like mammals! A four-chambered dinosaur heart!” He grinned at us.

“Wow, that’s really something, Theo,” Ellen said graciously.

Eph turned to my dad. “So is Willo’s heart going to be here?”

“Well, you see, Ephraim, that’s the funny thing. After all that press and hubbub, another group of scientists took a look at Willo. And much to everyone’s chagrin, they’ve suggested it’s not a heart—it’s a deposit of sand instead,” my dad said, sitting back, his eyes bright.

Mom straightened up, familiar with that posture and tone of voice. He was settling in for a lengthy story—one that would probably run longer than the Triassic, Jurassic, and Cretaceous periods combined. She held up her hand. “Honey, we haven’t even had a chance to ask the O’Connors about their last trip. Why don’t we save this for another time?”

My dad, visibly and instantly deflated, muttered, “Sure, sure.”

“Mr. Marx, maybe next time I’m by the museum you can show me Willo,” Eph said, and just like that, my dad’s demeanor swung to cheery again.

“The exhibit is opening later this fall, Ephraim!”

I was still feeling grudgy about our earlier conversation, but I had to admit: Eph was infinitely more patient with my dad than anyone else I knew.

George strolled in, smoothing his hair back, his face flushed, and I wondered how much he’d drunk already.

“So, guys, tell us about Kenya,” my mom said, passing the bowl of salad around for seconds.

“Jane, it was glorious,” George said. “You should see the sunsets there, the way the whole sky is on fire. And you should see this one standing in front of them.” He put his arm around Ellen and stroked her hair. “More beauty than a man deserves.”

Eph let out an irritated sigh, so quick I might have missed it if I didn’t know him better. “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ll be back.” He dropped his napkin on the chair and stalked out of the room.

Ellen ducked out from under George’s arm and reached over for more wine.

“The fossils we found—prime, undamaged specimens. One of the best trips we’ve had in years. Oh, and the people were so welcoming.”

Ellen chimed in. “You should have seen all the arts and crafts! I found some bead workers—simply stunning. In fact, I keep forgetting . . .” She leaned down to get her purse and took out two small bags. After peeking in one, she handed it to my mom, the other to me.

“Ellen, this is beautiful,” my mom said, holding a delicate blue beaded bracelet up to the light.

“I thought you’d like it,” she said.

Mine was a chunky red-orange beaded bracelet, matching the necklace Ellen was wearing.

“It’s awesome,” I said, trying to fasten the clasp.

“I’ve got it, Penelope,” George said, leaning over, and my heart fumbled around. A wave of his cologne made me feel swoony.

“So, Penelope, are you starting to think about college? Going to follow in the footsteps of your dad, another museum genius in the family?” George asked.

I shoveled some spaghetti around on my plate. “I’m thinking more English or journalism. Words, I like them?” I ended uncertainly.

Dad looked proud but vaguely confused, but I saw Mom smiling gently at me.

“Ephraim told us the other day he’s thinking of art school. Art school.” George scoffed. “He’s going to have to get a lot more serious about his work if that’s what he wants to do. And being an artist is hardly a way to make a living. Ellen knows that.”

She smiled uncomfortably, knuckles white on her wine glass.

“More salad, anyone?” Mom said abruptly, holding out the bowl.

“About Willo . . . ,” my dad started.

I frowned at my plate and fiddled with my new bracelet, feeling protective of Eph’s drawings.

“What’d I miss?” Eph asked, rounding the corner.

“Theo and I have to get going,” George said, holding up his watch. “We’re going to be late for the staff meeting.”

Dad groaned and dramatically pushed his chair out, grumbling under his breath about budgets and morons, stalking out of the room even more disheveled than when he came in, bread crumbs up and down his sweater, the red sauce stain on his collar.

Mom sighed, a weary but affectionate sigh full of years of displaced crumbs and dinosaur lectures.

“See you later, Mr. Marx,” Eph called out.

Meanwhile George slid on his blazer, bent down, and whispered something to Ellen in