Lakeshore Christmas

by Susan Wiggs

  Renée said something, but Maureen wasn’t listening. Everything was drowned out by the whir of panic in her ears. Vertigo made the world seem to tilt.

  “Everything all right up there?”

  The sound of the familiar voice made her stomach drop. Eddie Haven. When had he shown up? With the angel still dangling by its loop in her teeth, she dared to glance down again—and immediately wished she hadn’t. Eddie stood at the base of the ladder where Renée had been. He appeared to be staring straight up her skirt.

  “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. How many people, she wondered, insisted they were fine a split second before disaster struck? She tried to console herself that her skirt was long enough, her tights dark enough, to preserve her modesty. Now she was frozen, not just with fear but with embarrassment.

  “Need some help?” he asked.

  She could swear she heard laughter in his voice. “I’ve got it,” she said. Her fear of heights was easily overpowered by the embarrassment of having Eddie Haven at the base of the ladder, looking up her skirt. She reached out and set the cone-shaped angel on the topmost point of the tree.

  The trouble with a just-cut noble fir was that its slender limbs tended to be too flexible. The top branch nodded under the weight of the angel. It instantly tumbled downward, bouncing off the lower branches and then smashing on the marble and black tile floor of the foyer.

  For a moment, no one said anything. Then Wendy stated, “You broke the angel.”

  A ripple swept through the children present: “Miss Davenport broke the angel.” One of the girls started to cry, and that set off a chain reaction—murmurs of dismay, calls for a broom and dustpan, admonitions to kids not to touch the broken glass. Maureen—the klutz, the breaker of angels—climbed down the ladder in defeat.

  “I can’t believe I did that,” she said to her sister.

  “It was an accident,” Renée said loyally. According to family legend, this was the sister whose first words uttered were “I’m telling.” Now she merely shooed her kids away from the glass and patted Maureen on the arm.

  “We need another angel, stat,” said Eddie. He was speaking to Bear, who still hadn’t placed his ornament on the tree. “Mind if I borrow yours?”

  Eyes wide, mouth agape, Bear surrendered the toilet-tube angel. Eddie quickly climbed the ladder, showing none of Maureen’s hesitation. Maureen and her sister didn’t even try not to stare at his butt, so perfect in perfectly faded jeans.

  “Real quick,” Renée whispered, nudging Maureen. “Remind me I’m a happily married woman.”

  “You’re a happily married woman,” Maureen whispered.

  “You’re not. You should—”

  “I’m happily single,” Maureen snapped, forgetting to whisper. Feeling dozens of eyes on her, she wanted to sink into the marble floor. Had Eddie heard? He probably already thought she was ridiculous. This would only reinforce that notion.

  Eddie appeared to be busy placing the new angel securely at the top of the tree. He threaded a light string through and around it, then climbed back down the ladder. “Somebody flip the switch,” he said, turning to Bear. “How about you do the honors?”

  Someone showed the little boy the master switch. He flipped it on, and the tall tree came to life. People burst into spontaneous applause. Bear’s switch turned on, too, powered by the pride of accomplishment. Daisy took another photo of him.

  “Thank you. That’s his first real smile in weeks,” said his mother to Eddie.

  “You did your good deed for the day, then,” he told Maureen.

  “What?” She still felt impossibly flustered around him.

  “Breaking the angel. It wasn’t such a disaster after all.”

  “Oh. Um, I guess.” She would not allow herself to make eye contact with her sister. Renée was gesticulating, trying to get Maureen to…to what? Come on to him? To Eddie Haven? Right. “What are you doing here?” she asked him.

  He hesitated. “I brought you an on-air schedule for the launch of your fund-raiser. We can put you on the air during the Monday commuter hour.”

  “Thank you.” She took the printed sheet from him. “So, Monday at the station, then.”

  “It’s a date,” he said.

  “Swear to God,” said Renée, watching him go, “you are TSTL.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Too stupid to live. He totally wanted to see you. He probably would have asked you out if you’d given him half a chance.”

  “Nonsense. He just brought me this schedule.”

  “He could have e-mailed that, you complete ninny. But he didn’t. He came in person. And you all but ran him off.”

  “I was polite.”

  “‘What are you doing here?’” Renée mimicked her. “That’s what you said. You call that polite?”

  “Now you’re just being silly. Eddie Haven and I are working on a project together. You’re reading too much into it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “He’s Eddie Haven, for goodness’ sake.”

  “And you’re Maureen Davenport. So what?”

  Twelve

  Maureen walked into the radio station and said hello to Brandi and Heidi, the producer and engineer. The last-ditch effort to save the library would be launched with a live interview today. Though she didn’t want to admit it, she was nervous about going on the air. This was definitely outside her comfort zone, but the library needed all the help it could get. She let herself into the broadcast booth, where she took a seat across from Eddie at a bank of controls. He showed her how to put on headphones and positioned a furry-looking mic in front of her.

  “It’s another cold, cold morning in Avalon,” he announced in his buttery voice. “The current temperature is a brisk sixteen degrees, so bundle up before you go out today. Better yet, pour yourself another cup of coffee and stay home a while longer. We’ve got a very special guest in the studio today. Please join me in welcoming Maureen Davenport, Avalon’s own librarian on a mission. She’s the branch manager of our library, and she’s here to share some news. Welcome, Maureen.”

  “Hello, thank you for having me.” She sounded stiff and awkward. Long ago, she had taken drama classes in high school and college. She should know how to do this, how to relax and let go. Instead, her throat felt tight and her brain emptied itself of anything resembling coherent thought.

  Eddie regarded her with compassionate professionalism—the host attempting to set the guest at ease. “Tell us a little about the library. What’s the story and what can our listeners do to help?”

  His killer blue eyes did not put her at ease. Fortunately, she’d brought along a cheat sheet of notes. He winced at the loud crinkling sound the paper made as she unfolded it. “Um, sorry,” she said, then mentally kicked herself. The listeners were probably reaching for their dials right now, changing the station. Maureen told herself sternly not to blow this. The library shouldn’t suffer just because Eddie Haven’s eyes disabled her brain cells.

  Glancing down at her notes, she explained about the loss of the grant, the 99-year lease and its imminent expiration. She emphasized that the library’s only hope of survival was to raise a year’s operating budget and a guarantee of funding in the future. She mentioned the failure at the ballot of the extra penny of sales tax and the industrial utility tax that would have funded library operations.

  As she talked, Eddie pantomimed an enormous yawn. “To make a long story short,” she said, switching gears, “our library will be closed for good unless we come up with the funds. And fast.”

  He gave her a thumbs-up sign. She got it. Keep it simple.

  “Tell us what impact losing the library would have on the community,” he suggested.

  “You know, it’s a subtle impact compared to other public services and institutions. No one’s electricity is going to be cut off. People’s houses won’t burn down. The snowplows will still do their work every morning. In other words, life will go on. But it’s still a loss. The commun
ity loses a source of cultural richness and learning. It’s not as immediate as road and bridge maintenance, but its impact is far-reaching. A community without a library is a community in danger of unraveling.”

  “Can you explain what you mean by unraveling?” asked Eddie. “In what way?”

  “Well, to my mind, a community is measured by the kind of sanctuary it offers people. A church or temple—that’s a sanctuary for the spirit. A hospital or shelter—for the body. A library is a sanctuary for the mind.” She glanced down at her notes. “Each year, our schools are given a mandate to raise reading test scores. How is that going to happen without a library?”

  He scribbled something, passed her a slip of paper with one word on it: story.

  All right, she thought. Deep breath. Tell a story.

  “Our town library exists because the people of Avalon built it. Back in 1909, the original building burned to the ground. A boy died in the fire, too. No one ever knew his name. It was assumed he was a vagrant. Sadly, it happened on Christmas Eve, and it was believed he’d been secretly sheltering in the basement of the building, and he’d made a fire to keep warm. The loss must have been horrible, but everyone came together and gave the boy a proper burial. A community-spirited man, Mr. Jeremiah Byrne, funded the building of a new library, and that’s how our current structure came into being.”

  Eddie made a wavering motion with his hand. She was starting to bore him again. Good grief, the man was a demanding listener.

  “In a small town like this, the library is so much more than a place to get books. We hold town meetings here. It’s a place for kids to come after school. We provide Internet access. A free art gallery for local artists. And losing libraries is a precursor to losing businesses. No business wants to set up shop in a city without a library.” Warming to her topic, she added, “Just to give you an example of the human element in this—one of our adult literacy clients is another example of the vital role the library plays,” she said.

  Eddie’s stare intensified.

  “He didn’t want to go through life as a nonreader, but he was embarrassed by his situation. Thanks to the library, I’m able to work with him directly. He’s keeping his privacy, and he’s learning to read.”

  “Some of that credit goes to you,” Eddie interjected.

  She flushed. “The point is, without the library, this patron might not have approached me in the first place.” Switching gears again, she said, “Every Wednesday morning, we have children’s hour. People bring their kids to sit on a braided rug around a Kennedy rocker that’s been in the building for fifty years. And someone reads them a story. That’s when the magic takes over. A kid who might squirm every waking hour is suddenly sitting there, spellbound. The children sink into the story and it takes them to another place. Without the library, kids will probably still have story time at preschool or home or the bookstore. But there’s something about gathering around that old rocking chair at the library. You can’t deny it.”

  Eddie gave her another thumbs-up.

  “The other day, a woman brought her granddaughter Katy to story hour,” Maureen recalled, abandoning her cheat sheet. “She requested an old favorite—Mike Mulligan and his Steam Shovel, a book that’s never been out of print since it was first published in 1939. Not a word of the narrative has ever been changed, and not a line of the drawings has been altered. Yet that story is brand-new every time a child opens the book. Later, the grandmother told me she remembered that book from her own childhood. She used to come to story hour when she was little, to the same building, in the same children’s room, and it was a joy to bring her granddaughter into the tradition.”

  “There,” said Eddie, “you nailed it right there. Anybody can go to the Web site and learn about the many services the library provides, free of charge. But to really understand what the library’s about, all you have to do is think about what Maureen Davenport just told us. So this holiday season, please be generous. You can pledge or make donations by phone, by mail, on the web, or better yet, show up in person. See for yourself why the library is worth saving.”

  “Thanks for listening,” Maureen said.

  Eddie smoothly added, “Thanks for joining us. And I hope everyone will mark their calendar right now for all the up coming library fund-raisers. Let’s finish out the hour with some songs related to this morning’s theme. Here’s ‘Who Wrote the Book of Love’ by Monotones, from 1962. We’ll follow that with the Beatles’ ‘Paperback Writer’ from 1966.”

  “Great job,” he said after switching off the microphones. “Think it’ll work?”

  “It can’t hurt. Every single donation helps. Thanks, Eddie.” She was in a quandary now. Every time she made up her mind not to like him, he did something like this. And she would get a crush on him all over again.

  As she stepped out of the booth, Brandi and Heidi abruptly stopped their conversation and broke apart. Maureen flashed on a feeling she hadn’t had since high school—being a joke to the cool girls, the pretty girls. Being whispered about.

  It wasn’t the same, of course, and their whispering probably had nothing to do with her, but it served as a reminder—You don’t belong here.

  After a full day at the library, Maureen’s workday wasn’t over. Her mobile phone rang, and the name that came up on the screen made her smile—H. Lonigan. “Lonnie,” she said, picking up.

  “How’s my favorite librarian?” His deep, masculine voice sounded like melted chocolate.

  “Anxious to see you,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Just got back. I did a mining run up in northern Canada. First of the season.”

  Maureen winced, picturing Lonnie in his huge rig, lumbering over narrow, icy mountain roads to bring diesel to mines in remote locations. “I’m glad you’re back safe,” she said, knowing it was futile to point out the hazards of his job. He was a dangerous-load trucker who laughed at danger—all the way to the bank. “When can we meet?” she asked.

  “How about right now?”

  She checked the clock on her desk. “Perfect. I’m just finishing at work. Where?”

  “How about your place?” he suggested.

  Something about the quality of his voice tipped her off. She looked up, and there he was, filling the entire doorway with his bulk.

  “Lonnie!” she said, and a moment later she was folded in his embrace. “I didn’t know when you’d be back. I have something for you.”

  He stepped back, beaming at her. “Yeah?”

  She rolled a stool toward a high shelf. He beat her to it, easily reaching up and grabbing a stack of books. “This what you’re after?”

  Maureen nodded, leading the way to a long table in the adult reading area. “It must be handy, being as tall as a giant redwood.”

  “Sometimes,” he said. “Are we…all alone?”

  “Of course,” she assured him. “Have a seat, Lonnie.” She opened one of the books. “I think you’re going to like this.”

  He took off his Mackinac jacket, sat down and studied the title page. “Are…” He glanced at her, and she nodded. “Area. T-tan…go. Tango. Delta. Area Tango Delta.”

  “Good job. It’s the first of a series. It’s set in the future, about a guy who’s an expert in military transport. He gets into all kinds of dangerous situations.”

  Lonnie nodded. “Sounds like my kind of book.”

  Maureen hoped so. The low-reading-level, high-interest material was designed to appeal to guys like Lonnie—emerging readers whose skills would improve with practice. She glanced at the clock. “Let’s get started. Did you bring your notebook?”

  He put it on the table, a three-ring binder filled with sample forms he was learning to fill out, everything from a voter’s survey to a loan application. As Maureen browsed through the pages, his big shoulders hunched. “I didn’t get much of a chance to work on stuff while I was on the road.”

  “That’s okay. We’re taking this at your pace. Always.”

  He nodded
, but still appeared tense. Built like a line-backer with the heart of a lion, he was more comfortable blowing methyl hydrate into his transmission than he was being surrounded by books.

  “I wish you’d relax,” Maureen said. “It’s an adult literacy program, not a secret society.” But it was a secret, which she’d alluded to in her radio interview. Lonnie’s troubles had come to a head when he was pulled over for a traffic violation and couldn’t read the citation. The officer—Ray Tolley—was the only one besides Maureen who knew the real problem. “You’d make faster progress if you could take some of the classes at the community college—”

  “I’m not going to classes,” Lonnie said. “I went all the way through the tenth grade and never learned a damn thing.”

  “You’re a different person now,” she said. “What are you really afraid of?”

  “Used to be, I was scared of kids teasing me, you know. Looking a fool. Now I’m scared I’ll never get good at reading and writing, and I’ll let people down.”

  “You’re already getting good at it,” she assured him. They’d been working together for a year, sneaking around like a couple of adulterers because he was so self-conscious about his inability to read. “But Lonnie, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do this with you.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “The library’s scheduled to close at the end of the year. I’ll have to get another job, and I don’t know where that’ll leave us.”

  “Whaddya mean, closing? The library can’t close.”

  She explained about the financial crisis. “We’re still trying to raise funds, but it’s not looking good,” she said.

  “The library can’t close,” he repeated. He pushed aside the Tango Delta novel and took a sheet of lined paper from the binder. “I’m gonna need help with this. I want to write a letter.”

  “What kind of letter?”

  “You know, to the newspaper. And…I guess we can send copies to the city and county and state. Wherever you think it’ll do some good.”