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“October 30, 1986, Hartford Whalers. It was parent-teacher night.”
Grinning, Eden laughed and poked Georgie with an accusing finger. “See? The fact you remember that! I can’t remember what I did last week.”
“That’s because you have seven-year-old twins and a busy husband.” Georgie tugged on the hem of her blue blouse, making its black screen-printed Eiffel Towers stretch. “All I have are my frogs and my cute raccoon friend who pops up late at night demanding Froot Loops.”
“Sorry, are we talking about an actual trash panda or your hockey husband?”
She let out a laugh. “Eden!” Georgie’s best friendship with Michael Boutette spanned seventeen years and was as solid as their shared love for their team. Since her dad’s death, Michael, and only Michael, was her game night partner in crime.
“Oh, come on!” Eden laughed through her words. “Michael does have that same raccoon energy—and that’s a compliment.”
Shaking her woozy head, Georgie noticed the students and teachers from the other school exiting the mummy exhibit. “Oh, looks like we’re finally up.” She cleared her throat and stepped forward. “Class, let’s make our way to the human mummies. Once we’re inside, please gather round the glass case in the centre of the room.”
The teenagers swarmed the open coffin, some more keen than others. The mummified Egyptian grimaced back at their slack-jawed awe, his linen bandages unwrapped from his face and shoulders.
“This is Antjef, a wealthy landowner who lived sometime between 660 and 600 B.C.,” explained Georgie. “The lid of his coffin is decorated with many of the hieroglyphs and deities we’ve been studying.”
“SERIOUSLY?” Braces glinting under the spotlights, a pupil with long red hair clutched her clipboard against her denim overalls. “He’s a redhead!”
The boy with his arm draped over her shoulders couldn’t have been less interested. Snapping his gum, he toyed with the Walkman headphones curled around his neck.
“Is it real, though?” the girl asked, ignoring her boyfriend’s indifference. “I thought Egyptians had dark hair.”
Thrilled by her student’s curiosity, Georgie relaxed into her answer. “That’s a great question. Egyptologists have several theories. Some believe the red comes from henna hair dye. Others attribute it to chemical reactions in the body after death or the mummification process. But one of ancient Egypt’s most powerful rulers challenges these opinions from beyond the grave. Do you know who that might be?”
“Didn’t Ramses something-or-other have red hair?” replied a tall boy in a Chicago Bulls hoodie.
“Correct!” Georgie smiled. “Ramses II did. At least, that’s what research currently states, so until science can prove otherwise, yes, redheads did exist in ancient Egypt.”
“Cool!” The girl seemed satisfied and dove back into her assignment.
“You might not be an expert,” Eden whispered as Georgie’s head began to throb, “but that was a great answer—”
“Good morning, everyone.” A male voice stepped on her compliment. “Sorry for the wait. I’ll be your educational guide for the remainder of your visit.”
Thank god. Georgie rubbed her forehead as several students shifted, clearing a path on the opposite side of the mummy’s case.
“My name is Dr. Jönsson and I’m an Egyptologist.”
Georgie turned to Eden. “They assigned us a PhD?”
She grinned tightly and bumped Georgie’s arm. “Ooh, he’s nice,” she purred. “Shame you can’t see him.”
Shame, indeed. To Georgie, Dr. Jönsson was nothing more than a tall, distorted blur of dark clothing with brown hair and a European accent she couldn’t place.
“So, I hear you’ve met Antjef, our most popular resident on the third floor.” His voice rose with a hint of a smile. “Now let me introduce you to someone a little older.” He motioned toward another glass case, this one displaying an upright coffin sporting beautiful gold leaf and painted images of gods Ra and Osiris, two favourites of Georgie’s. “Djmeritu was a middle-class woman from Western Thebes.” The Egyptologist paused as if waiting for the students to move closer, but only a few complied.
“Make sure you get good and close,” urged Georgie, motioning them forward. “The artwork is stunning.”
Dr. Jönsson flashed a grin she couldn’t see. “It truly is. Her coffin dates back to a period between 945 and 715 B.C. and has never been opened.”
“Why not?” A boy with a shaggy mullet sprouting beneath his backward ball cap drummed the chewed end of his pencil against his binder, the incessant whack and scrape of wood against vinyl like nails on a chalkboard to noise-sensitive Georgie. “They cracked open the other dude.”
“Antjef’s coffin was constructed from wood and painted plaster, which are much stronger materials than the layers of plaster-soaked linen protecting Djmeritu’s remains,” said Dr. Jönsson. “Opening her coffin would most likely damage the outer artwork, and potentially her mummy. She’s a rare find. It’s nearly impossible to find an Egyptian coffin of this age with its original seal intact.”
The student ducked his chin. “Still think they should crack it open,” he muttered into his assignment.
Unfazed, the doctor continued. “One of the reasons we have ancient coffins and mummies to study today is because of Egypt’s arid climate. The sands of the desert naturally preserved bodies by stopping the proliferation of bacteria, thus halting the decaying process.”
