But Paul reached up from the grass and put his hand briefly on my knee, and Daniel tightened his arm around my shoulder, and the three of us sat there in the garden while Margaret’s music played through the window and the roses stood quiet in the dark.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
The text was three sentences long.
*Mr.
Calloway — I don’t know if this is the right thing to do.
But I think you deserve to know what was said about you at the university today.
Please call me.*
No name.
Just a number I had never seen before.
I stared at the screen.
Daniel noticed.
“Everything okay?”
“I’m not sure,” I said.
I stepped away from the bench and called the number.
It rang twice.
“Mr.
Calloway?” A woman’s voice.
Young.
Careful.
“Yes.
Who is this?”
“My name is Priya.
I’m a graduate student in the Literature department.
