Page 163 - The Midnight Library

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‘Adios, Ryan.’

And then he was gone and Joanna was smiling at her, saying nothing.
ere was something teacherly and comforting about Joanna. She
imagined that this version of herself liked Joanna. But then she remembered
she was supposed to do a podcast on behalf of a band where she didn’t know

the names of fiy per cent of its members. Or the title of their last album. Or
any of their albums.
e coach pulled up at a grand-looking hotel outside of town. Fancy cars
with darkened windows. Palm trees wrapped in fair y lights. Architecture

from another planet.
‘A former palace,’ Joanna told her. ‘Designed by a top Brazilian architect. I
forget his name.’ She looked it up. ‘Oscar Niemeyer,’ she said aer a moment.
‘Modernist. But this is meant to be more opulent than his usual stuff. Best

hotel in Brazil . . .’
And then Nora saw a small crowd of people holding out their phones with
outstretched arms, as if beggars with bowls, filming her arrival.