lowered his gaze as he retraced his steps, squinting at Thomas’s name tag through the bottom of his wire-framed bifocals. “I’ve met you before, right?”
“Yes, many times, Dr. Felk,” the volunteer said. “These visitors here—”
“Canada geese! Canada geese!” Robby’s pitch and intensity were increasing.
Dr. Felk turned away from Thomas, taking a long look at Robby. Bushy gray eyebrows rose just above his glasses, then dropped as he took in her son, whose hood was not only up but tight around his face, from tugging on the strings. Now one hand tugged while the other plucked nervously at the headphones around his neck.
“Visitors. I see. Yes. You’re interested in Canada geese, young man?”
Mutely, Robby nodded. Hang in there , Linda thought.
“Wonderful. You’ve come to the right place. Follow me.” The old man reached out toward Robby’s shoulder, as if to pilot him, Linda thought anxiously. But no, his hand was merely extended in a beckoning gesture, summoning them to follow him out of the gallery, the way he had entered. Robby trotted along compliantly.
“Uh, sir? Sir? Excuse me,” Thomas called after him nervously.
“Yes? What is it, Thomas?” Felk halted and looked over his shoulder.
“Sir, the computer says we don’t have any Canada geese on exhibit. I did a search.”
“You did, did you?”
Thomas nodded. Felk snorted, a sound that turned into a cough.
“Can’t trust computers to know a museum, Thomas. I’ve been working here thirty-five years. Been through this place top to bottom. Trust me, we have Canada geese. I’ll take it from here.”
Shaking his head and muttering again, Felk led them to a service elevator and jabbed the down button. “Nobody’s asked about a damn bird in six months. Everyone wants the dinosaurs, the IMAX, the gift shop. You want to see a Canada goose, son? All right, then. What’s your name?”
“Robby,” said Robby, uncharacteristically responding before either Sam or Linda spoke.
“Nice to meet you, Robby.” The elevator doors opened. Again, Felk gestured, indicating they should enter first. Inside he pressed the button labeled “B.” “I’m Arthur Felk, chief ornithologist here at the museum. Been in charge of the birds around here since before Thomas back there was born.”
“Linda Palmer,” Linda said, extending her hand as the elevator lurched downward. “My husband, Sam. We’re visiting from Detroit.”
Felk shook their hands, but Robby was clearly where his interest lay. “What do you want to know about Canada geese?”
“Plane crash.”
Felk’s brow furrowed. “Plane crash? Don’t follow you, son.”
“Geese make planes crash. Like yesterday’s.”
“Yesterday’s? That one over in the river?” Another cough.
“We were on a ferry in the river when it happened. Robby’s been a little, well, obsessed with it since. He has autism,” Linda started to explain. “I don’t know how much you know about autism, but . . .”
Felk held up his hand, cutting her off. “So they’re saying it was a bird strike? I hadn’t heard that yet. Well, I’ll show you what we’ve got in our collection now. But you might want to come back another day, because it’s likely those engines will be headed this way, once the FAA’s done with them, anyway.”
“Excuse me?” Sam spoke up. “Why would an engine be of interest to a natural history museum?”
“Wouldn’t. It’s what’s in the engine they want us to look at. We’ll take it apart, do scrapings for DNA. Try to confirm the species. Cross-reference with known nesting sites in the crash area.” The elevator bumped to a stop.
Linda’s face pulled back in disgust, but as they stepped out into the museum basement, she read fascination on Robby’s. Felk saw it, too.
“Pretty neat, right? The more we know about birds, the better we get at preventing bird strikes. There are thousands per year, you know.”
“Thousands?” Robby’s face clouded, and he
“Yes, many times, Dr. Felk,” the volunteer said. “These visitors here—”
“Canada geese! Canada geese!” Robby’s pitch and intensity were increasing.
Dr. Felk turned away from Thomas, taking a long look at Robby. Bushy gray eyebrows rose just above his glasses, then dropped as he took in her son, whose hood was not only up but tight around his face, from tugging on the strings. Now one hand tugged while the other plucked nervously at the headphones around his neck.
“Visitors. I see. Yes. You’re interested in Canada geese, young man?”
Mutely, Robby nodded. Hang in there , Linda thought.
“Wonderful. You’ve come to the right place. Follow me.” The old man reached out toward Robby’s shoulder, as if to pilot him, Linda thought anxiously. But no, his hand was merely extended in a beckoning gesture, summoning them to follow him out of the gallery, the way he had entered. Robby trotted along compliantly.
“Uh, sir? Sir? Excuse me,” Thomas called after him nervously.
“Yes? What is it, Thomas?” Felk halted and looked over his shoulder.
“Sir, the computer says we don’t have any Canada geese on exhibit. I did a search.”
“You did, did you?”
Thomas nodded. Felk snorted, a sound that turned into a cough.
“Can’t trust computers to know a museum, Thomas. I’ve been working here thirty-five years. Been through this place top to bottom. Trust me, we have Canada geese. I’ll take it from here.”
Shaking his head and muttering again, Felk led them to a service elevator and jabbed the down button. “Nobody’s asked about a damn bird in six months. Everyone wants the dinosaurs, the IMAX, the gift shop. You want to see a Canada goose, son? All right, then. What’s your name?”
“Robby,” said Robby, uncharacteristically responding before either Sam or Linda spoke.
“Nice to meet you, Robby.” The elevator doors opened. Again, Felk gestured, indicating they should enter first. Inside he pressed the button labeled “B.” “I’m Arthur Felk, chief ornithologist here at the museum. Been in charge of the birds around here since before Thomas back there was born.”
“Linda Palmer,” Linda said, extending her hand as the elevator lurched downward. “My husband, Sam. We’re visiting from Detroit.”
Felk shook their hands, but Robby was clearly where his interest lay. “What do you want to know about Canada geese?”
“Plane crash.”
Felk’s brow furrowed. “Plane crash? Don’t follow you, son.”
“Geese make planes crash. Like yesterday’s.”
“Yesterday’s? That one over in the river?” Another cough.
“We were on a ferry in the river when it happened. Robby’s been a little, well, obsessed with it since. He has autism,” Linda started to explain. “I don’t know how much you know about autism, but . . .”
Felk held up his hand, cutting her off. “So they’re saying it was a bird strike? I hadn’t heard that yet. Well, I’ll show you what we’ve got in our collection now. But you might want to come back another day, because it’s likely those engines will be headed this way, once the FAA’s done with them, anyway.”
“Excuse me?” Sam spoke up. “Why would an engine be of interest to a natural history museum?”
“Wouldn’t. It’s what’s in the engine they want us to look at. We’ll take it apart, do scrapings for DNA. Try to confirm the species. Cross-reference with known nesting sites in the crash area.” The elevator bumped to a stop.
Linda’s face pulled back in disgust, but as they stepped out into the museum basement, she read fascination on Robby’s. Felk saw it, too.
“Pretty neat, right? The more we know about birds, the better we get at preventing bird strikes. There are thousands per year, you know.”
“Thousands?” Robby’s face clouded, and he
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