by Alicia Best
“Good to know you bombarded my secretary with calls and threats over a cat and not an apology for almost costing me the campaign.”
“Threats?”
“She told me you said you wanted me dead.”
“Oh god, Michael, that was not what I said! She took that so far out of context!”
“Sign the form, Holly. You don’t have a choice. Do you really want to be dragged to court?”
“All I want is Noodle,” I whisper into the phone, pressing my palm against my forehead.
My head aches, both from the weird position in which I slept and the stress of all this. For a year, I’d been imagining what I would say to Michael if I got the chance, but now I’ve forgotten it all.
He doesn’t answer, the phone going dead against my ear. For a whole minute, I listen to the dial tone, wishing that everything leading to this could have gone differently.
Maybe it was time to give up on ever having Noodle back in my life, but the thought of that hurt just as much as never speaking to Everett again.
Swiping at my moist eyes, I walk into my room and throw on some clothes. I only have an hour and a half before I need to be at work, and all I can think about right now is getting some coffee that will hopefully clear my head.
The sky shimmers a clear, vivid blue as I step outside, hugging my blue sweater around me. Even though the day is bright and cheery, I feel run down and tired, like I’m wading through thick mud that is holding me back.
Last night had seemed so wonderful, even though the tail end of it faded away behind a sleepy fog. Then Michael had to go and ruin that feeling with his rude phone call.
Despite that, I was already counting down the minutes until I could see Everett again. I’m going to stop by the library once I am finished at school for the day.
For a moment last night, I could see through the careful guard that Everett has built around himself. I could see the man he truly is, the man that he could be with a little more tenderness and time. This was all new to me. I had never been one to move slowly when it came to men I was interested in. I’d always leapt first and looked later, only to realize it was nothing more than a mistake. But this time… there was something that was just right about being beside Everett.
He made me want to breathe, to take my time, to get to know him much better.
It felt like there was truly hope for us after all.
Stuff Michael; I wasn’t going to let him ruin whatever was slowly taking root between the handsome librarian and myself.
Down the corner, the little café is bustling. People flock, tightly packed, towards the counter where only one barista is working. Hurriedly, she steams milk and fills cups and passes them off to the next waiting patron. The line is long, but honestly, this is the best cup of joe in town. You couldn’t get a better drink anywhere, and I sure as heck needed it this morning.
“…almost six years now.” An older woman with short grey hair and beady brown eyes sighs to the man beside her. “I can’t believe it. The anniversary is coming up.”
“Already?” The man says with a whistle. “I remember it like it was yesterday. Our community is so tightly knit. It’s still so strange to think that she’s gone.”
“Sarah was a light.” The woman nods earnestly, biting her lip.
With a start, I turn my wide eyes back to the woman, trying not to gawk in shock. Sarah? As in Sarah Sullivan, Everett’s wife?
For some reason, it is strange to hear about her from someone who isn’t Everett.
“You should see Spencer these days. He seems lost without her,” the woman continues mournfully, shaking her head. “He talks about her every day still. I’m beginning to think he won’t ever get over it.”
“Poor man.” The woman’s friend wraps an arm around the lady, giving her a gentle hug. “But you know he’ll be fine. He’s got the mayoral race to keep him busy.”
Even though I try to hold my breath and bite hard on my tongue and stay out of a conversation which I have no right to join, I just can’t convince myself to forget what I’ve heard.
“Um. Excuse me,” I interrupt gently. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t help but overhear what you said. You’re talking about Sarah Sullivan, aren’t you? Aren’t you concerned about her husband at all?”
The pair exchange a quick look, and the man clicks his tongue.
“You weren’t here, were you? When the accident happened.” He doesn’t release his hold around the woman, who dabs again at her dripping eyes and just looks away.
I just shake my head, suddenly feeling guilty for intervening. “No, I’m afraid I wasn’t.”
“Sarah was married, that’s true, but she had just started the process of filing for divorce. I think she and Everett were virtually separated when the accident happened. That was a bad relationship, through and through.”
“Ma’am,” the barista interrupts, holding a freshly whipped cappuccino towards the older woman. “Your order is ready.”
The pair turns sharply away, leaving me standing stunned and silent behind them.
Chapter 12
Everett
Glossy images of Holly’s distorted, drunken face disappear into the shredder as I feed tabloid after incriminating tabloid into the machine until every single one is gone.
Inspecting the pile of magazine remnants with a cheery clap of my hands, I dump the torn strips into the recycling before turning to walk back to the front of the library.
Glimpses of her all curled up in the blanket I wrapped around her shoulders keep creeping back into the recesses of my mind, leaving me smiling like an idiot. My fingers reach up, brushing across an unfamiliar curve of my mouth.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever smiled like this, even when I was with Sarah. This felt so new and strange, and even though I expected myself to hate getting to know another woman, I actually liked it. I liked Holly. A lot more than I had anticipated.
It felt almost childish how much I enjoyed being around her, like I was a seventeen-year-old kid again with a new crush. I could still feel her arms wrapped around my neck and the softness of her body as she held me so tightly that it was hard to breathe. Nothing else had happened between us aside from her comforting hug, but that simple gesture had filled my heart right up. Even though she was a small woman, there was a strength in her embrace that made me feel as though I could be strong too.
And it had been so unbelievably long since I had felt strong. Since I’d felt anything, really.
For years, I’d been like one of those hollow Easter bunnies, forgotten after the holiday and slowly melting into a lump of nothingness. Now, just as slowly, I was beginning to feel full again, ounce by ounce.
“There you are,” a gruff voice snaps as I turn the sharp corner from where the back office of the library is located. “I knew you’d be loitering around here.”
I come to a sudden stop, startled by the man standing before me. “It’s hardly loitering if I work here.”
Spencer Tate stands stiffly at the front doors, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He shifts impatiently from one polished shoe to the other, sending a look of pure revulsion around the faded walls of the library.
I’m not sure why he hates this place so much, but it shines through his cold eyes now. Everything that his gaze rests upon, he despises, including me. He’s made it a point to never come here. Every time he sees me, it’s somewhere else around town. The last time he stepped foot in this place was the day after Sarah’s funeral.
But I know why he’s finally back. I’m not stupid. Today’s finally the day. He’s won. He’s taking Sarah’s library from me, and he’s here to gloat in his victory.
“All I ever wanted to do was honor her,” I say quietly, startled by the sturdiness of my voice.
Usually, when I speak about Sarah, I falter and waver and stumble. Is this Holly’s doing? Has talking to her about Sarah made it easier for me to talk about Sarah to others as well? I’ve never had anyone that I could s
peak so freely to before Holly. Even when Sarah and I were married, we were a quiet couple. We rarely fought, but we also rarely had earnest conversations.
Spencer glowers at me, his eyes narrowing. There is more than hate in his stare. There’s loathing and repulsion, like being near me makes him sick.
“There’s nothing in this place that honors her,” he snarls back, making my fingers curl into fists.
“You were just her friend, Spencer. You don’t know how much she loved this place. Not every day was easy for her, but she’d never wanted to work anywhere else. She loved serving our community through this place. She loved the books and the quiet and the stillness.”
He laughs, his head tossed back as the cruel sound echoes off the walls.
“Even though you two were married,” he frowns, turning his frosty stare back on me, “it still shocks me how little you knew her. You never bothered to listen to her, did you?”
Everett, listen!
I grimace, trying to block out that last memory of her sharp voice, her pleading words.
“I did my best.” My voice has dropped to a whisper, but it still does not quiver.
Slowly, he shakes his head, his coiffured locks not stirring an inch with the movement.
“That’s a lie, and you know it.”
Anger bites hard in my stomach, tendrils clawing up through my chest. I fight it, though my fists clench harder. I’m not about to let this man drag out the rage in me. It’s what he wants, to make me the bad guy, to make it seem like I have it out for him when the opposite is so clearly true.
“I wasn’t the one with her when she died, Spencer. You were. You were the only one who could have saved her—”
I hear the unfairness in my words, and I hate myself for lashing out at him in this way, despite how he’s treating me. There was no one that could have saved Sarah. The end happened so fast that she probably had no idea it was coming.
Spencer lets out a howl of rage and reaches abruptly to the side, grabbing the portrait of Sarah off the wall and tucking it under his arm. She stares blankly at me, her dimples hidden against Spencer’s side.
“You put that back!” I shout, storming towards him. “You have no right to take that from here!”
He steps back, holding out a finger. “I was the one who dedicated this library to her, Everett!” He seethes. “Remember? I was the one who put up this photo in the first place! It’s mine!”
I stagger backwards to put some space between his body and mine, refusing to give in to the urge to slam my fist between his cold eyes.
I’ve never hurt anyone, and he isn’t worth breaking that record.
“You have one week, Everett,” he snaps. “One single week to get out of here. I’ve arranged for the books to be donated, then this whole place is being leveled. I don’t care if we slap an office on here or a playground or a mall, but this library is done, just like you.”
“Are you trying to wipe out her memory?” I ask, bitterness dripping from every syllable. “Are you trying to pretend like Sarah never existed? You were supposed to be her best friend, Spencer, and now it’s like you just want to erase every single trace of her!”
“It’s time for you to come out of this pathetic fantasy world that you live in.” Spencer retaliates with a dark scowl. “You’re pitiful. Every ounce of you. You should follow that idiotic city girl’s example and run away as fast as you can, your weak tail tucked between your weak legs.”
“You leave Holly out of this.” I drag in a deep breath through my nose, feeling it flare in an attempt to calm the adrenaline surging through me.
It was one thing to insult me, but Holly…
He steps back, looking right at me with pure hatred in his eyes. This time when he refuses to release Sarah’s picture, I don’t argue.
He can have it. He can have the remains of this library. He can have it all. I don’t need it anymore. It isn’t from this place that I’ve found my strength, my will to continue. It’s from my own still-beating heart.
“You’re finished here, Everett. There’s no place for you in this town anymore. This is my last warning: you’re going to regret it if you stay.”
Chapter 13
Holly
I usually spend time at the end of the school day cleaning up my classroom and making a list of things I’ll need for the next day, but today I just plop myself on the corner of my desk and stare at the ceiling.
During the hours-long discussion we’d had last night, Everett had never mentioned that he and Sarah were separated or that a divorce was imminent. Why had he kept that a secret? I just couldn’t figure it out. I know the situation is delicate, and I know that I have to be gentle and patient with Everett, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s holding something back. Not blatantly, but in the omission of the fact that their relationship was on the rocks.
Maybe he was ashamed of how he has continued to cling to her memory. Or perhaps that was why he clung to it in the first place.
Either way, it’s made me feel unsettled. How much more about his relationship with his late wife is he hiding?
I’d thought we had real trust blooming between us, but maybe he doesn’t trust me at all.
A soft knock at the door makes me jump to my feet. I pretend to be organizing the pile of stationery on my desk in case it’s the principal coming around to check on me.
It isn’t the stern-eyed principal who tentatively cracks the door, however; it’s Everett.
“Hi,” I whisper, laying down the pencils and slowly approaching him. “What are you doing here?”
His expression is one that I haven’t seen before, a mix of so many emotions I can’t pin one down. Deep in the churning, dark grey of his eyes there is a sadness through which glimmers of hope shine, and there’s a distinct, quiet smile on his face. I’ve honestly never felt so bewildered in my life as I am by his handsome, puzzling face.
He takes my hand, guiding me over to one of the child-sized tables pushed together in clusters for the kids to work. Pulling out one of the tiny chairs, he gestures for me to sit. We sit down together, our knees practically up to our chests, and I can see by the way his mouth is pursed hard that the typically sullen librarian is struggling not to burst.
My confusion melts slowly into curiosity, the flesh of my hand sizzling where his fingers grasp it tenderly. He doesn’t release my palm, instead turning it over so that his soft fingers intertwine in my own.
Even though it’s him who’s struggling to hold back whatever he’s about to say, it’s me who can’t stay quiet.
“I know you were getting a divorce.” I sputter, giving a little squeak of disappointment in myself and shaking my head. “I’m sorry. I just… Why didn’t you tell me?”
His eyes widen in shock, and I think he’s going to release my hand and pull back—in that quick way he has of completely closing off—but instead, he squeezes it tighter, his other palm resting atop my hand. My eyes drift towards our laced fingers, watching his thumb stroke absently against my own. It is a simple movement, but affectionate.
“Towards the end… Sarah and I had some troubles,” he admits finally, his eyes not dropping from my own. He gazes at me, refusing to look away.
There’s something that’s changed about him since the last time I saw him, but I can’t put my finger on the difference. It’s something in his tone, in his stare… in his soul.
“Did you argue a lot?” I ask, straining not to ask too many questions. “Did you not see eye to eye?”
He stifles a chuckle as he shakes his head.
“I wish we did argue, Holly. If we’d had one single fight, then maybe she would still be alive. But we didn’t. I can see now that we didn’t love one another enough to fight. We just… co-existed. We were only seventeen when we met. We didn’t know what love really was. When we got married, it just felt like the right next step. We’d been together for four years at that point. There was a lot of pressure from her family for us to tie the knot, so we did.�
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This was perhaps the most I’d ever heard Everett say at once. Even last night, he kept his sentences short, though meaningful.
I squeeze his hand, biting my tongue, and give him the space to tell the story that has clearly been burning a hole in his heart for so long.
“We’d talked vaguely about a separation, but I dragged my heels. She moved into the guest bedroom, and we mostly slept in separate rooms for the last year—apart from occasionally making an effort.
“On the day she died, she told me she wanted a sit-down talk with me—I assumed at the time about separating—but I couldn’t even look at her, I was so frustrated. I stormed off. She begged me to stay; she begged me to listen to what she had to say.”
“The last words I heard her say as I slammed the door were. . .
“Everett, listen!”
“But I didn’t. I’ll never know now what she wanted to talk to me about that day.” He draws in a shaky breath, guilt showing on his face. “She called her best friend at some point, Spencer Tate.”
My jaw drops slightly, eyebrows shooting up. “They were friends?”
Everett nods. “They were.”
No wonder Spencer hates Everett; he probably heard all about the marital problems Everett and Sarah had.
“He took her out on his boat to cheer her up, to keep her mind off of it. It was a little thing, barely big enough for two people. Another boat collided with theirs. It was a freak accident; she was killed instantly.”
“Afterward, the guilt ate me up inside, Holly. It was because of me that she got on that boat. It was because of me that she was unhappy for the last year of her life, because I refused to listen to her that day. After her death, I gave up my job, I gave up everything to keep this library going because I think it was the one thing she really loved.”
I don’t know what to say. For once in my life, I am silent.
So I give up on finding words, and I reach over to pull him into my arms. Before I can, however, it’s his arms that twine around my waist, pulling me out of my chair and into his lap. He holds me, his arms warm and strong and tight around my body, and I melt against him. My heart hammers so hard against my ribs that I can barely hear or breathe.
