As I descended the steps to Emancipation Hall, I considered having a leisurely lunch in the Visitor Center café. I’d be working again soon, and I might as well imagine this week as a kind of budget vacation. But my thoughts were interrupted when I heard my name. Turning my head, I saw none other than Blake Darley, in an orange polo shirt the color of a Creamsicle and sunglasses on his head, striding determinately down the stairs behind me. He looked like he was coming from the golf course, or the tennis club, but his expression was the opposite of casual. I took the last few steps at a hurry, fleeing as fast as I could, but I didn’t get far. It was summertime high season, and too many people with backpacks and guidebooks blocked my path.

Blake caught my elbow. “Daisy,” he said, supplicating, “please. Ten minutes. That’s all I need.”

I drew my arm free, not wanting to be seen with him. Or have anything else to do with him, for that matter. I started to move, maneuvering my way through the crowd.

“Five minutes,” he said, following me. “Two.”

“What are you doing?” I stopped by the feet of the Statue of Freedom, spun to face him. “How did you know I was here?”

“I called your office,” he said. “The guy at the desk told me you were here.”

Another intern, probably, sitting in while Sara was at lunch, not knowing any better. What rotten luck, I thought, for me.

“I’ve been trying to contact you for the past few days, since your segment on Monica’s show.” His hand was outstretched—on his palm I saw those fine, thin scars, and remembered angrily the apocryphal story that he had told us about their origins. When I sank back, he closed his fist, then let it fall. “I’m really sorry to sneak up on you.”

“I don’t like this.” He’d cornered me, and I wasn’t even near a wall. If only I could reach up, grab the laurel wreath from the statue’s plaster hand! I might smack him with it.

“We just need to speak, then I’ll leave you alone forever.”

The shock of seeing him had worn off. “You can’t talk to me here,” I whispered. “Jesus, look where we are.” I couldn’t help it; I still worried about Miles, about appearances.

I led us as quickly as possible out of the great hall and toward the House appointment desk. It was more secluded there, less risk that we might be overheard. I took him all the way down to the emergency exit doors. There was my ground; I would stand it. “You have two minutes,” I said. I waited, barely breathing.