The Memory Key by Liana Liu

Author:Liana Liu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-12-19T16:00:00+00:00

19.

EVERY FEW MINUTES I TURN TO GLANCE AT THE CLOCK ON THE wall behind me, until Cynthia the librarian comes by and asks if there’s something wrong with my neck, have I strained a muscle? I tell her I’m sorry, I tell her I’m fine. “How’s Gouda?” I ask, hoping to distract her from my distraction with dog talk. This strategy always works.

“You can take your lunch break now,” she says, and returns to the reference area. Apparently, the dog talk strategy does not always work. Maybe I’d feel guilty if I weren’t so anxious about meeting Jon Harmon in just four hours and twelve minutes.

I go outside to eat my lunch. When I’m done, I pull the bottle of pain pills from my pocket and take two tablets—it’s a minor headache, nothing worth thinking about, probably just jitters. Then I get out my phone and check my voice mail.

There’s a message from my father asking where I’ve been; he says he feels as if he hasn’t seen me in days. This is more or less accurate. I call him back because I know he’s teaching a class at this exact moment, so the line will go to his voice mail. When it does, I tell him I won’t be home till late. I tell him not to wait up.

There’s also a message from Wendy, the third message in the past twenty-four hours. I didn’t listen to the earlier ones, and I don’t listen to this one. Maybe I’m being unreasonable. Wendy would say I’m being unreasonable because she always says I’m being unreasonable. She would say I’m overreacting because she always says I’m overreacting. She would say, Lora, this isn’t you, this is your memory key.

What Wendy doesn’t understand is that my memory key is me.

When my shift finally ends, I go to the back room to gather my things together. Cynthia is in her office. “I know it’s tough out there,” she says and I think she’s talking to me before I realize she’s actually on the phone.

After a pause: “Kira, it’s not a good idea,” she says.

After a longer pause: “That’s ridiculous. I’m not censoring you!” she says.

I don’t mean to listen, I don’t want to listen, but here I am, listening. For I can’t help being curious: at the library, censorship is enemy number one. It makes no sense that Kira is accusing her librarian mother of censorship.

“I only want what’s best for you.” Cynthia says this so quietly I have to strain to hear her. Then I realize that I’m straining to hear her, so I grab my backpack and tiptoe out of the room, catching the door and easing it shut behind me.

It takes twelve minutes to get to the coffee shop, and another minute to lock up my bike, and another minute to unknot my knotty nerves. The place is small. Inside there are fewer than a dozen tables. I search for a tall, thin man with dark hair and glasses. My gaze climbs around the room.

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