“Yes, ‘In death they were not divided.’ I’m afraid Second Samuel didn’t give me much guidance.”
“I was having dinner with a colleague in the English department last night; I hope you don’t mind, but I mentioned the matter. She is on the Rockefeller Chapel board, and of course the entire university community is worried about the unfortunate accident to your friend.”
His voice was apologetic, as it always seemed to be when he was speaking to me. I wondered idly if he sounded as hesitant when he spoke to his English colleague. I felt a twinge of annoyance that he’d discussed my question with his colleague, but I murmured something noncommittal. I was too beat for a discussion.
“She reminded me that George Eliot used the verse as an epigraph in The Mill on the Floss.”
Another book I’d read as an undergraduate. I searched my tired brain. “It’s about a brother and sister, right? Maggie somebody?”
“Maggie Tulliver. The novel is based loosely on Eliot’s own life, particularly her relationship with her older brother, whom she idolized as a child. In the novel the brother and sister drown together when the River Floss floods. My English colleague asked if there were a brother and sister involved in your case.”
Lotty returned to her office and announced that we were leaving. I thanked the dean and climbed out of the chair. I was moving stiffly; after sitting so long, the muscles I’d used in my fight had tightened up.
Lotty eyed me without pity; she knew exactly why I was limping and she has made her position on my fighting skills clear plenty of times. Today she merely shook her head. At least she didn’t tell me I was getting too old to fight.
As Lotty ran red lights and zipped around UPS trucks, I kept my eyes shut and thought about brothers and sisters. The most obvious were Leydon and Sewall Ashford, but it was hard to see how Eliot’s epigraph applied to them.
Had there ever been a time when Leydon idolized Sewall, or vice versa? Not that she’d ever talked about. Perhaps they’d been born fighting. “Look it up,” she’d told Wuchnik. “In death they were not divided.” Was she thinking about brothers and sisters, or fathers and sons, or something even more obscure?
As Lotty pulled into the garage underneath her building, I remembered my conversation with Miles Wuchnik’s ex-wife. She’d said the only person he seemed to care about was his sister, Iva. He’d even made her the beneficiary of his 401K. Maybe he’d bequeathed her some information, along with his thirty-two thousand dollars.
28.
BOOK CARVINGS
HEAT ROSE IN SHIMMERING WAVES FROM THE CARS AND TRUCKS around me as we inched our way south. It was after one and traffic on the Ryan was at its miserable worst. The Interstate signs told me I’d be heading to Memphis in another quarter mile, which sounded like excitement, a road trip, but the reality, when I finally made the turn, was more of the same congestion.
I’d hoped to be under way earlier, but yesterday’s fight, or maybe the tablet Lotty ordered me to swallow at bedtime, had knocked me out for a solid ten hours. When I finally got up, it was after eight and Lotty was long gone. She’d left instructions for how to protect my wound while bathing. If the surgical strips come loose, see Jewel before you do anything strenuous, such as arm-wrestle a boa constrictor.
Out hunting for a boa with arms, I scrawled under the note. Lotty also left a Thermos of her rich Viennese coffee, along with a basket of the fresh rolls someone on her staff at the hospital bakes. I scratched out my snarky comment—it felt too wonderful to be pampered.
When I’d stretched the worst kinks out of my muscles, I returned to Lotty’s clinic for my car, but I couldn’t set out on my journey immediately. Aside from a pressing need for clean clothes, I needed to reassure Mr. Contreras, never a speedy activity. I’d called him last night, of course, but he had to see me for himself, cluck his tongue over my wound, remind me that there were better ways to solve problems than fighting.
“Darling, that comes strangely from the man who swings a pipe wrench first and asks questions second!” I kissed his cheek.
“Yeah, but you need your looks, doll. Jake Thibaut may be a good guy, but there are a lot of beautiful girls half your age playing the violin around him day and night out there in Vermont.”
That thought had also occurred to me, but I said, “That’ll help me stand out in a crowd—middle-aged, scarred, no violin. He won’t be able to miss me.”