treasure.”
“And how I found it?” Matt said casually, fishing.
“No… I don’t think anyone knows about that.”
“You included?”
“Me included, though I hadn’t gleaned that there was any big secret, Mr. Mysterious.”
“Hm- well, that isn’t what I was going to say, anyway. About the money. There’s something else. But I need to think about it.”
Tuni smiled indifferently, but Matt could tell she was intrigued and trying to hide it.
Do I bring her in? Matt wondered. She seemed trustworthy enough, but that would make how many now? Matt went down the list in his head. Dad, Mom, Aunt Denora, Iris, his ex- Melissa, Uncle J, Dr. Meier, George Miller, Pete Sharma. That was nine. She would make ten. And did she need to know? Dad always drilled it into his head: “Keep it tight, boy. If it’s not someone that loves you, consider them a threat.” Dad had not at all liked Uncle J’s suggestion about the museum, but by that time it was out of his hands and Matt had stopped talking to him, or more applicably… listening.
Matt wondered about these people in Africa, the ones with the metal artifact. Would he have to reveal himself to them as well? He hadn’t thought this through nearly enough, and he had to push out his dad’s disappointed “I told you” from his head. He peered over at Tuni, flipping through a food magazine. His instincts told him she should know, but he wasn’t sure if they were clouded by his other thoughts about her. Was he just trying to qualify her? That’s what he was doing with Melissa when he first became interested in her. And now she was out there, no longer a part of his life, fully aware of his secret. He couldn’t take it back. But wasn’t this different?
It was, or so he convinced himself.
He leaned over and glanced to the back of the cabin. The flight attendant was seated in a little fold-down, reading a thick paperback.
“Tuni,” he said quietly.
She looked up with a coy smirk as she returned, “Yes, Matthew?” in the same hushed tone.
“I’m going to tell you something that’s difficult to believe.”
She turned serious, nodding sharply.
“Very few people know, and you need to make the biggest promise of your life to keep it to yourself… forever.”
“Yes, er… of course. What is it?”
“The sheet here, on the seat? The whole getup, the gloves… I’m not a germaphobe. I have an ability called psychometry . It allows me to read emotional imprints that people leave on objects.”
Tuni’s head cocked sideways and her expression shifted to a frown. Whatever she had imagined he was going to tell her, it had clearly caught her off-guard. She made an undecided “mm-hmm…” for him to go on.
“I told you it’s difficult to believe. But it’s how I tracked that sunken wreck. It’s what I did for Dr. Meier at the museum. Dating artifacts, verifying historical records, stuff like that. Thing is…” he gestured at his beanie and turtleneck’s collar. “I can’t turn it off. And, as far as I know, it’s on , I guess, everywhere on my skin.”
Another “mm-hmm” and he could see her wheels turning. He guessed she was thinking back to conversations she had overheard, putting pieces together.
“Do you believe me?”
“I… I suppose so… so, wait. Does Peter Sharma know about it? Is that why he requested you?”
“Yup. He worked with me the most on the special projects , as Meier liked to say.”
“Does Hank Felch know?”
“He shouldn’t,” Matt said, almost accusingly. “I definitely didn’t authorize anyone else. Only George and Meier, plus my family—and not even my whole family!”
Tuni looked to the floor, processing. Matt waited, studying her expressions. He had only had this conversation twice before, and one was George, so it didn’t seem as big a deal.
She looked back up at him, seemingly with new eyes, taking in his whole body.
“So how does it work? You touch something with your bare skin, and you get
“And how I found it?” Matt said casually, fishing.
“No… I don’t think anyone knows about that.”
“You included?”
“Me included, though I hadn’t gleaned that there was any big secret, Mr. Mysterious.”
“Hm- well, that isn’t what I was going to say, anyway. About the money. There’s something else. But I need to think about it.”
Tuni smiled indifferently, but Matt could tell she was intrigued and trying to hide it.
Do I bring her in? Matt wondered. She seemed trustworthy enough, but that would make how many now? Matt went down the list in his head. Dad, Mom, Aunt Denora, Iris, his ex- Melissa, Uncle J, Dr. Meier, George Miller, Pete Sharma. That was nine. She would make ten. And did she need to know? Dad always drilled it into his head: “Keep it tight, boy. If it’s not someone that loves you, consider them a threat.” Dad had not at all liked Uncle J’s suggestion about the museum, but by that time it was out of his hands and Matt had stopped talking to him, or more applicably… listening.
Matt wondered about these people in Africa, the ones with the metal artifact. Would he have to reveal himself to them as well? He hadn’t thought this through nearly enough, and he had to push out his dad’s disappointed “I told you” from his head. He peered over at Tuni, flipping through a food magazine. His instincts told him she should know, but he wasn’t sure if they were clouded by his other thoughts about her. Was he just trying to qualify her? That’s what he was doing with Melissa when he first became interested in her. And now she was out there, no longer a part of his life, fully aware of his secret. He couldn’t take it back. But wasn’t this different?
It was, or so he convinced himself.
He leaned over and glanced to the back of the cabin. The flight attendant was seated in a little fold-down, reading a thick paperback.
“Tuni,” he said quietly.
She looked up with a coy smirk as she returned, “Yes, Matthew?” in the same hushed tone.
“I’m going to tell you something that’s difficult to believe.”
She turned serious, nodding sharply.
“Very few people know, and you need to make the biggest promise of your life to keep it to yourself… forever.”
“Yes, er… of course. What is it?”
“The sheet here, on the seat? The whole getup, the gloves… I’m not a germaphobe. I have an ability called psychometry . It allows me to read emotional imprints that people leave on objects.”
Tuni’s head cocked sideways and her expression shifted to a frown. Whatever she had imagined he was going to tell her, it had clearly caught her off-guard. She made an undecided “mm-hmm…” for him to go on.
“I told you it’s difficult to believe. But it’s how I tracked that sunken wreck. It’s what I did for Dr. Meier at the museum. Dating artifacts, verifying historical records, stuff like that. Thing is…” he gestured at his beanie and turtleneck’s collar. “I can’t turn it off. And, as far as I know, it’s on , I guess, everywhere on my skin.”
Another “mm-hmm” and he could see her wheels turning. He guessed she was thinking back to conversations she had overheard, putting pieces together.
“Do you believe me?”
“I… I suppose so… so, wait. Does Peter Sharma know about it? Is that why he requested you?”
“Yup. He worked with me the most on the special projects , as Meier liked to say.”
“Does Hank Felch know?”
“He shouldn’t,” Matt said, almost accusingly. “I definitely didn’t authorize anyone else. Only George and Meier, plus my family—and not even my whole family!”
Tuni looked to the floor, processing. Matt waited, studying her expressions. He had only had this conversation twice before, and one was George, so it didn’t seem as big a deal.
She looked back up at him, seemingly with new eyes, taking in his whole body.
“So how does it work? You touch something with your bare skin, and you get
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