“Which nobody cares about. Let her hear what we love about her. It has to be a relief from hearing the same over-flattering, repetitive, dry—”
I nodded and she stopped.
“Sorry,” she laughed. “Nervous criticism.”
“I get it. Don’t worry. Everything is going perfectly. I mean, look around. It’s gorgeous. This is going to be the best night ever.”
Bonita was posted at the ticket table, smiling at people and nodding them toward the seats. She gave me a thumbs-up when I waved at her. She did not look concerned that anything might go wrong. That was always a good sign.
After making a final check of the book sales table and the separate book signing table and finally the caterer’s cookie table, I saw Mac wander through the arbor.
“Hi. Welcome to your library.” I took his hand and kissed his cheek.
“Amazing. Stunning. Impressive. And the place doesn’t look bad, either.”
I rolled my eyes, but only on the inside.
He grinned. “What can I do to help?”
“That’s so nice of you, but I think everything is done. Unless you want to help me check the sound system one more time?”
“Sure.”
After checking that everything that should be plugged was plugged, I stepped up to the podium and flipped the switch. A deep thump pushed through all the speakers in unison, and birds, perched on top of the tents, flapped away into the trees.
“Test. This is a test. The last test before the real test.” My voice slipped out of the speakers, clear and strong. Mac gave me two thumbs-up from the middle section of seats so I knew he could hear.
“I need to step inside for a second,” I told him. “Want to save us a couple of seats?”
“Sure. But do you want me to come with you? Can I—I don’t know—carry something?”
“Thanks, but I’m good. I’ll be right back.” I didn’t want to go into any discussions about my nervous bladder, and there was nothing else inside the library that needed to come outside to the lot.
At the door, I turned around to see how things looked from that angle. It was pretty. All of my good friend Eleanor’s demands had been a pain to comply with, but they made the lot look great. I did another panoramic glance and saw Old Man Greenwood on the bottom of his porch steps. He raised his arm and did a sort of salute. I waved and ran inside. He wasn’t doing anything actively scary, but he would never not be creepy.
Back outside in record time, I saw Mac’s discarded brown jacket slung over the backs of two chairs near the middle and to one side. People filed in, families and couples and people I recognized from the library and people I’d never seen before. I looked around for Mac. He was fiddling with the cords on one of the speakers, arms over his head and legs against the tripod that was bracing the speaker.
“It stopped again,” he called.
“Must have been you, because I didn’t turn anything this time. Thanks.” Julie’s voice slid from behind the other speaker. I could see her feet standing on a chair. Apparently she was prepared for some cord-jiggling, too.
She stepped off her chair and half-dragged, half-carried it back to its place in line. She’d changed from jeans and a sweatshirt into a nice green dress. The look of satisfaction on her face made all my extra hours of preparation worth it. Nearly half the seats were filled, with more people wandering in.
I heard a sound like a foghorn had mated with chattering teeth. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight. “What is that?”
Julie seemed to deflate over the back of the folding chair. “I think we’re getting microphone feedback. We should have spent the extra money to hire a sound technician.” Dragging the chair back to the speaker, she muttered unconventional-librarian words not very quietly.
I didn’t know how to be helpful, so I did what I could. I made a list. “Maybe something’s eating the cord. Maybe a squirrel dropped something on the plug. Maybe something kinked. Maybe a bird bit through a wire.”
“Greta. Stop.” She held her ears, but I couldn’t tell if she was trying to block me out or the vibrating noise.
Since she and Mac had the “let’s turn these plugs in their sockets” job handled, I walked back up to the podium. The sound throbbed through the speakers, throbbed and stopped, throbbed and stopped. From here, it sounded less foghorn-y and more like someone drumming on an organ while every key was pushed.
I glanced around to see if anything was obviously wrong with the microphone setup, but honestly, unless it was covered with slugs, I wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was out of order. No slugs, by the way.
The noise stopped again, and I put my head under the podium. Maybe the cord was being pinched? Maybe the lectern thing was squishing it? On my knees in the shade of the little stand, I tossed up a prayer to the gods of literary gatherings.
When the noise started again, I knew what it had to be. In my hurry to get up off the grass, I bashed my head on the shelf and the impolite word I said boomed at me through the speakers. Nice. I was so fired.
But I shook it off, unfolded myself, and stood at the podium where Julie’s mobile phone was vibrating against the wood. Repeatedly. Directly under the microphone. I grabbed it off the wooden stand and the noise stopped. Seven missed calls. Seven messages. All from Kevin’s phone.
I turned away from the microphone. “Hi, Kevin. This is Greta. Everything okay?”
“No, it is not okay. If everything were okay, don’t you think I’d be standing there at the library? Don’t you think I’d be introducing you to your guest of honor? What is happening with you people? Can no one answer a phone?” His voice, tinny and shrill, verged on hysteria. I waved to Julie and pointed to her phone attached to my ear.
“I’m handing you over to the boss. Here you go.” I wasn’t within twenty yards of the boss, but I didn’t want to deal with this version of Kevin. This was not your typical chill, relaxed Kevin, always ready to explain how things worked in the world. He was scary today.
I speed-walked toward Julie while she speed-walked toward me. Handing over the phone, I stood there, watching her face fall.
Even without knowing, I knew.
“Yes. Okay. Okay. No. I see. All right. Of course not. Thank you, Kevin.” With each word, her voice got smaller and her chin moved closer to her chest. Her whole body rounded in on itself. She clicked off.
After a few long seconds of silence, she took a breath. Trying to grin at me, she bared her teeth. “We appear to be without a guest of honor for our party.”
Chapter 24
“She didn’t come.” It wasn’t a question in any way, but I needed an answer.
Julie’s breath didn’t seem to reinflate her. “She didn’t. Kevin knew that, according to the publicist’s demands, she should have been the first one off the plane. When the crowd from that flight surrounded the bag claim, he called the number the publicist had sent. Eleanor Richtenberg never even got on the plane. She changed her mind. Poor Kevin.” She almost whispered the last part. It was so like her to worry about how Kevin felt. How he must have taken on himself the responsibility. How he had to be the messenger. Sweet Julie.
I was the opposite. As her voice got quieter, mine got louder. And more shrill. And less appropriate. “Changed her mind? Changed her mind? Is she insane? She is. She totally is. From demanding only green food to the seventy-degree car to the not even arriving? She’s off her nut. Completely.”
I stopped when Julie’s hand touched my arm, and I looked at her face. Tears slipped down her cheeks and trembled on her jawline.
“Sorry,” I said. “Not helpful. Sorry.” I wanted to give her a hug, but I knew better than to hug a woman with tears on her face. It could only make things worse. I wished I had gummy bears. No dice. The only thing I had to offer was perspective. “The seats are filling. Someone is going to have to say something.”
Okay, so that may not have been the most helpful perspective I could have offered. Her face sagged more, which I wouldn’t have thought possible.
There was no way Julie could stand up in front of her patrons and tell them that their money was wasted, that the promised visit was not happening, that the hero they were waiting to meet had stood them all up.
“I’ll do it.” Wait. Where did those words come from? “I’ll talk to them.” I wanted to stop speaking, but the words kept rolling out of my mouth. “I’ll explain.”
She almost laughed, but it sounded more like a cough. Wet. And unintentional. “How can you explain this?” She shook her head, or maybe looked around really fast to take it all in.
“I’ll give it a shot. And I’ll be generous. And fair. And I won’t mention the crazy.” She looked at me as if she doubted my ability to not mention the crazy. “No, really. Not to anyone but you.”
I stepped up to the microphone and waited for the crowd to settle. People craned their necks to catch a glimpse of Eleanor Richtenberg as the remaining loiterers found their seats.
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends of the library, neighbors, we are so glad you would join us today. We appreciate your generosity in being here, in buying tickets, and in all the ways you support us so that we can continue to be a crucial part of this community that we all call home.” I read that part right off the introduction page. Now was the piece I had to make up.
“Um. As you know, we planned to have the remarkable Eleanor Richtenberg with us.” Remarkable. Yes, I could make a few remarks. But I didn’t. “Ms. Richtenberg, we have just gotten word, could not make it.” I let the groans and the mutters carry for what felt like hours but was probably less than half a minute. A few hands waved from people wanting to ask questions. I was so not up for questions.
“Instead of hearing from Ms. Richtenberg, then, we will take a few minutes to let anyone else arrive and then we will share from our favorite Grimsby books. Kind of like a reading.” Kind of exactly like a reading, I thought. I cleared my throat right into the microphone. “So, in a few more minutes, then.”
I looked an apology over my shoulder and almost ran to the stack of Grimsby books we had for sale. Grabbing my two favorites, I hustled back outside. A huge crowd of people stood in a mass around the ticket table.
Bonita clutched the cash box, eyes bulging, fear written all over her.
I caught Julie’s eye. “What do you want me to do?” I mouthed, pointing to Bonita and the Instant Refund Mob.
She shook her head and shrugged, which I interpreted to mean that I should carry on making things up. I went back to the microphone.
“Thank you for your patience,” I said to the least patient group of people ever to assemble in this town or any other. “If you could please find your seats, we will begin.”
I watched a few people drag companions back to folding chairs. Plenty of others stood their ground at the ticket table. I couldn’t see Bonita from here, but I hoped she was protected from the wrath of the disappointed.
“We are all so sorry that Ms. Richtenberg can’t be here with us, and I wish I could give some explanation.” Because, let me tell you, I could give you a few choice words. Oh, yes I could. “All I can tell you is that we will miss her here.”
People shouted over each others’ demands.
“You’re going to refund our tickets, right?”
“When will you reschedule?”
I held up my hand as though that might silence anyone, and it did. Bizarre. “I am certain that a large part of your donation was made with your expectation of seeing Ms. Richtenberg. And again, we are sorry that couldn’t happen. But we are also confident that you still want to help the library.”
I looked back and caught Julie’s eye. She nodded, so I figured I could do whatever I wanted. What I wanted, however, was to get away before the pitchforks came out.
I took another breath and said, “We want you to be happy. If you need a refund, please send an email to the library help desk, and we will gladly get that processed. If you’d like to stay and enjoy the evening, we are grateful for your generous contributions to our library.”
I saw Marigold, typing notes into her laptop. Good thing my disaster was great material for her paper. At least some good could come of this awful night.
I held up one of the two books in my hands and put on a smile. “This is my favorite Richtenberg book. I’ve had two copies of my own because when I was small, apparently I ate my first copy. Not all at once, of course. A little at a time.” I heard my mom laugh, and I looked up. She was sitting near the front and when I caught her eye, she did a smile-and-nod. Mac leaned back with his arm stretched over the empty chair beside him. I saw Will and his mom, sitting tall in their folding chairs and smiling too-bright smiles. Their faces reminded me that this was, in fact, not a total disaster. Will nodded at me and coughed into his elbow. I smiled back at them and opened the book.
When the talking was over and the mingling started, I found myself hovering near the edges of where Julie stood. She was putting on a brave face, but she did not look particularly okay. Mac and Will both seemed to sense it was a good idea to keep their distance from me. I was grateful because at a moment like this, too much kindness could lead to a major breakdown. I could keep this up as long as I needed to—just as long as nobody cracked through my professional exterior.
I directed some of the crowd away from Julie. I pointed people toward the table where Bonita was now selling copies of Grimsby books. Important community figures milled around, talking to each other.
I shook hands with the mayor and her husband. I had decided not to apologize any more for the weird turn of events. “Thank you so much for coming to celebrate with us,” I said.
She was all graciousness. Leaning close to me, either to be heard over the buzz of the crowd or to keep her words for my ears only, she said, “You put together something special, and you handled the bumps in the road beautifully.” Her voice was rich and deep. “This library has been an important place to me all my life.”
She was still holding my hand in hers.
“I didn’t know you grew up here.” Suddenly, my mind flooded with questions. “Mrs. Cutler, can I ask you a personal question?”
She looked surprised. “You may certainly ask,” she said, implying that maybe she would choose not to answer.
“When did you graduate from high school?”
She laughed, showing all her teeth, and looked relieved. I guess she had dodged a lot of far more personal questions than that. “Nineteen eighty-two.”
“Did you ever have any interaction with a Dr. Joshua Silver?”
Her face lit up. “You know about Dr. Silver?”
I wasn’t sure she really needed more than a “yes” from me, but I leaned in and said, “I have a giant historical crush on him. It’s the hat. And the all-around awesomeness.”
She laughed. “That’s a story we don’t tell often enough in this town. My parents went to East, but my mother’s youngest brother was one of the students that Dr. Silver drove on the bus to Central.” She looked around, but seemed not to find who she was looking for. “His story is one of the great American tragedies.”
I felt my face fall. “What happened? I can’t find anything about him after he was replaced as principal that year—the year of the busing.”
She looked around again, as if checking to see who could hear her. I was the only one listening, aside from her husband, who never left her side. “It’s such a shame. They fired him. Sometimes when you shake up the system too hard, people get upset. The school board and the superintendent decided that he’d offended too many voters, so they let him go. He was young, so it was pretty public information that he hadn’t retired. He taught some community outreach classes, but mostly he stayed home.” She gestured toward the old Greenwood place. “Sometimes people find sa
fety in seclusion.”
I wasn’t interested in adding Old Man Greenwood to the conversation, so I refocused. “So he did this amazing thing, this radical, generous thing—all for other people’s kids—and then he lost everything?”
She looked over at her husband. “I wouldn’t say he lost everything. But he lost his career, and for some of us that means identity. He couldn’t get hired again in this town, but, you know, he has a legacy. People have privilege and opportunity now that they never had before, and that is tied directly to Dr. Silver’s choices.
“For each person who disapproved of his actions in desegregating Franklin, there were ten who felt they owed him a great debt. And those ten have grown to be parents and grandparents. People who watched their children gain access that would have been unimaginable a few decades before. I’m not saying that things are fixed or fair, but doors are open to many of us that wouldn’t have been opened without Dr. Silver.” She laughed and leaned in again. “And you can quote the first African-American woman mayor of Franklin on that.”
Mic drop. Wow. She was fantastic. And she was in demand. Apparently I’d been monopolizing her time for too long. Someone came up and took her by the elbow and led her to another point in the crowd. I looked around and saw that hundreds of people were still visiting on the lawn or sitting in chairs under the tents.
That little bit of Dr. Silver nostalgia helped me forget for a few minutes that my big plans were crumbling around me.
Chapter 25
“I tried not to believe it.” Julie shook her head, jiggling the beaded earrings. “So many people contacted me when we made this event public. They said it would be a nightmare. They said she was impossible to work with.”
In the past two hours, I’d heard Julie say variations of that theme a dozen different times. Mostly to herself, but I’d stayed near her for support.
I tapped her shoulder. “The mayor and her husband are leaving,” I told Julie. “Want to at least wave?”
Check Me Out Page 16