“She would have liked being referred to as a teacher,” I said. “Most people only saw her as a writer.”
“I get that. But she was the best college-level teacher I’ve ever had.”
“Wait—how many college teachers have you had?”
“Oh, I audit a lot,” Sam said, maybe blushing a little, pretending to be very interested in a nearby skyscraper.
“How do you have the time? Isn’t that so much work?”
“I like learning,” he replied, then laughed a little. “Was that the nerdiest response ever?”
“Absolutely. What other types of classes have you audited?”
“Oh, just a handful. Like, um... English Literature, Irish Literature, Middle Eastern Literature... Poetry, Creative Writing, Advanced Mathematics, Woodworking.”
“Woodworking?”
“I’ll whittle you a flute if you want.”
“You are truly a jack-of-all-trades.”
“I just like to keep busy.”
“Seriously, that’s impressive. I suddenly feel embarrassed for all the TV I watch.”
“It’s not that impressive,” he insisted.
“And modest too. Is there anything you can’t do?”
He thought for a minute, then said, “I can’t write in cursive. I’ve taken a class and everything. I just can’t make all those little loops.”
“A true tragedy.”
“Tell me about it. My signature looks like a four-year-old’s.”
We’d reached Wendy Brooks’s office building: a skyscraper close to the Freedom Tower. We told the doorman our names and no, she wasn’t expecting us. He phoned up to her, then waved us toward the elevators. I was nervous. Should we have made an appointment? Should I have emailed her? But my aunt told me to just show up. I hoped Wendy didn’t mind.
When the elevator doors opened, she was standing in the hallway with her hands clasped tightly and her hair in a lopsided bun. She hugged me before I’d even stepped off the elevator, clutching me tightly before holding me at arm’s length to look at me.
“Lottie. I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “I wanted to meet you at your aunt’s party, but there were so many people there, and the food, and the drinks—by the time I remembered to look for you, I think you’d already gone.”
“I’m happy we’re meeting each other now,” I said, taking the flash drive out of my pocket. “I have something for you.”
She took a tiny step back as I held it out to her.
“It isn’t,” she said.
“It is,” I said.
“It can’t be.”
“She asked me to bring it to you.”
She reached out to take it but then withdrew her fingers. “I love these books so much. I loved your aunt so much.”
“I know. She wouldn’t have trusted this with anyone else.”
“Have you read it?” she asked. She still hadn’t taken it. Her fingers were outstretched and shaking.
