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He found one of the librarians who’d worked there during his tenure. They chatted a few minutes and by the end, it was nothing to ask her to open the bookcase for him. He explained he was thinking of buying a first edition ofMoby Dick,that he’d seen one in an antiques store but wanted to make sure it was the real thing. She happily unlocked the case for him and left him alone with the book and a pair of cotton gloves.
Carefully he opened the book and turned to the end pages. There it was,Daniel Caldwell is a great lay.
That wasn’t all that was there, however. Under those words was written something else, also in Maggie’s handwriting.
Daniel, if you’re reading this, I’m gone. Please find love again and get married again. I can rest in peace if I know you’re happy, my love. You’re too good a lay to waste.
The words took the breath from his body. He laughed, then cried, then laughed again, all alone up in the Rare Books Room where they’d made love so many years ago on that very table. If someone saw him now, what would they think? That he just really loved the ending ofMoby Dick?
Maggie must have come back at some point, gotten the book off the shelf—had she told the same lie?—and written him that note before she got too sick to go out on her own. She knew him so well, knew how nostalgic he was, how sentimental. She knew he’d come back here someday and remember that wild night he’d snuck her into this beautiful room to ravish her, surrounded by the greatest works of literature in history. Or maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she guessed. Maybe if he looked, he’d find this same note written all over the city, in all their old haunts.
Get married again? Too good a lay to waste? That was Maggie.
“I’ll try, my love,” he whispered to the secret words.
Daniel took a photo of the message with his phone camera and then put the book back. He didn’t erase the words. Knowing what he knew about Herman Melville, the old rascal would have appreciated his book being used to pass a lusty love note across time and from beyond the grave.
When he left the library and returned to the city, he felt like he’d been given a gift.
Energized by that gift, by that last message from Maggie, he jogged all the way home. It would be good for him to wear himself out. Sleep had been elusive since coming back to the city. Maybe if he could exhaust himself physically, he wouldn’t dream about Anya like he had last night, and the night before… As his shoes pounded the pavement, he imagined Harpring’s face under the soles. He imagined every man who would bid on Anya the night of the auction being pummeled under his feet.
Still drenched with sweat from his run, Daniel decided to take a long, hot bath to help ease the soreness from his legs before going back out again. He started running the water but had to shut it off when he heard the doorbell chime.
“Who is it?” he called out before he reached the door.
“Celine Dion.”
Daniel was so shocked at the sound of her voice that his mind went momentarily blank. He recovered his senses and swung the door open. Anya was wearing a pale pink empire-waist sundress, her hair in two small buns on each side of her head like Princess Leia.
She didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m being punished.”
Daniel laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Kingsley’s punishing you?”
Anya nodded sheepishly.
“Why?”
She sighed. “I was at his house reading on the floor. On my stomach. He saw me and asked me what I was doing.”
“And you said?” Daniel asked, picturing Anya lying prone on the floor and rather enjoying the image.
“I said I was doing my impression of Paris during the Nazi Occupation.”
Daniel nearly died holding his laughter in. Anya had all the makings of aS.A.M.—a Smart-Ass Masochist. He didn’t want to encourage such terrible—if hilarious—bad behavior.
“Kingsley should be punishing you, not me.”
“He said he was too busy.”
Kingsley was never too busy to punish a beautiful girl for having a smart mouth. It was one of his favorite hobbies. That meant only one thing—Kingsley was making good on his promise to “help” Daniel. How? By playing matchmaker? Apparently so.
“What’s your punishment? Is he making you come cook lunch for me or something?”
“He said I had to do whatever you told me to do for the next two hours. Except—”
“I can’t have sex with you. Obviously.” Daniel considered his options. Anya wanted him—fact. But she didn’t want him enough to let him help her—also a fact. Maybe he could change that.
“Look, you don’t have to stay. I’ll tell Kingsley I made you mop the floors on your hands and knees. He’ll never know.”
