That next year, Viridian’s house was given some careful upgrades, and Barb was put in charge of its management. It provided subsidized stays for writers who needed a month or two to work on book projects. There were tax regulations that made such high-minded, money-losing arrangements possible. Ed knew all about them.

Boone wasn’t inclined to forgive me at first. I had to convince him I didn’t want any money. Before we had signed off on anything, I figured he’d make one last pass at finding the poems, and I figured he’d fail. I was right on both counts. Only when we had our memorandum of understanding filed away did I tell him where the poems were, and how talking with him that night had led me to them.

“You are too much,” he told me. “The girl detective.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You were sort of the last piece of the puzzle.”

“Right. In the movies, I’d be the guy who’s been using the priceless Ming vase as an ashtray.”

“Well, everybody’s happy now, aren’t they?”

“Sure. It’s a triumph of Capital A Art.”

I’d come into the city to meet him for coffee. I figured I owed him that much, after all the aggravation I’d put him through. And he would always be Viridian’s son, and I would always love that part of him. In spite of his complaints, I knew he thought well of me, too, and we’d be content to leave it at that. A kind of mutual fondness and mutual wariness.

Now he brought a shopping bag out from underneath the table. “Here. I didn’t have time to wrap it.”

“What’s this?” I reached inside, past layers of tissue, and drew out a heavy book. A Defence of Poetry was printed on the cover in modern block letters. Same book, different look.

“Your own copy,” Boone said. “Use it wisely.”

It would be pure murder to get through it, and I ended up needing an audiobook and a study guide, but I did eventually. I made myself do it. It was a point of pride.

“Thanks,” I said. “Really. It’s like, you think I might have some future in poetry. Very reassuring.”

“You are scary,” Boone told me. “I’m not worried about your future. I’m worried about Canada.”

Because I was going to Vancouver with Aaron. All along, the problem had not been him, but me, and who would have thought it, my mother’s advice: “Try and figure out what makes you feel good about yourself, then you can decide if it involves anyone else.”