Chapter 10: The Third Carrel

The library closed at eleven, and at eleven-ten Clara started on the second floor with a cart and a spray bottle.

She wiped tables. She emptied bins. She slid dropped pens into the lost-and-found box.

At eleven-forty, she heard a footstep in the stacks.

She froze with the spray bottle raised.

"Hello?"

"It's me," said Miles's voice from between the shelves. "Please don't spray me."

He stepped out into the aisle with a book under his arm.

"How did you get in?" she asked.

"The night guard likes me. I returned his daughter's thesis draft with notes."

"You're not allowed to be here."

"I know." He held up the book. "I came for this. It's overdue. I thought if I returned it myself, nobody could fine me."

She looked at the cover. It was a worn history of the Portuguese navy.

"That's the saddest alibi I've ever heard."

"It's a very good book."

"You came to check on me."

He looked at the floor. "Yes."

"I'm fine."

"I know. I'd like to see it anyway."

She almost laughed.

"Come on," she said. "Carry something."

He followed her down the aisle with the cart.

She handed him a stack of returned books, and he shelved them in the right order without being told.