A Kind of Paradise

by Amy Rebecca Tan

  “I got more signatures, Sonia.” I showed her the paper with the newest additions.

  “Excellent,” she said, sipping her coffee and reading the newest names. “Oh my God,” she suddenly exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “What?” I asked, alarmed I might have done something wrong. I quickly explained, “Instead of an address, I said he could just put his contact information. He doesn’t have an address, Lenny told me, but he should still be able to sign—”

  “No,” Sonia cut me off. “That’s not it. Look at his name.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me to read what he wrote or check his signature. To me he was Black Hat Guy—I forgot he had a real name.

  I peered over Sonia’s shoulder to see the last entry on the petition. And there it was, written in all capitals, neat as a computer font but with a pressure that left a deep indent on the page beneath.

  In the name column he had printed: Rusty Shine.

  “His name is Rusty Shine?” I asked.

  “Wow.” Sonia was incredulous. “How’s that for a mixed message?”

  “Jeez Louise,” I said under my breath.

  “Well, it’s not as bad as that,” Sonia riffed without missing a beat.

  “Ha-ha.” I smiled at her. “But seriously?”

  “Seriously, Jamie,” Sonia said, “Jeez Louise is a terrible name.”

  “So-nia,” I complained, “come on.”

  “His is only slightly better,” Sonia admitted.

  “Rusty Shine,” I said again. “That’s a total oxymoron.”

  “It’s oxy-confusing is what it is. What’s a kid growing up with a name like that supposed to think?” Sonia asked.

  Did Black Hat Guy grow up identifying with Rusty, something worn and old, damaged and dangerous to the touch, or did he just focus on Shine, like moonlight on the sea, or a bright, sparkling star? Maybe at different times in his life he had felt like each.

  “Well, my last name is Bunn. That hasn’t been so great,” I told Sonia. “Kids used to call me Jamie Bum.”

  “Yes, but at least your parents didn’t name you Hot Dog or Hamburger. Then you’d be Hot Dog Bunn or Hamburger Bunn.” Sonia poked me, laughing at her own silliness.

  “They could have named me Toasted and then I’d be Toasted Bunn.”

  “Or Sugar Bunn. Or Sticky Bunn. Let’s make a list.” Sonia grabbed a pen, but then the phone rang. She stuck her tongue out at the phone, then straightened herself back to her professional librarian stance. “Foxfield Public Library, can I help you?” she spoke into the phone just as she had hundreds, probably thousands, of times before.

  I looked back at the last entry on the petition.

  Rusty Shine.

  His signature was not very different from his printed handwriting. He had listed his email under the address column as I suggested. I guessed that meant he still didn’t have a permanent home. But maybe he would soon. Maybe his volunteer work would lead to a real job, which would lead to a home. Maybe he was on his way.

  I pictured him at the animal shelter, training dogs, helping the neglected ones develop trust and become adoptable. Maybe he had just been stuck living the rusty part of his life the last few years, but now, things would turn around for him. Maybe his life was slowly righting itself, shifting to embrace the other part of his name, to claim everything that was positive and happy and good.

  Maybe he was finally turning the page so he could shine.

  Sonia

  Lenny returned to the library after lunch with two dozen more signatures and a gallon of fresh peach iced tea. Sonia and I gathered around his campaign table and we read over lists and stapled packets, sipping tea so cold and sweet it almost hurt my teeth.

  We had enough signatures now to be a serious threat to Mayor Trippley. I knew it was too early to celebrate, and I knew I had a whole cart full of shelving to do, but I felt so hopeful and happy that I wanted to enjoy it for just a few more minutes before I got back to work.

  And then he walked in.

  A man wearing a dark suit and a very serious face walked into the library, right to the circulation desk. He was carrying a shiny black briefcase, so perfectly polished you could practically see your reflection in it.

  Sonia left her cup of iced tea with Lenny and went behind the counter. I followed just a few steps behind her. She raised herself up to the fullest extent of her height behind the circ desk, lifting up on her toes a bit inside her already high-heeled shoes. Lenny stopped shuffling the papers he was working with and eyed the man cautiously. I went to the cart behind Sonia and started alphabetizing the returns. They were already in alphabetical order, but I continued fussing with them anyway. I couldn’t just stand there doing nothing.

  It was impossible not to feel nervous.

  “Hello. May I help you?” Sonia greeted the man in the suit. Her jaw was just the tiniest bit clenched.

  “Good afternoon, yes. I’m here to speak with the director of the library, please, a Ms. Beverly Cooper,” the suit man said.

  I noticed his jaw looked entirely relaxed.

  “Of course. And you are?” Sonia asked as she picked up the phone, poised to dial Beverly’s extension and give her a name before the man showed up at her office door.

  “I’m Alan Stutler, from Stutler and Bowan. Here’s my card.” And he reached inside his suit jacket and presented a small white business card. I looked over Sonia’s shoulder at the black print bearing the name he’d just announced, under which was printed Attorneys-at-Law. It was the world’s most boring business card. He obviously hadn’t had a talented son like Trey to consult when he designed that thing.

  And then, as if on cue, Beverly appeared. She was probably about to do another round of inspections, checking the status of each room in the building, when she spotted the unfamiliar man at the front desk and silently walked over.

  Sonia replaced the receiver on the phone and let out a defeated sigh.

  Mr. Stutler immediately shifted his attention to the approaching Beverly.

  “Hello there,” Beverly welcomed him, nodding.

  “Hello. My name is Alan Stutler from Stutler and Bowan. Might you be Beverly Cooper?” he asked.

  “I am, yes,” she answered, and clasped her hands in front of her.

  Mr. Stutler reached inside his suit coat again and retrieved another identically dull business card and handed it to Beverly. “I was wondering if I might have a few minutes of your time?”

  Beverly took the card, read it, looked up at Mr. Stutler and then back down at the card in her hand.

  “Perhaps we should go to my office,” she managed, and pointed the way, her hand gripping the business card like her life depended on it.

  The door closed with a click behind them.

  Lenny, Sonia, and I all exhaled at the exact same moment. Had we all been holding our breath that whole time?

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Sonia didn’t answer. She glanced back at the closed office door again, and then over at Lenny, who was slowly shaking his head, lips pursed together, completely puzzled.

  “Lenny, you always know what’s going on.” I stated this fact as if he just needed the reminder and then he would be able to answer my question. “What’s up?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Sonia spoke for him. “We don’t know, mami.”

  That was not what I wanted to hear. “W-well,” I stuttered, trying to come up with something, some thought or idea that might be helpful, and failing.

  So then I just asked, “What should we do?”

  “There’s nothing to do. We have to wait and see,” Sonia sighed. “Lawyers are not always bad news, you know,” she added hopefully.

  Lenny lifted both hands to his head and ran them slowly through his long hair. I noticed a dried blob of tan paint on his thumb. He was so tired he probably didn’t even realize it was there.

  “I’m going through everything in my mind,” he said. “I’m sure we’ve followed protocol. We ha
ven’t done anything that could get us in trouble.” He paused, then pushed his chair back and stood up. “I just don’t know what this could be about.”

  “It’s okay,” Sonia assured him. “Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

  Lenny was usually the one consoling others. It was unsettling to see Lenny be the one who needed help.

  The front door jingled and some regulars strolled in. They went through their usual routines by the new book shelving, the DVD wall, the newspaper rack, and the public computers.

  Sonia signed up a new-to-town mom with library cards for herself and her two daughters. She put holds on a whole list of books for Bernice Yancey, who always came in with a handwritten list of titles her daughter-in-law had told her she must read. Sonia usually found them in large print, too, which Bernice loved. I worked on a display of new audiobooks and then shelved books and DVDs from yesterday’s carts. Lenny worked on the library campaign on his laptop, looking up at the door every time the bells jingled to see if he could grab another signature for the petition.

  When there was a lull in activity, Sonia motioned me to come over. She had her finger over her lips, hushing me so I’d come quietly. She peeked over her shoulder at Lenny, who was busily typing away, and then grabbed my shoulder and turned me forcefully so my back faced him.

  “Oh my God, Sonia, what?”

  “Shh, I have to show you something.” She bent under the circ desk and pulled a rectangular Tupperware container out of the giant bag she carried to work every day. “Keep your back like this,” she instructed me when I began to turn. “We’re making a wall.”

  “O-kay,” I whispered, and righted myself back into wall formation.

  “Look what I did,” Sonia said then, quietly lifting the lid off the container to reveal a pile of sugar cookies. “I baked them last night. I need you to try one and tell me what you think. And be honest,” she ordered.

  “Oh, they’re birds. Cute.” The cookies were shaped like songbirds in flight, short wings outstretched on each side and a pointed small beak tipped upward. There was a dab of shiny black icing for the eyes. “You made these?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Mateo and I used to bake a lot. When he was little, I had alphabet cookie cutters, and that’s how he learned his ABC’s. Smartest purchase I ever made, those cookie cutters.”

  “These look great,” I told her, still feeling too nervous about the lawyer to actually enjoy eating one, though. He had been in the office with Beverly for a long time. The door was still closed and we couldn’t hear a peep.

  “I think they’re pretty good, but I need you to tell me for sure before I, you know, put them out for everyone.” There was a sudden shyness to Sonia’s voice and a little flush to her cheeks.

  I glanced at Lenny, still focused on his screen, and then at Sonia, holding the cookies out for me. Since Lenny had been too busy to bake for Sonia, Sonia was baking for Lenny. I suddenly felt like I was back in second grade, delivering messages between two classmates who liked each other, except now the messages were cookies.

  I bit a wing off one bird and was surprised at the combination of lemon and sweet that filled my mouth. The light citrus flavor calmed my stomach somehow, and I quickly took another bite.

  “So you like them. They’re good, right?” Sonia asked, a smile of relief creeping across her face.

  “Mm-hmm,” I answered, still chewing.

  “I just thought of shredding some lemon zest in there at the end. It works, though, right?” Sonia was asking, even though she already knew the answer. Fishing for compliments was what my mom called this.

  “They are so good,” I told her. “I love the lemon. What else is in there? Are they healthy?”

  “Healthy? No! Lenny does the fancy-schmancy healthy food. This is good old flour, sugar, and butter. And lemon. This is old school.” Sonia put the lid back on the container and pulled a pretty basket lined with parchment paper out of her gigantic bag. “I’ll take these downstairs and set them out on the table.”

  “Very cute—birds in the basket. It’ll look like they’re in a nest.”

  “That’s why I used the bird shape! I know what I’m doing.”

  As Sonia started down the staircase to the kitchen, Beverly’s office door swung open.

  “I’ll let myself out. Thank you again for your time.” Mr. Stutler stood in the doorway, addressing Beverly. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Mr. Stutler closed the door behind him and walked briskly to the front of the library. He bobbed his head at me behind the circulation desk and politely said, “Good day,” without losing a step, then left the building.

  I stared through the glass window on the door and watched him recede into the distance, his head fading away, becoming fuzzier by the second like the details of a bad dream.

  I turned then toward Lenny, who was already staring back at me, the same question on his face that none of us knew the answer to.

  Sonia did an about-face on the stairs, still holding the basket and Tupperware, and hurried to Lenny’s side. “Well?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he answered.

  “Her door’s still closed,” I offered.

  “We should make sure she’s okay,” Sonia shared.

  That snapped Lenny to action. “Yes, we should.” He stood up and led the way to Beverly’s office.

  Just as he lifted his hand to knock, the door swung open from the inside, which made Beverly gasp in surprise and Lenny jump back in response.

  “Sorry,” Beverly and Lenny apologized in perfect unison.

  “Oh, jeez Louise,” Sonia said, shaking her head at the scene.

  “We saw him leave,” Lenny explained right away. “We just wanted to check on you.”

  “Of course,” Beverly said. She ran her hands down the sides of her pants. “And I was coming out to talk to you. To all of you.”

  “Okay,” Lenny said.

  “About that lawyer,” Beverly said unnecessarily.

  “Yes?” Sonia couldn’t help herself. “What was that all about?”

  Lenny leaned in toward Beverly, his whole body on edge. I hugged my arms around my waist and looked toward the circ desk. No one was there, so we were okay for the moment. I looked back at Beverly. She kept running a finger over her locket, over the memory of her sister held safely inside.

  “That was Alan Stutler. He’s a lawyer for the Harriston family.”

  Harriston. How did I know that name?

  “Mr. Stutler was here to discuss the final will and testament of Walter Harriston.”

  All the queasiness that had formed in my gut when Mr. Stutler presented his card disappeared the instant I heard Beverly say Walter. When I checked in his five movies on Tuesdays, I was always thrown for a quick second when the screen flashed the name Walter. To me, he was just Wally. And always would be.

  “It appears”—and here Beverly cleared her throat and lowered her voice significantly—“it appears our dear Wally has left a great portion of his estate to the Foxfield Public Library.” She motioned us closer to add, “And apparently, he had quite the estate.”

  Lenny’s mouth fell open and his entire body slid against the doorframe, as if digesting this news and supporting his own weight were two things he could not possibly do at the same time. Sonia clapped her hand tightly over her open mouth. My eyes welled and before I knew it, a few happy tears spilled down my face.

  “He left us money?” Sonia spoke through her fingers, still physically trapping her excitement in with one hand while holding her cookies with the other. “He left the library money?”

  Beverly nodded. “Yes. He left us money. He left us a lot of money.” Then she released her locket, crossed her arms in front of her torso, and lifted her chin in triumph. “Let’s see them try to close our library now.”

  Wally

  The next week, Wally’s endowment to the library was on the front page of the Biweekly. It covered the entire front page, and also got written up in the weekend Metr
o section of the regional newspaper. The phone at the library rang off the hook for days, and Beverly was more than happy this time around to talk to reporters. She said things like, “Clearly, the library is highly regarded by the public” and “Clearly, the library meets a very important need in the community.”

  Wally’s endowment would cover the cost of all the building repairs, and there’d still be money left to establish a maintenance fund the library could pull from for years. It wasn’t too expensive for the town to keep the library open anymore. Between the endowment, the petition, the appeals made by the well-connected Mrs. Evans, and all the press, Mayor Trippley abandoned his plans to shut us down. Operation Save Library was a success!

  When Lenny arrived on the morning we heard the great news, he burst through the front door with a huge bouquet of flowers in his arms and sang, “Good morning to you, and a good morning it is!” He carried the bouquet to the circ desk and placed it right next to Wally’s vase.

  “These are from the Bean Pot owners. They loved the story in the paper about Wally’s weekly flower, so they bought us these to honor his memory.”

  “They’re not the only ones,” Sonia said, and gestured around her.

  There were flowers everywhere.

  A bouquet of sunflowers from the Floral Parade sat on a table in the reading room, and an arrangement of dahlias and daisies from Barbara’s Bouquet decorated the counter by the watercooler. A patron who was in the library the day of Wally’s collapse had dropped off a vase stuffed with chrysanthemums and delphiniums, and another local family had sent a bouquet with a card saying In memory of Walter.

  We also received a rainbow-colored bouquet of carnations in a frosted white vase with a card thanking us for being such an important part of Wally’s life. It was from Kim Harriston and Walter Harriston Jr., Wally’s kids.

  So it turned out I didn’t need to stop at the market to buy a flower for Wally’s vase that morning, but I didn’t know that until after I bought it. My single pink rose was seriously overshadowed by all the large bouquets, but I refreshed the water and set the rose in its usual spot anyway, where Wally liked it. The desk wouldn’t have looked right without it.