A Room of Her Own

The offer came as a question, not a letter.

Mette asked me to stay after we had put the scarf’s final record in its folder. We were in the studio’s narrow workroom. Rain tapped at the upper panes. She showed me a notice she was preparing for a continuing conservator role, a position with its own caseload and responsibility for explaining treatment decisions to visiting owners.

“You would have to apply,” she said. “I can’t promise you the job. I want you to know it is coming before you make arrangements for the end of your placement.”

“Why me?”

“You changed your mind about the dark repair and kept the first photograph. You can tell an owner what is uncertain without making them feel you have failed. That matters here.”

I looked at the description. The work was real, paid and continuing. It was not a prize offered for being…