The Lending Library

by Fogelson, Aliza

  “Why?” I asked, savagely swiping at some intractable Indian curry in the bottom of a bowl.

  “Because it seems like you have a murderous vendetta against your dishes, and I’m sure you would actually like to keep them.”

  I paused. “I’m angry,” I admitted . . . to him and to myself for the first time.

  Shep’s eyebrows rose. He looked like I’d announced, I’m a yellow-bellied sapsucker, as though he knew what that was but had no experience with what to do with one.

  “Who are you pissed at?” he asked, rescuing the dishes from me. I plopped onto the couch.

  “Mackie and Jeff.”

  “Why? You don’t blame them, do you?”

  “I get that they’re worried about what kind of life Terabithia will have with them, but they’re not that old. I mean, yes, I know that Mackie has vision issues and Jeff has a hip problem and angina, and I know that they’d be ninety or so when he goes to college”—Whoa, I thought, ninety! I was losing steam as the words came out of my mouth—“but that’s seventeen years away! And how could they imagine letting anyone else raise him? Knowing that his new parents might not let Mackie and Jeff see him as much as they want? Knowing they will probably miss his first day of kindergarten? His first soccer game? His first—”

  Shep interrupted, seeing me regather steam and knowing from experience that I could keep going for quite a while. “I hear you. And you’re right. They’ve probably thought of all of that. So look at it this way, Do: think what a selfless thing they’d be doing. Setting aside how much they’d miss him so that he could have a safer, fuller life with someone else. It’s an impossible gift to imagine.”

  I put my head on his chest as soon as he sat down. “But they’re the only family he knows,” I protested. “Besides me, of course.” My words echoed in my mind. An idea was dawning. I thought of the calendar under my bed, which was now crawling with the red Xs I’d sneaked in once a month since December.

  Besides me.

  Of course. It was the solution to all my problems—my grinding-to-a-halt reproductive system, my aching desire to have a baby—and maybe to Mackie and Jeff’s problems too.

  Dodie to the rescue!

  After my initial anger-fueled resolution wore off, logic started to set in. Was I sure I could do this? To be a mother by myself? On a teacher’s salary and with a library to take care of? I was already stretching each month to keep it going and had pretty much ruled out the possibility of taking a real vacation for another year or so. When I looked into the expenses typically associated with adoption—the home visits alone would cost in the thousands—I wondered if I was biting off more than I could chew. While Shep was downstairs watching baseball, I headed upstairs and called my mom, looking for a dose of reality.

  “What did you like least about being a mother?” I asked.

  She was silent for so long I thought the line had gone dead. “Mom?”

  “Yes, darling, I’m trying to remember.”

  I waited.

  “You know, all that seems so silly now. I mean, sure, there were times where Maddie had terrible colic or you had reflux or Coco would throw a tantrum and roll around on the supermarket floor, but there were so many joyous times. The first time your hair was long enough for a ribbon—you were quite a baldy for the first couple of years. It was more like peach fuzz,” she reminded me. “And the poems you used to write in school, and Maddie’s contrite little face after having to walk the blacktop as punishment. And the way Coco used to run to pet Kirby after doing something wrong, as if showing the dog affection proved she was still a good person.” She laughed.

  This was not helping.

  “What about the times we were sick or injured, when we fell out of our cribs or skinned our noses or had terrible strep throat?”

  “Yes, those were awful times,” she agreed. “And when your father left, of course . . . it was hard to go through that and even harder to watch you all going through it. We had some really lean years, and sometimes I felt like I was barely holding it together. Still . . . I was lucky that you were such great girls and that Walter came along when he did.”

  “It can be so scary being a mother, can’t it?” I pressed on.

  “Definitely.” She was quiet for a moment while I tried not to choke on the ache I felt at the thought of losing Terabithia.

  “Then on the other hand,” she countered, “that fear, that vulnerability, reminds you of the depth of your love because it shows you how much you have to lose.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I sighed.

  “It’s okay, honey,” she murmured.

  Spooned into Shep in bed that night, I listened to his even breathing. A branch tapped on the window. It sounded almost like hail. It hit again, loudly. Shep startled awake. I don’t ever remember a branch doing that before, I thought as I trailed off into sleep.

  A short time later, I sensed him slipping back under the covers. His body was rigid.

  “You okay?” I asked drowsily.

  “Yeah,” he grunted.

  “Was it a branch?”

  “No.”

  “Was it hail?” Sleep was falling away from me like a robe.

  “It was nothing, hon.”

  “You sure?”

  No answer. Now I was stark awake. I went to the bathroom. Out the window, I glimpsed a flash of brown: a nosy night bird trying to spy on us, then winging away under the trees.

  By the time I finally fell back to sleep, light was beginning to seep into the darkness.

  What made my mom such an incredible mother? I asked myself many times over the next few days. It was too hard to try to parse it that way, like separating water molecules from the ocean. There had been so many moments where she showed me what it meant to be joyous, full of wonder and kindness.

  “Oh my gosh, Walter, pull over, pull over!” she had cried on one trip home from Maddie’s soccer game, craning her neck to see the full ground-to-sky arc of a rainbow miles wide, its ends disappearing into the trees far away to each side of us. It was vivid, Rainbow Brite–like. She was smiling from ear to ear.

  Then there was the time we went to Atlantic City. After playing the quarter slots side by side for a while, I left her at an Elvis one and moseyed into the next aisle to the Lucky Horseshoes. A handful of quarters later, I returned. My mom was standing in front of the machine wheezing with laughter and pointing. Quarters poured out, repeating that delicious pinging noise you think only happens in the movies. I looked up at the King gratefully. It figures, I thought, cracking up at the sound (or lack thereof) of my mother’s infectious laughter.

  We swept the coins into a bunch of plastic cups, feeling like celebrities as a crowd gathered.

  “How much?” I asked her.

  “Eight hundred quarters! Two hundred dollars!” she cried. She paused, her voice growing serious. She could buy herself a new bag or a fabulous dress. Instead, she said, “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I get you your own hotel room so that Walter’s snoring doesn’t keep you awake?”

  A week passed since the restless night with Shep, and he had been quieter than usual with circles under his eyes to match mine. I didn’t know what was going on in his head. Maybe making dinner at home would give us the chance to open up, even if, truthfully, I didn’t want to talk about myself at all.

  “It’s zucchini-lemon pesto pappardelle.” I set it down in front of him and held the grater over his plate. “Parmesan?”

  “Hit me,” he said, rubbing my hip and smiling up at me.

  A mound of snow descended onto the pasta. I let it pile up the way he liked. Then I started grating cheese over my own plate.

  “Do,” Shep began, “I was wondering, how are you doing?”

  “Fine. How are you?”

  “No, really, how are you? I feel like we haven’t talked much about it since you told me and both of us have been so . . . busy . . . but I know you must be having such a hard time with the news that Mackie and Jeff might—”

  “Don’t
say it!” I cried, putting up my hand to stop him.

  He took it gently and kissed the palm. “Give Terabithia up for adoption,” he finished.

  “I’m sad about it,” I allowed.

  “I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing just the right amount. I felt the soft, strong pressure of his lips on the top of my head, once, twice, three times, like some sort of good luck charm. “Talk to me about it. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  My spine stiffened. I couldn’t tell him the truth. He would think I was crazy if I confessed that I was considering trying to adopt Terabithia with no savings, a small enough income for one person, a library that wasn’t even a year old, and only babysitting experience before Terabithia. How could I talk about how much I wanted Terabithia without admitting how much I craved a baby in general? It wasn’t hard to guess how my (unbelievably amazing) boyfriend of only a few months would react to that revelation. I decided to keep it to myself.

  “Terabithia has been through so much. To lose Sullivan . . . so young . . . totally out of the blue . . . and he can’t even communicate. We don’t know what he’s thinking or what to do to help him or how to make it better because how do you make that better? I wouldn’t even know how to make it better for anyone. It’s so senseless. And this means that although he may find some loving new parents”—I flinched as I said the words—“he’s going to lose Mackie and Jeff. Even if they get to see him now and then, it’s not the same. It’s like this whole adjustment he has to make again. More loss. The way they love him—the fact that they want to keep him but feel they can’t in order to give him his best chance at a great life—it guts me.”

  Shep nodded. “What about you and how you feel about Terabithia?”

  I knew what he meant. His words, the look on his face, filled me with . . . love. He really saw me—saw through me and realized there was something I was holding back. The heart of the issue. Terabithia. Not Dad too.

  I knew I had to tell him about Not Dad eventually. But a part of me was afraid that if he knew I’d been abandoned before, he would leave now instead of letting me think he was in it for the long haul.

  I shook off these dark thoughts and looked into those beautiful oceanic eyes, so full of the earnest wish to hear me out. I couldn’t tell him about Terabithia. Two months together. It was too soon, too much of a risk.

  “I’ll be all right. I just really adore that little guy,” I said in as light a tone of voice as I could.

  Shep nodded, like he didn’t believe me but wasn’t going to push it any further. I gave him a big hug and said, “Enough about me. What I really wanted to talk about tonight was you. You seem preoccupied. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I guess I have been distracted lately,” he acknowledged, gazing off into the distance . . . not even realizing he was confirming it.

  “What’s on your mind?” I asked, terrified that he was going to answer, An apprenticeship in boatbuilding on the Amazon River.

  He picked at a thread that was starting to wear loose on his jeans right around the knee. “Nothing particular. Work stuff mostly.”

  That meant something other than work stuff. “Is everything okay at the site?”

  “Yeah. Some of the guys are getting on each other’s nerves. It happens a lot in the summer. It’s so hot out there sometimes—we’re baking in the sun, and people get kind of pissy over stupid things.”

  “What else besides work?” This was excruciating. I hated conflict even more than I hated those scary caveman-style BBQ turkey legs on steroids they served at Disney World. I got straight to the point. “South America?”

  “South America?” Shep repeated, confused.

  “When we were at L’Epicure, you mentioned . . .”

  “Oh,” he said, as if remembering something that had happened in the distant past instead of weeks ago. “Oh, yeah. Who knows what I was even talking about? Sometimes I get these crazy ideas, like escape fantasies . . . this week I was reading about the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo. Anyway, never mind. You want to see if there’s anything good on TV?”

  I nodded, happy to be released. As I sank down into the perfect space under his arm, something didn’t quite fit. Had Shep dropped the South America idea because I’d told him about Terabithia’s possible adoption? Or had he really forgotten so quickly? Because there was something even bigger on his mind? What was he trying to escape from? For someone as evasive as I was these days, I had the sneaking feeling my own questions had been avoided. My fear of the answers was apparently stronger than my desire to find out because when Shep started stroking my hair and eased me back against the couch, I let it all go.

  After I closed up the library on Saturday, I spent the afternoon with the O’Reillys.

  “Mackie, you’re so quiet today,” I pointed out while playing with magnetic tiles with Boo. Mackie had barely even glanced in my direction since I’d arrived. “Is everything okay?”

  She gave me a tight smile. “Yes, actually, there’s been some good news on the adoption front.”

  My heart sank. So soon? No news could be good news on the adoption front, I thought. Then, That’s so selfish of you. Think of Terabithia!

  “Oh, really? And what’s that?”

  “There’s a couple who’s interested. Jeff and I are meeting with them on Monday. Dodie, are you all right? You look really pale.”

  “Yes, I, well, it’s hard to think of . . . no, I mean, it’s really, it’s really—” God, was I going to burst into tears? No, I was not! I swallowed hard and squeaked out, “Promising.”

  “We thought so too,” said Mackie, looking about as miserable as I felt.

  “What do you know about them?”

  “Let’s see: the husband teaches paleontology at Fairfield University, and the wife works at a nonprofit that specializes in microfinance in third-world countries.” Mackie handed me a photo. “That’s Jed and Eileen right there.”

  He seemed fit, like a runner, with tidy, close-cropped hair on the sides and more height on top. His eyes were kind. His wife had a mumsy haircut, but she didn’t look mumsy. There was something about her mouth that seemed tart, maybe even cruel. I was about to air my concern when I noticed Mackie’s expression.

  I . . . I couldn’t do it. She looked so . . . hopeful.

  “They seem like they’d be nice, right?”

  Something inside me cracked a little as I whispered, “Sure.”

  After an awkward moment, I offered to come on Monday. “Give you and Jeff a second opinion? Er . . . um . . . third opinion? Or watch Boo so you and Jeff can focus?”

  “Thanks, dear, but that’s all right. It might be better if there aren’t too many of us so Terabithia doesn’t get overwhelmed. Besides, he’s so enamored of you he probably wouldn’t pay a scrap of attention to Jed and Eileen.”

  “You’re going to introduce them to Terabithia?” This was all moving so . . . fast . . .

  Mackie’s brow furrowed. “You think it’s too soon? Maybe Jeff and I should meet with them first, now that you mention it . . .”

  “Good idea,” I said solemnly. If Jed and Eileen met Terabithia, they’d be goners. But I was so sick of my sabotaging self by then that I had to get out of there. “Well, listen, I should be heading home, but let me know how it goes on Monday, okay?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Out of curiosity, what time is your meeting?” I asked. Mackie was looking at me strangely. “I want to make sure not to call you then and interrupt,” I explained.

  “They’ll be here around three thirty.”

  I gave her a hug. “Good luck.”

  On Monday after school, it was a particularly nice day for a drive. The quickest route home would sort of take me past Mackie and Jeff’s. I couldn’t help but notice that it was 3:07. Maybe I’ll just sneak a little peek at Jed and Eileen, I thought. Only a teeny one.

  It was best to be unobtrusive. I didn’t want to screw things up, after all. (Okay, well, I sort of did, but I was
n’t actually going to act that crazy.) To be extra careful, I parked my car down the street, hopped the fence over the neighbor’s yard, and slunk around the back of Mackie and Jeff’s house. I situated myself right under one of the living room windows in a flower bed, careful not to trounce any of the plants. Jed and Eileen were two minutes late. Ha! Nice first impression, I thought, pulling a book of short stories out of my purse. Might as well make use of my time.

  A moment later, a blue minivan pulled up in the driveway. Space for a kid, I noted begrudgingly.

  I couldn’t see Jed and Eileen entering the house without leaving my perch and risking being spotted through the window, so I waited three torturous minutes while they made their introductions in the hall, and then Mackie and Jeff showed them to the living room couch. Jed was wearing a pale-blue-and-white-checked shirt and sky-blue pants. Eileen had on a long dress with a collar and flared sleeves. She looked like an escapee from a Laura Ashley cult. That doesn’t mean anything. You, of all people, should know not to judge a book by its cover. I was going to be impartial, to make myself proud, I resolved, pushing aside the thought that spying on their meeting was not exactly . . .

  What? What in the Henry Higgins?

  Mackie leaned down and picked up Terabithia, who must have been in his exersaucer. It took everything in me not to bang on the window and yell, “I thought you weren’t going to introduce them!”

  Jed’s and Eileen’s faces were only partially visible, but their posture made it clear: they were melting over Terabithia.

  I reconsidered: Eileen’s mouth didn’t seem cruel after all. She might just not be very photogenic. I couldn’t deny that her eyes seemed kind too.

  Nooooo . . .

  After a few more minutes, while I alternated between feeling terrible and feeling reassured, Mackie turned, and Terabithia was now facing over her shoulder. Looking directly at me. Or at least at the top of my head and my eyeballs. He grinned. His mouth dropped open. I couldn’t hear through the soundproof glass, but as his jaw opened and shut twice, I knew he was saying “Dada!”

  Ooooops. That was my cue. I ducked down as quick as a wink and crawled around the back of the house.