“I did?”
“You said we’d better put it away so we’d still have it to use when my little boy came along. It was a fragile old thing, you said, so we’d better put it in a box on the top shelf to keep it safe. That’s where I found it.”
“We used to watch it together for hours,” Mimi said.
“Every night for half my life. I’ve missed that fragile old thing, but I understand the necessity of thoughtful preservation. Ninety percent of the films made during the silent era have been lost to history. Their negatives were printed on unstable and highly flammable cellulose nitrate film and were destroyed in vault fires, tossed to make room for newer movies, or stored so carelessly that they crumbled to dust.”
“You’re almost ten years old, Frank,” Mimi said. “I can’t believe it.”
I had to make myself leave. Otherwise I would have had to admit that I was eavesdropping.
AS IT TURNED out, neither Mimi nor Xander made it to Frank’s presentation.
Though I wasn’t on the guest list, I knew it was slated for Friday at 2:00 P.M. on the last day of school before winter break, to be followed by nondenominational refreshments and lively discussion. According to Frank. Which is why he nixed my idea of baking Christmas cookies. That morning I made brownies for Mimi to take and let it go at that. But I started to worry when Mimi didn’t mention the presentation or how she planned to get there. When I delivered her lunch I knocked and waited. She didn’t come to the door but I didn’t leave her tray like I normally would have. I steeled myself and knocked again.
When she opened the door she didn’t look happy. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said. “But I wanted to tell you that I made brownies for you to take to Frank’s presentation. And to ask if you want me to drive you, or if you want to go on your own. His presentation is at two.” I could tell she wanted to close the door on me so I edged forward and angled my foot against it.
“Don’t come in here,” she said.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I just need to know what time you want to leave.”
“I’m not going. He gave me the gist of it last night so I don’t need to be there.”
“But he’s expecting you.”
“I’m working,” she said. “That’s what I was doing until you felt like you had to pound on my door and remind me of what you think my responsibilities are. Let me tell you what my responsibilities are. I need to sit at my typewriter until my book is done so that Frank and I don’t end up living in a refrigerator box. Now go away.”
I went. I didn’t want to stop going until I got back to New York. I think the only thing that stopped me was the idea of Frank standing in front of his class, no entourage in attendance, getting an ovation from nobody. So I boxed up the brownies, got in the car, and drove to school.
THE VISITOR’S LOG in the office was turned to a fresh page, so I flipped back to the one before it to see if Xander had signed in. He hadn’t, but I was early so he might make it yet.
“I think this pen is out of ink,” I said to the student working behind the desk.
“I’m sorry. I’ll find another.” She started rifling drawers.
“Fiona,” the office lady I didn’t know said. “Stop making such a racket. Pens, top left drawer.”
Fiona. The girl was tall enough to be a third-grader, and skinny. A cute but fairly average-looking kid with blond hair and huge blue eyes that would seem less arresting once her face grew big enough to accommodate them. She wasn’t wearing a sling or a kilt or a cardigan or a bow in her hair. But how many Fionas could there be at one school? “You’re Fiona?” I said. “Will you be at Frank’s presentation?”
She handed me the pen. “I’m Fiona. What presentation?”
“Frank is student of the week. He’s giving his presentation this afternoon. He said you might be able to get a pass and come to it.”
“Who’s Frank?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “There must be another Fiona at this school.”
“I don’t think so.”
I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Frank has a friend named Fiona. She’s in the third grade.”
“I’m in the third grade,” she said. “If there is another Fiona, she isn’t in the third grade. I would know.”
“I must have the details wrong then. This Fiona broke her arm the first day of school.”
“I broke my arm the first day of school,” she said. “But I don’t know anybody named Frank.”