by Terri Osburn
“Of course, yours isn’t,” she said, waving a finger in my direction. “You’ve been here for five years and you practically run the place.”
She was going off the rails quickly. “Miriam, you’ve been here two years longer than I have. You trained me, remember?”
“That’s right! I’m old. I’ll be the first to go.”
“You’re thirty-five,” I pointed out.
“That’s old in librarian years.”
If anything, librarian years worked the opposite way.
“Miriam, you are not old and there’s no reason to panic. At least not about your job. Jeffrey says they’re reviewing the programs for potential cuts. He never mentioned the staff.”
Eyes wide, she sat again. “But all of our programs are important. We’re the ones who are disposable.”
Not technically true on the programs side. I could think of three off the top of my head that would not be missed, but getting rid of them would also not save the library a substantial amount of money. As for being disposable as employees, that was ridiculous. Yes, we could all be replaced, but where would be the savings if they let us go? They’d still have to pay the replacements.
“First off, we are not disposable, and Jeffrey gave me absolutely no reason to believe that we should fear for our jobs. So let’s not borrow trouble that doesn’t exist. Secondly, regardless of how important we think the programs are, the cuts are going to come and we need to be ready to protect the ones at the top of the list.”
“The list?” she repeated.
“The one I’m making right now.” I turned back to my computer. “I want to be prepared when the time comes.”
I hadn’t helped lead my high school debate team to three state championships without learning how to argue a case. If I’d been more outgoing, I might have pursued a law degree, but I preferred fiction to legal briefs, and the thought of standing at the front of a courtroom made me nauseated.
Miriam rolled her chair over beside mine. “What do you have so far?” I turned my monitor so she could see. “Children’s reading, ESL, diverse history collection. What about the seniors program?”
Everything from computers and social media training to how to avoid the heartless scammers who preyed on the elderly were umbrellaed under one program.
“That should be next.” I updated the list. “I’m not sure about the speakers program. It’s one of the more expensive options so there would be significant savings if we let it go.”
My coworker sighed. “I look forward to those though. And the speakers bring more people into the library.”
“True, but I’d rather see that one go than the rest of these.” My phone dinged with a reminder and I checked the screen. “Oh, crap,” I said after reading the message. “I forgot about practice tonight.”
“Is it softball season again?” Miriam asked.
“Yes, and it’s a new team so I shouldn’t be late. Practice starts at six and I still have to change clothes.” I checked the time in the corner of my monitor. “That means I need to leave now.”
“Oh, me, too.” She pushed backward and rolled to her area. “Devon is taking me to dinner, and I want plenty of time to freshen up before he picks me up.”
Miriam met Devon through a dating app several weeks ago, and though I had yet to be introduced, the stories I’d heard and the smile he put on her face were enough to make me like him already.
“This is getting serious?” I asked.
A blush covered her cheeks as her eyelashes fluttered. “I hope so. This is the one-month anniversary of our first date. I didn’t even realize it until he brought it up.”
I so hoped this worked out for her. A good man was hard to find. As I knew all too well.
“Where’s he taking you?” I asked as I saved the file and shut down my computer.
Miriam giggled. “I have no idea. He said he wants to surprise me.”
“Are you ladies headed out?” asked Thomas, a fellow librarian whose shift went through the evening.
“We are.” I turned off my monitor before retrieving my purse from the bottom desk drawer. “Would you make sure that the last cart is emptied before close, and that the meeting room is set up for the writing group in the morning?”
“Will do,” he said with a nod. “I hear you’re on the same team as Fletcher this fall.”
Thomas had introduced me to Fletcher Howard—the man I dated for three years before we broke up eight months ago. Well, we didn’t break up so much as he dumped me. Like an idiot, I never saw it coming. Fletcher had used the insulting it’s not you, it’s me line, with the kicker of we’re just too different.
By different, he’d meant that he was interesting and outgoing and fun and that I was not. He wasn’t wrong. An introverted homebody whose idea of a good time was a quiet Saturday night with a good book didn’t exactly scream life of the party.
Yet I’d attended countless parties to make him happy. That clearly had not been enough.
“Yes, I am. I don’t know much about the rest of the team, but I’ll meet them tonight.”
“Wait,” he said as I rose from my chair and tucked it up under the desk. “You do know that Fiona Lewis is on the team, too, right?”
The name meant nothing to me. “Fiona?”
“Fletcher’s new girlfriend.”
I wasn’t aware that Fletcher had a new girlfriend. The announcement took the wind out of me. I’d had enough time since the breakup to convince myself that Fletcher had not been the love of my life, but that didn’t mean I wanted to spend my fall watching him become the love of someone else’s.
Going for indifference, I said, “No, I hadn’t heard. So long as she can play ball, I see no problem.”
The vise squeezing my lungs said differently.
“Oh, yeah. She played for Duquesne about five years ago,” he said. “She’s really good.”
Jaw tight, I tugged my purse onto my shoulder. “Great. Then we should have a winning season.”
I strolled around my coworker, keeping my chin up and a smile on my face. Miriam caught up to me at the top of the stairs.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
“I’m fine,” I said, much too cheerily. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Megan, that piece of crap Fletcher broke your heart, and now he’s bringing his new girlfriend into the thing you two shared the most. That’s a big deal.”
My skills on the ball field had been what drew Fletcher to ask me out in the first place. We were both competitive, and though these small-time games were only for fun and bragging rights, they were something we’d done together as a couple. And now he was a couple with someone else.
“I’m fine. Really. I always knew he’d move on.” Fletcher wasn’t the type to stay single for long. He fed on attention. If anything, I felt bad for this Fiona person. The man was exhausting to keep up with, and now he was her problem, not mine.
“You’re a stronger woman than I am. I’m already hoping he takes a line drive to the nuts within minutes.” Once on the first floor, we stepped through the employee exit into the late afternoon sun. “I want a full report on this Fiona person,” Miriam added. “She probably doesn’t hold a candle to you.”
An outrageously flattering and completely baseless statement, but I appreciated the vote of confidence. “I doubt that’s the case, but it doesn’t matter. All I care about is if she can hold her own on the field, and from what Thomas said, that won’t be an issue. Let’s go back to your dinner with Devon. I hope he takes you someplace nice.”
“Sugar plum fairies!” she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I didn’t even ask what I should wear. What if it’s super fancy and I’m underdressed? Or what if he takes me for burgers and I’m overdressed?”
I gave her a calming pat on the arm. “There’s still time to ask. Just send a text on your way home. Or wear a cute little dress and flats. That would work no matter where he takes you.”
“Yes, I can do that,”
she said, panic subsiding. “I’d better hurry so I don’t miss the bus. Call me if you need me tonight. I’ll answer no matter what.”
I would not be interrupting her evening for any reason. “Don’t worry about me. Just go have fun.”
“I’m sending good thoughts your way,” she said, blowing me a kiss as she veered off toward the bus stop, and I continued on to cross at Wabash and Neptune Street.
I told myself I didn’t need those good thoughts, but the butterflies in my stomach said otherwise.
My apartment was four blocks from the library, mostly uphill on the way home, which provided my daily exercise. On days it rained I opted to drive, but taking the car such a short distance was pointless otherwise. If I’d have remembered the softball practice, I would have driven and brought my change of clothes. Now I had to hoof it even faster up the hill if I wanted to make it on time.
As I passed the post office, I couldn’t help but think about Fletcher and his new girlfriend. How long had they been together? Did he meet her before dumping me? Did he dump me because of her? I had no reason to suspect he’d cheated, but my wayward thoughts were having a field day making up scenarios about clandestine meetings and the pair of them sexting while he and I watched television.
Why hadn’t I asked Thomas when they started dating? Because then you’d look even more pathetic than you already do, I reminded myself. Bristling at the thought, my friend Lindsey’s voice played through my head.
You are not pathetic, and you do not need that sorry excuse for a man.
I wished I could be as bold and confident as Lindsey was. All of my four best friends were more self-assured than I was, but Lindsey had chutzpah, as Grandma Ruth used to call it.
I rounded the corner onto Steuben Street and traveled the last half block as quickly as I could, my thighs burning like crazy. My building was easy to spot. Though a nondescript two-story house with beige siding was nothing to catch the eye, the overall appearance gave the impression that half of the structure was missing. It was the way the roof just ended on the left. Like something had once been there, but was now gone. The two doors pushed over to the far right were a nightmare for anyone who preferred symmetry, and the steps leading up to the porch were steep and uneven.
I landed here after the breakup with Fletcher. The West End village wasn’t the most posh part of town, but I liked being able to walk to work, and the upstairs apartment was one I could afford on my librarian salary, while also being a good size for the price. Thankfully, I had only the one neighbor downstairs and though nosy, August Banks—or Augie to his friends—was quiet and friendly and only occasionally complained that I made too much noise.
“There you are,” said the neighbor in question, catching me as I unlocked my front door directly to the right of his. “Patrick put your mail in my box again. I’ll remind him tomorrow to be more careful.”
Why he needed to tell me this instead of simply putting the mail into my box I never knew. I secretly suspected that he fished envelopes out of my mailbox just to have an excuse to talk to me. He was sweet, but I didn’t have time for a chat today.
“Thank you. I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” I took the mail from his hand and pushed open my door. “I’d love to talk, but I’m in a hurry.”
“Do you have a date?” he asked.
Amber eyes lit up as his bushy gray brows arched high, increasing the number of lines across his ebony forehead. For a man his age—which I guessed to be around seventy-five based on a story he once told about his high school days in the early sixties—he had impressive skin. Though wrinkles were inevitable, as they were for all of us at some point, he could pass for at least ten years younger than he was.
“Not a date. I have softball practice and I still have to change.”
“Oh,” he replied, his face falling. “I still say you and Patrick should go out. He’s single, you know. A very nice young man.”
Young being a relative term in this case. Yes, our letter carrier was young compared to Augie, but closer to my dad’s age than mine.
“I really am in a hurry. I promise I’ll come down and visit soon.”
My phone dinged and I checked the screen to find a text from Fletcher. Do you want a ride to practice?
He could not be serious.
“What is it?” Augie asked. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, it’s fine,” I assured him through clenched teeth. “Just a message I wasn’t expecting. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I rushed inside and up the stairs, dropping my purse and the mail onto the couch before firing off a succinct reply.
No.
Eight months without a single word, and now a text out of nowhere? Did he expect me to ride in the back while Fiona shot loving glances his way from the passenger seat? Not in this lifetime. I checked the screen again and fought the urge to add but thank you to my reply. Damn my good manners.
Instead, I tossed the cell onto the couch with the purse and raced into the bedroom to change, but I also needed to vent so I snatched the phone back up and called my friend Josie.
Chapter Three
Putting the call on speaker, I dropped the cell on the bed and rummaged through my dresser.
“Hey, girl,” Josie Danvers said, answering after the second ring, “what’s up?”
The financial wizard of our group, Josie was the epitome of the girl next door. Thin, blond, educated, and successful. She could bake you cookies and then tell you how to set up your retirement portfolio while you ate them. My meager salary didn’t leave much for savings, but she’d walked me through a basic, low-risk plan that would provide a nice living in another thirty-five to forty years.
“He sent me a text,” I shouted. “He asked if I want a ride to practice.”
Knowing exactly who he was, Josie replied, “What a shit. What did you tell him?”
“I told him no. What else was I supposed to say?”
“Where he could shove that ride,” she said. “Are you sure you want to do this? You can always find another team to play on.”
“If I change teams, he’ll know why I did it. I won’t give him the satisfaction.” Plus, all the rosters would be filled for fall by now.
Josie made a harrumph sound before saying, “Sometimes happiness has to come before pride.”
Jamming a foot into a pair of black leggings, I fell onto the bed and shoved in the other foot. “I found out he has a girlfriend.”
“Oh, shit,” she said in a whisper. “Hon—”
“She’s on the team, too.”
“Jesus, Megan, walk away. Who cares what he thinks? Some of my coworkers have a team this year. One phone call and I’ll have you on the roster by tomorrow.”
That was not going to happen. This was the team I’d been dying to be on for two years. This was the team everyone wanted to beat but no one wanted to play because they were that good. This was where I wanted to be, Fletcher or no Fletcher.
“I’m not quitting, Josie. I can’t. Then he wins.”
“For a nonconfrontational introvert, you have one hell of a competitive streak.”
This wasn’t about competition. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, I had to get myself back again. At some point during the three years that Fletcher and I dated, I’d stopped being Megan and became Fletcher’s girlfriend. When I walked into a party, people would say “Fletcher and his girlfriend are here.” When I ran into one of his friends at the store, they’d say, “Hey, it’s Fletcher’s girlfriend.” I never corrected them. I assumed this role of supporting character in the book of Fletcher Howard’s life, and once he wrote me off the page, I didn’t know who I was anymore.
But before I was Fletcher’s girlfriend, I was a ballplayer. If I was going to find Megan again, this was the best place I knew to look.
“There’s more to it than that,” I said, slipping off my blouse and tossing it into the clothes hamper. I snagged a T-shirt from the dresser and tugged it on before grabbing the phone and hurryin
g into the bathroom. “This was my thing before I met Fletcher. I won’t let him take it away from me.”
He’d taken enough already.
“You’re right,” Josie said after a brief pause. “I just hate the way he treated you.”
Fletcher was never mean. He didn’t bully or make demands. He’d simply let me believe that he loved me just the way I am, and that turned out to be a lie.
“That’s in the past,” I said, brushing my hair up into a ponytail. “Being on the team with him isn’t the greatest thing in the world, but it isn’t the worst either.”
“Let’s hope you’re still saying that once this practice is over.” Whether I was or not, I’d just have to deal with whatever came my way, because quitting was not an option. “Call me after,” Josie added. “I want a full report.”
“We’re having lunch tomorrow, remember? I’ll share then.”
Life had been more hectic than usual lately so the five of us were meeting to catch up on everyone’s lives. Personally, I was most looking forward to hearing about Becca and her new man. They’d met back in May in the most random way possible, and she was blissfully in love to the point that she practically floated when she walked.
“Fine, I’ll wait,” she said as I carried her—via the phone—into the living room. “But if you need me tonight, I’m here.”
Thank heaven for good friends. “I know.”
Reaching the back of the couch, I grabbed my purse and caught a glimpse of an envelope with my name and address written in a handwriting I didn’t recognize. The postmark was from San Francisco. Who would be writing to me from out there? Flipping it over, I found a return address scribbled in the top center and my heart stopped.
Geraldine Pendleton.
My mother’s name. The mother I hadn’t seen since I was seven years old.
“Megan?” Josie said through the phone. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I must have made a sound I was unaware of. “Yes, I’m fine. I just stubbed my toe.” I didn’t have the time or the mental fortitude to open the Pandora’s box in my hand, and Josie would never let me ignore it if she knew what I was looking at. “I need to go or I’m going to be late. Thanks for letting me vent. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
