SIXTEEN
I was awakened early Christmas morning by Jenni jumping on my bed and scaring me half to death. "It's Christmas, Addie! Come on!"
I crawled out of bed, feeling worse than when I'd climbed in at four o'clock that morning. Mom and I had spent half the night finishing the presents for the kids, and my eyes felt like sandpaper. "Coming," I mumbled as Jenni bounced off my bed and over to the doorway.
Benji met us at the base of the stairs, and we went into the living room. It didn't look a thing like it had last Christmas. Now we were surrounded by packing boxes, and the edges of the paper tree were starting to curl from the moisture in the air, due to all our baking. Most of all, Dad had been with us last year, dressed in his blue satin bathrobe and handing each of us a mug of warm apple cider as we entered the living room to find our presents. This year Mom handed out the cider, her eyes shining with happy tears.
"Merry Christmas," she said to each of us in turn, and we gathered at the base of the wall where our "tree" hung.
The kids already knew Christmas would be a little meager, and they didn't seem to mind. They'd told Mom all they really wanted was to spend the day together, and that's what we were going to do. Breakfast, sledding, an afternoon of Christmas movies . . . Mom had planned the entire day, and I'd volunteered to make dinner that night-my special lasagna. As we exchanged our small presents and laughed and talked, I felt my heart expand until it filled my whole body with love for my family, these special people who accepted me just as I was.
We had just opened the last of our gifts and I thought we were done, but Mom cleared her throat. "You know your dad was a planner," she began. "He liked his life organized down to the last detail. He even charted out when Benji and Jenni were going to come along." Mom laughed, but then wiped a tear from her eye. "He ordered your Christmas gifts in June and hid them in his sock drawer. So I have something to give you from him, too."
She reached behind the sofa and pulled out a sack. There was a small, wrapped package for each of us, including Mom. Dad's handwriting was on the tags, and my breath caught when I saw it. Something so simple, like handwriting, could take me back in a flash, and my chest hurt as I looked at the words. He had a special way of writing the A in my name, with a grand flourish, like he was using a calligraphy pen instead of a plain old ballpoint. I glanced up to see that Mom, Benji, and Jenni hadn't opened their gifts either. They held them, looking like they'd seen a ghost, and I'm sure that's how I looked too.
I took a deep breath. "Oh, come on," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "Dad wanted us to have these, not stare at them."
Mom chuckled. "You're right. Come on-let's race."
The kids tore into their presents. I did too, after carefully removing the tag and placing it to the side. I was going to save it forever.
Jenni and I got matching pendants in the shape of flowers. The gemstone in the center of mine was blue, and Jenni's was pink. Benji got a tie clip with his initials engraved on it, and Mom's gift was a diamond pendant. It was small, but it sparkled against the living room light. She immediately fastened the chain around her neck.
I helped gather the wrapping paper and throw it away, and Mom and Jenni went upstairs to get dressed. I heard a sound behind me and turned to see Benji standing there, tears running down his face as he stared at his tie clip.
"What's the matter, Benj?"
"This tie thingy . . . it's for church."
"Yes, it is." I took a step closer. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I've just had a hard time with church stuff, you know? Like, if God's real, why'd he take Dad? I know that's stupid, but it's how I've felt sometimes. But this . . . " He pointed at the clip. "Church meant a lot to Dad, so it should mean a lot to me too, right?"
"It did mean a lot to him," I said.
"I guess . . . I guess I'll try harder. I mean, I'll try to try harder."
My brother, boy turning into man, made his way upstairs, the tie clip clutched in one hand. Amazing how my dad still talked to us, even from the other side.
??
I'd enjoyed the Christmas holiday, but it felt so good to open the library again, and I didn't even mind returning to school. I often studied with Jenni in the evenings, and although our subjects were vastly different, having a partner seemed to help me focus. Maybe I could keep my grades up from now on.
We had a very small Christmas party our first day back at the library, just the three of us, with a dozen cookies, two liters of punch, and gifts. Melanie gave each of us a book-what else?-and I gave Blake and Melanie very scraggly scarves I'd tried to knit. Melanie looked at hers with skepticism, but Blake immediately wound his around his neck. It looked pretty good on him, in a fuzzy, holey sort of way. Then he pulled out our gifts. He gave Melanie a mouse pad, and when I opened my package, I nearly choked with laughter. In the box lay ten spare keys, each on its own keychain.
"How . . . how did you get a hold of my key to make copies?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I have my ways." He wouldn't say anything else about it, but he wore his scarf the entire day. It was flattering, and I was confused. Something had changed between us-we might actually have become friends. It was almost creepy.
??
I looked at the clock. It was 11:30. Mrs. Harlowe always came in at 11:30 on Tuesdays. We could count on her like Old Faithful. Not that I was calling her old-I just meant she was faithful. This would be the first time I'd seen her since my miniature nervous breakdown before Christmas vacation. I wanted to go hide in the back room. I was ashamed and sorry, and I felt guilty. I would have done anything to avoid facing her, but I knew if I didn't get this off my chest, I wouldn't be able to live with myself.
I heard her voice in the vestibule and took a deep breath.
"Addie!" She greeted me before I had a chance to speak. She didn't seem upset; in fact, she seemed glad to see me. "I wanted to thank you so much for our little talk."
"What?" I was floored.
"You know, I never realized how many wonderful books are in this library. Blake helped me pick some out, and I loved every one of them."
"Blake helped you choose some books?" I pictured him loading her frail little arms with every copy of Dune in the place, but then I remembered he'd mentioned something about this the day before.
"Yes. Let me show you what I read." She paused by the book return slot in the counter, showing me each title before sending it through the little door. "I read Anne of Green Gables, and Christy, and The Secret Garden, and-oh! This one was my absolute favorite!" She held up the book, and I gasped.
"You read Wildwood Dancing?"
"Yes. Blake said I would love it, and he was right! Oh, Addie, you've got wonderful taste."
"I'm confused. If Blake told you to read it, why are you thanking me?"
"Because he told me these are all your favorite books." She leaned forward and winked at me. "Are you game to try a few of my favorites?"
"Um, I don't know. Maybe." My brain was whirling. Blake recommended Wildwood Dancing? I hadn't even put that one on the Staff Picks wall-I was saving it, like a special dessert after a sumptuous meal. For that matter, I hadn't put up any of those books yet. How did he know I loved them?
"Listen, Mrs. Harlowe. I really do need to apologize for what I said to you. I was overtired and worried and grumpy, and . . . well, you know what? I really have no excuse. But I've felt just terrible about it ever since. Will you forgive me?"
She cocked her head to the side and considered me. I felt like a tiny ant under her gaze. "Honey, I'll admit I was a little hurt at first. But you are such a sweetie that I didn't think another thing about it. And after the marvelous week of reading I've had, why, I have nothing to complain about at all." She stepped around the counter and wrapped me in a hug. "How are you?"
I took a deep breath and smiled. "I'm all right, Mrs. Harlowe. I got some things straightened out, and I think I'm good."
She patted my cheek. "Then I'm good too. Now, how about showing me some more of your favorite books?"
I loaded her down, and she made me promise I would read at least one chapter of the latest bodice-ripper that had come in. After she left, I hunted down Blake. This time, I was the one sneaking up on him.
"Wildwood Dancing?"
He turned and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Christy? Anne of Green Gables?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Mrs. Harlowe. You know what I'm talking about."
He smiled. "Oh, yeah. That. I just helped her find some books, that's all."
"But how did you know-" Maybe he really was psychic.
He gave a long, exaggerated sigh. "I read, Addie, probably
just as much, if not more, than you do. I'm not a total ignoramus."
"I never said you were. I'm just surprised, that's all."
He walked past me, grinning. "Good. Mission accomplished."
??
I showed up at work ten minutes late. Traffic had been terrible, and I was all set to explain that to Blake, but he didn't scold me. I was stunned.
"I'm late," I said. "Look at the clock. Ten whole minutes."
"I'm sure you have a good reason."
I waved my hands in front of his face. "Earth to Blake! An employee is late! Doesn't that make you mad? Aren't you just furious? Don't you want to yell at me or lecture me or anything?" His calmness was unsettling.
"Nope, I'm good." He smiled a lazy smile that slowly reached from one side of his face to the other. "It seems Tara just can't get enough of me. We were together all day on Christmas, and now she's coming to spend the weekend here."
I rolled my eyes dramatically, hoping it wouldn't be lost on him. "And that's why you're goober-brained all of a sudden? Because of a smoochy-poochy New Year's date you've got planned?"
"Goober-brained? Smoochy-poochy?" He grinned. "Yeah."
"This is very, very strange. Like, who are you and what have you done with Blake?"
"She wants to see the library. We didn't have time when she was here in November-we were at the city council meeting."
"Yeah. I remember that."
"Anyway, I'm going to show her around the library, and she wants to get to know you girls better, too. She says I talk about you all the time, and she's curious."
"You talk about us?" Melanie asked, turning from the book repair table. "Are you running out of things to say to each other already? I thought that happened after you got married, not before."
Blake wadded up a piece of cardstock and threw it at her. "Very funny. I'll bring her in on Monday morning, okay?"
"And you want us to be on our best behavior?"
"If you'd like to give that a try, Melanie, I'll cheer you on." He reached under the counter and grabbed his helmet. "I'll be back in a little while. I have one more paper to sign, and then we can start moving books over to the new location."
I waited until I heard his motorcycle leave the parking lot before I turned to Melanie. "Why do I get the feeling that we're about to be very carefully scrutinized, and most likely, found wanting?"
"Because we are." She stood to greet the patron who had just walked up to the circulation desk. "We most definitely are."
??
It was the first Saturday of the year-moving day for our family-and nearly everything had been taken out to the huge truck we'd rented. There was just one thing left to deal with: Dad's closet. Mom faced the sliding doors, which were still closed.
"I'm not ready to go through everything, Addie. Let's just throw it into boxes and I'll deal with it when I can."
Part of me wanted to encourage her to sort through it and get it over with, but the larger part of me knew exactly how she felt. In my room, I'd come across some notes my dad had left for me throughout the years, and I knew I'd have to sift through them another time. I couldn't ask my mom to do something I didn't have the courage to do myself.
"I'll get the packing tape." I found some in the kitchen and returned to find her just where I'd left her. We'd do this together.
As I slid the closet door open, the faint aroma of my father's cologne drifted toward me. I closed my eyes and breathed it in, remembering that last morning. He'd given me a hug on my way out the door. "Good luck on your test," he'd said. "I'm taking your mother on a nice, long drive before the kids get home from school. I might even take her parking." And then he winked at me. I had groaned or rolled my eyes or something like that, thinking, as I drove away, that I had the lamest, most wonderful parents in the world.
I grasped the first few hangers and slid the pants off, then placed the pants in the bottom of the largest box. I straightened slowly, the weight of what we were trying to do pressing down on me.
"Tell you what," Mom said. "Let's just grab everything and shove it in as fast as we can. We'll tape it up, label it, and not think about it." I didn't reply. "Did you hear me, Addie? We're not going to think about it."
I met her eyes and knew what she meant. There was no way we could do this unless we forced all our feelings to the side. The men from our church were waiting for us on the lawn-they were going to follow us to the new place to help us unload, and they'd been patient, but they must be wondering about the delay.
"On your mark?" I said.
"Get set?" Mom replied.
"Go!" we yelled together. We pounced, pulling clothes from the rack as fast as we could, taking down shoeboxes and ties, and shoving everything into the boxes. We packed the items tightly, like brown sugar in a measuring cup, and used more tape than we probably needed. We had the entire closet cleaned out in under five minutes. The boxes bulged, but they held. Out of breath, we started to laugh.
"We should have packed the whole house that way," Mom said. "Think of all the time we would have saved."
"And how tired we would have been."
We sat on the floor in the center of the room, which now echoed from being so very empty. "I don't think I can paint anymore, Addie," Mom said after a long silence. "The beauty is gone."
My heart ached when she said this. She'd always taught me there was beauty in everything, even in pain and suffering, in hunger, in sorrow-that if you looked hard enough, you could always find something beautiful. I wished I knew what to say or do that might help bring her beauty back. But I didn't know how or if it could be done, or if she was the only one who could find it.
??
That night, our first in the new place, we unpacked just enough to get us through Sunday. The beds were made, we found our toothbrushes, and we had cold cereal and milk. The rest could wait until Monday. We were too exhausted to do more.
We'd been met at our new house by friendly new neighbors. They pitched right in to help unload the truck, and Mom and I directed everyone on where to go. We'd labeled everything carefully, but still found kitchen boxes in the living room, bathroom stuff in the garage, and books in the hallway. I guessed that was pretty typical of volunteer labor. It was all right, though-their hearts were in the right places, even if our things weren't.
My back was sore when I hobbled out to my car on Monday morning for class, and sitting at a desk for an hour didn't help any. I would have gone home for a hot shower before heading in to work, but then I remembered Blake was bringing Tara in, and morbid curiosity took over. What would she be like up close and personal? What if she didn't like us, or the library-would she encourage Blake to quit? I didn't want to see that happen. He got on my nerves more often than not, but he'd been good for the library. I could see that now. I never could have organized things the way he had, never could have overseen the transition, the paperwork. Just being in charge of the inventory was wearing me out. I could not have done his job. And ever since our little adventure in the store parking lot, something had shifted between us. I might even consider the possibility of forgiving him for taking my job.
I took down the previous week's Staff Picks and dusted the shelves, contemplating what to choose this time around. I wanted something that made me feel safe and secure, that reminded me of a time when life wasn't so complicated.
"I thought you'd be over here," Blake said.
I turned and smiled at him. "Where else would I be on a Monday morning?"
He reached out and handed me a book. "I'm playing psychic again today. What do you think?"
I looked down at the cover. "Heidi. Blake, it's perfect! How did you know?"
He chuckled. "It was only a matter of time. You've gone through most of the other classics written by female authors."
I hadn't made the connection between my books of choice and who wrote them, but he was right. "Thanks."
"And let me guess," he said. "Your favorite part is when she's up on the mountains with Peter and the goats. Or perhaps" -he tipped his head to the side, studying me- "being tucked in by Grandfather after they made the little bed in the attic."
"Of course." I placed the book on my shelf, turning away before he could see my sudden tears. "Now, let me guess yours. Another installment of Dune, right?" I faced him again, trying to look impertinent.
He shook his head.
"Then I'm completely at a loss. What did you bring me, oh great leader?"
I nearly dropped the book he handed me, I was so surprised. "Peace Like a River." I raised an eyebrow. "You know this is literary fiction, right? No robots or monsters or deep intergalactic intrigue . . ."
"I have read it, Addie. That's why it's my pick. And yes, I know there are no robots. Not everything has to have robots." He turned and walked away with a slight smirk on his face. I felt like throwing the book at his retreating back, but that would not be showing proper respect for library property. The book, of course, not him.
"I'm going to pick up Tara," he called. "I'll be back after lunch."
I shook my head as I walked over to the children's section to plan out the next Story Time. I would never, ever figure him out.
Thanks for reading this chapter!
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Inkberry Press, LLC
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Text Copyright © 2012 by Tristi Pinkston
Cover Design © 2012 by Inkberry Press
Interior Design © 2012 by Inkberry Press
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ISBN: 978-0-9838293-6-2