Between the Stacks

Chapter 35

By Tuesday, Wesley had become the closest thing to a celebrity that the library world had seen.

Well, the closest human celebrity. There was a famous library cat named Dewey who once captured the world's hearts: he'd been left abandoned in a book return bin, and librarians had raised him in the library. I was always surprised his story hadn't been turned into an Oscar-winning movie.

And now Wesley was approaching Dewey-levels of fame.

When we were driving home, I'd tentatively told Wesley that his presentation had been filmed and that it seemed to be gaining traction. He'd laughed and thought it was mildly creepy that someone had filmed him without his permission. "It's kind of cool," he admitted. "I'll enjoy my fifteen seconds of fame. But trust me, by tomorrow, something new will capture the Internet's attention. Probably a dog video."

I guessed he would have been more interested had he not had a death grip on the steering wheel, keeping an eye out for other drivers, moose, meteors, and anything else that could possibly hit us.

We still hadn't spoken about What Happened Last Night by the time Wesley dropped me off at my apartment. Half of me was glad to be home, and the other half was disappointed not to be invited to Wesley's house. I couldn't fault Wesley for wanting to be home – he'd been twitchy throughout the entire drive. We'd made it home in one piece, and I counted that as a win.

That night I took the world's longest shower. By the time I dried myself off I had a passable resemblance to a lobster. I threw on my comfiest pajamas – the ones with the dancing pineapples – and sat down in front of my computer. I went to Facebook and pulled up Wesley's video. There were over a thousand likes and three hundred comments.

Libraries are such an undervalued resource, someone had written. It's time we treat them with the respect they deserve.

This guy gets it, someone else said. I suffered for years with mental health problems as a librarian. We were expected to do so much with so little.

Another comment said, Sexy singles in YOUR area!!!!

In between the spam comments were people who had stories of their favorite libraries and librarians. Books they'd read while tucked away in private nooks. Workshops and meetings and events they'd attended.

Then, one comment jumped out at me. I held back a gasp when I saw her profile picture.

I have been a loyal patron of my library for years, Florence Linaberry wrote. I'd never known her first name. I hope it's not considered too sad if I consider the librarians as my friends. Is there anything more comforting than chatting with someone who knows you? When I hear my favorite librarian say my name, I think to myself, "Someone knows me." One can never be lonely in the library. These days I take pleasure in the small things: The smell of a good book. The scandalous look on the librarians' faces when I check out a bodice-ripper. The breathless feeling of not knowing what will happen when I turn the page. Quite simply, I would not be myself without the library.

Her comment was a kindness that I didn't deserve. I still remembered the way her hand trembled when she'd confronted me about my mistake, when her personal information had ended up online.

I didn't want to read any more. I shut off my laptop, set my alarm for the morning, and hoped that Monday would be a quiet enough day.

---

It was not.

Melissa and Matteo acted as if I'd been gone for years rather than a weekend. Melissa wanted to hear about the food, Matteo wondered if I'd eaten any city rats, and both of them wanted to know if I'd hooked up with any locals. (My high-pitched "Of course not!" didn't sound convincing, even to my own ears.)