The Lending Library

by Fogelson, Aliza

  Shep was standing as still as a statue. His face had gone white. I could hear him swallow as he stepped back and released me.

  We stood there for a few minutes looking at each other. His eyes were as dark as the trees in a Bierstadt painting. I felt the blood drain from my heart. He had no response. He didn’t want a baby with me right now. From the horrified, trapped look on his face, I wasn’t sure he wanted one with me at all anymore.

  “Shep? What about you? What do you want?” I had waited too long to ask him this question, but it was my last hope.

  His voice was quiet, eerily calm. “I want to go to South America.”

  —TWENTY-ONE—

  March 2009

  Coco called twice each day with reports of Terabithia. It soothed me enormously. I could hear him chatting happily in the background. It didn’t sleet anymore in the weeks after Shep left. Every day was sunny. It seemed cruel that the warm weather kept breaking through while I shivered in bed at night without him next to me.

  I hadn’t called Kendra to let her know. The day after Shep broke up with me, Geraldine had come to sit with me. She would tell Kendra, or Kendra would hear it through the grapevine. After dozens of unreturned calls to her, I couldn’t bear another rejection. Maybe my friendship with her wasn’t as strong as I had thought. Sullivan had been our connection, and while it seemed like our friendship had taken on a depth of its own, it had been less than two years that I’d known her well. Even if she cared but was still angry at me, we’d have to have a conversation to repair our relationship, and I didn’t know if I had the strength to rehash the ways I’d failed her too.

  Kendra didn’t call when she found out about Shep; she came right over with a hot pizza and a bottle of wine and more cannoli than any two people could eat. Except us.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said as brightly as I could, still in shock about the breakup. It was too strange to be real, too impossible to sink in. I loved him too much to believe he had really left me, especially right after I had lost Terabithia. But I had already taken off the ring because it hurt to look at it.

  “How are you now?” she insisted.

  “Fine, really,” I mumbled.

  Kendra opened the box toward me. I took out a piece of pizza, dropping it onto one of my dark-blue plates with the white flowers etched into the rim. These plates always made me happy. They reminded me of dinners with my family. My mother gave them to me when I graduated from art school. Sullivan and I had eaten tons of takeout and a few home-cooked meals on them in New York, and a few—too few—here in Chatsworth.

  Kendra put a slice on her plate. The pizza was steaming hot. I took a huge bite anyway, feeling the lavalike cheese slip over my tongue, all grassy, garlicky, buttery goodness.

  We munched in silence for a few minutes. I still didn’t want to talk about myself or about what had happened between us, but I wanted to hear about her, and I knew that I had to plow through the mess for that to happen.

  “Kendra, I am so sorry for being MIA. For causing you pain, for not being around to hear about Benton, for being so selfish.”

  “You really pissed me off, Do. I told you I would help you with the library. And you let me a little, but then it was like you forgot what a big commitment it was. People were counting on you.”

  “I know. I let everyone down.”

  “You have to be better, or you have to take more help, or you have to close it up for good.”

  “I know. I will. Be better, I mean.”

  “And will you keep it up even if you decide to adopt or have a baby?”

  “I can’t say for sure.”

  “Please think about it. Realize that the people in Chatsworth have come to count on it. At some point—who knows when—the town library is going to reopen. They’ve been making slow progress, but it’s moving along. If you don’t want to do this anymore, you could close when they open, and no one would blame you. They’d miss it, but they wouldn’t blame you.”

  A terrible pain squeezed my heart. Close the library? I couldn’t do that.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said anyway. “What about us? What can I do?”

  Kendra sighed. “The thing is, after you dropped off the map, it got to the point where so much time had passed where I hadn’t told you things because you weren’t really there to hear them that it seemed too difficult to catch you up.”

  My heart sank. That sounded almost . . . irrecoverable.

  “Will you catch me up now? I’m here, Kendra. I mean it. I won’t disappear again like that.”

  “It’s going to take time, Do. To catch you up. And to feel as though you’re there for me. But I want to try.”

  She wanted to try. That was all I needed to know.

  I sprang a huge hug on her. She hugged right back.

  “I’m so happy for you.” I changed the subject. “Let me see this ring.” She shrugged, probably afraid of adding to my pain. I reached out and pulled her hand toward me. “How gorgeous.” The square sparked in the light.

  “Thanks,” Kendra said, her cheeks tinged pink beneath the freckles.

  “I don’t expect you to repeat the full story for my benefit, but I want to hear as much of it as you’re willing to tell.”

  She grinned and dove right in. “You know how we always used to think Benton could use a muzzle? Even though we appreciated how good natured he was? Well, in the past few months, he’s been there every day. Almost every time I was at the lending library as well as in the teachers’ lounge. At first I think I mostly tolerated it. Maybe I was a little lonely.” She looked up quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty—”

  I swallowed and shook my head, urging her on.

  “Anyway, he was always talking, talking, talking. Sometimes I listened. Sometimes I tuned him out. It never diminished his enthusiasm for talking. One day, when he wasn’t around, the silence felt strange. I missed the sound of his voice. I wanted to hear it more often. Can you believe that?” Kendra laughed.

  I laughed too. Nope, I couldn’t believe that.

  “So I guess I realized it works for me. I went out on some other dates, but I found myself thinking I could never really imagine so-and-so confusing the daylights out of me—and intriguing me—by talking about the relationship between bird plumage and natural selection. Or even engaging in a really brainless conversation about whether it would be better to be the Wonder Twin who gets to be an ice cube or the one who gets to be an animal.”

  I grinned. This gave me an idea for a Celebrate Cartoons Day at the library. The kids in my class were always talking about the cartoons they watched, and the cartoons were beautiful and fantastic and transporting. But it was clear that my students didn’t know the magic of classic cartoons—the ones with outlines and only two dimensions.

  “When summer was coming, I realized that it wouldn’t be as easy for him to appear in my day-to-day. I said, ‘You know, Benton, maybe we should go out to dinner sometime.’

  “He gave me a big smile. I had come to love that smile. It is always so earnest. Then he said, ‘Thank God you finally asked me. I was afraid I was going to run out of things to say.’

  “Obviously, that cracked us both up. We didn’t plan a date for another night. Instead we went directly to this amazing restaurant at an inn he knew of about an hour from here. I kept thinking, Dodie would love this place.

  “It was the best date I’d ever had. He asked me if I wanted to meet for breakfast the next morning, and we did. I love spending time with him. I miss him when he’s gone. So yep, this fall I’ll become Mrs. Benton. I can hardly wait.”

  I gave her another bear hug. “Kendra, that is wonderful. A story-circle-worthy tale! You deserve it. You both do. I can’t wait to spend more time with him. Outside of the teachers’ lounge and the library!”

  “Speaking of which, how are things going with the library . . . um . . . situation?” Kendra asked gingerly.

  “Much better.�
�� I sighed with relief. “It’s up and running, and I have a plan to get the word out at school, with Elmira’s help, of course.”

  Kendra squeezed my hand. “I’m so happy to hear it. It’s your Tara.”

  My Tara?

  “Listen, Do, Benton’s parents are in town, and they want me to meet them for cocktails. I could stay here instead and hang with them some other time, though.”

  “No, you should spend time with your new in-laws-to-be,” I urged her. “Thanks for coming over. For being patient with me while I figure it all out.”

  “I am sorry I shut you out. As mad as I was, I should have been there for you. I didn’t realize what a rough time you were going through.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I know you will,” she said, putting her hand over mine. “But just to be sure, have the last cannoli when I’m gone.”

  Maddie took off work to come and stay with me. She probably expected to find me completely depressed, but she was surprised.

  “What do you want to watch?” I asked her, holding out a bouquet of DVD cases. We were both wearing pj’s—my idea—and I had made a heap of popcorn sprinkled with cumin as well as a big batch of brownies (well, actually, not that big since we’d eaten most of the batter). It was exactly like when we were girls.

  Maddie pulled a face.

  “What’s wrong, Mad?” I asked her. “These are our favorites! What do you think, Pretty in Pink? Or Amélie? Bridget Jones’s Diary? Sixteen Candles? Thirteen Going on Thirty? Or . . . or . . . wait . . .” I dug through the pile in front of me. “What about Some Like It Hot? Serendipity?”

  “Jesus,” Maddie said, pawing through the cabinet under the TV. “It’s like the Romantic Comedy Library of Congress in here.”

  “Of course!” My face hurt from smiling. “Just like always for the Fairisle girls!”

  “Noooo . . . ,” she countered, shaking her head. “I have horror films too. And action films. So does Coco . . . at least she will now that she has a DVD player and not a banana leaf filled with water for her entertainment. This is crazy . . .” Her tone was light, but I could feel her studying me.

  That was nothing compared to when we finished watching Sabrina (the Audrey/Humphrey version, bien sûr) and headed up to bed. When I got back from brushing my teeth, she was standing in front of my bedside table, forehead deeply creased as she took in the tower of books that topped it. I tried not to look her in the eye as I slipped under the covers.

  Maddie perched on the edge of the bed, transferring the books, one by one, into a row in front of me.

  Far from the Madding Crowd. That scene with impetuous Bathsheba and patient Gabriel, who had loved her steadfastly and silently for so many years after her first rejection and finally found the moment and the courage to try again:

  “If I only knew one thing—whether you would allow me to love you and win you and marry you after all—If I only knew that!”

  “But you never will know,” she murmured.

  “Why?”

  “Because you never ask.”

  Emma. When Mr. Knightley finally declares himself to her: “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”

  On it went. Maddie was watching my expression. My face didn’t lie; I could feel the pain and then the pleasure wash over it as I relived each scene that I had reread so many times I had committed them to memory.

  “Do, what are you doing with these?” Her voice was so kind, so gentle, and so unlike Maddie that it was a little troubling. She was obviously worried about me.

  “I like to read.”

  “Duh,” Maddie retorted. Then more softly, “You know what I mean.”

  “They make me feel better. It’s like . . . like . . . romantic catharsis,” I explained.

  “But how much catharsis does one person need? It’s as though you’re drugging yourself with other people’s happy endings.”

  I gasped. Maddie was absolutely right. As she flicked out the lights, I felt the dark sadness I’d sewn up inside me spill out.

  I managed to put on a brave face for the rest of Maddie’s visit, not letting on that our conversation had opened the huge wound I’d been denying.

  Once I admitted to myself how terrible I felt, everything shifted downward. My art projects at school were lackluster at best. At night, after work, I would sit at the circulation desk and help all the happy visitors who had returned, but I couldn’t concentrate on reading anything myself. When I wasn’t in the library, I would avoid being in the rest of my home, where there were too many memories. Geraldine and Kendra kept me busy with dinners and drinks as much as they could, but there were still plenty of evenings where I would close the library at seven as usual, rush to the gym I had joined as a distraction, then wander aimlessly around the grocery store inventing recipes with complicated ingredient lists that would take time to hunt down among the aisles. The house I loved so much waited for me like an old friend I’d grown apart from. I couldn’t find the appetite to eat the meals I made or take any pleasure in making them. My fridge was full of leftovers, and soon so was my freezer.

  After “dinner,” I would put on my pajamas and plunk down at my desk, as if it might inspire me to do something creative or just . . . something. Instead, the only remedy that remotely soothed the ache in my chest was stroking the back of the small horse statue that my student Barnaby had given me. It looked like . . . well, let’s just say it wasn’t perfect. First of all, there was the brown lumpiness. Second of all, one of its ears had broken off. Well, I thought defiantly, none of us are perfect. Even though I knew that wasn’t why Shep had left, I couldn’t help but feel slightly self-righteous, like he wanted me to be flawless and couldn’t handle it when I wasn’t. To the point where he hadn’t even called to check on me. Or written. As time passed, I had to admit it: he hadn’t loved me enough. When things had gotten difficult, he hadn’t been there for me. He hadn’t cared enough to stay.

  On one of my grocery store trips, I ran into Mike in the cereal aisle. “Hey there! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Hey, Do.”

  My chest twisted. Mike only called me that because Shep used to.

  “How’re things?” I managed to say.

  “Good, good. Sorry I haven’t been at the library much lately. I didn’t want you to feel awkward. If, like, my presence reminded you of . . .” He paused, debating inwardly. Oh no. “You know, Shep is in—”

  I held up my palm, shaking my head. Mike’s jaw snapped shut.

  “Unless he needs a book recommendation . . . ,” I whispered, not trusting my voice, worried I’d been rude.

  Mike’s eyes grew wide. “No . . . no, he’s okay.”

  “Then I’m sure he’ll tell me if he wants me to know.”

  “Gotcha. Okay, anyway, the kids and I will see you at story circle on Saturday.”

  “See you then.”

  Concerned about Maddie’s report, Coco came to stay with me and brought Terabithia, knowing he would cheer me up. She looked more beautiful than ever. Helping other people and being a mother really became her. I thought about all the funny postcards she had sent me while in Africa. Especially the one where she was looking at her arm, waiting for a three-foot-long guinea worm to burrow excruciatingly through her skin. I felt like I had guinea worm of the heart.

  “Have you tried to talk to him?” she asked after we put Boo to sleep.

  “No. It seems pointless. He would come back if he wanted to.”

  “Maybe what he wanted was for you to fight for him.”

  That stopped me for a second. “Shep doesn’t play games like that,” I murmured. Out of habit, I brought Barnaby’s horse out from my drawer and began to stroke his back.

  “Doodoo Horse!” Coco cried, snatching him out of my hands. “I was wondering what happened to him.”

  A faint smile played over my lips. Coco and Maddie had burst into a fit of giggles when they first saw the little statue. I hadn’t minded. Too much. After all, in Frenc
h, doudou might be one of the nicest words you could think of. It means that deliciously soft stuffed animal that you carry around all the time, your very own Velveteen Rabbit. Still, I had made the executive decision not to share the statue’s nickname with Barnaby since at six he probably hadn’t learned French yet.

  “Yep, Doodoo Horse,” I repeated joylessly. Coco gave me a hug, and we headed to sleep.

  It was time for Terabithia’s snack. I found the rhythm of his and Coco’s days—the specific routines, with space in between for play—comforting.

  “Want to take him to Olive’s for a bite?” I suggested after we had a rousing rendition of The Piping-Hot Frog Book in the library for old time’s sake. “If we leave right now, we might be able to get there when the chocolate chip cookies are coming out of the oven.”

  “Well . . . ,” Coco mused. “We’re trying to watch his intake of sugar. When I gave him chocolate, he got a little deranged. He practically lobotomized Sheepy. Maybe there will be something healthier at Billybee’s Bakery?”

  “Right,” I agreed. I wasn’t exactly sure what that would be, but I wasn’t about to argue. “Benton, would you take over for me?”

  “Sure thing, boss,” he said without even missing a beat scanning books in. Kendra continued to help out at the library, but now Benton came without her too. Apparently she wasn’t the only thing about the library he liked. He liked the volunteerism. The can-do spirit. The people. Being surrounded by knowledge. A chance to meet his students’ parents in a more informal setting. The funny things people asked for in the request envelope. Benton was one enthusiastic guy, luckily for Kendra. Luckily for me and the library too. I was now willing to admit I needed help even without a baby.

  Coco pushed open the door of Billybee’s, and Terabithia ran through it. “Yay! Yay! Yay! Candy!”

  Well, yeah, okay. He wasn’t wrong.

  Against a bright white backdrop, Billybee’s had added pale-blue and mint-green checkered gingham tablecloths, and all the cakes sat on vintage jadeite cake trays. Fruit-covered and pastel-colored cupcakes lined the shelves of the display case. Stacks of snickerdoodles, chocolate meringue clouds, and oatmeal raisin cookies beckoned from jars with pale-green lids.