I finished my coffee and lifted the mug and plate. Before I could go any farther, Paula shook her head. “Let me do that, Julia. Peggy and I will be out of here by three. If you need anything at all before then, don’t hesitate to ask. And” —she pointed at her list— “you think of anything else you’d like from the store or for me to prepare, be sure to tell me.”

“There is one thing.”

“What is it?”

“Well, yesterday, Donovan gave me a quick tour. He said for me to set up an office in his library.” I smiled at the ridiculousness of my question. “Could you point me toward the library?”

17. Julia

Julia

The library that Van had offered as my home base, office, work center or whatever I wanted to call it was as stunning as the rest of his house. It was also cozier. I realized that there was beauty to the open concept, but four walls, two lined from floor to ceiling with books on beautiful wood bookcases, another with large domed windows looking out onto tall trees in a forest, and a fourth with the French door entry—not unlike the one at the front of the house—and another fireplace made me feel less exposed. The furniture was rich and sturdy. The desk was tall and wide, reminding me of the antique library tables.

I had barely dived into the information Van had accumulated as I got myself settled. He had plastic totes filled with physical information, magazines, newspapers, and photographs. After a quick search, I found the photos were primarily of buildings rather than people. There was also a file filled with flash drives in dated compartments.

This was what Van wanted in his memoir. I couldn’t help but wonder what he didn’t want in it and why. If I were simply a person from the outside hired to write his story, I didn’t know if I’d have the same level of curiosity.

As it turned out, I wasn’t simply an outsider, not anymore. Van had offered to marry me, for us to join in name as well as physically. That gave me the right to dig beyond the benign surface.

That’s what I told myself.

More than once, Margaret came in to check on me. She also asked if she could clean my suite. I declined. While Van had warned me about coming downstairs dressed, he forgot to mention that someone may go into my suite, see my unmade bed, and draw the uncomfortable— albeit accurate—conclusion that I hadn’t slept alone.

I couldn’t get a good read on how I felt about Margaret and Paula or what they thought of me, but I did make a mental note to make my bed and pick up in my suite from today forward to any Fridays that followed.