by JoAnn Durgin
“Yes, that’s right. I’m her speech and language pathologist.”
“How is Charlotte?”
“Today isn’t one of her better days, but she’s coming along.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well, I know having Thornton home has undoubtedly lifted her spirits.” Sherman glanced about the elegant building with an affectionate smile. “The Cherish library is our pride and joy. We have visitors from across the country—even a few international guests—tour our library. It was built over a century ago and is patterned after the Baroque-style basilicas in Rome, St. Peter’s being the most well-known, as well as the grand palaces of France.”
“Well, it’s absolutely beautiful.” Inhaling a deep breath, Vara smiled. From the time she was a child, she’d always loved the smell of books and libraries—the combination of books—old and new—dust, ink, history, wood polish, and fine literature.
“Which way are you headed, Vara?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Charlotte asked me to bring this box for the book sale.”
Sherman angled his head at a handmade sign on an easel farther down the hallway that read Book Sale Donations with a hand-shaped arrow pointing to the right. “Looks like it’s down this way. Let’s go investigate.”
Vara smiled as she heard Thornton’s voice echoing in another room. She’d wondered where he’d disappeared to not long after she’d arrived at the house, but hadn’t wanted to ask. Had Charlotte sent him here, as well? If so, the request for her to bring the box to the library suddenly made more sense. Whether or not it was a matchmaking attempt or whether her patient had simply wanted her to leave, she couldn’t know. For now, there was no sense in speculating about Charlotte’s motives.
Following Sherman, Vara turned the corner and spied Thornton near the opposite end of the room engaged in a lively conversation with a young boy and girl who appeared to be about eight years old.
A tiny, birdlike woman spied them and hurried in their direction. “Why, hello there, Supervisor Manton!” She sounded out-of-breath and turned adoring eyes on him.
He removed his knit cap. “Hello, Dorothea. You’re well aware I’m one of three Town Board supervisors. There’s no need to single me out for the distinction.”
“Come now, Sherman. Everyone knows you’re the one with the authority who gets everything done,” Dorothea cooed. “I’d say you’ve accomplished much more in your first term than the rest of them combined the past 20 years.”
“Well, thank you for your kind compliment,” he said. “Dorothea, have you met Vara?”
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” The woman smiled and offered her hand. “Hello, dear.”
Tugging off her right glove, Vara took Dorothea’s hand and gave it a brief shake. Goodness, it seemed as brittle as the rest of her. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dorothea.”
“Same here. Aren’t you the speech person helping Charlotte?”
Goodness, everyone in town must know. “That’s right,” Vara said as she removed her knit cap. She wouldn’t bother correcting Dorothea on her professional title since she was, in fact, a speech person.
“We’re all so grateful her stroke wasn’t any worse. Dear Rosalinda must have her hands full. I can’t imagine her infirmity has improved Charlotte’s disposition any.” She lifted her brows and gave her a knowing glance.
“Dorothea, where shall I put these books?” Sherman held up the box.
“Goodness me. Where are my manners? I’m sorry to leave you standing there holding the box.” She motioned to a nearby table. “Why don’t you put the box on that table?”
“The donation is actually from Charlotte,” Vara told her.
“Oh, how splendid,” Dorothea said. “If they’ve come from her, I’m sure we’ll discover some gems.”
Sherman returned. “I should be on my way now, ladies.”
“The board is meeting in Conference Room C.”
“Thank you.” He turned to Vara. “It was an honor to meet you.”
“You too, Sherman. Thank you again for your help.”
“Not at all.” He nodded and smiled. “Good day, ladies.”
The other woman’s gaze trailed after Sherman. “That poor, lonely man. He lost his wife decades ago, and I hate to see him still pining away after all these years.” Sherman certainly didn’t appear to be pining away. In fact, the polite older gentleman looked quite robust.
Dorothea snapped to attention. Her cheeks reddened as though realizing she’d voiced her thoughts aloud. “Speaking of Charlotte, I understand you know Thornton. He’s such a handsome man and awfully sweet to help us sort through the donations.” The way Dorothea eyed her, she might as well be on the auction block being offered to the highest bidder.
“I think I’ll go over and say hello before I leave,” Vara said. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“I hope we’ll see you again, dear. Maybe even at our Valentine Dance. It’s held here in the library on the Saturday after Valentine’s Day. Don’t forget now!”
Vara sensed the woman’s eyes on her as she approached Thornton and the kids. Not wanting to approach him empty-handed, she retrieved the box she’d brought and paused a few feet away since he was still engaged in conversation with the two children.
“No way! Miss Kempler is still teaching? She was around when I was your age, and I’m aging as we speak.” Thornton leaned close to the adorable dark-haired boy. “You know what really gets Miss Kempler’s goat, don’t you?”
“Her goat?” The blonde girl’s brows scrunched together. “Miss Kempler has a goat?”
The boy elbowed her. “No, silly. He’s talking about what gets Miss Kempler all mad and stuff.”
Thornton looked up as Vara lowered the box to the table. “Hi, Vara! You come bearing books?”
She smiled. “They’re actually from Charlotte.”
“Well, that’s good. I’ve been trying to get her to weed through her library at home. I’m glad to see she finally did it. Zoe and Tucker, this lovely lady is my good friend, Vara Pompadoodle…doo.” Thornton sucked in his cheeks in an obvious attempt not to laugh, silly man.
“He likes mispronouncing my last name,” Vara told the kids. “And I suspect he liked playing pranks on teachers when he was your age.”
“You betcha.” Tucker’s head bobbed up and down. “He’s a legend.”
Zoe giggled. “Miss Kempler says he’s a legend before his time.”
“That’s enough of that,” Thornton said. “Vara, these two are my helpful assistants to unload the donation boxes.”
Zoe nodded. “Then we take the books where he tells us.”
“There are separate areas designated for classics, mysteries, thrillers, romances, and every other genre,” Thornton explained. “I had no idea there’s a genre called—get ready for it—Zombies in Space.”
Tucker laughed. “I thought he was joking, but it’s for real!”
“The funniest thing was when Myrna told me those books go in the travel section. Myrna’s the librarian here, by the way.”
“The singing librarian, no doubt,” Vara said. “I think I’ll skip the zombie stories. I’m sure you found plenty of books about love to keep you occupied.”
Zoe pretended to stick her finger down her throat and acted like she was gagging. “Love stuff is gross. My sister and her boyfriend sit in our living room and—”
“You know what, let’s see what we can find in this box from Miss Charlotte,” Thornton suggested. “Want to help?” Scooting next to him, Zoe lifted on her tiptoes to peer over the edge of the box.
“Okay, let’s see here.” He hoisted a handful of paperbacks and quickly sorted through them. “Interesting selection. We have The Annotated History of Badminton, Recipes for Heart-Healthy Smoothies, and Mating Habits of the Australian King-Parrot.”
“What’s mating mean?” Tucker said.
“Um, well…” Thornton’s cheeks flushed adorably, and he shot a Help me! glance Vara’s way. The man who was never at a loss fo
r words was stymied? Impossible! Time to rescue the man from himself.
“Tucker, mating is how you came into the world.” Okay, that sounded completely ridiculous. Hopefully, a child about eight would buy that explanation, right?
The boy’s dark brown eyes widened, and Vara ignored the snickers coming from the man standing beside her.
“That’s not what my dad says.” Tucker frowned. “He says my mom went to the hospital and got me.”
Vara was immensely grateful for that response even as she bit her lower lip not to laugh.
“So, birds do that mating thing, too?” Zoe’s eyes were so blue, and she stared up at Vara as though she held the answers to all of life’s mysteries. She knew about a lot of things, but discussing procreation with two children in the Cherish library wasn’t advisable.
Tucker elbowed Zoe. “Of course they do. How else do you think they have baby birds?”
Giggling, the little girl cupped her hand around Tucker’s ear and began to whisper.
Thornton edged closer and nudged her arm. “I’m not sure if we’re safe or not. Zoe’s probably telling Tucker that birds don’t have any money to buy baby fledglings.”
“Of course, they don’t,” Vara said. “They pay for their babies with worms.”
His brows lifted. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Yanking her gaze from Thornton’s amused grin, she gave into a giggle. “How did we get started on this subject?”
“Because Charlotte Matchmaker Fielding decided to send you over here with a box full of nonsense books.”
“I don’t know. They’re not so bad. I might be interested in the smoothie one.”
“Let me take the kids to help Myrna over in the home and garden section. I hope that’s safe, but who knows.” He held up a finger. “Don’t run away. I’ll be right back.”
When she noticed a couple of ladies eyeing her, Vara pulled out a book and read the back cover copy. She was quickly learning the key differences between a small town and the city. For one thing, new people drew attention and speculation, especially if they were single. To their credit, the people in Cherish seemed to genuinely care for one another. She liked how Dorothea had referred to Thornton as our Thornton. Something about that was sweet and heartwarming.
“I want to show you something.” Thornton’s whisper from behind her made Vara jump.
“Who are you and what do you want? That’d better not be an indecent proposal.”
Thornton’s laughter rang out, prompting the ladies to look their way. “Look at these,” he said, digging into the bottom of the box from Charlotte. “I caught sight of them when the kiddos were here but wanted to wait until I had you alone, so to speak.”
“That’s a line guaranteed to get a girl’s attention.”
“Glad to hear it.” Pulling out a stack of old magazines, Thornton set them on the table. They were oversized and appeared in pristine condition with surprisingly little fading or wear. “Old fashion magazines circa 1965.”
“Cool. Are you a fan of sixties fashion? I never would have guessed.”
“Not especially. Don’t tell anyone, but I kind of have a thing for one of the models.”
“Good to know. Who? Twiggy? Wasn’t she from the sixties?”
Thornton’s handsome features scrunched into a frown. “Couldn’t prove it by me. If she’s as skinny as her name implies, I wouldn’t have gone for her.” Flipping through one of the magazines, he paused and then shook his head. “Nope, not that one.” A few pages later, he did the same thing again.
“Care to give me a clue what you’re looking for?” Vara moved beside him and took a peek, pointing to one of the photos. “Oh, look at those mod boots! And the groovy hair and makeup.”
Undaunted by her teasing, Thornton continued paging through the magazine. “I know I’m going to find one. Hang on a second.”
“Take your time. I’m enjoying this.”
“Here’s one. Look at this photo and tell me what you see.” When she leaned closer, he held up the magazine to give her a better view. Using his thumb he tapped the page on the right.
“I see an ad for what must be a long-defunct department store in New York featuring a pretty girl who looks about 18. She has long blonde hair and is wearing a lovely spring outfit.” A handbag was slung over her arm facing the camera, and the girl smiled as she walked on a sidewalk in front of the store. “She’s young and carefree. Content with her life.” Vara’s sigh escaped. “I wonder where that young model is now.”
“Exactly.” Thornton sounded pleased. “Now, concentrate on her face.”
“O—kay.” After shooting him a curious glance, Vara did as he asked. “Ohhh. Wait a second!” She let out a soft gasp. “Thornton, that’s Charlotte, isn’t it?” Taking the magazine from him, she stared at the photo. “Nana was a model?”
“She was, but it’s probably better if you don’t mention it to her.”
“Why not? If Charlotte was a model, then her boogie days with The Who and Led Zeppelin at The Drake make more sense. Models and rock stars are like—”
“Peanut butter and jelly.” His lips thinned. “Yeah, I get it.”
“Would you say Charlotte is living more in the past? I mean, does she tend to spend more time with her memories than living in the present?” That might explain some things, among them why her patient seemed somewhat resistant to therapy. Although she was in her own home, she was also surrounded by memories, both good and bad.
Thornton tilted his head, considering her question. “Maybe that’s true to some extent. I know a lot of older folks feel the same way, especially if they have a lot of time on their hands. They tend to dwell on the past instead of keeping occupied in the here and now.”
Vara pulled the remaining stack of magazines from the box. “These can’t be sold to someone else, Thornton. They’re part of Charlotte’s personal history which means they’re also part of your history. You don’t sell something like that.”
“You got all that from a stack of old magazines? The way I see it, they’re only magazines. What’s the big deal?”
She stared at him. “Only magazines? Did you not hear my impassioned speech?”
“I listen to everything you say. When you get going, you can say as much as I do.” He held up a hand. “I also hear what you say, and there’s a big difference. Some people can talk all day long and not say anything worthwhile. Others can convey much with a single word. One, Vara. I happen to think you’re in the latter category.” His lips twitched. “Well, maybe ten words or less in your case.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, well, that’s because you have a slight infatuation for me. You really need to get over that.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get over it.” Shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, rocking on his heels, Thornton met her stare. “Charlotte doesn’t want these magazines. Maybe some teenage girl would love to have them. She’ll call them vintage and appreciate how something this old can actually be very cool.”
“That’s not going to happen because I’m buying them for my personal collection. And I happen to think they’re cool.”
“Personal collection of what?”
“A collection of memories.” Vara began to pile the magazines—probably 20 in all—into her arms. “Charlotte’s obviously kept them in mint condition. I can’t imagine why she’d decide to finally get rid of them after all this time, but I can’t permit it.”
“You can’t permit it?” Crossing his arms, Thornton gave her the bemused look he’d perfected. “You are a fascinating woman, Vara Puffalumpapus. By the way, I like this fun and feisty side of you.”
“I’m glad you approve.” The way Vara saw it, she had a choice. She could choose to be annoyed with the man or play along with his flirtation. Being annoyed would only delay the overwhelming attraction simmering beneath the surface. But no, that wasn’t the best plan. Delaying it would only mean that if and when something did happen between them, it would be even more…<
br />
This kind of thinking needed to stop. That was what needed to happen.
“I’m trying my best with her, Vara.”
And again, she softened. How could she find fault with a man who demonstrated his love for his grandmother in so many tangible ways? He carried the woman up and down the stairs, for crying out loud. She imagined a majority of men, especially those with Thornton’s financial resources, would have made arrangements for his grandmother to be transferred from the hospital to the rehabilitation center and then to a private nursing facility. Instead, Thornton was fully invested with helping Charlotte recover her former quality of life.
“You don’t think I’m trying?”
Vara shook her head. “Sorry. I know you are. I was actually thinking about how sweet you are with her. But now, I should head back to the hospital.”
“May I walk you out into the main part of the library?”
“That would be nice.” She’d learned that once Thornton set his mind to something, he had a one-track mind. “From what I’ve seen, this building is fabulous.” That should hopefully give him something to talk about. He’d tell her about the library, and then she could tell him good-bye and take her leave.
“This library was originally a small palace. It’s the Baroque architectural style.”
“Sherman mentioned that.”
“Did he tell you much about the interior of the building?”
“No, but we’d only just met, and he was holding the donation box from Charlotte at the time. I understand there are tours. Maybe I’ll take one sometime.”
“I’ll give you the mini-tour. Promise it’ll only take a couple of minutes.” Thornton led her back out to the entrance area, and they stopped in front of the grand staircase. “There’s more than 85,000 locations listed on the National Register of Historic Places, but only a small percentage of them are designated as a National Historic Landmark. This building is one of them. Want to guess which three states have the most?”
Vara thought for a moment. “I imagine Boston, so Massachusetts. And probably Philadelphia, so Pennsylvania.”
