by Alicia Best
“Gonna pay for that, bud?” a deep voice asks, cutting through my memories.
I whirl around, the grocery basket cradled in my arm, the bitten apple in my hand. The juices of the fruit drip down the red flesh, making my fingers sticky.
Without speaking, I give a brusque nod, eyeing the man in front of me.
Spencer Tate: Shady Piers’ mayor and Sarah’s best friend. He’d been there, that day. He had yet to forgive me either.
I knew the story of their friendship well. They’d met in kindergarten, bonding over shared crayons and coloring books. Inseparable ever since.
But it wasn’t him that she married, it was me.
I’d offered to have him be a groomsman for our wedding, but Sarah had made him her best man instead. He’d stood behind her while we exchanged vows, his face not the least bit joyous.
He’d always been jealous of us, of our happiness. Sarah and I had had so little time together that it was hard not to hate him now for his jealousy, the memory of it marring the memories of our marriage.
“Just making sure. I have to protect the small businesses here in Shady Piers,” Spencer continues, a faint smirk on his face.
He’s handsome, minus a single scar on his cheek. He’d gotten it during the accident. I try not to stare at the raised flesh, once an angry red but now a faded, ghostly white.
“That’s good of you,” I grunt, aching to keep this conversation short.
Sooner or later, it would turn to Sarah, as it always did with Spencer. Even though the last years had been torture for me, Spencer liked to imagine that he’d taken it hardest of all. He had little sympathy for me, Sarah’s own husband, or Patty and James, her parents. He couldn’t see past his own hurt.
My feet move forward, trying to inch around him. I’m larger than him, more muscled and taller, but Spencer steps quickly in the way, preventing me from leaving.
“You know, I’ve just passed a new budget bill. Have you heard about it?”
I shake my head, my lank hair falling into my eyes. I resist the urge to drop my half-full basket and my half-eaten apple and charge through Spencer just to get out of here. The walls of the grocery store feel like they’re creeping closer to me, trapping me in some nightmare constructed out of milk jugs and crated eggs and bags of crackers.
Everett, listen!
“Ah. You should really pay attention to our community affairs, Everett. They do concern you.”
“Do they?” I grumble listlessly.
“Yes. The library was the main point of discussion in these last few open meetings we had while discussing the limitations of the bill. You know, what public service buildings we can keep open and which ones we have to close…”
A chill rolls up my spine, hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
For years, ever since Sarah’s passing, Spencer had been making vague and typically empty threats towards my library. For years, those threats had amounted to nothing at all.
Spencer narrows his brown eyes to meet my incredulous ones, the corners of his mouth lifting with smug triumph.
“No.” The word parts my lips before I even realize I’m speaking.
The basket I’m holding drops to the grocery store floor with a heavy thud and the crack of a dozen eggs breaking on impact.
The mayor looks down at my dropped groceries, tongue clicking in feigned sympathy.
“You should be more careful, Everett,” he murmurs quietly, his voice dropping so low that I have to strain to hear it. “But things that you touch do tend to break apart, don’t they?”
I take a step back, eager to put space between us.
“You cared about Sarah, you know how much she loved that library. Why are you taking it from her?”
“I’m not taking it from her,” Spencer snaps back, fists clenching. “I’m taking it from you. You don’t deserve to have that place. You don’t deserve to stand behind that counter where she once stood. You didn’t deserve Sarah in the first place.”
My chest tightens, my throat frighteningly dry. I can’t remember how to breathe. I blink hard, trying to get the aisles of the grocery store to stop spinning around me like one of those toy tops.
Everett, listen!
I wish she would stop. I wish I could forget her voice, her words, but it’s there in the back of my mind all the time. All of the ‘if onlys’ and ‘what ifs’ and ‘how could Is’.
When I squeeze my eyes shut again, expecting to see the distraught face of my wife, it’s someone else instead. It’s Holly Burke, the dangerously beautiful blonde from earlier.
She grins, clutching that stupid book of hers, gazing up into my eyes, and my heart throbs.
“It’s about time you start looking for a new job,” Spencer hisses, stepping aside so that I can finally pass.
“Maybe one that will take you far, far away.”
Chapter 6
Holly
Every day for a week, I’ve found a reason not to go to the library to get the books I need for my class.
Instead of discussing what we would be doing book reports on or what we would be reading for the midterm projects, I had them watch two movies, do a smattering of math practice drills, and even did a series of lessons on general astronomy. Even then, I couldn’t escape the need to go back to the little library because my astronomy lesson had only intrigued the kids further and a few of them had asked for good books on the subject.
So, here I was, again pacing outside the library.
He could probably hear me from inside the faded walls, listening to the click of my heels go round and round like a broken carousel.
I just feel so sorry for lacking any tact the last time I saw the librarian. My mom had tried so hard to teach me how to be quiet, how to listen, how to not ramble on and on about anything and everything that crossed my mind. Clearly, I’m still a work in progress.
Everett probably hated me. He probably thought I was the most annoying thing to ever crawl through Shady Piers.
I’m not sure why his opinion of me matters so much… but it probably has something to do with what happened in New York. Ever since that humiliating incident, it’d seemed crucial to be liked. With Everett, though, there was something else… something that hummed in the back of my mind every time our eyes met. I’d never felt anything like it before. Not even with Michael in the beginning, when it was still something sweet and good.
And I have a duty to fulfill. I have to get those books for my kids. Sooner or later the principal was going to notice that I’d veered off from my already approved syllabus, and I’d be in deep trouble. I couldn’t avoid this place forever.
I talked myself into doing two more laps around the library. Maybe then I’d be able to actually go inside. Busy thinking, I accidentally stumble on one of my tall heels, tripping a little too close to the automatic doors.
They glide open, a gush of cool air tossing my bangs off my face.
Everett Sullivan stands awkwardly in front of me, clutching a small selection of books in his arms. My stomach flip-flops once, knotting tightly inside of me as I try and straighten back up to my feet.
“Oh,” he says simply, that voice of his so deep and gruff, like he’s unused to talking, “it’s you.”
“Hi!” I say, too shrilly, too peppily, too nervously.
Tone it down, Holly!
He blinks once, then turns on his heel and heads behind his desk. Within seconds, the small computer at his side is quietly beeping as he scans in some of the books.
Shifting from foot to foot, I rub one awkward hand along the length of my teal sweater dress, finding comfort in the cozy fabric.
“Do you need something?” he asks finally, feeling my gaze on him.
He meets my eyes for half a second before his gaze drops determinedly back to his books. Great. I’d made such a horrible impression already that he could barely stand to even look at me.
“Well, for my class… I’m looking for some astronomy books.”
Th
e computer keeps beeping, his hands still shifting books from one side of his desk to the other. He doesn’t look at me.
“Aisle 8.”
I glance over my shoulder, skimming the bookshelves.
“I don’t see any numbers.”
He finally pauses, hands frozen in motion, and joins me in scanning the shelves full of old books and tattered collections.
“Oh. I took them down to reorganize. The signs hadn’t been correct for years.”
When he goes back to sorting his books, I clear my throat, lifting my eyebrows slightly. With a sigh, he closes the final book and warily walks back around the desk. He jerks his chin, leading me around small tables and bookstands towards the back of the empty library.
I feel meaningless conversation bubbling up my throat and swallow it back down, trying my best to keep from rambling. By the time the two of us stop walking, my tongue actually aches from how hard I’ve been biting down on it. The faint taste of metal clings to my throat.
“Here,” he mutters, grabbing one book off the shelf and dropping it into my hands.
It’s a single volume, some sort of astronomy encyclopedia. Half the words on the front cover are scientific jargon that sounds like a completely different language.
“Do you have something a little more kid-friendly? My third graders are only eight or nine years old. They won’t make it past the first page of this without losing interest.”
“Doesn’t the school have a library?”
“Yes, but their astronomy section is severely lacking. They’ve only got picture books and one graphic novel. I want something with more words and fewer pictures, but I’ve got to be able to pronounce those words,” I mutter, thumbing quickly through the pages. “I mean what on earth is a decoupling epoch?”
He chuckles, and though it lacks general mirth, the sound actually takes me by surprise. I find myself gawking at him and the tiny half smile on his face. Just that little smile is enough to transform him from grim Crypt Keeper, as Charlotte would say, to a thoroughly striking man that makes my palms suddenly clammy. Where was he hiding that handsomeness?
“Is that how you talk to your students?”
“Surprising as it is, I’ve never once said a bad word in front of them.” I smirk, passing the heavy text back to him.
He slides it onto the shelf, glancing up and down the aisle. His burly arms slowly cross over his chest, his head cocking thoughtfully to the side. Standing beside him makes me feel like a child because I’m so small in comparison. He could practically step on me if he wanted to, squashing me into the carpet.
As he steps to the side to tug out another book, he looks towards me once, then slowly goes still.
“You’re acting strange,” he murmurs, a quizzical look passing through his dark eyes.
My spine stiffens, shoulders jerking upwards. “Am I?”
His eyes narrow, analyzing me. I feel like he can see right through me, like my skin is nothing more than glass, a window to my insides. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, he stands as still as a statue. He’s wearing another flannel shirt, though this time it’s a dark grey one that brings out grey flecks in his ebony eyes. He looks less like a lumberjack today and more like a hunky model. He could definitely strike a pose on a magazine.
I try to arrange my face into some semblance of a normal expression. In the end though, I rise up onto the balls of my feet with a groan. I can’t take the pressure of being quiet any longer.
“I heard what happened.” The words pour out of my mouth with a heavy sigh. “About your wife. I felt bad for how much I talked last time and how I knocked over your stand and how I wasn’t entirely nice to you. Everett, I don’t mean to talk so much, it’s just when I start, I can’t seem to stop, especially when I’m stressed out and—”
He holds up a hand, cutting me off again. It’s only when I stop blathering on that I realize I hadn’t taken a single breath through my whole spiel and my lungs are burning.
“Sorry,” I finally settle on saying, scuffling my toe on the old carpet.
“Everyone in town knows,” he whispers. “It’s no secret.”
When I nod, he continues.
“But you should take as many books as you want for your students. This library probably won’t be open for very long.”
“What? Are you closing for the holidays?”
His face falls, one hand dragging through the silky, dark locks of his hair. “The county has voted to cut our funding. We’ll be lucky to even make it through the holidays.”
“I can’t believe it. What will you do? Is there another library for you to work at? How does one go about becoming a librarian anyway?” I ask curiously, one hand on my hip. “Is there like a librarian college that you go to?”
He blinks patiently, and I groan again, pretending to zip my lips so that he can get a word in edgewise.
“I actually have my master’s in engineering. I took up this job after my wife died. She was the librarian before me.”
“Oh,” I whisper, somehow having the sense not to say any more than that.
My eyes, however, fly back towards the portrait at the front of the library, the one of the lovely woman with the charming dimples. Everett’s gaze follows mine, his face hardening all over, like looking at that painting is painful. Does he keep it here to torture himself?
“That’s her. That’s Sarah.”
“I’m sorry.” One of my hands jerks out, sympathetic fingers curling around his warm elbow.
As I realize what I’ve done, I freeze in the moment. I hadn’t meant to touch him. I don’t know what came over me.
His whole body goes stiff, like he’s been electrocuted from just the brush of my fingers across the faded flannel of his shirt. For a long second, we both just stand there, equal parts paralyzed, horrified, and reluctant to break away. I try to convince my hand to move, to yank it back from his arm, but I can’t. I don’t want to.
Without blinking his dark eyes, Everett finally lurches backwards, his face twisted as though he doesn’t want to move away. His shoulder bumps into the bookcase beside us. It wobbles, and he steadies it before taking another step back.
My hand still rests extended out in front of me, fingers frozen. For the first time in my life, I’m at a loss for words.
“Don’t apologize. I hate when people who don’t know her do that. It seems so forced,” he whispers, voice strained. His eyes flicker over me, taking in my body from head to toe before he swallows hard and forces his gaze away.
“I am so sorry,” I repeat before grimacing and shaking my head. “That’s the last one, I promise.”
With a nod so slight I barely see it, he takes another purposeful step back, as though he’s putting as much distance between us as possible, like he can’t stand the electrical sizzle of the air crackling between us.
“Take your time looking.” He turns and rushes back around the other side of the aisle, instead of just stepping around me. Every step he takes away makes my heart fall further.
I’d come here to try and make my behavior up to him, and somehow, I’d made it even worse.
Chapter 7
Everett
I’d made it a point not to drink since I lost Sarah.
When I did, I always found myself hating the muddiness of my intoxicated mind and the direction in which it tends to travel.
Tonight though, in my struggle to forget about Holly, the faint scent of freshly cut jasmine blossom that seemed to follow her everywhere, and the way my whole body had burned from just her simple touch on my arm, like my soul had suddenly caught flame, I’d allowed myself a glass of scotch from the bottle I’d had at the back of a cupboard for months.
Silently, I lift it up, swirling it in the crystal cup and inspecting the amber gold of the bitter liquid. I hadn’t kept the bottle fully capped, so it was stale on my tongue. I didn’t mind. It still had that liquor burn that made my stomach feel like fire. I was grateful to be feeling anything at all.
&
nbsp; In my other hand, I fiddle absently with my phone and try to pretend that I am not keenly aware of the fact that it’s Sunday evening.
Before it happened, Sunday was my favorite day. It was the day Sarah and I would go to her parents and we would all crowd around their ivory sofa and spend the afternoon watching football and our evenings laughing and cooking together. Sarah and her mother would make the salad and the drinks. James and I would grill. Sometimes, I would turn and find Sarah smiling at me from across the room, the corners of her lips just barely lifted, a grin that was only meant for me. My brother, Blake, occasionally joined us for these special lazy days, and it was wonderful to see all of us as a single unit, like a family. I knew he appreciated it as much as I did.
I hate Sundays now: they are an unavoidable reminder of what I’ve lost. Every week, Sunday comes, and every week, it’s a wound reopened.
As sip of scotch follows a sip of scotch until I’ve had almost two full glasses, my fingers dial the phone number I’d been avoiding.
“Hello?” A woman answers, her voice fragile and haunted by a pain that refuses to yield. “…Everett?”
“Good evening, Patty,” I answer hastily, flinching at the faint slur of my words.
Sarah’s mother draws in a quiet breath, the silence long and heavy. She doesn’t want to talk to me. It’s no surprise. Sarah’s father hasn’t spoken to me since the last time he called, the day of the accident. He’d yelled, his voice breaking in anguish.
“How are you?” she finally asks, but her voice is begrudging.
She doesn’t want to know how I am. She doesn’t want to know what I’m doing, sitting alone and calling her on a Sunday night.
I finish the glass of scotch.
“They’re considering closing the library,” I say, like she would care.
I’m not sure what I’m hoping to hear. Some sympathy, perhaps? Even though I liked to imagine that I was fine in living such a quiet, isolated life, maybe I wasn’t as keen on my self-imposed social quarantine as I thought. That’s why Holly was so dangerous. Just her being around made me long for contact with other people. She didn’t even have to try; there was just something about her that made me wish that I was brave enough to cherish another person. But I am not brave enough; I cannot cling to another human being only to suffer another loss. I wouldn’t be able to take it.
