Chapter 34 Jules
JULES
We arrive at Linc’s old college campus in the late afternoon, and I expect him to want to show me around, point out his old dorm or favorite study spots, and tell me candid stories of all his shenanigans. Instead, he heads directly toward the athletic facilities with a single-minded purpose.
“Not interested in a nostalgic campus tour?” I ask, slightly out of breath from trying to match his long stride.
He lifts and drops a shoulder with a non-committal shrug. “Right now, we need to focus on the excavation site.”
The track field stretches out before us, a green bullseye surrounded by black rings in the afternoon sunshine. It’s hard to imagine that somewhere beneath our feet there were once artifacts that could unlock a piece of American history.
Linc pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Taylor that we’re here.”
I gather this is the friend who might be able to help us get more information about what was found.
But I cannot stop the deluge of questions that have nothing to do with our research.
Who is this friend? Are they male? Female?
Another ex-girlfriend who’ll look at me like I’m punching above my weight?
The jealousy that fizzes inside catches me off guard.
I have no claim on Linc. No right to feel possessive.
But logic seems to have declined the invitation to enter into this debate.
His phone pings. “Good news. She can meet us in a few minutes.”
She. Of course.
“Anyone I should know about?” I try to keep my tone casual.
“Just someone who might have access to the excavation records.”
A few minutes later, a woman approaches us from across the field. She’s pretty in an effortless, academic way—shoulder-length auburn hair, a timeless outfit, and the kind of warm, welcoming smile that makes it so I can’t instantly hate her—not that I would. I only mean she’s not Iva.
They embrace, and Linc seems genuinely happy to see her—like they’re long-lost lovers. Did they once send each other romantic pieces of correspondence like Abraham Lincoln and Mary Todd?
Her voice carries to me in greeting, startling me from my jealous stupor. “It’s nice to meet you, Juliana. Linc has been a stranger for far too long. I can’t believe you’re back on campus. It’s been what, three years?”
“Something like that,” he mutters.
I try my best manners. “It’s very nice to meet you, too.”
“Taylor is a historian,” Linc explains.
A his-torian, as in do these two have a personal history? The little green monster in me hisses.
Linc says, “Taylor loved it so much here that after graduation, she just couldn’t leave.”
“I was gone for two years, got my master’s, returned for my doctorate, and then, yes, I was compelled to stay.” The last part is loaded with meaning.
He holds up his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh, no?” Turning to me, she says, “Linc and I dated briefly freshman year—”
Her words turn fuzzy, ones I’m not sure I want to hear, but the greedy part of me needs the truth.
She shakes her head. “This guy was way too much of a goofball for me.”
I stare at Linc. “You’re a goofball?”
“I prefer ‘delightfully unpredictable.’” He lengthens his spine and thrusts his shoulders back, dignified.
Taylor snorts with laughter. “Puh-lease. You once got stuck in a revolving door because you were trying to go backwards to impress a girl.”
“That was one time,” Linc protests.
“It was twice,” Taylor corrects. “Different girls, same door.”
Despite my earlier jealousy, I find myself warming to Taylor’s easy humor. “I’m having trouble reconciling this with the serious businessman I know. The guy that doesn’t have so much as a funny bone in his body.”
She laughs. “Just wait. When you least expect it, he’ll unleash his inner comedian. I would know, lucky for me, Linc introduced me to the man of my dreams.”
“You mean ‘The Grump.’”
And there I thought that word applied exclusively to him.
“The captain of my heart,” Taylor says with affection in her eyes.
“Her husband,” Linc adds quickly, and there’s something odd about his tone. “They got married last year.”
“Two years ago,” Taylor corrects, but she’s distracted now, pulling out a tablet.
“Time flies,” Linc says, gazing into the distance.
Part of me is relieved there isn’t anything romantic between these two, but the possessive little green goblin side of me suddenly, desperately wants to know about his love life—past, present, future. All of it.
“Speaking of, you’re here for a reason and it’s not to rehash our glory days. Those artifacts you asked about …”
She shows us photos and reports from the excavation. Most of it is routine—broken pottery, old coins, fragments of building materials.
“Unfortunately, most of these are in storage. Otherwise, I’d show them to you. But historians believe this was once a park, and its claim to fame was a unique glass structure.”
Linc and I exchange an excited look.
“The glass shards were particularly interesting—thicker than what would’ve been used in windows at the time. There were also traces of what might have been a foundation for a small building shaped like a gazebo.”
“That’s very interesting. Do you have any idea who made it or where the blueprints are?” Linc says vaguely.
“I could arrange something, but it would take a few days of paperwork.”
“We don’t really have a few days, but thank you,” Linc says.
“As for the engineers and builders, my best recommendation is to go to the National Library. I have some reference numbers I can text you.” She snaps her fingers.
“Actually, now that I think of it, I believe the architect was the same person who created the plans for the conversion of the wooden dome of the Capitol building to an iron one. He was familiar with unique structures—metal and glass, mainly, if memory serves. I can’t recall his name at the moment, but you’ll find more information at the Lincoln Memorial.
His grandson was the mastermind behind it. ”
“This is great. Super helpful,” I say, thanking Taylor and feeling like these are some solid leads.
After we say goodbye to her, the car waits for us outside the Sullivan Arts building. I notice this city is filled with sleek black cars and SUVs moving around like apex predators in murky waters.
“Any relation?”
He snorts. “As a matter of fact, yes. My father gave a generous endowment.”
“In your mother’s memory?”
He nods, and I can’t help but think Frank Andresen really did love his wife. However, he just wasn’t sure how to show it.
The car Linc seems to have on standby brings us across town. In the fading light of day, the impressive facade of the Lincoln Memorial stands like a monolith of history. I feel like we’re somehow part of it, as it’s made in real time.
I only hope that I’m not merely part of Linc’s footnote.