Never one to mince words, he got right to the point. “You’re not going to finish in time, are you?”

I hemmed and hawed.

Dr. Lamson sighed and threw up his hands in surrender. “It’s a pity.”

Me, faintly: “Yes.”

“What’s frustrating, Timothy, is that in all the years I’ve been doing this, your dissertation is one of the few I actually wanted to read.”

It occurred to me that he believed in me more than I ever would. It was probably cruel to continue this conversation, but he seemed upset, so I said, “Sir, not that it’s possible, but when would be the last day that I could turn it in?”

Dr. Lamson didn’t need to consult a calendar. “April twenty-third.”

I flinched. April 23 was only six weeks away, and what I really needed was six months. “That early?”

“Please understand why I want to laugh. I want to laugh because of perspective. What you find to be early, I view as much too late. You are funny. Early. That’s funny.”

But neither of us was laughing.

Me: “There’s no other possible—”

“Not if you expect the committee”—the committee: Dr. Lamson, Dr. Rita “The Noodle” Lovejoy, and Dr. Rejandra “Killer” Kanwar, the Elvira Krause Professor of German history—“to have enough time to prepare for your defense.”

“My defense?”

“Tell me you weren’t expecting to have that part of the doctoral process waved.”

“No, sir.” The truth was, I had blocked out the whole idea of a dissertation defense. Clearly, Dr. Lamson had been more hopeful than I. He admitted as much, saying he had saved the last remaining time slot just for me.

I had to ask. “Sir, what day would my defense have been?”

“The morning of the ninth.”

“The ninth? May ninth?”

“Why, yes.”

I nearly fell out of the chair. “You saved the morning of May ninth just for me?”

“Yes, but it’s a moot point—”

“I can do it.”

“What did you just say?”

“Not only can I do it, sir. But I will.”

Perhaps this was the Second Sign. I didn’t know yet. But I believed it was no accident. Here was an opportunity. Life was colluding. I never thought I would actually have a weekend with Anna Brody. And I’d been wondering, Why me? But now it kind of made sense. Maybe the real purpose of her offer (and little did she know) was to motivate me to finish my work. You see, everything was pointing toward May 9! I was so excited that I quivered like a piano moments after every key had been pounded.

I turned, looked Dr. Lamson dead in the eye, and said, “Pencil me in.”