He shook her hand to end the conversation. Liesl had been observing and allowed herself to breathe now that the adversaries were separated. Rhonda knew the importance of donors, knew what she had been asked here to do. But Rhonda would not let herself be disrespected, and if allowed to go on, the exchange was unlikely to end positively. Liesl took a drink to soothe her throat and turned to Rhonda to ask her about her study of Arabic, about her interest in advising on a possible acquisition. But Rhonda gave a quick smile and slipped away from Liesl.
A waiter appeared to refill Liesl’s wine. It was hard to keep count when the glass was never allowed to empty. Percy and Rhonda were both in need of Liesl’s handling. She took a swallow of Riesling that left her glass half-full. From across the room she saw that Max had reached Percy before she could. They had their backs to her. They were whispering. They were not like the pink-sweatshirted girls that Liesl had consoled Hannah about during middle school, promising the girl that in the long run their whispers wouldn’t matter. If Max and Percy were conspiring in some way, there would be consequences.
Liesl looked around until she spotted Rhonda in the opposite corner of the room. She had stopped drinking after one glass of wine and was clutching a bottle of Perrier by its neck and nodding as an octogenarian with an unconvincing wig and a large inheritance from her recently departed husband talked at her. Liesl went over and put a hand on each of the women’s shoulders to interrupt. The touching did not come naturally to her, but she had seen Christopher announce himself this way hundreds of times. The wig looked down at Liesl’s hand. Liesl removed it.
“Wonderful lecture,” Liesl said to Rhonda.
“Thank you.”
“We were near halfway through when I realized we weren’t talking about the Plantin,” the old woman said.
“I’m sorry we weren’t more clear,” Liesl said.
“Not at all,” the woman said. “It was delightful once I put it together.”
“We’re lucky to have Professor Washington,” Liesl said.
Max and Percy were occasionally glancing over at Rhonda and Liesl. A waiter refilled Liesl’s glass. The canapés were running low. Liesl needed a moment alone with Rhonda more than she needed the canapés to be refreshed. She took a sip of her wine and made a hand signal to one of the waiters, hoping he would understand to see to the food. Her glass was refilled again.
“Will the Plantin lecture be soon?” the wig asked.
Rhonda looked up at Liesl and waited for the answer. She would have heard about the acquisition, too, and as a student of languages, she might have personal interest in the object.
“It’s not yet scheduled,” Liesl said.
“A fine book, though?”
Liesl agreed that it was but explained that it was actually several books. That the Plantin was bound into multiple volumes.
“It’s very educational,” said the wig. “But I wish it were printed on something vegan.”
“Printing on vellum was a standard practice of the time,” Liesl said.
Rhonda put the Perrier up to her lips and kept it there for longer than was necessary to take a sip of water.
“The idea that sheep and ewes shed blood to print a bible just turns my stomach. My grandson and I are vegans. Do you know what that is?”
The head caterer came into the room and tapped Liesl on the shoulder. She placed her glass on the nearest surface, offered her apologies, and got as far away from the wig as possible. The caterer explained that the reason the canapés had not been refreshed was because there were no more canapés, which was a disaster at a donor event almost on par with the guest speaker getting into a row with an important donor. The suits were hungry. She instructed the catering team to more aggressively circulate with the wine. If their glasses were full, the donors wouldn’t notice that their stomachs weren’t.
Rhonda strolled back into sight, trying not to interrupt Liesl’s discussion with the caterer but making in clear that she was next in line. Liesl waved her over, confident that the catering dilemma had been resolved the way they always were—by offering more wine. Looking down, Liesl saw the empty glass of wine in her hand and felt a twinge of embarrassment.
“I was hoping to speak with you before I left.”
“Rhonda, I’m so glad you caught me.”
Rhonda was still holding her sparkling water. Liesl gave the caterer a nod, and he left them.
“About Percy Pickens,” Liesl said. “I’m sorry if you felt attacked by him.”
“I can handle men like him.”
“You shouldn’t have to handle men like him.”
“And here I thought you were going to admonish me for talking back.”
The apology had been a lead up to that. Liesl had no talent for admonishing adults who had done no wrong.
“He’s an important donor to the university,” Liesl said.
“I know.”
“Well,” Liesl said. “There was no harm done.”
They turned back toward the room. Percy and Max were still huddled together, but their limbs looked looser now. On account of the wine. The volume of the reading room was turned all the way up, the conversations of the suits floating up high to mingle with the several stories of books above their heads.
“I would have ended the conversation if he hadn’t,” Rhonda said. “I had an agenda in agreeing to do this for you.”
The vegan in the wig interrupted them to say she was leaving. Both Liesl and Rhonda shook her hand and wished her a good night. Her wig had slipped slightly to the left. On account of the wine.
“The Peshawar should be carbon-dated,” Rhonda said. “I can find us the resources to do it.”
A waiter came by with more wine. Liesl covered her glass with her hand to refuse him.
“You’d ruin it,” said Liesl. “We’d lose the book.”
A weak argument. They were already losing the book.
“A lot of the money in this room is supportive of the idea. Don’t say no out of fear of the unknown.”
Liesl made Rhonda no promises. Walking home that night, she called and left a message. For Professor Mahmoud. Asking him about his interest in a leaf from a Quran; gold calligraphy on blue vellum.
Liesl stopped by the noodle shop on the corner on her way home and asked for an order of dumplings. It was only a minute or two between the noodle shop and her front door, but she ate the slippery dumplings with her fingers as she walked, plucking them from the tray and slurping them up in giant bites.
Nineteen Years Earlier
Max sweated under the fluorescent lobby lights, one of the first times he’d been out of the house at all since his secret stopped being a secret.
“You’re not wearing the collar.” Christopher walked a lap around Max when he greeted him in the library’s lobby and found him in a suit that looked very much like his own. “Are we worried that the change will raise questions?”
Christopher was striding back toward his office. Max followed. Every person they passed on the way through the workroom was staring at him; he was sure of it. Max put his fingers up to his neck where the collar had been. Mourning its departure.
“It was in the newspaper. The questions are no longer sleeping.” He pulled his tie tighter, wanting it to act as armor the way his collar always had.
“It’s fine, I guess. They’ll know you’ve left the church…” Christopher’s voice trailed off as he searched through stacks of papers on his desk, shoving piles from one side to the other.
“Wait, do they know I’m coming?” Max put his hands in his pockets, then crossed his arms in front of him, then clasped them behind his back. Without the armor of the collar, he wasn’t even certain how to stand.
“I thought it best not to leave a lot of time in advance for questions. It’ll be a nice surprise.” He held a sheet of paper, finally retrieved from the piles, up in the air like a victor’s flag.