Chapter 23: The Rail

The dean slid the letter across the long table with both hands.

It was the Holloway Fellowship award, on cream paper, with my name printed in the first line.

A full-ride MFA at Halvard, a book contract with the small press, and a reading in the spring.

I read it standing up, with four hundred people still on their feet behind me.

"The board will also ask the state to set aside Mrs. Holloway's complaint against Mr. Holloway," the dean said.

"The complainant is under review herself."

"Thank you."

"The program starts in September. Your office would be in this building."

I looked at the paper, and then at the window behind the trustees.

It showed the lake, gray and flat, with the wind running across it in lines.

"I'll take the book contract," I said.

"And the program?"

"Not here."

A murmur went through the front rows.

The dean opened his mouth, and the retired judge put a hand on his sleeve.

"The money is the Holloway Fellowship's," the judge said to me. "It has never followed a student out of this college."

"Then I'll leave it behind."

"It will follow you," he said. "Tonight, by motion. I'll see to it myself."

I did not trust my voice, so I nodded.

Behind me my mother let out a long, loud breath.

The girl with the camera was already filming my back.

I found Knox on the lakeshore path at five, at the same railing where I had stood the night my key stopped working.

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