Turning Pages

Chapter Seventeen

SEVENTEEN 

Blake held open the door and ushered in the young woman who had made me feel like a two-inch Troll doll at the city council meeting. It wasn't her fault, though-tall, beautiful people had that effect on me. 

"That's not what the law says, Blake," she said as she entered the building. "The 1967 case-" 

I turned to Melanie. "She's citing precedents," I whispered. "She's not your average fluffy." 

"I don't even know what citing precedents means," Melanie whispered back. 

Blake led Tara over to the circulation desk. "Honey, you remember Melanie, from the meeting," he said. 

Tara nodded. "Nice to see you again." 

"And of course, Addie."  

What did he mean by that-"of course, Addie?" Did he mean "Of course you remember this airheaded chick who attacked the mayor with cardboard and had to be bailed out of jail?" That's not what really happened, but how was I supposed to know what he remembered of the incident? 

"Hi," I said, offering my hand in what I hoped was not a masculine way. Tara took it, and I liked her grip immediately. She wasn't one of those cold-fish handshakers. 

"It's good to meet you officially, Addie," she said. "Blake tells me you practically run this place." 

"He said that?" I blinked. "He said something nice about me?" 

"Oh, come on, Addie. I say lots of nice things about you." He motioned for Tara to follow him down the stacks. 

"He said something nice about me," I whispered to Melanie. 

"See? He's not all evil," she replied. 

"Yes, I am." His voice floated from behind the bookshelves. "I just give credit where it's due, that's all." 

Tara stayed for about an hour, and then Blake took her to her friend's house, where she was staying, so he could finish his shift "uninterrupted," as she put it. I was able to breathe a little easier when they left. My feeling that we'd be under inspection had pretty much been justified-I saw it in Tara's eyes as she walked around the building. I had a brief suspicion she would pull out a white glove to check for dust on the shelves, but cast it aside. She hadn't done anything to make me feel as though she disapproved. I was just self-conscious, especially after Blake's sideways compliment. It should have been reassuring, but for some reason, it made me all the more edgy. Although, come to think of it, he had been doing the dusting lately, so if she found anything amiss, it would be his fault, not mine. I liked that.

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"And that takes care of the kitchen." Mom flung herself onto the living room couch, and Aunt Kathy joined her. I had already taken the overstuffed chair in the corner, and we stared into space. 

"I can't feel my arms." I flopped them at my sides. "How many shelves did I just wash?" 

"At least a thousand," Kathy replied. "But every last plate, pan, and can of beans has been put where it belongs." 

"I feel guilty that you're over here helping me," Mom said. "You've got unpacking to do too." 

"Yeah, but it's more fun to unpack your stuff. I can be snoopy and check out your cookware. You have better saucepans than I do." 

"You can borrow them." 

We sat quietly for a few more minutes, and then I tried to move. It was a pretty pathetic effort. "Think the kids are done with their rooms?"