The line got a laugh, and Garber looked pleased about it. Liesl wondered if the use of that specific line, if that joke that was sure to draw a laugh because it called to mind just how controlling Christopher was, had itself been a part of the instructions. Her own portion of the program was a small one. Christopher hadn’t mentioned her by name in his instructions, but the poet that she would be introducing had been specifically requested. It was Garber who had suggested that Liesl should be involved in the event. Garber who thought always of continuity and the way things might appear to those who were paying attention.
The readings that Christopher had requested were from The Death of Ivan Ilych and The Brothers Karamazov. As if Christopher had been Russian. During the preparations, Liesl had joked that they should use the Auden poem “Funeral Blues” that Christopher thought was forever sullied through its use in a film. The suggestion had been received as appalling. Liesl quite liked Auden, quite liked the poem, quite liked the scene in Four Weddings and a Funeral when it had been read. No matter. The readings were from heavily bearded Russian novelists, just as Christopher had requested. A rhyming scheme is nice! Liesl wanted to yell from the podium.
“Beautiful service, wasn’t it, Liesl?” Percy asked afterward. “Very moving.”
“Yes,” she lied. She had hoped the umbrella would keep her concealed while she walked back to the library where the reception was being held. But Percy had found her.
“Did I hear old Chris designed the program himself?”
“You did.”
“Not a bad idea, that,” he said. “Maybe I’ll ask my assistant to do the same. The queen’s funeral is all planned and ready, did you know that?” He stayed on the sidewalk beside her.
He was not embarrassed to be comparing himself to the queen. As they walked, his umbrella bumped against hers, moving it over enough that the rain fell on the shoulder of her coat.
“I should go check on the catering,” she said when they arrived at the library. “Christopher left instructions for that too.”
Seeing that others had begun to arrive, he’d already lost interest in her, and she wandered off to leave her coat in her office. John and Hannah were waiting there for her.
“Hey, you,” Hannah said.
“Hope you don’t mind,” John said. “You seemed as though you might need some moral support.”
“The crowd is a bit much.” She hung her coat on the rack. The shoulder of her blouse was damp.
Hannah looked at her mother with her wide-open face and serious dark eyes, waiting to be asked to stay.
“How many are coming back to the library, Mom?”
“Only about a hundred, chickadee,” she said.
“Just the really fancy ones, huh?”
Liesl straightened her blouse.
“None as fancy as you.”
“Let us help,” John said. “No one does small talk quite like your daughter.”
“It’s true,” said Hannah. “And if nothing else, they’ll be distracted by my haircut.”
“I’ll be worried you’re bored or annoyed,” said Liesl.
“Never,” said Hannah.
“Go get yourself some noodles. I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Liesl said.
“Noodles without our third musketeer?” said John. He pulled Liesl into a hug. “Imagine that level of betrayal.”
“Dad,” Hannah said. “Mom and I get noodles without you all the time.”
“Well, that’s it,” said John. “Now I’m definitely leaving. It’s like I don’t know either of you anymore.”
“Come on, Mom,” said Hannah. “I know you hate this stuff. Let us stay here so you have a friendly face.”
“I’m fine,” Liesl said. “And I’ll be even better when I know you’re fed.”
“We can eat tiny canapés.”
“And very expensive cookies,” John added.
Liesl stepped away from them toward the door.
“Noodles,” she said. “And I’ll be home soon.”
***
“She can tell you all about Stockholm,” President Garber said. He had not stopped pulling her by the arm to introduce her to fancy people. She took a glass of chardonnay from a passing member of the wait staff. The Nobel winner was already surrounded by five celebrants.
Liesl was introduced, and they gave her a nod. She sipped the chardonnay. She hated chardonnay. Hated the vanilla, hated the oakiness. Chardonnay had been in Christopher’s instructions.
“Tell her what you think of her writing,” Garber said. “No need to be shy. The library has all of your first editions.”
The Nobel winner nodded. Liesl finished her chardonnay.
“Go on. Tell her,” Garber said.
The Nobel winner shook her head and smiled.
“Christopher,” she said. “We’re here to celebrate him, not me.”
Liesl’s estimation of the woman grew. “A toast to Christopher,” she said, flagging a waiter for a refill.
“This library is his monument,” the writer said, looking at President Garber. “Lawrence, don’t you think this library is his monument?”
“Built in his image,” one of the onlookers said.
Liesl rolled her eyes without meaning to, but it didn’t matter as she had gone invisible in this group of important and moneyed people.
“Really,” the writer said. “Imagine this place without Christopher. Without his constant arm-twisting to part us from our papers and our books.”
“And our money!”
“Percy, don’t be crass.”
Predictably, Percy Pickens had joined their circle.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Percy shouted, slurring slightly, attracting attention from the rest of the room.
“Was there more, Percy?” Liesl asked.
The important heads all turned in unison to her. Her invisibility cloak had slipped a bit.
“What’s that, Liesl?” Percy said.
“Percy,” Liesl said. “You said ‘Don’t misunderstand me’ but then never finished your thought.”
“Indeed I did!” he said.
“Well?”
She was sure he wouldn’t regain his train of thought, but she was wrong.
“I loved giving old Chris my money.”
“You’ve been very generous, Percy,” she said.
“I don’t regret a penny I gave Chris. What I regret is this terrible business with the thief.”
During this proclamation, President Garber had managed to slide his way out of the circle. He was well on his way to the other side of the room where he could act oblivious.
Liesl drained her glass.
“Terrible business, that woman,” Percy said.
“Percy, it’s not the time for this,” the Nobel winner said.
“They’ll show up on some black market years from now, the books will,” Percy said. “You mark my words. Of course, we’ll all be dead by then.”
Liesl smiled at the writer, thankful for her help. “Let’s not spoil this,” Liesl said.
Enter Marie. Marie, who had declined to speak at the memorial service as Christopher must have known she would. Marie, who was left out of his instructions. Marie, who was clutching a bottle of water. Marie, who nodded at Liesl but didn’t come over.
Marie attracted her own circle of sycophants. Liesl tried to make eye contact across the room to give a supportive smile but couldn’t quite capture Marie’s attention and then reckoned it was for the best. Max was by her side in a moment proposing a toast, and the circle that had been assembled was immediately busy, filling glasses, raising glasses, clinking glasses. Marie let the group make their toast, but she didn’t take a glass. She clung to her bottle of water. Max held her arm like she was a valuable possession. She let him. It kept her upright. The tragedy of Christopher was all the more tragic with Marie in the room.
“It’s the perfect time,” Percy said. “This business. What that woman did. It breaks my heart.”
Liesl tensed at his tone, at his accusation. She waited for one of the important heads to chide him, to steer him away from the topic of Miriam. None did.
“It breaks my heart for Chris too,” the writer said. “But she was a sick woman. Wasn’t she sick? That’s what I understand of the mess.”
“She offed herself. Is that what you mean?”
“What a terrible way to put it, Percy.” She swatted his arm. Playfully, it looked to Liesl. As if it were a playful thing. “She was a troubled person, and it’s terrible for the library, of course. But what can you do? She was clearly having a difficult time, and that is how it manifested. A grasp for money. A cry for help.”
“A scream for help,” one of the group chimed in.
“So you’re all saying I should feel sorry for that woman? After what she did?”