I looked down. “Did you hear that, pal? You’ll have to—” My cell phone, which I’d laid on the table after texting Kristen, buzzed and rattled. I picked it up and read the screen. A text from Tucker. I blinked, looked out the window at the soggy afternoon, then steeled myself to read the text.
You were right, it said. Got back at two a.m. I was wrong and I’m sorry.
I texted back, I’m sorry, too.
Tucker: Can we be sorry together sometime soon?
Me, smiling: I’ll have my secretary get with your secretary. This was our code for saying we’d check our schedules and make plans for a date as soon as possible.
Tucker: On it. See you ASAP.
My observant aunt eyed me and said, “Good news, I take it?”
I wrapped my arms around Eddie and hugged him until he gave a squeak of protest. “Very good.”
* * *
The next day I donned my bright red, hooded raincoat and squelched my way over to the library. The grayness of yesterday had evolved into an even grayer today, complete with a rain that, if it continued, would melt the weekend’s snow within a few hours.
“November at its finest,” I said to the wet sidewalk. The sidewalk didn’t answer, which was okay, and perhaps even preferable, because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what a sidewalk would have to say.
It probably wouldn’t be concerned about its hair, which would make it different from me. Curly hair and rainy weather are not good friends. By the time I got to the library it would be Frizz City, and there was nothing I could do about the situation except drive instead of walk, and that seemed silly for a commute of less than a mile.
I kept my head down and my attention fully focused on stepping around the puddles and what remained of the snow. Happily, that took a lot of concentration, and I barely had time to think about what the day would inevitably have in store for me.
Just outside the library, I shook a gallon of water off my coat and onto the sidewalk, then went in, keeping my mind firmly on the tasks ahead.
There would be phone calls to make to reschedule the stops I hadn’t been able to make on Saturday afternoon, there would be the book returns from Saturday morning to reshelve in the bookmobile’s separate circulation room, and that was just the start of it.
I started a pot of coffee and purposefully headed to my office. Lots to do, all sorts of things to do, and I needed to get to work. Focus—that was the thing. Stay focused.
That plan worked fine until the next staff member arrived.
Donna rushed into my office, her arms wide open. “Minnie, oh, Minnie. I’m so sorry!”
I took a deep breath. Here it comes, I told myself, and stood.
She wrapped her arms around me, enfolding me into a great big grandmotherly hug, the kind of hug at which she excelled, since she had (at last count) seven grandchildren. “How are you holding up?” she asked. “What a horrible, horrible thing. That poor man. Poor Denise. And their children—they’ll be devastated.” She sounded as if she was about to cry.
I gave her some calming pats and started to say something, then realized I didn’t know what to say. So I just patted her some more.
“Oh, look at you.” Donna sniffed. “Trying to comfort me when you’re the one who should be getting comforted.” She gave me one last squeeze and stepped back, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan sweater for the tissue she always kept there. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather not?”
I knew I’d have to say something, and, while eating my fortifying Aunt Frances–made bowl of oatmeal, I’d actually planned what that would be. But right at that moment I couldn’t remember a word of it.
“Minnie—oh, my gosh—how are you?” Kelsey rushed in. On her heels was Holly. Donna backed away as the two younger women took their turns at giving me hugs. They were being nice, being supportive, being the best coworkers anyone could want, but I really wished they’d go away and leave me alone.
“I’m fine,” I said, returning their hugs. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“We should do something,” Donna said. “I’m sure he’ll be at Scovill Funeral Home. Should we send flowers?”
The three of them started talking about the pros and cons of cut flowers versus live plants, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d already decided to send my own card and flowers, and here at the library it was far preferable to talk about floral arrangements than to repeat the details of Saturday’s events. Telling the story to anyone would be like reliving it, and that was the last thing I wanted to do.
“What about the bookmobile?”
We all turned. Josh was standing in the doorway, with his hands making knobby bulges in his pockets.
“What about it?” I asked.
“It’s okay, right? I mean, it didn’t get shot, did it?”
I wasn’t sure whether to be appalled or touched. Appalled, because Josh was concerned about the bookmobile when the loss of a man’s life was what really mattered, or touched because he cared about the bookmobile so much that he could consider its status in a situation like this.
“It’s fine,” I said, deciding to go with touched. He was a guy, after all, and there were lots of people in the room on the edge of weeping over Roger. It was only reasonable that Josh would be the one to ask about the car. Not that the bookmobile was a car, but it had an internal combustion engine, and that was close enough.
“And how about . . . ?” Josh glanced over to the women, who were talking about fern varieties. He used both hands to give himself what could only be cat ears.
“Fine,” I said quietly, glad that I’d chosen the touched option.
The phone on my desk rang with the short ring of an internal call. I took a quick head count. Everyone who was scheduled to work this morning was in my now-crowded office. Everyone except the library director.
I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Minnie, I need to see you in my office right now.” There was a short click, and then nothing.
Though I’d known this was going to happen, I’d hoped it wouldn’t take place for a few hours. At least until after I’d finished my first cup of coffee. I put down the receiver and looked at my coworkers. “That was Stephen,” I said.
The conversation that had been going on around me stopped in its tracks.
“He wants to see me right now.” I picked up my mug and got down a few healthy swallows.
“Oh, dear.” Donna wrapped her arms around herself. “Oh, dear, dear, dear.”
“What does he want?” Kelsey asked, her eyes wide open. “Is he going to yell at you?”
Holly bit her lower lip. “He won’t make you get rid of the bookmobile, will he?”
“He won’t fire you,” Josh said confidently. “I’m sure of it. Who else would he get to work so many hours for so cheap?”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks for the pep talk.”
Josh snorted. “Like you need one of those to talk to Stephen.”
“Yeah,” Holly said, smiling. “You’re the one who gives them to us whenever we have to talk to him.”
“Which is hardly ever, now that we have an assistant director to run interference.” Josh cuddled an imaginary football and shouldered away an invisible attacker.
“For which we thank you very much.” Donna patted my shoulder.
My relationship with Stephen was, of necessity, very different from everyone else’s. For one thing, I was his assistant director, and took my marching orders directly from him. For another, I’d learned very young that bluster and size were things to ignore. I was five foot nothing. Most people were bigger than me, and by the age of ten I’d become more or less immune to the subtle coercions of size, gender, and voice timbre.