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came back on. “I’m going to the Shedd Aquarium Web site.…”
    I closed my eyes. “No. Don’t. I don’t want to know.”
    “Hold on.… Here’s the staff page.… Nobody is popping up for Kenneth Chip. I don’t think he works there. Or if he does, he’s not important enough to be listed.”
    “He’s probably a custodian,” I said. “He probably empties the trash bags.”
    “Hold on.… I’m Googling ‘Kenneth Chip and Chicago.’… Nothing.” He went on. “There’s a Kenneth Chip in Orlando … a plumber.… Wait, it’s Kenneth Chip Hanson. I think Chip is his nickname — ”
    “Dinner’s ready!” my mom called.
    I told Fin to stop looking and said good-bye. I slipped the cards and necklace into the toe of this funky sheepherder-type boot that was under my bed. My mother wouldn’t touch that with a broom. Yes, when your mom has 24/7 access to your room, you have to be creative about where you hide things.

    T HAT WHOLE EVENING , I acted as if nothing were wrong, but after midnight, I crept downstairs into thedark kitchen. I remember the feeling in the air: It was as if the silence were a person in the room who was watching.
    I turned on the computer and searched the Shedd Aquarium Web site. On the staff page, a dozen names were listed with their job titles, a short bio, and a photo after each name.
Jane Doe, President
, etc.
    And then I got to this name —
Keanu Choy
— and I started having trouble breathing. The photo was a close-up of a guy treading water in a turquoise ocean, wearing scuba gear, smiling up at the camera, flawless brown skin, shining black hair, dark glittering almond-shaped eyes, a man who looked completely satisfied with his life.
VP Global Field Experiences and Director of SOS Project. Originally from Hawaii, Dr. Choy began his distinguished career with Shedd as an intern, just seventeen years ago. Specializing in the study of seahorses, he went on to found the Save Our Seahorse (SOS) Project. The Shedd Aquarium is delighted to be the new home of the SOS Project and to have Dr. Choy back on staff.
    The hair, the eyes, the seventeen years ago, the seahorses.
    I sat there in the dark, staring at his photo while therefrigerator hummed and the house slept. Eventually, I texted Fin, but of course he was sleeping, too.

    T HE NEXT MORNING , I woke in a numb, exhausted fog. There was my mom drinking coffee at the sink, chattering about how much she liked the new color scheme at Crate & Barrel, which is where she works, and there I was, trying to pack my lunch, not knowing how to bring up the whole father subject. Then I noticed the bag of potato chips on the pantry shelf and blurted casually: “So I wonder where Kenneth Chip is these days?”
    She dropped her coffee cup. With a crash, it hit the tile floor and shattered, coffee spraying the white cabinets.
    “Why did you say that?” she asked, the panic on her face as obvious as the mess.
    We stared at each other, not moving. It was as if I had pulled her to the edge of a cliff, and I was afraid that if I answered truthfully, it would be like shoving her off.
    “I just saw the chips and it popped into my head.” It wasn’t a total lie. It wasn’t a total truth, either. Igrabbed a paper towel and started wiping up.
    “Be careful, Minny!” She pulled my hand away and grabbed a sponge. Her hand was shaking. “I have no idea where your father is and there’s no need whatsoever to talk about that.” She carefully pushed pieces of the cup into a pile. “He is not worth the time of day.” She pulled the trash can over, started lifting the bigger pieces into it, and asked without looking: “It popped into your head because of the chips?”
    “Yeah,” I said quickly. “Just now.”
    She glanced at me. “Your father is not a nice person. If you let him in, he will hurt you. Promise me you will put him out of your mind.”
    I nodded.
    “Good.” She took a breath and stared at the splattered cabinets. “It’s staining.