Illuminated by Erica Orloff

raged on. I dialed Uncle Harry from my cell and told him that August and I were staying the night at Miriam’s.
    “How convenient,” he teased. “Now listen to me, if your father had any inkling you were out there on Long Island in a beachfront house without supervision, with a sexy college student, he’d have my head. With good reason. So behave. For my sake. And yours.”
    I sat on a bed in one of Miriam’s guest bedrooms, tracing the outline of pale blue on a quilt.
    “Well, unless you want me to swim home, we’re stuck here. I practically hurled my coffee on the ferry on the way over here. I just didn’t think the weather was going to be this bad.”
    “And now you’re stranded, with the smart and devilishly handsome August, in a secluded beach house. I can just imagine what your father will say.”
    “Shut up,” I whispered, hoping the walls weren’t so thin that August could hear. “First of all, Miriam is here. It’s not like there’s no adult here. And my father doesn’t have to know.”
    “Behave yourself, Calliope.” I could hear his “stern” voice.
    “All right, you’ve made your point, ” I snapped.
    “I’m responsible for you this summer.”
    “I said . . . zip it.”
    “All right, but tell me what you two learned about the Book of Hours.”
    “Miriam thinks A. is Astrolabe.”
    “Heloise and Abelard’s son?”
    “You know who he is?”
    I heard him laugh. “Yes, Callie. I’m an illuminated manuscript expert, but I was a history major in college, and . . . my master’s and PhD are in medieval history. I know who Astrolabe is, even if no one knows what happened to him. He’s a historical footnote. A cipher. So this A.— our A.—is Astrolabe?”
    “Miriam thinks so.” I recounted the entire story, almost word for word.
    “Incredible!”
    “I know.”
    “Wait . . . is that you sounding excited about a manuscript? One of those old goat-skin things from the freezing cold and boring auction house?”
    “Yes. That’s me being incredibly excited. I never knew it could be this exciting. But to know for sure, August thinks we have to take a trip.”
    “Someplace good?”
    “Yes.”
    “Passports required?”
    “Yes. Paris.”
    “The City of Light. Score one for romance! Of course, we’ll have to get that past your dad, too.”
    “He just has to let me go. Please, Uncle Harry. Talk him into it.”
    “I’ll try. You know how he is . . . Callie?”
    “Yeah?”
    “If this really is Astrolabe’s book . . . it’s the find of a lifetime. It’s something I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”
    “I know.” I smiled. The idea of Uncle Harry stumbling onto something so special made me smile. “You deserve it.”
    “Thanks, sweetie. You have a good night. But not too good. Give Miriam my best.”
    “She’s really great, Uncle Harry. It makes me sad that she’s been through so much.”
    “It would be nice if we could somehow get the book back to her.”
    “I know.”
    I closed my cell phone, got up from the bed, and walked downstairs to the kitchen. Miriam was preparing pasta with basil, garlic, olive oil, and tomatoes. Her hair was wet.
    “I wasn’t expecting that this would turn into a slumber party,” she said, laughing. “I keep a kitchen garden out back. Brought in plum tomatoes and basil. Should be delicious.” She chopped at a cutting board on the island in the kitchen.
    “I’m so sorry about this,” I said. “I feel terrible us putting you out like this.”
    “Nonsense. I don’t get company too often.”
    I bit my lip.
    “What?” She looked at me.
    “Nothing. I . . . I guess I just wondered if you ever get visitors from your old life?”
    “My daughter comes occasionally, unbeknownst to her brother and father. With her father gone, I expect that we’ll see each other a little more. And I have several old, dear friends whom I go to the city to visit from time to time. We go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And in summer, of course, I get a