The One That Got Away

8 - Birdie

"I could always use the help," Violet held out a book, and I took it with a smile.

"Thank you."

"You know your way around a library, dear?" She asked as I followed her behind the desk.

"I love to read, and I'm a fast learner."

"Everything is on computers nowadays. Not much to know, really. Raff can help you get your bearings."

"Raff?"

"Riffraff," the guy I'd spoken to earlier replied from behind me, startling me.

He rolled his eyes, but a playful smirk spread across his face. "She thinks anyone under sixty is just a troublemaker," he whispered as Violet typed away at her computer which looked like it was one of the first ever made.

"Can't wait to see what my nickname will be," I quipped as he slid a few books off the counter and placed them in my arms.

I followed behind him as we made our way to the children's section.

"Well, when she saw you talking to that man, the first name she called you was a floozy."

I snorted before my mouth hung open in shock. Raff laughed, shaking his head.

"But when she found out that you wanted to work here, she called you Claudette."

"Claudette?" I asked as he removed a few of the books from my arms and slid them into their respective places on the shelves.

"Her daughter. She passed away years ago, but she always loved to read. There wasn't a moment that her face wasn't buried in a book. It drove Violet mad, but she was secretly proud."

"I bet. A librarian with a child who loves to read? Must have been a dream come true."

"She's more than just a librarian," he said as his eyes cut to the front desk, and I followed his gaze.

"What do you mean?"

"Violet used to write some fiction of her own back in her day."

"You're kidding." My smile widened as I thought of the little elderly woman with pencil or pen in hand, scratching away at her paper until all hours of the night. His gaze locked onto mine, and he waited for me to figure out her identity. "What... Oh my God. Is she," I lowered my voice to a whisper, "Violent Violet Bowers?"

"The one and only."

"Shouldn't she be on a beach somewhere with a margarita in her hand, not trying to figure out that old computer?"

"Pfft. It isn't like that. She wasn't appreciated in her time." He shrugged. "Once she's gone, her work will probably fly off the shelf. Most days, she doesn't even know her own name."

I shook my head in disbelief. Writing was something I'd always wanted to do, but the vision I'd had in my head wasn't standing on my feet for eight hours a day trying to make ends meet.

"Violet was also a teacher. The parents of her students didn't appreciate her darker stories." He shrugged as if her dreams should have died long before her. "That's life."

"That's not life. That's bullshit!" My voice rose louder than intended, and I glanced around the library. Only one young woman was glaring at me, and I mouthed that I was sorry before tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Things were different back then," he explained with a shrug as he placed more books on the shelf.

"It must have been so cool have an author as a parent," I mused. Anything would have been better than a monster.