Summer Hours at the Robbers Library

by Sue Halpern

  “Your anger, your fury, your detachment, your—”

  “Hatred,” Kit inserted.

  “Yes,” he said. “All those are real and overwhelming feelings, but they are external to you. They are not who you are.”

  “How do you know?” she asked him, and without letting him answer said: “And what about scar tissue? Adhesions? Things that attach themselves and become part of you?”

  “I’m not going to say it hasn’t happened, and I’m not going to say it won’t happen. If I could predict the future I’d be in a different profession. But I am going to venture a guess that the person you were before”—he paused—“before all this, is the person you still are, and that person will reemerge. I don’t know how, or when, but something, somewhere, will pull it out of dormancy.”

  “Sounds like magic,” Kit said. “Like a rabbit coming out of a hat.”

  “It’s not magic, Kit. It’s life. You were a loving, generous, trusting person before, and I’m betting that with enough time you’ll be comfortable being those things again.”

  “Stupid,” Kit said.

  “Excuse me?” Dr. Bondi responded.

  Kit laughed. “Oh, not you. Me. I was stupid then, so I’ll be stupid again,” she said bitterly.

  “Maybe,” Dr. Bondi said. “But sometimes we have to be stupid and throw caution to the wind to really be alive.”

  * * *

  A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

  —Elizabeth Alexander

  “Afternoon, ladies,” Rusty said, seeing both Kit and Sunny at the circulation desk, as he sauntered into the library. He was wearing blue pin-striped suit pants, a bright red-and-white-striped tie, and a no-iron dress shirt that had lost a good deal of its starching, its sleeves casually rolled above his wrists.

  “This,” he said, wagging his tie in Kit and Sunny’s direction, “is what is known, farther south from here, as a power tie. Do you know why it’s called a power tie?”

  Sunny said no. Kit just stared at him.

  “I don’t, either,” Rusty said, ignoring Kit and addressing Sunny directly. “Do you know why I’m wearing it?”

  Sunny said no again.

  “I am wearing it,” Rusty said with a flourish, “because today I went to lunch at that spectacular culinary establishment, the Riverton Mercy Hospital. With the Four,” he added, as if that weren’t obvious.

  He was being jolly, oblivious to the tension behind the desk, but then Sunny perked up and asked what he’d had for lunch, and he made her laugh—“Chicken noodle soup à la Campbell’s,” he said, “and oyster crackers. Green Jell-O parfait.”

  “How can green Jell-O be a parfait?” Sunny asked. “A parfait is like—it’s like your tie. Striped.”

  “Then this was a power parfait. Anything is a parfait when you add Cool Whip,” Rusty said.

  Kit couldn’t tell if he was making fun of it, and by extension making fun of the Four, and by further extension making fun of Sunny and herself and everyone else in Riverton. She imagined that if she were an outsider like Rusty, that’s exactly what she’d be doing, yet here she was, only four years past being an outsider herself, feeling protective and defensive.

  “You know what’s weird?” Rusty said, addressing Kit now. “I used to go to all these fancy, expensive restaurants in New York, you know, like the Palm and Gallaghers, and the meat would be dripping over the sides of the plate and the oysters tasted like they’d been hauled from the ocean a minute before, and I don’t think I enjoyed any of those meals as much as I enjoyed this one.”

  “Seriously?” Kit said. This seemed unlikely. A good story. The kind of story a guy like Rusty would be telling his Armani-wearing pals back in New York so they could all get a good laugh. Chicken noodle soup à la Campbell’s and the rubes he’d met.

  “Seriously. I love those guys. They’re the best.”

  “They are lovable, I’ll grant you that,” Kit said, standing up abruptly as Evelyn approached to take back her domain.

  “To be continued,” Rusty said.

  Kit rolled her eyes.

  “When?” Sunny said, and they both turned to look at her. For a minute or two, they had both forgotten she was there.

  “How about we go for ice cream after the library closes?” Rusty said. He was looking at Sunny but addressing Kit.

  Sunny brightened, then stuck her hands in her pockets and frowned. “I can’t,” she said. “Steve’s coming to get me at five.”

  “Call him,” Rusty said. “Tell him I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “I can’t call him. He doesn’t have a phone. We don’t believe in—” and then she stopped and corrected herself. “He doesn’t believe in them. So I can’t.” She turned to go downstairs, but Kit called her back.

  “When he gets here,” she said, “why don’t you tell him you’re going to spend the night at my house. You can say we have an early meeting.”

  “But that’s not true,” Sunny said.

  Kit shrugged. “It’s not not true if we have an early meeting. Over breakfast,” Kit said.

  “Very impressive back there,” Rusty said when Kit was back at her desk and Sunny was downstairs. “I didn’t take you for fast company.”

  “Sunny’s been having a hard day. I’m just trying to help,” she said, annoyed, feeling exposed and found out—but for what? Being unguarded and openhanded?

  “Where I come from, that’s a compliment,” he said.

  “Where I come from, I have to get back to work.”

  * * *

  Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed . . .

  —John Keats

  At five, like clockwork, the Subaru, sorely in need of a new muffler and crankshaft, shifted audibly in front of the no parking, loading zone sign in front of the library, and Sunny skipped down the steep stone stairs toward it. Kit, who had come out to make sure all was okay, stood on the landing and waved to Steve before Sunny reached him. She watched the girl open the passenger side door and lean in to talk to her father. It was hard, Kit knew, pretending that everything today was the same as everything yesterday, but soon enough Sunny was shutting the door and the Subaru was clambering away and Sunny was taking the steps two at a time.

  “He said he was cool with it,” Sunny reported, a sloppy grin spreading over her face, as she and Kit walked back inside to tell Rusty, who was sitting in one of the easy chairs that might as well have had the name Patrick or Rich or Carl embroidered into it, paging through a Sports Illustrated with a picture of a basketball player on the cover and the words “What Next?” in jumbo type.

  And then they were in his car, with Sunny squeezed in the back, sitting sideways so her knees weren’t grinding against Kit’s shoulders, and the top was down, and Kit’s hair, which was never ruly in the best of circumstances, was dancing around her head, and Sunny was shouting things from the backseat that neither Kit nor Rusty could hear, but the tone was unmistakable: she was having the ride of her life. They were on the interstate, the speedometer said 75 and then 80, and then Kit asked him to slow down, which reminded her of how many times she’d been driving with Cal and she’d say the same thing, and then he’d say, “I’m not reckless, you know,” and she’d say, “I know,” and they’d go on.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” Kit said, and Rusty laughed and said, “I thought you knew,” and by then they were six towns away, though the river still coursed alongside them, sluggish and brown.

  “Let’s get off here,” Rusty said, and sped up to exit. Sunny yelped with delight, and Kit gripped the armrest, relaxing her fingers only when she saw the stop sign in front of them. Then they were on Route 5 again, but it had turned into a wide thoroughfare lined with the familiar interchangeable mix of big-box and chain stores, a Home Depot followed by a Bed Bath & Beyond followed by a Walmart on one side, and a Lowe’s, a Staples, and a Dick’s Sporting Goods on the other.

  “What do you think the ‘Beyond’ stands for?” Rusty said when they were stopped at a red
light and could hear one another again. But then the light turned, and they couldn’t.

  “We’re getting out of here,” Rusty shouted, and made a sharp right turn onto a smaller road, and then a left onto a two-lane macadam that whirred under the car’s tires. The busyness they’d found themselves in receded, and they were in the midst of rolling farmland, picture-perfect, with red barns and blue silos, and Holsteins and sheep and horses grazing in green pastures, and cornstalks beginning to bend from the weight of their cobs.

  “Turn on the radio,” Sunny said from the back.

  “Doesn’t work,” Rusty said, and Kit was glad. The sound of the rushing wind hummed peacefully in her ears.

  They rode in silence for a while, until Sunny said, “Maybe it means Mars. Or Venus,” and the two in the front seat said, “What?” in unison, and Sunny said, “The ‘Beyond’ in Bed Bath & Beyond,” and Rusty said something about Martians needing Egyptian cotton pillowcases, and Sunny laughed, and Kit was relieved to hear it.

  “This is nice,” Kit said quietly, though Rusty heard her and said, “You sound surprised,” and she didn’t say anything back. She was surprised.

  “I’m afraid the only way we’re going to get ice cream out here is if we milk one of these cows,” Rusty said, talking into the rearview mirror.

  “It’s okay,” Sunny said.

  “No, it’s not,” Kit said, startling them all, even herself.

  “Okay, then,” Rusty said, and took the next right turn and then another and another, not because he knew where he was or where he was going, but because he wanted to appear decisive and in control.

  “There!” Sunny said, and sure enough, straight ahead about fifty yards, like an oasis in the desert, was a parking lot full of cars ringing a three-window drive-in with a big plastic two-scoop ice-cream cone on top.

  “Who wants onion rings?” Rusty asked like an excited little kid.

  “I thought we were getting ice cream,” Sunny said like a disappointed one.

  “Of course we are,” Kit said.

  “Who said we weren’t?” Rusty said. “But places like this have the best onion rings.”

  “I’ve never had an onion ring,” Sunny said.

  “What?” Rusty said. “Really? Wow.”

  Kit wished he’d stop, but he couldn’t.

  “Okay. Wait here. This is going to be great. No, don’t wait here. Go find a table. I’ll be right back. This is going to be great,” he said again, over his shoulder.

  “This is fun,” Sunny said, loping ahead of Kit to find an empty picnic table. There was only one available, in a cluster of five, labyrinthine to get to. Kit weaved and dodged her way over, conscious that everywhere she looked, she saw children and parents enjoying an untroubled summer evening out. At least that’s what it looked like, though she was no longer so naive as to believe it.

  “Got ’em!” Rusty said, waving a white paper bag soaked through with grease. He sat down and held the bag out to Sunny. “Be prepared to have your socks knocked off.”

  “Says the man who rarely wears socks,” Kit said.

  “And now you know why,” Rusty said.

  He waited anxiously while Sunny pulled an onion ring out of the bag and took a bite.

  “You see how the batter separates from the onion?” he said. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

  “But they all do that,” Kit said.

  “I rest my case.”

  “Do you love it?” he said to Sunny, whose mouth was full.

  She nodded her head enthusiastically. “Amazing,” she said through bites before taking another one.

  “Ask that family if they’re going to be using their mustard,” Kit heard a woman at a nearby table say, and a second later a lanky boy in a Red Sox T-shirt was standing by her side, asking shyly if he could take the jar of Gulden’s someone before them had left on their table.

  “Yes. Of course. Take it,” she said, and waved him away before he learned the truth: that they were not a family.

  “I wish you guys were my parents,” Sunny said when he was out of range. The words went through Kit like electricity.

  “Everybody, at some point in their life, wishes they had different parents,” she said carefully.

  “Did you?” Sunny asked.

  “Sure,” Kit said, and gave a short, small laugh. “Until I met Cal’s parents.”

  “Cal?” Rusty asked, suddenly alert.

  Kit was flustered. She hadn’t meant to say this. It violated the “reveal as little personal information as possible” policy that she usually was so vigilant in enforcing. She could hear Dr. Bondi’s skepticism—“Really? Then why did you?”—and she couldn’t answer. So how to identify Cal? Not as an old friend—the word “friend” felt like a lie, or at least like the blade of a knife. Old boyfriend? It was true at one time. But so was fiancé, and fiancé would lead to the inevitable question. Kit took a deep breath and automatically shut her eyes. She had been in a car wreck once, back in college, a little fender bender, turning left into traffic, and just before the other car hit hers, she closed her eyes, instinctively shutting herself off from the moment of impact, which of course was impossible. This felt like that. “Husband,” she said simply. “Was.”

  “Sorry,” Rusty said. “I didn’t know.”

  Sunny, who had greasy fingers and batter crumbs around her mouth, said, “I did!” like she’d just gotten the winning number in bingo. “I mean I figured,” she clarified. “From the book you lent me. Remember? Pride and Prejudice? Your name was on the inside cover. Your old name. It was crossed out. So I figured.”

  “Nice work, Sherlock,” Rusty said to be funny, but it caused Sunny to shift moods instantly, reminding her of the troubles ahead at home, now that she’d found Angus Parker’s passport hidden in one of Willow’s homeschool teaching binders—the one marked hist for, appropriately, history. It was as if a massive rain cloud had just settled over their table, bringing with it a chill wind. Rusty picked up on it and took out a twenty from his wallet—his only bill, Kit could see—and handed it to Sunny. “I thought we came here for ice cream,” he said lightly, and it was enough to nudge the cloud away.

  “Sorry,” he said again, when Sunny was out of earshot. “I didn’t know.”

  “Of course,” Kit said. “No one here does.”

  And then Sunny was coming back, saying she needed another pair of hands, and Kit stood up to help her. “It’s a long story,” she said to Rusty, and followed behind the girl who was moving swiftly and deftly between the tables.

  They were quiet on the ride back to town. The menacing clouds had disappeared altogether, and it had turned into a soft night, and Rusty drove slowly, almost gingerly, along back roads, trying to extend the evening. Sunny leaned her head against the headrest and watched the stars appear in the sky like distant votive candles, wondering if elsewhere in the world other people were making wishes, too. Kit’s eyes were closed, not because she was tired, but to shut out Rusty, who was sure to want to know more. At one point he reached over and gave her arm a light pat. It was a friendly gesture—she knew that—but she recoiled anyway, and he said, “Sorry,” so faintly it could have been the breeze.

  “I don’t know where you live,” he said when the lights of the city guided them in, and Sunny piped up and said, “I do,” and gave him expert directions that relieved Kit from speaking.

  “Thanks,” she said when they turned onto Coolidge, and “Good night,” when he stopped in front of 1635.

  “This was great,” Sunny said to Rusty. “I love your car. I love onion rings.”

  “Let’s do it again,” Rusty said, looking past her to Kit, who had taken a few steps away from the car and was standing in the shadows on the grass.

  “That would be amazing,” Sunny said, and it was impossible to tell if Kit thought so, too.

  * * *

  Sunny/curiosity

  I can’t say why it was that I decided to look through my parents’ things the day I found Angus Pa
rker’s passport, or why I hadn’t ever done that before. I guess because, why should I? We were a team. And then I heard Willow and Steve talking the night we came back from the Tip-Top, and what were we doing at that place anyway, since it’s not far from our house, where we didn’t have to pay anyone to stay? So it was strange that we were there, and the first time I asked why, Willow said something vague—something about it being a change of scenery—and Steve didn’t say anything and seemed really tired but didn’t sleep, just lay on the bed with the TV on, which was a very un-Steve thing to do. Willow and I took a walk, just to get out of the room, and when I told her I thought she and Steve were acting oddly, she made some lame joke about the weather and the effects of global weirding that even she didn’t seem to think was very funny. That’s when I asked her what was going on and when she said that thing about our life plan and about not being too curious, at which point I got mad and walked away because she was being so ridiculous, and she didn’t call me back. The Tip-Top is up on a hill above the highway, but there really isn’t anywhere to go up there, so I walked down the long driveway and then back up the hill, which is when I saw Rusty’s car. I hung around in the parking lot, hoping he’d come out so at least there would be someone to talk to besides my parents, but he didn’t, and I had to pee, so I went back to our room, where both Willow and Steve were asleep, lying next to each other, Steve with his T-shirt pulled over his head, and Willow with her face pressed into his back. They must have been exhausted, because they didn’t wake when I slipped the key into the lock and opened the door, which squeaked on its hinges. So much for worrying about your adolescent daughter wandering outside alone in a strange place.

  All of a sudden it felt like we were a duplex plus one. Or a duo plus one. Or a duplicity plus the one who was confused about what was going on. All of a sudden it felt like we were a them and a me. So on a Saturday, when Willow was at the mall selling her jewelry and Steve was I don’t know where after he dropped her off there, I started my “investigation.” Honestly, that’s what I called it. If Willow and Steve were not going to tell me what was going on, I was going to find out myself.