by Amy Marie
“What?”
“Jonah Bell. That’s his name. He went by J.T. in high school, but his name is Jonah. Shame what happened to his wife. Poor boy, and their daughter.”
“What happened to his wife?” I asked; I already knew she had passed, but I didn’t know what had happened.
“Leukemia. She had it as a child, and I guess it came back some years ago. Everything happened so quickly, poor thing didn’t have a chance.”
Cancer. Why was it always cancer? It seemed that everyone had their own cancer story. When I had told my co-workers I’d be leaving the university to go home and be with my mom, they all had their own stories to share. The ones that resulted in death were hard to hear. I knew they meant well, but I wish they’d been more careful with their retellings. My mom’s chances were good, but it was still cancer, so anything was possible as far as I was concerned.
“Did you ever meet her?” My mom had spoken of her like she was familiar, maybe J.T. and his wife had lived in Marchen at some point. Maybe his wife had been one of our classmates.
“No, but Deirdre Bell is part of my ladies bible study group. She spoke of her often, made me feel like I knew her. Left behind a little girl, so sad.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Abby seemed to still be healing from her mother’s death. But honestly, did a little girl ever truly heal from her mother’s death? I didn’t want to think about it.
“Abby, the daughter, goes to my school.”
Mom nodded. “I think I remember Deirdre say they were moving home. She’d asked Jonah all the time. Wanted to help. I don’t remember the daughter-in-law’s name, but I don’t think she had any family. They lived out in California or something and poor Jonah was all by himself.”
I didn’t want to feel bad for him, but I was starting to. It must have been difficult for him to lose his wife and have to raise Abby by himself. Poor Jonah, indeed. Then I remembered prom night.
Screw Jonah.
Abby was a sweet little girl, and I would never hold her responsible for the sins of her father, but I didn’t have to like him. Or feel sympathy for him.
“Why are you asking about Jonah?” Mom asked, and even though I’d just told her, I’d tell her again.
I’d always tell her again.
Chemo brain be damned.
Chapter 4
Jonah
Three weeks into the school year was marked with parents’ night. Each grade appeared to have a theme and the third-grade theme was math. Poor kids. Kindergarten had art; that looked like a lot of fun. Messy, but fun.
Abby had the best time showing me some of the math problems she could complete using colored blocks. She smiled brightly, and I was so proud of her in that moment. Kids still loved school and learning in third grade, and that was apparent on my daughter’s face.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about the librarian. I wondered if parents’ night made its way to the library at all. I was attracted to her--who wouldn’t be? She was gorgeous. A princess, even. More than that, I was intrigued. Abby told me how Princess Librarian had told her heaven had all the books and that Allison was probably reading whatever she wanted whenever she wasn’t with Abby. Every night since, when I’d tuck Abby into bed, she asked me what I thought Mommy was reading. It broke my heart and warmed it at the same time. I wanted to see this librarian princess again so I could thank her. Abby had reached some level of peace since meeting her. I had no idea if it would stick, but I appreciated the reprieve from my tiny teenager-to-be all the same.
“Did you hear me, Daddy?” Abby asked, smacking her little hand against my arm.
“No, what?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “I said, we’re doing a performance in the auditorium.”
Abby and her class went backstage while I followed the rest of the parents into the auditorium. A few people openly stared at me, while others did it more subtly. In a small town like Marchen, I was sure everyone already knew my life story, but they hadn't seen me yet. I supposed I stuck out like a sore thumb in an elementary school with my beard and my long hair.
Ask me if I cared, though. I’d stopped cutting my hair somewhere around the time Allison got sick. She’d always given me haircuts, and it never felt right going to anyone else.
I took a seat in the back row, away from prying eyes, and kept my eyes on the stage. The room filled up as I sat there, and I caught a flash of blonde hair to my left. I looked over and saw her. Without thinking, I stood from my seat and side-stepped down the row, saying “excuse me” as I stepped over people. I took the seat beside her.
“Hello,” I said, smiling. “We didn’t get to talk when we met at the diner. My daughter, Abby, speaks very highly of you. I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Jonah Bell,” I said, offering my hand.
She glared back at me. “I know who you are,” she said firmly, not taking my hand. She was angry with me, and I didn’t know why.
“Well, you have me at a disadvantage. You know me, but I don’t know you.” I tilted my head to the side, taking her in. She looked vaguely familiar--her eyes, in particular--but I couldn’t place her.
“Leigh Adams,” she said, still glaring at me. Then she stood from her seat and hurried away.
I watched her go, unsure as to what had just happened. She clearly didn’t like me. Was it something Abby had told her? Abby was into her stories, but she wasn’t very theatrical. I couldn’t imagine she’d share something with her librarian that wasn’t true.
Leigh.
Her name didn’t sound familiar. I didn’t remember anyone with the name Leigh. There was a girl in my class with the last name Adams, but the librarian was not her. I would have recognized Grace Adams. She was one of the kindest girls in my class before she left school. The prank our classmates pulled on her during prom was rotten. I’d broken up with Rosanna that night because of her part in it. I had wondered what ever happened to Grace, but I hadn’t known her well enough to find out.
The lights dimmed and the curtain parted. There were risers set up on the stage and it looked like all the elementary students stood on them. I spotted Abby in the fourth row and waved, even though I doubted she could see me. The kids started singing a song about the states and eventually parents started clapping along. I went through the motions, but my mind was still on the librarian.
Who was she and why did she dislike me so much?
Chapter 5
Grace
“Hi, my name is Jonah. My daughter likes you. Want to be friends?” I muttered in a terrible, goofy version of his voice. I folded a pair of pants and slammed them onto my bed before moving on to a t-shirt.
Jonah.
I couldn’t believe he had the audacity to sit next to me in the auditorium. Like he was my friend. Of course, he wouldn’t recognize me with my new face. He had no idea who I was. I wasn’t sure why I gave him my middle name, though. I had nothing to hide. He was the one who should be ashamed, not me. The only reason I could come up with for my little mistruth was that I wasn’t ready for the confrontation my true identity would have brought. If he knew who I was, he’d probably ask about my face. He might even try to apologize for the way he treated me in high school. “It was so long ago,” he’d say. “I’ve grown up.” Blah blah blah.
I had to admit though, he was still so dreamy. The long hair and beard were different, but he wore it well. He’d aged nicely over the last ten years. Definitely took care of himself. My third day back in town I’d seen Jeremy Owens, one of the other popular guys in our class. He’d hit on me at the Gas and Grind where he worked as a mechanic. I was ordering a much-needed coffee at the “Grind” part of the establishment and Charlotte Peppermill, the barista who had been a class behind ours, told him to buzz off. The years had not been kind to Jeremy. He’d probably gained fifty pounds, mostly around the middle, and was very...greasy...his job as an auto mechanic did not seem to be the cause.
“Gracie,” Mom called from down the hall. I was staying with her
in the main house for the duration of her treatment. My plan was to move to the apartment over the garage when she was well enough to take care of herself again.
My parents had never been married, but my father took excellent--financial--care of my mother. He could afford to. My mother was an independently published mystery writer. She kept her career low-key and made just enough to keep her comfortable and make a nice savings for herself in case the day came when my dad could no longer pay her way. But she didn’t have health insurance, and my father stepped in in a big way when it came to her cancer treatments. It wasn’t cheap.
“Coming,” I called. I finished folding my shirt and set it down on top of the pants. The rest would have to wait. Mom was in the sick part of her chemo cycle, so she was my priority. “Can I get you something?” I asked as I entered the living room where she was laying on the couch.
“I’d like to try some chicken soup.”
I smiled, “Coming right up.” I was always pleased when she tried to eat. For some reason she seemed to enjoy super salty foods, and I wouldn’t complain as long as she was eating something.
I went to the kitchen and took a can of chicken noodle soup out of the cupboard, opened it and poured it into the small saucepan that was cleaned and waiting on the stove. I turned the burner on and went to sit next to my mom on the couch.
“Hear from your dad?” she asked. Even though they weren’t together, I knew my mom loved my dad. He loved her, too. Once I was born, they decided it was best for me and my mom to live together apart from my father. It would keep us both safe, and that’s what my dad wanted most. His lifestyle was too...wild...for the kind of life he wanted his daughter to have.
“He called a few days ago.” He called me once a week to check in, I saw him much less frequently.
“What’s he up to?”
I shrugged. I didn’t know what my dad was up to because he didn’t share that kind of thing with me, and I was perfectly okay with that. He was into dangerous stuff, and all I really cared about was that he called. It meant he was alive, and I could sleep easy for another week.
Mom didn’t ask anything else. She knew the drill. She was with my dad, deeply engaged in his crazy life for three years before she got pregnant. I was a game changer for her, for both of them. Seeing my mom decked out in mom jeans and bedazzled shirts makes me wonder how she ever fit into my dad’s world, but that was probably part of the ruse. She was a rebel within.
I got up to check the soup, transferred it to a bowl, and placed it on a tray with some cucumber water and crackers. I brought it out to the living room and set it on the coffee table, then I helped Mom to sit up.
“You good here? I’m going to finish my laundry.”
“Yes. Thank you, Gracie.”
“Of course. Holler if you need anything.”
If you thought I’d be sick of the library after spending five days a week in one, you’d be wrong. I loved the library, particularly the big library in Gaston, one town over. I spent a few hours every Sunday getting lost in some of the old volumes they had in their preservation room. It was a museum of sorts, filled with leather-bound editions of classic novels.
I picked up a copy of Gone with the Wind, carefully opening the cover to see the publication date of that particular edition, when a voice startled me.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he whispered over my right shoulder. His breath tickled as it moved across my new skin.
I sucked in a breath, nearly dropping the book. I checked to make sure I hadn’t torn it before I acknowledged him.
Why was he everywhere?
I carefully returned the book to its place on the shelf and turned to him. “Do you mind?” I whisper-hissed at him. It was a library after all.
He shrugged, a sly smile spreading across his face. He was so handsome, and he smelled so good, like peppermint and something woodsy. It was hard to resist his charm, but I would.
“It seems Princess Librarian told Abby about this library the first week of school and we’ve been here every weekend since,” he said, looking around at the shelves filled with old books. “What is this place?”
“It’s the preservation room. Old books,” I added simply.
“Hm,” his gaze shifted back to me. “I saw you in here and thought I’d come say hi,” he said, gesturing to the glass wall between this room and the main library.
“I’m not sure why you thought that was a good idea.”
He laughed softly. “I’m not sure either. I get the feeling you don’t like me.”
“You’d be correct,” I said smartly. “Want a prize?”
“No, but I’d love to know why. I just met you, Leigh.”
“That’s not my name,” I snapped, getting more irritated by the minute. It pissed me off that he didn’t know who I was. I understood that he wouldn’t recognize me because of my surgery, but some irrational part of me felt like he should know by default. The other side of my face was still the same. Had he not spent any time in high school looking at that? Had he always focused on the scars? It should be a rule. When you ruined someone’s life, you never forgot them.
“But you said…”
“I know what I said. I lied. My name is Grace. Grace Adams.” I pushed past him quickly and went through the door, leaving him standing in the preservation room with his mouth wide open.
Chapter 6
Jonah
I wanted to run after her, but I didn’t. I just stood there like a gaping fool.
She was Grace Adams.
Damn, she looked so different. I never would have guessed Princess Librarian was Grace, the girl from high school with the scars who was teased mercilessly. She’d always handled it with such grace, though. I’d admired that about her. There were times I succumbed to peer pressure--who didn’t?--and when I was regretting whatever it was my friends got me to do, I often thought about Grace and how she’d never allow herself to be pressured in that way. I thought about her occasionally over the years, but I never would have reached out to her because I wouldn’t have known what to say. As it was, she’d been right in front of me and I didn’t know what to say.
I left the weird glass room full of musty old books and looked for Abby in the children’s section. There was an older lady reading to a group of kids, and Abby was sitting on the edge of the group, engrossed in the story. My daughter was such a bookworm, she got it from her mom. I hoped that one day I’d be able to tell a story as good as her mom could. I was a work in progress in that area, something Abby wasn’t afraid to tell me at bedtime.
I leaned against the wall near a bulletin board, waiting for story time to finish. There was an October calendar pinned to the board and my eyes scanned it for something Abby might like. Something entirely different caught my eye, though. A fundraiser for the library’s preservation room. It said to “dress appropriately,” and there was a historical theme. My mind’s eye immediately went to Grace in a gown like the ladies wore in the old movies. She certainly had the body for it.
I shook my head. It was still weird to think about a woman other than my wife that way. I’d been on a few dates in the four years since losing Allison, but nothing stuck. Grace was the first person to spark my interest.
I wasn’t sure why I felt like Grace might be that person, especially since I barely knew her, and she clearly wanted nothing to do with me.
“Daddy!” Abby called excitedly.
“Abs!” I replied, equally as excited.
“That lady wrote this book!” she said, holding up a hardcover children’s book with a colorful illustration on the cover.
“Really?” I said, taking the book from my daughter and eyeing it speculatively. “Are you sure?”
Abby giggled. “Yes, Daddy. Can I get one? She’ll even put her autograph in it!” We’d gone to DisneyLand over the summer--an effort to cheer Abby up--and Abby was most excited about getting all the characters to sign her little autograph book. She didn’t go on a single ride, just ran around the park
looking for characters.
“Of course, you can, baby girl.”
I paid the author’s assistant $30--I’m clearly in the wrong business--for the book and my daughter happily spelled out her name to the lady who had been reading to the kids a few minutes ago.
We left the library hand-in-hand, with a promise to come back next weekend to check out a new book.
I saw Grace in the grocery store later that night.
I’d left Abby with my parents for a little while so I could get some grocery shopping done. I could have taken her with me...if I wanted an additional three grocery bags full of sugary garbage. Doing the shopping solo was the only way I could leave the store with all the food groups and not break my budget.
“I’m not sure which one of us got here first, so I’m not sure who is stalking who.”
“Whom,” she said, not taking her eyes off the yogurt display. She smelled like strawberries, which was also the flavor she grabbed off the shelf.
“Huh?”
“Who is stalking whom.”
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you say.”
She took a few more containers off the shelf and put them in her basket, then walked away.
“You’re giving me a complex, Grace.” I said, and she stopped in her tracks at the sound of her name.
“What do you want?” she asked, turning cautiously to me.
“Just to talk. To say hello. I don’t know. Why are you being so rude?”
She scoffed. “I’m guessing you remember me from high school.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I remembered her now, though it was still difficult to reconcile adult Grace with high school Grace.
