by Alicia Best
“Spencer already spoke with us about that,” she responds quietly, voice dropping to a whisper. She doesn’t want her husband to know she’s talking to me.
My heart thuds, pained. How often do they talk to Spencer while refusing to talk to me?
“Listen, Everett, we’re about to have dessert—”
“Of course. Good night, Patty.” My head falling back against the cushion of my easy chair, I hang up my cell and toss it away from me. It drops onto the carpet.
I’m losing everything. I’ve lost Sarah, I’ve lost her family, I’m losing her library.
What will I be able to call my own when this is over?
I will be left with nothing; absolutely nothing.
The ache that I’ve been running from re-emerges somewhere inside me where my heart once was. Now it is a black hole, painfully empty, threatening to swallow me up. I leap to my feet as though I can outrun it, and pace to the front door.
The walk to the library is a short one, and the quiet building is waiting for me when I arrive.
No lights are on, and the windows are so dark that the foggy glass reflects the night sky, stars blinking on the panes.
Fumbling the keys from my pocket, I rush inside and draw the sliding doors closed behind me, re-locking them. It’s past eight in the evening now, and I had little worry that anyone would come for a visit at this time of night, but I needed to be alone with Sarah’s library.
I can feel my late wife’s presence.
When I close my eyes, I can hear her quiet footsteps winding up and down the halls.
I lean heavily on the wall beside her photograph, pressing one palm onto the transparent glass keeping her safe from children’s palms.
Even after her death, I have not stopped letting her down, even though I’ve done my best. I’m powerless to stop her library from being shut down, and I am powerless to erase my attraction to Holly. Even walking down the street, my eyes couldn’t stop flickering around, dancing across every blonde that crossed my path. While Sarah had been quiet and gentle, Holly was not like that at all: so vibrant and fearless and adorably well, different.
I push myself away from the wall, shaking my head and turning on the main light in the library hall. I walked quickly, like I can just step away in the same fashion from my betraying thoughts about another woman who is not my wife.
It didn’t matter that the library was closing; there was still work that could be done. There were still tasks I could complete that would keep my hands busy and my mind occupied.
A pile of magazines rests on one of the back tables, having been there for months now. I’d kept setting them aside, promising myself I would get to them eventually.
There was no better time to finally be done with the task than a night I know will be sleepless.
I don’t sit, choosing instead to lean over the magazines and silently sort them into groups.
I think better when I’m standing.
Magazines had never really been an interest of mine. I always preferred the weight of a heavy book in my hand and thick paper between my fingers. These felt so fragile and floppy.
A few different piles emerge as I sort through the large stacks of journals and periodicals. There are environmental magazines, astronomy ones that I put aside for Holly, publications for kids, and of course the gossipy tabloids. It’s as I’m sorting through those that a picture abruptly catches the corner of my eye, making me gasp
It’s only then that I finally sit, sinking into a nearby chair with the tabloid clutched in my hands.
Holly’s eyes stare at me from the cover photo, her typically silken hair a frenzied mess on her shoulders, her blue eyes glazed with alcohol, mascara tears staining her cheeks. In bright red, a headline is stamped across her torn crimson dress.
‘Senator Hopeful’s Blonde Bimbo Destroys His Career!’
Chapter 8
Holly
“Does anyone have any questions for me?” The mayor of Shady Piers rocks up onto the toes of his polished loafers, his arms crossed over his chest.
Spencer Tate is a small man, though bigger than me, with scrawny arms and a suit that is somewhat oversized for his frame and eyes that don’t fit his face. With a start, I realize I’d been absentmindedly doodling away on a small notepad on my desk, making Spencer into some strange pseudo-alien figure.
Flipping over the piece of paper to hide it, I try not to yawn. Instead, I pretend to look interested in whatever due processes of the county Spencer Tate has just spent forty-five minutes explaining. My third graders look equally enthused, their eyes glazed over, their mouths hanging wide open. I’m pretty sure one of them has fallen asleep where they’re grouped on the carpet in front of the mayor. A few of them fidget anxiously, casting looks towards the nearby classroom windows and counting down the seconds until recess.
The mayor had been making his rounds of the school today, something that he apparently did every year before winter break. Probably some sort of campaigning attempt to get the children to bring up Spencer’s name to their parents and make it more likely for them to vote him back in. This was only his first term as a mayor, and he would be up for re-election soon.
Spencer walks from one side of the chalkboard, where he’d scribbled a rough itinerary of his daily activities, to the other side, which is covered in a scribbled map of the local counties. He admires his work briefly before turning his expectant grin to the cluster of kids. He has a practiced smile, one that he’s worn for endless city briefs and photoshoots at new park openings and ribbon cutting ceremonies. It’s a smile that is forced, not making the corners of his brown eyes crinkle in the slightest. He’s younger than I expected a mayor to be, with caramel hair and freckles. He couldn’t be more than a year or two older than myself, Everett’s age perhaps.
I swallow hard at the unexpected thought of the serious, handsome librarian. In truth, this has been happening more and more lately. I catch myself daydreaming of his dark, endless eyes and the electric sparks that danced across my hand when I touched him. Those eyes remind me of the night sky on an evening when just the faintest shimmer of the stars is present. I’m sure he doesn’t think of me at all, given how aloof and cold he is, but I can’t help myself. I’d sworn up and down that I wouldn’t date anyone for a long time after Michael and I split. Maybe that was why I was pining after someone unattainable now.
“I’m sure some of you have a question or two,” Spencer repeats, more hopefully this time.
Despite the children’s lack of interest, a few hands shoot up, making Spencer bob his chin up and down excitedly.
“Yes, you there. Right in the front. Pink sundress.”
The little girl in question pauses, inspecting her dress. I can practically see the gears in her head turning. Isn’t the dress more red than pink?
“Susie,” I call gently, smiling at her when she looks towards me, “do you have a question for Mr. Tate?”
She nods, lips smacking thoughtfully as she folds her hands tightly in her lap.
“Mr. Tate,” she says slowly, mulling over her words. She hadn’t formulated a question before raising her hand. I’d be surprised if any of the children waving their hands around right now had an actual question for the impatient mayor. “What’s the difference between an asteroid and a meteorite?”
Spencer’s smile freezes, and the corners of his mouth curl noticeably downward.
“Excuse me?”
“We’re learning about astronomy,” Susie continues cheerily. “But I can never remember the difference. You’re a grownup though. Don’t you know?”
“I know I’m a grownup, but I’m afraid I’m not an expert on astronomy.” Spencer gives a frustrated chuckle, his eyes darkening, though his smile remains forcibly intact.
“Neither is Ms. Burke, but I bet she knows the difference,” Susie replies indignantly, a small furrow creasing her displeased brows.
“I think Mr. Tate is asking if anyone has any questions about what he does as mayor,
” I interrupt, standing up from behind my desk. “Why don’t you all save the questions about our lesson until after he leaves. Does anyone have a good question for him about his job?”
Susie pouts, folding her arms, and the remaining hands slowly lower until Spencer is looking out at a sea of clearly distant faces. What exactly he was hoping to find in eight-year-old kids, I would never know.
Dismissing the students so they can drift back to their seats, I slip out from behind my desk and approach Spencer.
“Thank you so much for coming to speak to them,” I offer with a smile as I begin to clear his notes from my chalkboard. “I know you must be so busy with your campaign.”
He grunts, leaning against the side of the wall before checking his watch. His talk with my kids had ended a few minutes early, and he wasn’t expected in the next classroom quite yet.
“I’m sorry they didn’t have any good questions for you. You know how kids are. Some days they’re on top of everything, the next day they’re not interested. They’re really very smart and curious when they’re in the right mood.”
“Perhaps it’s you that’s the issue, Ms. Burke, and not your students,” he shoots back, his voice so quiet and severe that I suddenly feel like I’m in trouble, like I’m about to be lectured by my boss or something. “I’ve seen quite a few other classes this week, and all of them had at least a few excellent questions prepared.”
“Prepared?”
“Yes. The other teachers knew I was coming in and had prepped the students for it. You failed to do that in any way. I’m not sure why I’m even surprised; it is you that we’re talking about right now.”
“Oh.” Slowly, I set down the chalk and turn towards him, mind a blur at his ambiguous insults. “I suppose I could have had them write some questions for you beforehand. We only just found out about your visit at the end of the day yesterday, but next time I'll be sure to do that.”
His poised face melts into a scowl of disbelief that makes irritation bubble up inside me. I can tell by the way he’s glowering that he thinks I’ve disrespected him somehow, but it’s me who feels disrespected now.
How dare he talk to me this way? He doesn’t even know me.
I try to push aside the discontentment, working up another smile that I hope is friendly. I get the feeling that, for whatever reason, Spencer Tate does not like me. I didn’t want to give him any more fuel for his apparent animosity towards me.
“I actually have a question for you, Mr. Tate,” I say hesitantly, trying to change the subject to something more positive.
He rolls his eyes. He’s getting bored with it all now. “And it’s not about asteroids?”
I laugh, then shake my head. “No, it’s actually about the library.”
“What library?” he murmurs dully.
“The public one. Right down the road. Everett Sullivan is the librarian.”
His eyebrows lift a little, but noticeably, brown eyes turning back towards me.
“Ah, yes. We’ve already scheduled demolition of the building. It won’t be an eyesore for much longer. I appreciate your patience while we deal with this matter. We’re going to hold another county meeting about what to build in its place.”
“No, actually, I was wondering why it was being torn down. I’m sure that, with a little fundraising, it could be as popular as it was before. I’ve been asking around, and most people don’t even know it’s still open. Even if we just sent out flyers or something, I’m sure there would be an increase in interest. And it would mean so much to Everett; don’t you think he deserves that after everything he’s been through?”
Warm little flurries swirl around in my stomach at the whisper of the librarian’s name on my lips.
Narrowing his eyes, Spencer takes a single step closer. Something about his closeness makes the hair on the back of my neck prickle. I stumble back slightly, knocking the chalk off the shelf of the board, but Spencer closes the space between us quickly, icy fingers curling around one of my wrists.
“I know who you are, Holly Burke. I know what happened in New York. Michael Brock is a close friend of mine and a good politician. But you don’t know anything about Everett or his situation. He’s going to get exactly what he deserves, and if you’ve got an ounce of sense in that brain of yours, you’re going to stay as far away from that man as you can.”
I wrench my hand out of his hard grasp, rubbing at the reddened flesh.
Instead of backing further away from Spencer, it’s me who takes a step forward. I won’t stand being spoken to this way by someone who believes they know me when they clearly don’t. I can feel the children watching in tense curiosity, uncertain exactly what was going on between the two adults in the room.
“I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Tate,” I hiss, ignoring how my heart pounds nervously against my ribs and how my palms are slick with sweat. “You’ve overstayed your welcome in my class.”
“Remember what I said,” he replies quietly, adjusting his tie as he turns to walk towards the door. “Because I’ll take you down with Everett if I have to.”
His snarling words vanish behind yet another one of his perfectly polished smiles as he clears his throat and turns towards my students. With an overdramatic bow, he straightens back up and gives a wave.
“Remember to tell your parents to vote Spencer Tate in the next mayoral election,” he announces with a wink, leaving the room with one more ice-cold, lingering smile in my direction.
Chapter 9
Holly
The rest of my day in class is spent mulling over Spencer’s vague threat and what Everett could’ve possibly done to become enemies with the mayor of Shady Piers.
Spencer had a weird air about him, one that prickled with resentfulness and anger. I’d never felt anything like it, not even from Everett, who was clearly still struggling with his loss.
By the time the last of my students was picked up at the end of the day, I’d made up my mind.
I was going to have to go see Everett and warn him about Spencer. The guy clearly had it in for Everett, and maybe he and I could do some brainstorming to come up with a way to deal with the arrogant mayor, now that I’d wandered right into his crosshairs as well.
Even though he’d mentioned he was doing inventory checks in the evenings, I didn’t want to just show up at the library, not with whatever weird tension lies between us after that little moment we shared the other day. I had to have a plan.
Sliding into my blue knit cardigan, I make my way to the grocery store.
I was used to the New York mega-marts and barely-fresh produce that went along with those types of grocery stores. The well-stocked specialist store in Shady Piers was a cut above all of that. According to the grocer who ran the place—and had run it since his father passed it to him and whose family had run it for generations before—all the produce was locally sourced from farms around town. That meant the variety of what they stocked could occasionally be limited in amounts and to what was in season, but the fruits and vegetables were almost unreal, they were so delicious.
“What would you cook for someone you know nothing about?” I ask the grocer thoughtfully, inspecting the carrots and artichokes.
Dirt still clings to the peel of the vegetables, discoloring their lopsided, mouthwatering shapes.
The grey-haired man frowns, knowing gaze sweeping over his stock.
“Keep in mind that I’m no Julia Child,” I add with a grin when he starts inching towards his lamb shanks.
I know my way around a kitchen, but I’m not going to give a professional chef a run for their money. Hopefully, my cooking will be enough to bring Everett a little more out of his shell though.
The man chuckles, then grabs a pack of chicken breasts and puts them in my basket before adding some sweet potatoes and various greens.
“This’ll knock his socks off.” The grocer winks. “And it’ll be easy to put together too.” He bends down over the boxes of inventory that he’s been un
packing and scribbles down a sloppily written but legible recipe for baked chicken, mashed sweet potatoes, and garlic sautéed greens. “Seriously, there’s nothing better than this,” he assures me, handing over the card. “It’ll make anybody smile.”
“That’s the plan.” I sigh, curiously reading over the card to make sure I have everything I need.
“Everett’s a good guy,” the grocer continues knowingly, making me choke in surprise. With a chuckle, he smiles. “Everyone in this town is nosy. When a beautiful girl like you wanders back into town, the gossip started flying the second you walked into that library.”
“We’re just friends,” I stammer. “Barely that much, even,” I add, a hint of sadness coloring my tone.
It was very much one step forward, two steps back with Everett. I was never sure we were progressing at all, even with a friendship.
The grocer’s chin bobs, like he’s reading my mind. “Everett has wounds that should’ve healed a long time ago. He’s afraid to let go of his pain. Pain is easier to suffer through than guilt. Don’t you think?”
“He feels guilty?” I exhale slowly. “About his wife’s death?”
“About a few things. There’s a weight on his shoulders that shouldn’t be there.” The man shrugs again. “I’ve known Everett a long time. All he needs is a reason to let go, to find himself again. I think, in a way, he’s been waiting for someone to come along who can push him. He’s stubborn as a mule, and he won’t back down easy, but he needs a firm push. He needs someone who’s willing to go through the arduous process of understanding him.”
The grocer goes quiet, his faded grey mustache covering his wise little smile. I’m not entirely sure what to think. It’s true that I feel drawn to Everett, that when our hands touched, I never wanted to let go. But it’s also true that Everett is keen on hiding his heart away, and I’m not sure that he will ever be able to share it with another person, including me.
