My name is John, and at 68 years old, I can finally say something I never imagined I would: I’m a college graduate.

“She would have said it directly to his face,” I said.

Daniel almost laughed.

It was the first real laugh I had heard from him in years, and it sounded so much like his mother that I had to look down at the paper for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said.

“She absolutely would have.”

Outside, the morning was grey and mild.

The roses in the garden were still.

And across the city, I later found out, Professor Holt had already received a message from Dr.

Dr.

Marsh’s office was on the third floor of the main faculty building.

I had walked past it dozens of times during my four years without ever going in.

She stood when I entered and shook my hand firmly.

“Thank you for coming in, Mr.

Calloway.

Please sit down.”

The office was orderly.

Books on three walls.

A single window looking out over the campus quad.