After a few minutes of fuming, I’d come to the obvious conclusion that it was my job to make the fair a successful event that didn’t drain the library’s resources. So I’d obtained multiple estimates for every large purchase. I’d driven down to Traverse City to pick up items and combined the trip with personal chores so I didn’t charge the library mileage. I’d asked for business donations. I’d asked for sponsors. I’d begged for free advertising.
And somewhere along the line, I’d become a passionate believer in the whole thing. Why not hold a book fair in May? Why not bring new folks to the library? It was an outstanding idea and I was grateful to have the chance to show off our beautiful building to new people.
Now, standing in front of my boss, I was practically bouncing on my toes with energy and enthusiasm. “Here’s what’s left to do,” I said to Stephen, and launched into a lengthy narrative that started with confirming the number of vendor tables we needed to rent.
Stephen’s eyes glazed over halfway through my recital, but my zeal carried me to the end. He blinked when I finished, then stirred and asked, “Have you considered a location for overflow parking?”
Of course I had. I’d figured that out weeks ago. “If the back parking area fills up”—which it never did, but whatever—“I have permission from the Methodist church to use their lot.”
My boss nodded, his attention drifting to the magazine on his desk. “And you have a plan if the weather is rainy? Or cold?”
“The tents have side panels,” I said. “With them pulled shut, everything inside will stay dry and with people inside, it’ll stay relatively warm.”
“Sounds as if you have everything in hand.” Stephen put on his reading glasses and picked up his magazine. “Thank you for the update.”
Clearly I was dismissed. Since I hadn’t been invited to sit down, I didn’t have to stand up; all I had to do was walk out of the room. So I did. When I got downstairs, I dropped the binder on my desk and picked up my favorite mug, which was emblazoned with the perky logo of the Association of Bookmobiles and Outreach Services, and went in search of more coffee.
The break room was occupied by my best library friends, Holly Terpening and Josh Hadden. Holly was a couple of years older than my thirty-three and Josh was a couple of years younger, and we’d all been hired by Stephen about the same time, Holly as a clerk, Josh as the library’s IT guy.
Holly was married to a man who had a wonderful job over a thousand miles away. He came home to his wife and two small children whenever he could, but I dreaded the day that Holly would get tired of living without her husband and move the family out West.
“Want some?” Holly proffered a full pot of coffee. “Just so you know, I made it myself.”
“True fact,” Josh said, feeding a dollar bill into the vending machine. His caffeine intake was almost always of the carbonated variety. “Saw her take the scoop right out of Kelsey’s hands.” A can thudded out of the machine and he shoved it into one of the side pockets of his cargo pants as he pulled out another dollar.
For the thousandth time, I wondered why he didn’t bring his own soda and put it in the fridge instead of spending so much money on the vending machine, and, for the thousandth time, I didn’t ask.
“Thanks,” I said to Holly, and held up my mug. Her brown hair was held back in a ponytail and, as she poured, I saw the method of ponytailing was via a sparkly pink hair fastener.
“Anna help you get ready this morning?” I asked.
Holly’s daughter, Anna, was five. Her father sent the kids weekly trinkets, which for six-year-old Wilson tended to be baseball cards. Anna’s presents were often hair related, which was getting a little awkward because she was more interested in building houses out of her brother’s baseball cards than she was in accessorizing her hair.
“It was handy,” Holly said. “Josh, when are you going to stop wasting your money on that crap and start drinking coffee like an adult?”
Josh looked up. His dark hair was almost as curly as mine, since he hadn’t bothered getting it cut in months. He pushed it out of his eyes. “Next month, probably.”
“What?” Holly froze.
I lowered my mug and peered at my stocky coworker. “You hate coffee. You’ve always hated coffee. You’ve never even liked the smell.”
He shrugged. “If I dump in enough sugar I should be able to get some down. Enough to do the job, anyway.”
“But . . . why?” Holly asked.
Josh rubbed his thumb over his fingertips. “The coffee here is free. This stuff is a buck.” He popped the top of a can and took a long swallow.
Holly and I exchanged glances. “It’s been a dollar a can for years,” I said. “Did you get a pay cut that I don’t know about?”
“Nah.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I put in an offer on a house. If I get it, I’ll move out of my apartment next month.”
“Josh!” Holly shrieked, and ran to him, her arms outstretched. “That’s great!”
I watched Josh submit to her hug with good grace and hoped the house-purchasing mentality wasn’t contagious. “I didn’t know you were looking to buy.”
“My landlord’s been raising my rent every year and not fixing half the stuff he should be. A house will cost me more, but at least I’ll be building equity.”
I blinked. The idea of Josh as a grown-up was a little frightening. “Well, congratulations.”
“Thanks,” he said, “but I don’t have it yet. The deal could fall through.”
“Oh, fish sticks.” Holly went back to her coffee. “It’ll be fine. And I’ll tell you what. If you want, I’ll help you decorate. If I lived in a city, I’d be an interior designer. I love decorating houses.”
Josh frowned. “Decorate what? It’s not Christmas.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Holly rolled her eyes. “Minnie, tell him how much difference a little decorating can make.”
“Um . . .” My home interior skills were limited to what colors were available in the cheapest brand of paint. Maybe someday I’d own a house, but now wasn’t the time. Librarians had wonderful jobs, but the rewards were more intrinsic than monetary.
“Tell you what,” Holly said. “I’ll pick out some of my favorite decorating books and let you borrow them. Then we’ll pick some paint colors. This will be so much fun!”
Josh’s gaze darted toward me, a little bit of the deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes.
I smiled and topped off my mug. “See you two later,” I said, heading out. “Unless”—I paused in the doorway— “you’d like to help with the final arrangements for the book fair. What do you say?”
“So, Holly,” Josh said, swinging away from me. “What do you think about the rag rolling technique for painting walls?”
Holly put her back to me. “I’d recommend sponging. It’s a lot easier to do consistently.”
“Funny,” I muttered loudly, and left the room.
But actually they were funny, because they’d both been a tremendous amount of help for the fair. So had the rest of the library staff. And almost everyone had agreed to help out on The Day. The only thing left was to carry out the plans already put in place. Plus, we’d spent hours dreaming up every worst-case scenario possible and figured out what to do for each one. I was confident that everything would be fine.
So why was a classic line from that poem by Robert Burns now sliding into my thoughts?
“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley . . .”
I slugged down half of my coffee to wash away the worry and headed back to my office.
Chapter 2
That evening, I started hauling empty boxes down from the vastness of my aunt’s attic. Eddie sat at the bottom of the lowered steps and stared upward, offering the occasional suggestion.