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.”
Liesl picked up the empty plastic tray and tossed it in the trash.
“He’s a good fundraiser then,” Liesl said. “Is that what you mean?”
“During the university’s last capital campaign,” Garber said, “he came in so far over his target that they had to tear down a perfectly good library and build a new one.”
“Why wouldn’t they have just spent the money on collections?” Liesl said. “Or held it for when it was needed?”
“Liesl,” he said.
“Of course,” Liesl said. “Because people like buildings with their names on them.”
“They buy books too, of course,” Garber said. “Boston has a Gutenberg. Maybe he could get us a Gutenberg.”
She looked at her phone. Willed it to ring with news of the auction, news from D. E. Lake, with any break from Garber’s conversation.
“That’s been in Boston’s collection for 150 years,” Liesl said. “No one, not even Langdon Sibley, is going to get us a Gutenberg.”
“Something else then.”
“You know,” Liesl said, “the way you describe him, he sounds a lot like Christopher.”
“Exactly right,” Garber said. “Good with the books, good with the donors. A face to represent the library.”
“Right.”
“Christopher led this place admirably,” Garber said. “If I can find someone who wears the same-sized shoes…”
“Then why go out and buy a new pair,” Liesl said. She was compassionate to fear of the unknown. Her single academic term in a position of authority was overflowing with the unknown. And she wasn’t surprised by Garber’s predictable choice. The last months had been erratic, uncertain. Heroes into villains, opportunities into disappointments, friends into corpses. But the path of academic administration would always run directly down the road of men in charcoal suits. She wasn’t dashed by Garber’s choice; she was satisfied that someone was at last behaving as expected.