Check Me Out

by Becca Wilhite

  “Is Julie around?” I tried to see into her office, but that was hard to do from this side of the counter.

  He didn’t exactly answer, but he handed me two envelopes. “She asked me to give you these.” Then he pulled a couple of Cards out from under his computer monitor. “And I wanted to give you these.”

  Blinking back the hovering tears, I said, “Oh. Right. Got it. Thanks.” I took the envelopes and the cards, waved my fingers, and left.

  I waited until I was standing behind the huge oak tree. Dr. Silver’s tree. The cards were on top of the little pile. “What’s going to happen to this building?” was typed on the card, followed by seven penciled tally marks. “Was that book-burning thing as cool/dangerous/big as they tell me?” followed by a penciled-in comment, “variations on a theme,” and thirteen tally marks. The third one said, “How can they legally call it a seedless watermelon if it has some seeds in it?”

  I tucked the Cards into my pocket and stared at the first envelope for a few minutes. Maybe several hours. Hard to say. Eventually, I opened it. What had I been expecting? A thank-you card? A huge check? It was a letter. But not to me.

  To whom it may concern,

  I have been Greta Elliott’s employer for ten years. In that time, she has been the most excellent worker. She is dedicated, careful, and consistent. She continually puts her whole heart into even the simplest projects. She gives her best effort to a work she considers important.

  A recommendation. I almost couldn’t believe it. It went on for several paragraphs, but I stopped reading because I thought I might cry. Instead, I opened the second envelope. This one was handwritten.

  Dear Greta,

  I have spent days processing what you did. I think I understand it, but I can’t condone it, not specifically. Your actions brought about a wonderful and greatly desired conclusion, but you took several missteps getting there.

  I cannot continue to employ you. Not here. Not in the library you misused. You leveraged this building to cast aspersions on members of our community—decent people who want to be financially and socially responsible. You accused them of unspeakable things, which is wrong in every way. You hurt me, and I need to keep my distance for a time. Perhaps until I retire. Were I to speak out against you, you would be unemployable in this town.

  I will not speak against you.

  I have recommended you for the head librarian position in Franklin’s new building. This is not certain. You would need to apply and be accepted by the board. And you’ll need to find an interim job for a year. I recommend the university library. There is still much for you to learn. Some of it is about running a library.

  None of this is a perfect solution. Maybe there is no perfect solution. We can’t always have all the things we want and love and expect at the same time.

  If the librarianship of the new branch is not what you want, please consider using my letter of recommendation. I meant every word. You have been a model employee, right up until the end.

  Sincerely,

  Julie Tucker

  I held the paper against my chest, trying to gather my thoughts. So many ideas and feelings had flown through my mind in the past few minutes. Did I want to apply for the new head librarian job, even when there was a strong possibility the board would reject me outright?

  Wouldn’t it be easier to take the offer from Marnie Blum?

  Easier—for sure.

  But not better.

  I didn’t want to be a politician. I didn’t want to be a glorified secretary. I didn’t want to put my finger on the pulse of anybody’s generation.

  I wanted books. I wanted people.

  I wanted to do what I’d trained to do. What I’d learned to do. What I’d been born to do. What I’d always known I was meant to do.

  I turned and walked up the steps of the old Greenwood home and knocked.

  When Dr. Silver shuffled his way to the door, I took a bracing breath. I knew I had to say what I wanted to say before I let myself feel what I was trying not to feel.

  He undid the bolt and pulled the door open just enough to put his head and shoulders out. I didn’t look past him to try to see the interior of his house. I understood that was private, that he kept the outside for the public and the inside for himself. I understood something about that now.

  “Hello, Miss Elliott.”

  “Dr. Silver.” I held out the first letter from Julie. “Sir, I would like to talk with you about a possible opportunity. I have a letter of recommendation from my previous employer,” my voice snagged on those words.

  “Previous.” He wasn’t asking, and I wasn’t about to explain. I didn’t need to. He knew. It was only fair. And familiar. We had both taken a risk and broken some rules for the benefit of a place we’d loved. And we’d both lost something for our efforts. He understood.

  I looked up at the corner of the doorway for a second. “In the short time we’ve known each other, I think you’ve seen that I am continuing to develop a wide range of skills, from research to yard work to minor acts of radicalism.”

  He didn’t laugh, exactly, but he breathed out a short breath that, if you listened just right, could have signaled amusement. I chose to feel encouraged.

  “I am going to apply to run the new Franklin library when it’s built in eighteen months, and I’d like you to join me.”

  He squinted into the sun that was sinking in the trees behind me. “That’s kind of you, Greta, but I don’t need a job. I haven’t needed a job for many years.”

  I stood up straighter. “No one can argue that you don’t need an income, sir, but everyone needs a job.”

  He did that left-side grin. We were communicating now.

  I cleared my throat. “With all the respect in the world, Dr. Silver, this isn’t actually about what you need. This is about what the town needs. And we need someone to connect us to our history. Someone who’s been involved. Someone who understands.”

  I let that sink in for about three seconds before I went on. “I want you to take on the local history section, and I want it to be a force. I want it to be something people will be interested in. Proud of. Connected to. I want paper, photos, newspapers, journals, and I want digital access to all of it. I want audio and visual recordings of important events. I want it to be accessible in every possible format—including interviews with someone who was present for some of the most essential moments.”

  “That’s quite a list.” I couldn’t tell if he was impressed by my passion or concerned for my sanity. I didn’t worry too much about it.

  “I’m just getting started. Dr. Silver, I want you to be the face of the history of Franklin.”

  “Like you’re the face of the future?” he said with a grin.

  I felt my cheeks flush. “Oh, no. I’m not the face of anything.”

  He nodded once. “Don’t be so certain.”

  “So?” I asked. “Will you?”

  He leaned against the doorframe and folded his thin arms across his chest. I realized it was rude of me to keep him out here in the chill. He looked from the library building to me. “Will my answer determine whether or not you’ll go ahead with your plan?”

  I thought about it for a couple of seconds before I shook my head. “No. I mean, no, sir. I plan to begin applying for the position this afternoon. Letters and introductions and whatnot. I’d like to know I have someone on my team.”

  He rubbed his chin with his hand. “I understand. I think it’s fair to say you have someone on your team. If you receive the appointment, I’d be honored to join you.”

  I put my hand out to shake his. “Thank you.”

  He wrapped my hand in both of his. “And I thank you.” His eyes gleamed with an excitement and energy I recognized from his photographs. “Good luck.”

  “I’m not really the kind of person who leaves things to luck,” I said as I
stepped off the porch and down the stairs.

  A church bell rang four o’clock. Flocks of birds lifted from trees with the sound. I pulled out my phone and texted Will.

  He answered fast.

  I was sure he’d keep making offers until I agreed to one.

  I took my time walking to the park. The ground was coated in dry leaves, and the air was noisy with birds. When I got to the bench, he was already there, holding two take-out hot chocolates from Beans.

  He stood up as I held my hands out for a cup. “I’ve missed this,” I said, saluting him with the drink.

  “Is it bad?”

  I took a sip. “No. It’s great. Tastes perfect.”

  He shook his head. “Not what I meant.”

  “The thought of seeing Mac? Not at all. As far as I know. I haven’t tried it.” I laughed a little and wrapped my fingers around the cup for warmth.

  “Sorry. Again.”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out. A frost cloud hung in front of my face for a second. “I’m sorry, too. And I miss you. And I’m all done pouting. So can we move on?” I said it so fast I wondered if he’d even understand me.

  He sat. I did too.

  “You mean go back to being best-friends-since-elementary-school Greta and Will?” He sounded hopeful.

  I shook my head. “Not exactly.”

  He shifted on the bench to put more space between us.

  “I miss more than my best friend.” Could I do this? I could. I had to. More than that, I wanted to. I’d been thinking about it for days. Weeks. And the more I thought, the more I understood that somewhere in my heart I’d been thinking about it much, much longer. “I want something else, too. I miss your words.” I pulled my hand away from my drink and held it out to him.

  He stared at it like he’d never seen it before. He didn’t make any move to take it.

  “Will?”

  “What?” He kept looking at my hand, hanging there, waiting.

  “Are you saying no?”

  He shook his head, like he was clearing it. His eyes snapped from my hand to my face. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking.”

  Hand still held out, I said, “I want you to say your words to me.”

  His voice was steady and low, like he was trying not to startle me. “Do you mean it? Say what I mean and what I think and what I feel, right to you, without a pretty face between us to make the words look good?”

  I reached up and touched his cheek with my fingers warm from the hot chocolate. “I like this face. This is a good face.” I kept my hand against his face. “I have loved you for so long it became as natural as breathing. You and me. Me and you. But now, I want us. Together. I want you and me for real.”

  He reached out and took my cup out of my hand. He set both cups down on the grass. Then he leaned closer, hugging me. I put both my arms around his neck.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered, and I could hear a dozen different emotions in that question.

  For weeks I’d been wondering the same thing. But now, I could honestly say, “I’m sure I want to try.”

  He hugged me closer. Then he pushed himself off the bench. Pulling me to him, he put his forehead to mine and whispered.

  “Standing here, wind gusts around us,

  “And all that’s warm and comfortable is in my arms.

  “Darkness surrounds us, but sunshine streams from your eyes to mine.”

  Little shivers of pleasure mixed with shivers of cold. “Wow. Looks like I made the right call.” We stood, arms around each other, and smiled into each other’s faces. “But I think we should put the poetry on pause for a minute.”

  “Pause?” He glanced at the bench, the very place he’d once told me that we were never actually finished kissing. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

  Was he blushing? He might have been blushing.

  I grinned and pulled his mouth to mine and un-paused. The kiss was warm and comfortable and delicious and familiar and not even a little bit weird.

  He pulled away and brushed my hair across my forehead with his fingertips. “I have been waiting a very long time for this,” he said. And then, again, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I smiled at him and slid my hands to the collar of his jacket. “Besides, you really did just toss out an awesome poem,” I said.

  “There’s more where that came from if this is my reward,” he said, and leaned in again. I closed my eyes and let myself feel how right this could be.

  How right it all could be.

  Acknowledgments

  I have had the great privilege of having wonderful public libraries in all the communities I’ve lived in, and I want to thank Julie Hersberger for giving me my first job, when I was only fourteen, in the Batesville Public Library. I learned important things at that job, and a few of them relate to books.

  My writing community is large, strong, and generous. A giant thank you to all who encourage and inspire, with a special shout-out to Josi Kilpack, who reminds me when I forget exactly why we do this. Brittany Larsen and Jenny Proctor are always willing to read manuscripts over and over; thank you both for honesty and gentleness and dear friendship.

  A giant thank you to my editor, Lisa Mangum, who took a chance on me, pulled me from the slush pile, and made me shine. Thank you to the entire Shadow Mountain team: Chris Schoebinger, Heidi Taylor, Julia McCracken, Sarah Cobabe, Malina Grigg, Heather Ward, and Richard Erickson.

  Our Novel Writing class at Wasatch High School only lasts one semester, but the memories we build there will stay with me forever. Thank you to my students who are all thoughtful and brave—and especially to Dylan Parker, for pulling the title for this book out of thin air.

  Biggest love and thanks to my family for supporting me and believing that my words can matter. And for seeking out the things you love. You make my world beautiful.

  Discussion Questions

  1. Greta Elliott loves the Franklin library. Do you have a place from your childhood that you look on fondly as a touchstone of your youth? Are you lucky enough to be able to interact with that place still?

  2. When you read a novel, do you think about which characters would make good friends in real life? Which character would you sit down with to share a muffin in Beans?

  3. They say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover (but we all do it). How do the people and buildings in this story require you to rethink the way we judge places and people?

  4. Will Marshall is like the buildings on Pearl Street in Franklin: less appealing on the outside, but full of wonders within. How do people you know either fit into or break out of expectations based on how they look?

  5. Are you familiar with Edmond Rostand’s play Cyrano de Bergerac? This classic French story explores themes of inner versus outer beauty and the dangers of deception. How does Check Me Out reflect Cyrano’s story? How does it depart from the original?

  6. Greta develops a historical crush on Dr. Joshua Silver. Have you ever “fallen in love” with a historical figure?

  7. How important is physical attraction in your relationships?

  8. Text messaging allows instant communication—and instant miscommunication. What are the conversational benefits and dangers inherent in texting?

  9. Greta’s degree is very specific to a kind of job that is being lost all over the country. As cities, counties, and states tighten their budgets, libraries often fall by the wayside. How important is it to chose a career you love? Is it wiser to follow a course of study that would allow you to be consistently employable?

  10. The theme of “old versus new” runs throughout the novel. In what ways do you hold on to “old” things? How do you embrace the new?

  About the Author

  Becca Wilhite, author of Bright Blue Miracle and My Ridiculous Romantic Obsessions, is a
happy wife and a mom to four above-average kids. High school English teacher by day, writer by night (or very early morning), she loves hiking, Broadway shows, food, books, and movies. You can find her online at beccawilhite.com.