“So I can whip up a keynote presentation on seventy-two hours’ notice.”
“I shouldn’t have asked,” Liesl said.
“No, I’m saying I can whip up a keynote presentation on seventy-two hours’ notice.”
“So you’ll do it?” Liesl said. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, but it whooshed out with her relief. Finally, a problem solved. “I can hardly believe my luck.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Rhonda said, going back to pick at the tape now that the matter was settled. “I’d love to lecture a bunch of moneyed humanists on the vitality of early mathematics.”
“Well, yes. Though it is still a fundraiser.”
“Liesl, you don’t have to worry.”
“I wasn’t.”
“It’s my entire job. To make science sound interesting. I can handle this.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Liesl said. “I’m not sure what I would have done.”
“You can thank me by allowing me some time to work with the manuscript to prepare. Seems a pity to meet for the first time on the wedding night. Is there a day this week I could come by?”
Liesl crossed her arms reflexively, not knowing how serious Rhonda’s request was, not knowing its conditions.
“If it’s no, will you still do it?” Liesl asked.
“Grudgingly, but I suppose I would.”
Liesl thought of her calendar, of the pile of messages on her desk.
“It can’t be this week.”
“May I ask why?”
“Simple logistics,” Liesl said. “I’m away at a book fair for most of the week.”
There was no existing rule that the library director had to supervise the use of the highest-value collections. But Liesl wasn’t taking chances.
“My office will be in touch to confirm the details for the lecture,” Rhonda said.
“Thank you.”
“Enjoy your book fair, Liesl,” Rhonda said as she triumphantly pulled one full line of tape off the floor, dangling it in front of her like a scalp.
“Rhonda?” Liesl said.
“Yes?”
Liesl pressed her hands together in gratitude. “Really, though, thank you.”
***
Liesl returned to the library at noon, shaking off the anxiety of a near disaster, and although he was meant to be presenting materials to a group of undergraduates, Francis was waiting at the door of her office when she returned. “You saw, then,” he said. “No Miriam again today.”
“I did.”
“She was always a bit strange, that one.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“Always kind of quiet. I don’t know.”
“It’s a library,” Liesl said. “Everyone’s quiet.”
He came in and sat down.
“Probably run off with a lover.”
“Don’t say that,” she said. “I’m getting quite worried about her.”
He leaned back and put his feet on the desk.
“I’m wondering if I should report her missing,” Liesl said. “Would you put your feet up like that if Christopher were here?”
“Suppose I wouldn’t.”
“Then please do me the courtesy.”
The morning had passed in a blink, and with the day half-over, Liesl’s anxiety about unfinished tasks came back around. Francis picked up on Liesl’s disquiet and lowered his feet to the floor to keep from egging her on, as if a bit of dirt at the edge of the desk were the root of her consternation. Her face clouded with frustration.
“Chris’s desk was always too cluttered with books to fit feet on it,” Francis said. “If it wasn’t, I might have done so.”
“Do you think I should report Miriam?”
He leaned on his armrest and gave a weary sigh. “I don’t.”
“It’s going to be a week soon.”
“Liesl,” he said. “What is it with you and wanting to go to the police?”
She looked over Francis’s shoulder at her open office door, willing Miriam to walk through it. “What is it with you and telling me not to?”
“I’m saving you from your own worst inclinations.”
“Wouldn’t you want someone to call if you were missing?”
Francis was an old man who lived alone. It was an unfair question with unfair implications.
“Have you talked to Vivek?”
“Yes,” Liesl said. “It sounds like they’ve separated or are having a big row.”