The Department of Rare Books and Special Collections(79)

“She’s the brains in our family,” said Sibley. “But no, she chose to work in our home, taking care of our children.”

“Sib wanted to see some highlights from the collection,” Garber said.

“What did you have in mind?” Liesl asked.

“Well, I was hoping you might have suggestions.”

“I’d love to see the Peshawar,” Sibley said.

“It’s not here, I’m afraid. We’re having it carbon-dated,” Liesl said.

“The Peshawar manuscript is out of the library?” Garber said.

“Rhonda Washington suggested it as a research project,” Liesl said.

“She’s the chair for the communication of science,” Garber explained.

“You’re doing some innovative work here,” Sibley said.

“Apparently we are,” Garber said. “Who knew?”

“If your researchers aren’t one step ahead of you, you’re not doing it right,” Sibley said. Liesl got up to lead them out of the office and down into the stacks so they could stroke some prize horses.

“I’d be interested to hear the results of this carbon dating when it comes back, Liesl. I imagine Professor Washington is planning a public rollout?”

“That’s the idea,” Liesl said. “It’s sure to be quite a grand reveal.”

Before they’d even left her office, she’d forgotten about them. Liesl wasn’t worried about the charcoal suit brought in to replace her or about the other charcoal suit who had been making her miserable for months. Liesl turned her attention to the manila envelope, the yellow paper parcel addressed by Marie’s hand, which had landed on her desk with the morning mail only moments before Garber and Sibley had walked in to make their introductions.

There had been something physically overpowering about the sensation of tearing the envelope open, something so decisive and exciting that, in a way, it reduced Liesl to an observer of her own actions. As an observer, rather than a participant, in the envelope opening, she never got to experience that moment of perfect clarity. She would put it together later, would narrow her eyes with understanding as she began to come out of her stupor, but as she leafed through the contents of the envelope, which were immediately recognizable as the final chapters of Francis and Christopher’s book, she was struck with a certain blindness rather than a perfect lucidity. Liesl’s vision would clear; the desk, the phone, the computer, the open office door, and finally the pages would come back into focus, not as a snap but as a gradual turning of the lens until she understood who had done what and that it was up to her—not because she had the smarts or the title, but because there would be no one else willing to do the hard thing, and that if objective truth and consequences for actions mattered at all, it would be up to her to find confirmation for her suspicions.

She had gone over to one of the bookshelves where she had left Christopher’s yellowing Rolodex months earlier. She flicked her fingers past handwritten index cards until she found the one she was seeking and plucked it out. Before she entered the number, she cleared her throat and put on a smile. Then she dialed the number for D. E. Lake books and asked him to call her back on Christopher’s office line at his earliest convenience.

***

She was just opening a plastic clamshell of questionable cafeteria sushi when President Garber walked back into her office.

“Have a moment?” he asked.

“I was just about to eat some lunch.”

“Terrible levels of mercury in tuna, you know.”

“I went for salmon.”

“Good, good.”

“You’ve lost your shadow?”

He took a seat across from her. He would not be leaving her to finish her lunch alone.

“Max will be disappointed,” Liesl said. “I think he expected the appointment.”

“Maximilian Hubbard as director?”

“He did his doctoral work in Leuven.”

“It’s not all education.”

“He’s decent with donors.”

“We need more than decent, Liesl.”

“He has a good relationship with Percy.”

“Percy?” Garber shook his head. “I think we both know that this library is going to have to expand the donor base beyond Percy Pickens.”

“I did know that, yes.”

“He comes with baggage,” Garber said.

“Baggage? That’s not baggage anymore,” Liesl said with a mouthful of salmon and rice.

He shook his head. “You’d be surprised.” And then he reached over and plucked a piece of salmon roll from the plastic tray. Liesl nearly swatted his hand away. She nearly fell off her chair. He chewed, and she gaped at him chewing. She slid the rest of the tray over to him. He nodded with thanks. Took another piece with his fingers.

“You’re all right if I finish this?” he said. “If you’re not going to?”

“By all means.”

“You’re familiar with what Sibley did in Boston?” Garber asked. “You must be if you’ve heard of him.”

“Well, yes,” Liesl said. “I’ve heard he’s been extremely effective for the library. For the school.”

Garber held up a finger as he chewed a piece of her sushi. “Effective!” he said. “A stop sign is effective.”