by Jamie Knight
Chapter Six - Aiden
I called to apologize that very same evening that I’d told off Eleanor. I’d called her still from my delivery truck on the way back to the depot. But she didn’t answer. She also didn’t answer all the times I tried to call again that same day. I texted Eleanor the next day to ask whether she was alright, and that overture also went unanswered.
Fine. I could take a hint. Things hadn’t worked out between us since that first night. She wanted to be left alone, whether temporarily or permanently. Maybe that was the message Eleanor was sending with that bizarre “Do you want kids” stint. Or maybe she was just hungry for attention. Either way, it didn’t bode well for the possibility of us as a couple.
She hadn’t seemed so eager in the first place. It was Eleanor’s silly coworker at the front desk who’d pushed her into my arms, or me into her arms, or something like that, whatever it had been.
And that time, Eleanor and I had read Lord Byron. We had our evening of passion on the library sofa — maybe that was just our mutual horniness and loneliness manifesting itself, nothing more. Maybe it had only been two desperate, lonely people satisfying their basic physical needs. Maybe she didn’t want anything more to do with me than just getting fucked, getting her rocks off, clearing the pipes, or however it went. Librarians had pipes to clear just as anybody else did. Just as UPS drivers did, in fact.
“Are you seeing anybody?” the OkCupid questionnaire asked. No, of course, I wasn’t. Totally single. And ready to mingle. With women who weren’t batshit crazy and who didn’t disappear after an evening of sex, preferably.
But every dating profile I saw online only made me miss Eleanor more. Nobody could match her in looks. Those green eyes. The way she whispered poetry at night on the library sofa. The way she hid back in her secret room. The way she’d kissed me furiously that magical night. The girls online didn’t have anything like Eleanor’s intelligence or clearly enunciated speech or adorable bookish nerdiness. They were just usual, typical. Eleanor was — special.
The dashboard of my work truck reminded me of it constantly: Eleanor. Right before me, on the speedometer, Eleanor. On my trip logs, Eleanor. Was I obsessed, or was the universe, even the inanimate universe, trying to tell me something? Maybe I owed Eleanor another chance. The library was a fun place to visit anyway. Maybe I owed the library another chance too.
I took a long lunch break on Friday, exactly two months after that hot night on the third-floor reading sofa. I’d pop into the library and see what they had; maybe I’d even see the Khalil Gibran book I’d donated or the Lord Byron book we had read together that night.
I felt oddly inconspicuous, in a good way, pulling up to the library in an Uber car instead of in a big grumbling UPS delivery truck and having changed into a t-shirt and sweats instead of my UPS uniform. In the UPS truck I’d felt every corner of the world staring at me and scrutinizing my moves, maybe even my thoughts. The cameras and GPS trackers all over the truck and even the uniform only increased my paranoid feelings. But when I arrived in a regular, non-UPS car, wearing regular, non-UPS clothes, it was as if I could do anything, be my own man, do whatever I wanted.
I strode up to the front desk. Claire was there, as usual. Eleanor wasn’t there, as usual. I’d ask for Eleanor to… something, something, something. I wasn’t sure. Claire would figure it out and would call Eleanor to the front desk anyway. Then I could at least chat with Eleanor, discuss our situation, figure out whether it was over temporarily or forever. I could live with either option. I’d have to live with either option. I just wanted to know.
“Hey, how are you?” I called out to Claire, standing behind the desk.
“How can I help you?” she answered. She didn’t seem to question who I was. Her eyes flashed recognition. She just didn’t seem to deal with me very warmly, despite knowing who I was.
“Hey, remember me? Aiden, the UPS guy? I’m not wearing my uniform.”
“Hello. How can I help you?” Maybe she just wasn’t in much of a friendly mood.
“Is Eleanor around?”
“Ah, I believe she busy right now. Do you have an appointment?”
“No.” I laughed. “Do I need one?”
“Yes.” Claire wasn’t joking. “The head librarian normally only meets patrons by appointment. Is there anything we can help you with?”
“Um. Do you have a copy of Khalil Gibran, The Prophet?”
Claire typed on the computer and clicked. “We do have it in the catalog, but it’s not on the shelf. Looks like it’s on internal checkout.”
“Internal checkout? Is that supposed to be an oxymoron?”
“No.” She shook her head sternly. “It means it was taken home by a library employee.”
“Ah. Aha. I see.”
“Anything else I can help you with?”
“So, Eleanor, the head librarian, is not available?”
“No, she’s not.”
“Ah.”
That was all I could say. I didn’t have a response prepared. I hadn’t even planned for that possibility for my extended lunch break. I’d just assumed that Eleanor would be there at the library, awaiting me, like a puppy. Maybe that disappointment would be my lesson that she wasn’t my waiting puppy.
I should’ve acted faster, maybe. I should’ve called Eleanor back after minutes, not hours, maybe. I should’ve rushed over to the library that same day instead of waiting nearly two weeks, maybe.
Claire not-so-subtly sidestepped over to serve the next person waiting at the desk. A woman wanted to reserve a book about having a healthy pregnancy. Eleanor must’ve been really off her rocker when she’d called asking about kids. Maybe getting away from her was only for the best.
I stepped out of the library and walked a block downhill to Starbucks. I could console myself with a cup of coffee before taking an Uber back to the UPS depot.
“Aiden G, grande triple soy latte extra-hot for Aiden G.”
It was my Starbucks name since there was always more than one Aiden in line. Eleanor certainly didn’t have that problem. I took a seat at the counter by the window, pulled the lid off the latte, and stared into the milky froth.
“Decaf venti soy latte, hundred twenty degrees, shot of cream, double whip cream on top, caramel drizzle, cinnamon sprinkles, eleven pumps of praline syrup, for Eleanor. I’m not gonna repeat all that, but drink at the counter is for Eleanor. And a cup of ice. For chewing, apparently.”
What in the world?
“And we’ve got a plain double espresso for Doc, double espresso for Doc.”
Then Eleanor, that Eleanor, librarian Eleanor, strode up to the Starbucks counter. With a man in tow; an older guy, at least sixty, wearing a doctor’s scrubs. The dude was definitely robbing the cradle. Gross. Whatever. Eleanor’s life. And maybe no grosser than her having hooked up with the UPS man.
She took the big drink, the sugar daddy the small drink, and they sat down together on a sofa. A sofa, just like the sofa Eleanor and I had used for our love rendezvous. Would Eleanor read Lord Byron to this old guy too?
She didn’t notice me. It was smart not to wear my uniform for stalking… meeting Eleanor during my lunch break. I felt invisible. Invisible in a good way, like having a superpower.
I drank my extra-hot drink. I couldn’t help but look out the corner of my eye at the happy couple of Eleanor and the old guy. She was laughing and loading a piece of turkey from a Starbucks sandwich into a cut-open Starbucks scone. She wasn’t even eating the sandwich.
She was eating, chewing spoonfuls of ice she was scooping into her mouth from the plastic cup. Eleanor had really gone off the deep end; the kid phone call, the bizarre drink order, the date with an elderly doctor, the ice-chewing, and the putting turkey in a scone. Maybe it was for the best that we weren’t in touch, even if I missed her, a lot.
Chapter Seven - Eleanor
I’d been napping on the mat I kept in my little private office when I heard th
e alarm. As always, it was coming from somewhere in the main area. A few times a year there was a false fire alarm from some kids pulling the handle or some nicotine addict lighting up in the bathroom. It would be gone in a few minutes, and I could go back to sleep.
I’d called it my pregnancy cave. Three months into my pregnancy, I needed to nap all the time. I still got all my work done by staying in my office every day until late into the night — but about half of my “at work” time was spent asleep in my private cave. The library’s board knew it. I was a star employee. The board didn’t mind accommodating my pregnancy. I planned to keep working right up until the delivery, six months more.
My little pregnancy cave down a side hallway didn’t exactly meet building code or OSHA standards. It did meet my need for rest. I felt safer and calmer there than even inside my own apartment. Legally, technically, it was approved only as a storage closet. I only had to remember to clear out of there before the annual fire safety inspection the following week.
I kept earplugs for these very situations, when for some reason, I couldn’t fall asleep in my private room in the depths of the library. Weren’t libraries supposed to be quiet? Weren’t private rooms in the depths of libraries supposed to be even quieter? This one usually was, but sometimes it wasn’t. The earplugs at least let me get my pregnancy sleep.
Between exhaustion, swollen ankles, and my weird obsession with stuffing salty cured meat into sweet pastries, the first-trimester pregnancy wasn’t exactly fun. But it was precisely what I’d wanted. Pregnancy was my dream, even if it was physically draining and unpleasant. I already knew that part.
The only part I hadn’t been prepared for was the loneliness. I’d always imagined some wonderful, reliable, dependable man standing by me through the trials of pregnancy. I hadn’t expected to be alone.
But if Aiden, the biological father, didn’t want to be involved, then so be it. I was in no shape and no mood for dating now, but maybe I could start dating again after the baby was born. Claire started talking about setting me up with a new guy as soon as I had told her that I didn’t even want to talk to Aiden, even if Aiden dared to show at the library to look for me.
The alarm was ringing longer than it usually did. I started getting up from the mat. I’d only slept for an hour and was still exhausted. I could barely stand up; it was the double whammy of pregnancy exhaustion and the extra twenty pounds I’d already gained in the first three months. I stood up and steadied myself, holding first one wall, then the opposite one. I was still too tired to even open the door.
Something smelled like burning plastic. There might’ve been a staff kitchen accident triggering the fire alarm. Maybe some idiot started a fire trying to light a cigarette in some back room. That happened once in a while too. Or maybe the smell was just my imagination. I’d sometimes tasted and smelled odd things during my pregnancy. Sometimes my office, or even the entire library, seemed to smell like Aiden, Aiden’s hot, sweaty musk — but I knew to put those thoughts behind me.
There was definitely some kind of white smoke coming in under the door. The fire alarm kept ringing. I stood up again. I’d at least check what was going on. Smoke couldn’t be good for the baby, nor for me.
I casually touched the door handle. Burning hot pain seared my hand. The handle was much too hot to touch. And now my hand was throbbing with pain. I ran some water over it from the water cooler.
The water felt hot. I realized that my entire room was hot. The water was just as hot as the room. And this couldn’t have been good for the baby.
With my left hand, I wondered how I could open that door or whether I could even open it. What was on the other side? Flames and smoke?
I could at least try to call for help. My cellphone never had any signal inside that room. I picked up the office phone, and there was no dial tone. The internet router was showing a red light: no connection. I banged my left fist on the door and burned my left hand almost as badly as I’d burned the right.
I sat down in the corner, as far as I could get from the door. The air was cooler down lower near the floor. I’d been told that in fire safety training. Was I actually in a fire now? Was this a fire? Not just some stuff creating some smoke? Was I now pregnant, carrying an innocent baby inside me, in the middle of a fire?
I kicked the door. At least the heat didn’t damage my shoes. Maybe somebody would hear. But this whole room, this whole area, wasn’t intended for use as an office. These little things were all just storage closets and supposedly used for storing excess inventory. Nobody would be looking here, even if they were trying to save valuable property. These rooms were only used for storing worthless junk. And maybe that was what I was too: alone, in a storage closet, in a fire, with nobody caring about me.
Tears overtook me. I sobbed into the uncaring hot, acrid, smoky air. I was crying only because of the baby. Even if I had deserved all this, by hooking up for a reckless one-night stand, by having sex in the first place, by not standing up to Aiden and making him do his role as a father — the baby hadn’t deserved any of it. What would the baby’s name be? It would be a moot point now, maybe.
The door crashed open. It was the end. Acrid smoke poured in, and the room grew even hotter. Even the sweat on my forehead felt hot. I could only imagine what my baby was going through.
“Eleanor! I knew you were in here!” Aiden stood amidst the smoke.
It was like a surreal vision, a messiah walking in from the smoke, entering the room where I had been preparing to die.
Aiden pushed aside the teetering, half-destroyed door and walked toward me. Wordlessly, he crouched down, put his arms under me, and cradled me in his arms. He stood up. The smoke was more pungent in my nose and mouth when I was higher with Aiden, but I was in his arms. My baby was also in Aiden’s arms. As stupid as it was, in a hidden room in a burning building, I felt safe in Aiden’s arms.
“How… where…” How had Aiden gotten there? It felt like a dream.
His uniform was from UPS, not the Fire Department. It was a regular Friday afternoon. What angels had sent Aiden to rescue the baby and me from the fire? Were they the same angels who had sent Aiden to rescue me from loneliness and misery?
He reached under his uniform to his undershirt. He tugged at it with one hand, then two. He tore off a piece of the fabric. Then he handed it to me. “Breathe through this. We’ll get out.”
“Are you sure?” It was all I could ask. If Aiden were sure of it, I would trust him. I wanted to trust him.
“I’m sure I’ll try my darndest.”
Aiden carried me feet-first through the open door. I held the t-shirt over my mouth. The air still smelled like smoke, but at least it no longer felt like grit.
Aiden was calmly breathing through his nose. He was superhuman. Or at least he seemed superhuman.
Cradled in his arms, I saw the world sideways. He held me with one arm under the crook of my knees, the other arm under the small of my back. My head rested against his chest. I followed directions and held the piece of Aiden’s t-shirt against my nose and mouth.
He carried me into the hallway and toward the emergency exit around the corner. I didn’t even have to tell him where to go. Aiden was really superhuman. He didn’t even strain himself carrying me. I was no heavyweight, but I had been a good hundred-forty pounds before the pregnancy and more with the pregnancy weight. None of my previous boyfriends had tried to lift me up, much less carry me, much less effortlessly carry me out of a burning building.
“This man is the father of my child,” kept going through my mind. It was a fantastic feeling. Even if Aiden had only done me a one-time favor by impregnating me and another one-time favor by rescuing me from a burning building, even if I was never to see Aiden again, he was still the father of my baby. Aiden’s spirit, his generosity, his bravery would all continue in my life through the baby that he had fathered. Even if he was to be absent from my life.
Chapter Eight – Eleanor
> Sunlight glimmered through a half-open door. Aiden was carrying me that way. He pushed me out from that exit door legs-first. Firefighters ran to the two of us. A cot came from nowhere, and they put it under me.
Aiden set me on the cot, then sat down on the ground. His face was sooty, coated with black and some kind of white chemical ash. He was, in fact, sweating hard and breathing hard, and his skin was flushed from the exhaustion and probably from the poisons he’d been breathing. Maybe Aiden wasn’t superhuman. Maybe he’d suffered when rescuing me just as a human would’ve suffered. But Aiden had apparently, somehow, run into that building, known where to go, found me, when nobody else had.
“You guys got out on your own?” a firefighter asked. He motioned for a paramedic to attend to my visibly burned hand.
“Yeah. I carried my coworker out,” Aiden answered. He raised his eyebrows slightly in my direction.
“You two work for UPS?” the firefighter asked, pointing with his eyes toward Aiden’s brown uniform. He must have forgotten what he was wearing when he claimed to be my coworker. And Halloween was still months away.
“Ah, no, um, I do, uh,” Aiden said, looking around nervously.
“You sound disoriented after being in the fire. It’s ok. I guess you work at UPS, and this woman works here in the library? And you were making a delivery when the fire happened?”
“Yeah,” Aiden said. Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. Anyway, Aiden said it, and it seemed to be good enough for the fire department. The firefighter, sufficiently satisfied with the explanation, walked away, back to tallying the crowd of people who’d emerged from the library building.
Still lying on the cot, my hand now bandaged, I looked over at Aiden, who was still sitting on the pavement. “Were you really making a delivery?”
“No. Of course not. You guys always use USPS. You know that.” He grinned.