Margaret Walks Across the High School Stage on a Warm June Morning
“What does a library wing have to do with Olivia’s diploma?” I asked.
Arthur did not answer immediately. He reached out and touched the edge of the bronze plaque, his fingers tracing the engraved name of the developer’s corporate entity.
“Perhaps nothing,” Arthur said. “Or perhaps everything. School boards are very protective of their major benefactors. They do not like anything that might distract from a celebratory atmosphere when those benefactors are in attendance.”
“The developer’s son is in Olivia’s class,” I said, the realization slowly clicking into place.
“Exactly,” Arthur said, turning back to me with a serious expression. “A private ceremony keeps everything very neat and very quiet. No difficult emotions on the big day.”
I felt a small, hard knot form in my stomach as I looked from the bronze plaque to the printed invitation in Arthur’s hand. The warmth of Vance’s office suddenly felt entirely artificial.
“He lied to me,” I said.
“He negotiated,” Arthur corrected gently. “And now you have to decide if you are going to accept his terms.”
