There are a thousand reasons I can’t tell him the whole story, so I settle on a half-truth. “It was a misunderstanding with someone he thought was a friend. He drowned in the East River.”

My father shakes his head. “I’ll be… that is…” He struggles to find the words. I find some satisfaction in witnessing his discomfort. I hope it hurts, I hope it hurts worse than anything he’s ever felt.

Because at least I got seventeen years with William before he was gone.

My fool of a father will never get to know him. He can’t begin to imagine what a profound loss that is.

“Bad” is the adjective my father settles on. “That is very bad.”

I will not comfort him. “I thought so as well.”

He still looks dazed as he walks through the door, eyes no longer focusing on me, but somewhere far off. I imagine he’s picturing William as he last saw him, a baby just learning to walk on chubby legs.

He doesn’t walk me to the door, but bids me goodbye with a half-hearted wave.

“I do hope you’ll come again.”

“I will.” It’s a promise, but not one for his benefit.

I walk out of my father’s office in a daze. The hallway, so empty when I walked in, is now crowded with students bustling to class. In shiny black shoes, they clack over the checkerboard marble floor, chatting and clutching books and shoving one another laughing.

The ruckus makes me miss Haxahaven. I don’t even know what time it is there. Are my students sitting in class or are they warm in their beds?

From over the din of voices I hear someone shout, “Frances!”

I turn, out of instinct. I doubt whoever is calling my name is calling me.

But I’m surprised to see I am the Frances being called. On the grand staircase behind me stands Pascal, a bright smile on his face. I should be less surprised to see him. He did say he was a student here.

I tamp down the nausea and anger from the meeting with my father and give him the warmest smile I can muster.

“Hello, Pascal.”

With a concerned look on his face, he fiddles with the tie of his uniform. “Please forgive me, I thought our meeting wasn’t until Monday.”

“Oh!” I exclaim. “I’m sorry to have worried you. I was here on other matters.”

“What matters?” he asks. He’s blunt, like Maxine. It makes me like him more.

“A research project.” It isn’t quite a lie.

“Did you find your visit useful? There is a library on the fourth floor, I could show you.”

I stop him as an idea comes to me. “Are there any faculty I could speak to? I didn’t find the professor I came to see particularly… helpful.”