Chapter 13: Under the Roof at Midnight

"Margaret," I said. "Get the car."

She looked at me over her red glasses.

"You are eight days out of surgery."

"Then drive slowly."

"The doctor said one hour upright, with a chair."

"The chair folds. It's in the hall closet."

She stared at me a moment longer, and then she took her keys off the hook and went to find it.

We crossed the square at a quarter to midnight.

Alder was dark on the corner, with the chairs stacked on the tables.

I had sat in that restaurant with my back to the window for five years, so I would never have to face what stood across from it.

Now the library stood in front of me, lit from inside, with its long roof curved against the night.

Margaret unfolded the chair and set the brakes and said nothing at all.

The ramp up to the doors curved in a gentle arc, so that nobody would have to use a side entrance.

I had drawn that ramp too.

By the door hung a bronze plaque, and from the chair I could read every letter.

THE CONRAD MERRICK MEMORIAL LIBRARY. DESIGNED BY CONRAD MERRICK.

"Go on," Margaret said quietly.

The door was not locked.

Inside, a runner of thick carpet ran down the middle of the hall, and the wheels made no sound on it.

I looked up.

The roof rose from the side walls in one long arc, exactly as I had inked it at twenty-three.

The clerestory windows sat under the curve, and the moon came through them in a pale strip across the reading tables.

I had drawn that strip of light with a 2H pencil on a board in Margaret's studio.

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