Since Shep hadn’t heard Jefferson, confusion flashed over his face.
“Hey,” I greeted him. “Come on in.”
“Thanks,” he said, following so closely behind me that I had to stop breathing to avoid taking in some of his delicious, soapy scent. I didn’t think throwing myself onto the lips of an unavailable man in front of Jefferson Hendrow and his mother would be a very good idea.
Once Jefferson and his mother were occupied in the children’s section, Shep followed me to the circulation desk. “How are you? Is it getting any easier?” he asked, pushing his watch up and down on his arm. I tried not to look at his wrist. The last time I had, I’d broken out in a cold sweat.
“It’s been a challenge,” I admitted. “But I decided it was time to come back, and I’m trying to focus on the library.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I brought it up,” Shep said awkwardly. “Of course, of course.”
I shook my head. I hadn’t meant to be rude.
He cleared his throat. “So, Dodie, do you have a new recommendation for me?”
I nodded, thinking of the white paper bag upstairs that contained the copy of The Lady of the Camellias that I might never have the courage to give him. Two copies, actually. I had lovingly nestled my own worn copy into the bag, too, sap that I am.
“Here you go.” I handed him Bleak House instead. I had saved Dickens until I knew his tastes pretty well; Esther Summerson was one of my all-time favorite characters—and, I secretly admitted to myself, the book was nice and long.
As much as I loved seeing him regularly, the little reflection and distance I’d gotten over recent weeks made me think it might be helpful if Shep didn’t come to the library quite so often. That and the fact that during our weekend together, Maddie had said the exact words, “Maybe it might be helpful if Shep didn’t come to the library quite so often.”
I couldn’t imagine hurting his feelings by suggesting in any open way to cool it on the visits, so this was the best I had come up with. Well, the best I’d come up with for keeping him away had actually been Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, at a shorter but far denser 720 pages, but I wasn’t sure a novel about a tuberculosis sanatorium would leave the door open for future romance if he were ever single again.
Shep frowned when I laid it on the desk.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing, I just . . . it’s going to be a busy week at the site, so it’ll probably take me a while to get through this book.”
“You might be surprised,” I said. “It’s a pretty quick read.” I wasn’t doing a very good job with this. “But it’s probably ideal if it takes some time.” Oops, I hadn’t meant for that last part to be audible.
“Why would that be ideal?” he said quickly.
“Because . . . it’s a book you should savor,” I covered. “Something I think you’ll enjoy,” I added, because his frown had gotten a little deeper.
“I’ve been enjoying finishing the books quickly,” he said, gazing right at me.
I swallowed, fighting very hard against the urge to look away. “Oh yeah? Why is that?”
“I guess I like . . . this library,” he said. “And you have very good taste.”
I’ll say, I thought, wanting to kiss him badly enough that I had to look away.
“Thanks,” I replied, both desperately hoping for him to leave and desperately wishing he would stay.
“Okay, Dodie, I’d better head out,” Shep said after another long pause.
“Bye, Shep.” He was still frowning, so I couldn’t help myself; as he was leaving, I said, “Maybe you can find a way to get more reading done this week than you think.”
He turned around, and a slow smile spread over his face. “I hope so,” he replied, and then he was gone. I smiled to think of the bookmark I’d dared to hide deep in the pages. “Hope is one of the most priceless riches.”
A few hours later, I closed the library and reshelved all the books that had been returned. The scent of Shep lingered in the air, mingling with the delicious smell of pages and pages of books still to be read. I sat down in the squishy chair and read the comment cards and breathed it all in until it was time to drag myself off to bed. My first day back and my spirits were already feeling a little lighter thanks to my beloved library. It really did help.
—NINE—
April 2008
My other salvation was school. I was no longer sleepwalking through the day; I was back to running around like a chicken with my head cut off.
“Could you pass the glue stick, Miss Fairisle?” Jonah Brownlee asked me. A construction-paper frog—an impressively realistic replica of the poisonous blue tree variety—hung from his fingertips. I handed him the glue, and he swept it over the little tab at the back that would make it stand up straight in his diorama.
“Should Eve’s hair be longer?” Schuyler asked, pulling on my sleeve.
Wow, that was some surprising anatomical detail for a third-grade art project. These kids obviously had access to films that I hadn’t at their age. Or nudist colonies.
“Yes, definitely. Do you want some more corn silk?” I rushed to say, pushing the shoebox of it over to her. “And how about one of these miniclovers for Adam?”
“Miss Fairisle, Miss Fairisle,” came Cameron’s voice from the other side of the room, so urgently I was afraid he might have maimed himself with the safety scissors. “What do you think?” he asked as soon as I got over to his work space. “Does it say Fosse to you?”
I peered inside the diorama. It was clearly the work of a child who’d grown up with show business parents and had inhaled a lot of glitter. I loved it.
“Amazing!” I definitely hadn’t provided the metallic stretch fabric he had swathed his dancers in. He must have brought it from home. I grinned to think of the kids being so invested in the project. Day three, and the dioramas were shaping up.
“Miss Fairisle, are there any more antique lace doilies left I can cut up?” Lavinia asked.
“Miss Fairisle, Miss Fairisle, could you take a look at this . . .”
On it went until the end of class and the end of the day. Being that busy was a relief. It took some of the weight off my shoulders before I headed to Mackie and Jeff’s house. It also helped me concentrate until the moment I pulled into my driveway each afternoon, heart leaping into my throat. It wasn’t right to feel this way about a guy with a girlfriend.
And it certainly wasn’t right the way hope washed over me after his friend Mike visited.
“Hey, Dodie,” he greeted me after he’d gathered up an armful of comics to check out. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know, hanging in there. How’s everything with you?”
“Great. The kids are finally getting good grades, and it’s made Lula and me veeeery happy.” There was a devious twinkle in his eye. Too much information, but I didn’t begrudge anyone else just because it had been . . . sooo . . . very . . . long . . . for me.
“Nice! Um, how are things going at the mall site?”
“Okay. A little tense on the job. Shep’s been on edge a lot lately,” Mike said.
“Is everything all right? Is he okay? I mean . . . um . . .” I seriously had to rein in my concern. Mike was studying my face as if he knew something.
“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. I think he and his girlfriend have been fighting a lot.”
Holy Hanukkah present in April! I thought, and then, Shut up—that’s not nice.
“Apparently she said he acted really detached in front of her parents and accused him of being emotionally limited,” Mike continued. “Like, she doesn’t think he’ll ever . . . sorry, Dodie, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I will can it. Always say too much, Lula tells me.” His sly smile told me that the gossip hadn’t been an accident, though. Oh, gosh, did Shep know how I felt about him? And that was how Mike knew? I had to play it cool.
“Nothing to worry about,” I reassured him, slipping bookmarks I’d written for people into the
books I had set aside for them. “I’ll forget we even had this conversation.”
Except that was about as likely as being the victim of a land shark attack. Poor Shep. I hoped things would work out for the best . . . whatever that meant for him. I couldn’t help thinking, though, about the passion I saw smoldering in his eyes when he talked about books. That didn’t seem very emotionally limited to me. What Mike had said about Shep’s poetic spirit echoed in my mind too.
It was important to remember that Shep was still taken, and I needed to resolve to meet someone available. Would it hurt anyone if I allowed myself two little weeks, maybe three, to indulge in the memory of Shep’s soapy smell as he followed me into the library or the way his Boudin-ocean eyes became almost an Ingres black blue when something in a book particularly affected him? Okay, maybe I would give myself a month for good measure.
The following Monday, I was reading bits of the love story between Kitty and Levin out loud to Chloë from a recently donated copy of Anna Karenina. On the bookmark slipped inside was one of Monet’s haystack pictures, the light all golden and periwinkle, and I had written, “The quietest love stories are the best to be savored.”
“Convinced to give it another try yet?” I asked. “Oh, no, Joey,” I cried out, peering over Chloë’s shoulder, “could you please color on the construction paper instead of in How the Grinch Stole Christmas? And Sandra, I think that plant has enough water now. Thank you for being such a good helper!”
Chloë did not look convinced. “Suicide by train? How very undignified.” She sniffed, but she held open the book for me to stamp anyway.
Oh no. Irish soap. My heart started to pound. I peeked out from under my eyelids.
“Hi, Dodie. Do you have any of these?” Shep pushed a little list toward me, where he’d jotted down friends’ recommendations.
“Did you finish Bleak House already?” I asked.
“No, but I think that one will take me a while. I’m going to multitask.” He flashed a smile at me that flambéed my underwear.
I scanned the list, trying not to wonder what he’d been up to over the weekend.
“I don’t have these here,” I said. “Except I just finished reading this one, The Elegance of the Hedgehog, and it’s on my nightstand. It will make you laugh, and it will break your heart. I don’t usually do this, but I could lend you my own copy if you promise to take good care of it.”
A lot of the books in the lending library were indeed mine, so it was somewhat of an arbitrary distinction. Maybe I liked the idea of having a sort of secret with him. Judging by the look on his face, he seemed to like it too. Almost, I would say—if I hadn’t been so out of practice with men—as though he was wondering what my nightstand and the rest of the room looked like.
“Would you mind holding down the fort here?” I asked. “I’m going to go grab that book, and I’ll be right back.”
“Here you are,” I said, passing the book to him, wishing again that I’d had the time to choose the perfect bookmark and quote to go with it.
As soon as he left, I started to wonder if I’d made a mistake. Both of the main characters were female, one of them an odd recluse and the other a twelve-year-old suicidal bookworm. It might not be his thing at all.
But when Shep returned at the end of the week, the dark circles under his eyes were gone. He looked relieved, lighter. “I really want to thank you. This book was so moving.”
“My pleasure.”
“Listen, could I take you out for dinner this weekend to thank you properly?” he offered.
Holy Knights of the Round Table! “I’m not sure . . . I mean, maybe it would be better if . . .” I was trying to be cautious even though every fiber in me was shouting, Say yes, you idiot! He might still be with his girlfriend. Or grieving, if things had ended recently.
Then again, maybe not.
“Okay,” I finished before he could rescind the invitation.
He said nothing, but his sudden huge grin flooded my chest with excitement. There would be time on Saturday night to find out where things stood.
Before I closed up the sunroom library for the night, I hung some drawings a few kids had made that day for the bulletin board. They might as well have been Monets to me. Like some lovesick schoolgirl, I kissed every book before I reshelved it. They were my babies, after all. And they smelled sooo good.
Kendra came over on Saturday to do double duty. As a volunteer for kids’ story circle in the library, her rendition of Animal Boogie nearly brought the house down. As my wardrobe consultant afterward, she showed the patience of Job while I tore apart my entire closet and dresser looking for the perfect outfit.
“That’s it,” she finally breathed when I put on a pearl-purple silk top with a gray skirt that swung out over the knees. I was pretty sure the top had been one of the first things I’d tried on, but I was also pretty sure she was right. The outfit made me feel comfortable.
“Go get ’em, girl. I’ll let myself out,” Kendra said, sifting through my belts. “Oh, and Dodie?”
“Yes?” I said.
“You might want to hide that,” she suggested, pointing to a copy of Parenting magazine that had slipped out from between two fashion glossies.
I reddened and, stuffing it into the bottom of the trash can without meeting her eyes, said, “It’s really weird. They sent me a free subscription when I signed up for Elle Decor.”
“Uh-huh,” Kendra said.
Shep rang my doorbell right on time. When I opened the door, I gave him a quick smile. I couldn’t look him in the face again as he stood beside the car door. Or as he drove. I couldn’t manage it until I had no choice but to make eye contact because we were sitting across from each other at the restaurant. I was way too sure that my schoolgirl crush would be stamped across my forehead.
The menu gave us something to do. I glanced at Shep’s sexy wrist as he handed back the menu and promptly forgot what I’d ordered. Get a grip, I told myself. It’s only a wrist! And you have talked to this man less than a dozen times.
“So,” Shep said.
“So.”
Before I could launch into a stream of chatter to fill the silence, Shep began. “So I used to be really afraid of heights when I was a kid. Terrified. My brothers gave me so much hell about it. There was this low bridge over a creek near where we used to go in the summers in Massachusetts, and they all jumped off it, and that was still too high for me even though you could almost touch the water with your feet if you sat on the edge of the bridge. Then I figured I had better get over it if I wanted to work in construction, and so I started offering to take the jobs up on the scaffolding, and it scared the crap out of me the first few times until I realized it was all in my head. Not vertigo or anything. Just, you know, that I must have thought I was supposed to be scared. And now it doesn’t seem any different to me. It’s sort of like when . . .” Shep stopped abruptly. “Sorry,” he said. “This is totally unlike me. I never talk this much.”
“Oh really? I do all the time!” I joked, trying to put him at ease. Oh no. Would he be insulted that I agreed he was talking a lot?
“I guess I’m . . . nervous,” he admitted.
I breathed in and out five times, slowly and deeply, through my nose. Then I said, “Me too.” His hand was so close to mine I could almost touch it. Then—I’m not sure how—I was touching it.
“So what brings you to Chatsworth?” I asked, finally able to meet his eyes.
“You heard about the new outdoor mall they’re building, right?”
Yes, I had. At first I had grumbled about it. I had already become protective of Chatsworth’s charm, and I didn’t like the idea of chain stores—high end or otherwise—changing the face of it and competing with the family-run stores on Main Street. Sullivan had told me to stop being a snob. “The more, the merrier.” She was probably right. I knew that was the site where Mike and Ramon worked. And of course I liked it even better now that I knew it had brought Shep here.
�
��So do you have a specialty? I’m not really sure how that works,” I admitted.
“I pretty much do everything, but I love the details like carpentry and tile and working with those people toward the end of the process. If there hadn’t been so many of us kids going to college in my family, I would have tried to go to architecture school afterward. I love fixing things up.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Boats.” He grinned.
“Boats?”
“Yep. I grew up in New London, a five-minute walk from the water. At first I helped out as a kid to make some extra cash, but by high school I got really passionate about it, and now it’s a big hobby.”
“Is it weird being in Chatsworth then?”
“Well, we’re not exactly landlocked here. There’s a boat workshop near the water about twenty minutes away in Eagle Ridge, and it’s only a half hour to the coast.”
“Sure. But don’t they say that once you live by the water, you always want to?”
“That’s definitely true. In theory, this is a temporary job in Chatsworth anyway.”
Oh, mud. So anything that happened between us had an expiration date on it. I swallowed my disappointment. “How long do they expect the mall to take?” I asked as casually as I could manage.
“Probably about a year. But I could always sign on to another project in the area if I like it here as much as I think I will,” he added.
That was enough of a hopeful thought for me.
When he walked me to my door at the end of the night and said softly, “I’d like to return that book to where it came from,” I surprised myself by agreeing. I hadn’t had a man in my room since I was with Daniel years before.
Shep looked around eagerly when we got there. The curiosity on his face made me smile. He placed the book on the nightstand next to the little bud vase I’d filled with forget-me-nots in the hopes, I realized, that I might find myself in this exact moment.
The Lending Library Page 12