Free A Window Opens: A Novel by Elisabeth Egan Page B

primary focus is on the future of reading: e-books. Forward progress, et cetera. But here at Scroll, we feel it’s important to provide a familiar touchstone from the great literary traditions. As a result, our lounges will also offer— drumroll, please—a line of carbon-based books in first editions. The Grapes of Wrath , Catcher in the Rye , what have you. These books will be available for purchase.”
    The Marketing Specialist rubbed his thumb against his pointer and middle fingers, mouthing the words “ Money money money. ” I banished Susanna’s smug smile from my mind.
    Then, out loud, he continued. “You may be interested to know, new hires are entitled to one first edition title of their own selection. When you accept your offer, you name your dream title and it will be waiting on your desk on your first day of onboarding.”
    “Wow,” I said. Suddenly my signed copy of Angela’s Ashes didn’t seem so exciting. “What did you pick?”
    “Sorry?”
    “What was your dream title?”
    “Ah. Mine was A Fan’s Notes . By Frederick Exley? Do you know it?”
    “Oh, of course. I’ve never read it, but my husband—”
    “Yeah, it’s some deep shit. And in the spirit of transparency, I’d like to give you a shout-out for raising the bar right there.”
    “Raising the bar?”
    “That’s our name for when a prospective employee takes it to the next level. I liked how you admitted you’ve never read Exley. Lots of people in your shoes would bullshit their way through the conversation. Well done.”
    •  •  •
    Genevieve slid a single sheet of paper across her desk. “Before we move on to the confidential portion of the day, I just need your John Hancock. What you’re about to see is totally classified—not to be shared with any of your contacts, including family.”
    The little hairs on the back of my neck went up; this felt like an episode of Law and Order where I was about to see a taped-off murder scene. Still, I scribbled my signature at the bottom of the nondisclosure agreement without reading a word of it. “Of course. My lips are sealed.” I gestured as if I was closing a Ziploc bag, knowing perfectly well that I’d call Nicholas or Will to spill all classified information on my way home.
    “But first, I thought you might appreciate what I have in here . . .”
    When I looked up, Genevieve was unlocking a cabinet over her desk. Then she snapped on a pair of latex gloves and started pulling books off a shelf. “Let’s see, where to start . . . Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, Cather’s My Ántonia . Didn’t you mention that you’re a Harper Lee fan? Take a gander at this.” In fact, I had mentioned no such thing, but of course Scout Finch and I went way back; she’d held a prime spot in my suitcase just before I abandoned the Book Lady for horseback riding. And now, suddenly, To Kill a Mockingbird was in my hands: brown dust jacket, “Harper Lee” stamped on the spine in mint green letters. It was wrapped in plastic, so I assumed it was a first edition.
    “That’s my dream title,” said Genevieve, watching me with the pleasure of a kid sharing a beloved toy with a new friend.
    “This is so cool. What was it like to read?”
    “Pardon?”
    “I mean, I’ve only had the pleasure of To Kill a Mockingbird in paperback. Was it amazing to reread it the same way Harper Lee probably did when it first landed on her doorstep?”
    Genevieve furrowed her brow, charmingly quizzical. “Can you believe, I haven’t actually taken off the plastic? Guess I need to put that on my action item list.” Shegently lifted the book from my hands, put it back in the cabinet, and locked it up with a tiny silver key.
    We sat there for a minute in silence. Genevieve’s office was peaceful, spare—and, of course, white. There were no stacks of paper, tangled electrical cords, or pump-dispensers of hand cream. It was so different from the bustling hive of You, where my reading was constantly