He’d done it for her, for them. She wanted to embrace him so badly. “How did you get to the books? They’re locked up.”
He paused. “You already know.”
She thought of the hiding place. “The dumbwaiter.”
“I could fit inside the shaft. Couldn’t now, of course. But back then, I could crawl in and lower my way up, down, wherever I wanted. Another one brought me right into the stacks. I could pretty much get around the whole building without being detected, late at night, when everyone was asleep.”
He was such a scrawny kid—of course that would work. The dumbwaiters were scattered all over the library, and Harry had turned them into a thoroughfare of sorts, a way of moving from floor to floor undetected.
All along, they’d been looking for an employee, a grown man. It must’ve seemed like a game, like climbing up a tree. If something had gone wrong, though, if he’d slipped and fallen—
“Weren’t you scared, being in the dumbwaiter? What if you got trapped?”
“Nah. It was an adventure. And Red Paddy paid me well for the books I stole. He made me second in command. It was all for you, you see. So you could continue at school and not have to worry. All except the Tamerlane.”
“What do you mean?”
He waited a beat before replying. “That was to be your Christmas gift.”
She sat back and braced her hands on the table. “What?”
“The Tamerlane. You always said you loved those poems. But after I’d taken it, I overheard you and Father talking about it and realized that it was too rare, that you’d know I’d stolen it.”
The simplicity of his thinking disturbed her. But Harry had always been caught up in a dreamworld, or at least that’s what his teachers had said. Staring off into space, not listening. Running free with a gang of boys must have been a refreshing change to being in class. Not to mention stealing books—a way of taking revenge on the very objects that had given him so much trouble that year.
As she listened, she took in the small details, the changes. How he had the beginning of a beard in ragged spots of his chin and cheek, how his hair was matted under the plaid cap. One eye was crusty at the edges. He needed good food, a warm bed, and care.
“Look, Harry. I want you to come home with me. We live in Greenwich Village now. It’s a nice apartment, warm and cozy. I needed a fresh start, and I think you do, too.”
“I can’t go back with you. Not after what I did.”
“I don’t blame you. Neither does Pearl.”
“How is Pearl?” For the first time, his eyes softened.
“She’s fine. She misses you.”
“I bet Father doesn’t. He probably never wants to see me again.” The way he said it, with a prickle of hope, made Laura realize that, in fact, he desperately wanted to come back, to be part of the family again. To be forgiven.
She couldn’t put off the news any longer. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m afraid your father’s passed away.”
Harry grew pale. “What? How?”
“He was fragile, I didn’t realize how much.”
“When?”
“The night you left.”
“How?”
She scrambled for a way out of this line of questioning. “Harry, it’s over now. It’s been four years, you must come home.”
“Tell me.” Harry inhaled deeply, like he’d just swum a mile underwater. The look on his face was raw with need.
“He was upset.”
“He killed himself?”
She couldn’t answer that question. “What he did, it wasn’t your fault.”
Harry swallowed. “I killed him.”
“I promise you, you did not.”
But they both knew that the tragedy had escalated, one misdeed building upon another, until one of them had toppled over.
Harry whimpered softly, but could only hold back his tears so long. His cries eventually built into heaves of despair. Laura switched to the seat next to him and put her arm around him, letting him sob into her shoulder. No one at the neighboring tables looked up. The war had taken its toll on many, and grief was nothing new.
“At night, I dream of Father,” said Harry, finally. “Every night in my sleep I see him. He’s gasping for breath and calling for you.”
His sobs were for all of them, she knew. For the family that was no longer there and the wrenching pain that came with the separation. They had planned on life going one way, and then it had blown to pieces, sending each of them flying up into the air and then crashing down hard. Pearl’s tightly wound goodness, Harry’s wildness, Jack’s despair.
She handed Harry a napkin to blow his nose, and he did so like a child, shaking his head at the finish before handing it back to her. Just as he’d done as a boy.
How she’d missed him. “Please,” she said. “Come home with me.”
“I have no home. I don’t need you anymore.” His resistance was rising back into place.
“Of course you do. How will you take care of yourself?”
“We take care of each other. Red Paddy and the boys are my family now.”
“But you’re living in terrible conditions. You don’t look well. Please, come home. It’s been four years.”
“Which only shows that I am fine on my own.” He straightened. “We have plans.”
“What, stealing books from one bookshop and selling them to another? How much money can that bring in? How many of you are there, a dozen? More? It’s not sustainable. You’ll need a real job, eventually.”
His eyes hardened, and he shoved his empty plate away. She’d said too much, shown her desperation.
“I don’t want your help. Stop looking for me. Leave me alone.”
Without another word, he was gone.
That desolate night, she knew for certain that Harry was lost to her forever. He believed he deserved eternal punishment for the death of his father, his own self-sacrifice a stark contrast to Jack’s selfishness. Both of their perspectives warped by love and loss. Both gone.
Laura vowed never to love someone that much again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
New York City, 1993
It must be here somewhere.”
Sadie twirled around, searching for the missing book in the old apartment.
Nick began rifling through the boxes as she checked the dumbwaiter again. Nothing.
“I know I had it in my hand,” she said, “but honestly, once we heard that Valentina had been found, I can’t remember what I did with it. I must’ve put it down somewhere, it has to be here.”
“Unless . . .” Nick turned and made his way along the hallway that led to the old bedrooms, checking each one. At the last one, he turned the doorknob and looked back at Sadie, surprised. “It’s unlocked now. But we never got the key.”
Someone had opened it. They checked the room, but there was no sign of life.
“Do you think Robin was hiding inside here the entire time? Listening to me?” Sadie didn’t wait for a response from Nick. “We basically found the damn book for her. Unbelievable.” She sat down hard on one of the boxes as tears came to her eyes. “What an idiot I’ve been.”
“No. You were worried about Valentina, she came first. Family comes first. Remember, it’s just a book. The fact that Valentina is safe is everything.”
That was exactly right.
They walked out of the apartment together, Sadie lost in thought. “Who is Robin?” she said, half to herself. “And why did she go to such lengths to ruin my life?”
“Well, we know she had some kind of insight into the library’s architecture. We can check to see if she ever requested the floor plans from the library, right? They keep records of that.”
“They do,” said Sadie. “If she was listening to my conversations with Lonnie on the extension whenever I called, I basically fed her the most important items from the exhibit. I couldn’t have made it any easier for her.”
“We recovered the Woolf diary and the Hawthorne. The folio page is safe, if unattached.”