She decided to let all of it go. To keep Sophia’s name out of it. And to do whatever Hoffman needed her to do in order to complete her thesis and graduate with honors. No one in her family even had a college degree, let alone one with honors. And no one in the family would really care about the extra designation on her diploma, but she would. And wouldn’t it be good to stay and finish something for once? To see it all through and suppress the impulse to run?

“It’s good,” Madeline said. “It’s all good. Thanks.”

“Okay. Thank you for understanding.” He pointed to the manuscript on the table. “Shall we?”

“Sure. You said something about bringing me into the twenty-first century. Are you saying my writing feels old-fashioned? I never thought that would be a criticism.”

“No, no. Not that.” Madeline noticed Hoffman hadn’t written anything in the margins. “I have an old computer, a desktop, one I haven’t used in years. You see, my eyesight is getting to be so bad, I struggle to read. And while your handwriting is perfectly neat and clear, I’m just not used to reading it. My eyes start to hurt after an hour or so.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Hoffman. My computer died, and I just couldn’t afford a new one. And I don’t want to go to the lab really late at night. And I have to work.”

He waved her off. “It’s okay. I understand. I went to college with a Smith Corona and two extra ribbons. I understand the technology problems.”

Madeline wasn’t sure what he meant by Smith or Corona—she often didn’t understand his allusions—and she was too mortified to ask for clarification.

“I can let you use my old computer,” he said. “It’s a bulky thing. Kind of heavy. But you’d be welcome to use it in order to finish the thesis. And any other work you had until you graduated. Maybe even beyond. It’s just collecting dust on my table. . . .”

Madeline hadn’t cried when she learned Sophia was dead. She’d wanted to, but she just couldn’t get it out. Madeline couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried—and certainly not the last time she’d cried in front of another person. In a public place.

But she wanted to cry in Troy’s. Because of the offer of the computer.

Something she never would have been able to afford without going deeper into debt.

She stared at the tabletop, felt Hoffman’s eyes on her. She drank coffee. A long, hot swallow. And wiped at her left eye, hoping it just looked like she had an itch.

For once, she didn’t feel like pulling her eyebrows out.