My Last Innocent Year(55)

“Stop humoring her,” said Kelsey.

“Do we have to do anything?” I said. “I mean, it’s almost over. Can’t we just enjoy the time we have left?”

“Since when did you get so nervous?” Debra snapped. “I understand Kelsey wanting to prop up the system, but you? What did Wilder ever do for you? Zev’s still a student here.”

At that, Jason opened the door, and I was spared having to answer her.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was knocking. Everything okay in here?”

“We’re fine,” Kelsey said and walked out.

“Better check on the missus,” said Debra.

“Hey,” Jason said to me, “did you hear about Professor Fisher?”

“No. What about him?”

“I don’t know much, but apparently he and his daughter are missing.”

“What do you mean ‘missing’?”

“I heard it from Andy. He said Fisher was supposed to take her to his sister’s house and they never showed up.” He looked at Debra. “What happened to your hair?”

I ran over to the library, where I found Andy in his carrel.

“I don’t know how much I’m supposed to say,” he said, “but I guess it’ll all come out anyway now that the FBI is involved.”

“The FBI? Andy, what the fuck happened?”

Andy looked tired. I hadn’t seen him much lately, but I’d heard he and Kara had broken up. Also, he hadn’t gotten funding at his top programs and had been wait-listed at a couple more.

“Tom was supposed to take Igraine to his sister’s house in Rhode Island for a couple of days. Joanna didn’t want him to, but Tom convinced her it would be fine, that Igraine would get to spend time with her cousins or whatever.” He reached for his cigarettes, offered me one. “So Joanna said yes. He was supposed to get there on Saturday, but he never showed up.”

“That was four days ago. What does the sister say?”

“She said she hasn’t spoken to Tom in months.”

“Jesus.” Andy lit his cigarette, then leaned over and lit mine. I noticed his hands were shaking. “Where could he be?”

“No clue. Joanna’s calling everyone. No one knows where he is. Tom doesn’t have much money and Igraine doesn’t have a passport, as far as she knows. Isabel, it’s bad. When I was living there last summer, they fought all the time. Like, really fought.”

“Yeah. I saw them one night,” I said. “This winter. Fighting in front of my dorm. They were yelling at each other, and then he pulled her into the car.”

Andy sucked hard on his cigarette. “Tom is not a good guy. He’s always been jealous of Joanna’s success. You’d never know it looking at him, but the guy’s an asshole.”

“You don’t think he’d hurt Igraine, do you?”

“No. I think this is all about hurting Joanna.” Andy tapped his cigarette ash into a paper cup. “Listen, don’t tell anyone you heard this from me, okay? It’s not gossip.”

I promised Andy I wouldn’t tell anyone, then I left the library and headed over to Stringer Hall. I didn’t think Connelly would be there. Still, I walked up to his office and knocked three times on the closed door.

Tom’s office was dark, as it had been for weeks. There were a few papers sticking out from underneath the door, and I bent down and pushed them all the way under. Then I wiggled the doorknob, hoping it would open and I’d find Tom inside, rolling a cigarette or holding out a bag of Starburst.

I remembered the first time I met him, when I’d come by to ask him about mentoring my thesis. He asked where I was from, and it turned out he and Joanna had lived on the Lower East Side for a few years.

“Your family owns Rosen’s Appetizing? Joanna and I used to go there all the time. Joanna was addicted to the whitefish salad. And the smoked salmon.” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “What a store. Those are the places that make New York so special.” He paused. “So, why Wharton?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is Wharton’s New York your New York?” He walked over to his bookshelf. “Why not Grace Paley or Henry Roth? Or Malamud?” He took a book off the shelf and handed it to me. “I would think there are writers who speak more to your experience than Wharton.”

I looked at the book he’d given me. Bernard Malamud’s The Assistant. Whenever I asked Abe about his childhood, he would say, “Read The Assistant.”

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Tom said. “Just think about it.”

I’d decided to stick with Wharton, although I thought about what Tom said every time I stepped into the world of characters who wouldn’t have even glanced at my forebears if they passed them on the street. I still hadn’t read The Assistant.

Igraine’s face floated back to me as I passed the spot where we had sat together that day. Be careful, my darling. I love you. I tried to imagine where she might be right now, if she understood what was going on, if she was scared. Maybe if I had said something, this wouldn’t have happened—but what would I have said, and to whom? I headed downstairs. A bird had flown inside the building. I tried to get it to follow me outside, but it kept walking down the hall, as if it were late for a meeting. I stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine and remembered Doug Biaggio’s phone number, the one he’d told me about at the Knotty Pine. 1-800-I-AM-LOST.