21
I COULDN’T BELIEVE it when the following week an announcement in the newspaper said the public auction had been cancelled and that Miss Cogshell’s house would become the Port Library. So I guess you could say I got the ball rolling, and with the help of Mrs. Baldwin and all the people who signed the petition, it was really going to happen.
A few of the town big shots organized a select group to clean out her house.
One day, while I was hanging around at home, trying hard not to think about what they might be doing with Miss Cogshell’s special things, there was a knock on the door.
An unfamiliar woman stood on the front stoop. She held a shoebox. “You’re Amy Henderson, correct?” I nodded. “We found a card with your name on it stuck inside Sylvia’s cabinet. So, here you go. I wrapped them as best I could.”
I thanked her and relieved her of the box.
“Oh.” She looked down at another small card. “Do you know Craig Miller?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Where does he live?”
I gave her directions and then asked, my breath rate picking up speed, “Is there something I could deliver?”
“No thank you, dear. It’s just an old cuckoo clock and I’ve got the car here.” With that she was on her way.
Soon I was pulling out one miniature china animal after another from the crinkly balls of tissue paper. I would cherish them forever. As I carefully unwrapped the fragile figurines, I remembered how Miss Cogshell had come by most of them—the little penguin from her adventurous college friend, a miniature trio of piglets from the farmer’s wife, and a big-eyed turtle from a favorite student years ago. All of the tiny figures stood at only an inch or less. The smallest was a mouse with glossy pink ears. I was anxious to reintroduce my repaired moose to the group. Maybe I would find a little seal someday, one that I could add to the collection in memory of Pup.
THERE WAS THIS gigantic committee formed to remodel the house into a library. As promised, I spent every day attaching routing slips to books and then stamping the ones people wanted to borrow. There were so many donated volumes that we had to put shelves in the bedrooms too. Crammed with several new book-cases, the kitchen became the check-out-station. There were big plans to refurnish everything; however, it would take time and money. Clyde, Miss Cogshell’s walking stick, had a permanent lookout position on the wall near the aquatic reptile books.
After the initial busyness, things quieted down, and I had more time to sit at the check-out desk, staring out the back door past the shriveled lilac bush. I would often plug in a little fan and direct it right on me. Although usually cooler in Maine, the temperature was unbearable that summer. Pine needles turned pale as they baked in the heat.
On days when the town beach looked more inviting, there were hardly any patrons, but a few regulars began hanging out in their chosen corners. The husky girl who had cheered for a new library after my 4th of July speech, came in a lot. She wore granny glasses and the thick braid that fell past her waist swung as she walked. I’d often see her over in the back corner snuggled up in Miss Cogshell’s old blue chair, feet tucked up beneath her as she read.
I kept thinking Craig might stop by. I had found it hard to come to Miss Cogshell’s house the first few times and I wondered if maybe it was even harder for him. It had become a comfortable place for me to hang out now, though; and I was sure she’d be thrilled to see what her home had turned into.
While I worked in the silent library day after day, I realized it really was okay to be alone. Who needed crowds around to feel popular? I mean, I’d always have me and my own dreams. After spending time in Miss Cogshell’s special house, I was beginning to know what those dreams were. No matter how life changed around me, no one could take them away. Maybe I’d surprise myself and I would go to college someday. Maybe I’d become a librarian, or a mystery writer, or even a great explorer. Yeah that’s it, my zits would go away and so would I.
On my way home each day, I would often stop at the pier, searching the vast water for signs of Pup and hoping Craig would think to do the same. Almost hoping the three of us could do it all again. But only I showed up. I made sure I got through the woods before sundown each night, placing my footsteps with care to avoid moose poop on lime-green sneakers.
ONE OF THOSE hot August mornings, after an hour of no customers, my sister came into the library to look around for the first time.
“Whooee, how can you stand it in here?” Nancy fluttered her polished nails toward her face.
I shrugged while she continued to browse. I had this feeling she was up to more than looking at books since they were never really her thing. Either way, it was fun to show off how much we had done to make it look like a real library.
“Ya know, I wanted to ask you something, Amy,” she said.
Okay, here it comes.
“I happened to see that friend of yours a few minutes ago, Miller is it?”
I glanced fast at the door, hoping to see Craig after all these weeks.
Nancy doesn’t miss much. “Oh, he’s probably gone by now,” she said. “Anyway, I’ve just got to ask you. You and him are just friends, right? I mean you’re not really going out or anything, are you?”
A while ago I would have gotten all embarrassed, but I wasn’t about to let that happen this time, so I said, “Yeah, just friends.”
“That’s what I figured.” Nancy gave a knowing smile, as she flipped through an upside down copy of The Grapes of Wrath. “When I asked him about you at the town picnic, he acted kind of odd.”
“You what?” I shrieked.
Nancy smiled again, ever patient. “Well, he was going up to everyone getting them to sign his paper, so I figured it was a perfect opportunity to ask him what was happening between you two.”
My face must have turned a thousand colors, but my anger was stronger. “You had no right . . . ” I stopped, forcing myself not to give her what she wanted. Besides, I had an overwhelming desire to know what Craig had said. No way would I ask though.
Nancy waited while I pretended to straighten some cards. “Funny thing is,” she finally said, creasing her smooth brow, “he wouldn’t answer me. He just had this huge smile on his face.” She sauntered towards the door. “Oh, well, it’s too hot in here for me. But it’s a cute little library,” she tossed back over her shoulder, and then she added, “almost as cute as that Miller kid.”
I grinned and adjusted my fan.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER the door swung open again. And there he was.
“Hi Craig,” I managed.
“Amy,” he said, one foot still stuck in the threshold. His Adam’s apple moved up and down while he took in every corner of Miss Cogshell’s converted kitchen. “I wasn’t sure how it would look,” he finally said.
“And . . . ” I said.
“Looks pretty good.” His voice seemed a little lower than when I had seen him last. Then the familiar grin surfaced when he added, “Almost like a library.”
“That’s the whole idea,” I said, grinning back. I wondered why he was staring at me that way.
Craig shoved his damp bangs, still long, but bleached lighter, up off his flushed face. “I woulda come by sooner if I’d had the time.”
“Looks like you’ve had lots of sun,” I said.
“Yeah. Been cutting lawns all summer. Gives me plenty of thinking time, ha, too much thinking time. I go back to when me and you would just hang out, sometimes with Miss C. or with Pup, but mostly I think about some of them deep talks we had.” Craig laughed. “I wasn’t used to that—ya know, the way you listen and analyze everything, like you actually care what I might think about stuff.”
Craig turned away, peered down the hall and then blurted out, “Actually I came to see you, to tell you something.”
I swallowed and started fidgeting with a paperclip.
“Remember I said my mom was going into a treatment center?”
I nodded.
“Well she kept c
hanging her plans, but with a little push from the social worker, tomorrow’s the day.” Craig tried to match my smile, his piercing eyes a smoky gray in the dim light. “It’s far away,” he continued, “and they won’t let kids stay home alone.”
“Where will you go?” I held my breath.
“I have an aunt in Boston. She’ll take me in, and my little brother and sisters will go to another aunt in Portland.”
“Boston,” I whispered, biting my lip, as the paperclip slipped to the floor. My face must have gone pale, because Craig moved closer to me.
“It won’t be for long. I’ll be back.” He still watched me with the most serious expression I’d ever seen on him. “Get up, Amy.”
“What?” I asked, rising.
“Come over here.” He glanced out the window and quietly closed the inside storm door.
I moved over to him as if in a trance. My head almost reached his shoulder as he pulled me close into a hug.
“Don’t know why, but I’ve always wanted to do this,” he said softly in my ear, his voice low and different.
I’m sure he could feel my body trembling through my tie-dye T-shirt, but all I felt was that big old army jacket. I knew I was going to start crying and I didn’t care. This was my last chance with Craig. I wrapped my arms around him.
We stayed that way for a while until the sounds of someone coming down the walkway reached us. Just as we broke apart, Craig whispered, “I’ll send you my address.”
I looked at him doubtfully.
“I promise. I will write,” he said. “Hey, maybe I’ll even write you a song.” He grinned the grin I’d never forget. “That may take a while, but I’ll figure it out.”
Sally Johnson came bustling in, glancing from one to the other of us. “That door should be open,” she said. “You need some air in here, and I need a book about birds. And I’ve only got a minute; Pammy’s watching the post office for me.”
I started to reach for Miss Cogshell’s old bird book on the third shelf up, when I heard Craig leave. I spun around to find the screen door still swinging and him already gone. Sally continued to chatter.
“It’s about time we had our own library, Amy. It is Amy, isn’t it? I thought so. You didn’t do half bad getting this going.” Then she stopped talking and peered at me, “Are you okay?”
I nodded and checked out the book for her, glad when the door finally swung shut behind her. Then I rushed to the back of the house and all the way up the narrow steps to the widow’s walk to check if Craig was down at the pier. No sign of him. I searched in the other direction, only to see the retreating back of Sally Johnson returning to the post office. Dragging my feet, I went back down through the stifling heat. That’s when I noticed there was something on my chair.
I picked up the photo of two kids hugging a seal. Craig must have developed Miss Cogshell’s pictures and left this here for me.
The library door opened once more. The girl with the long braid came in. She smiled at me and headed for the mystery section. I looked down again at the photo. Studying it, I knew I would always be able to feel the texture of Pup’s fur beneath my hands, smell the seaweed, hear the ocean waves, and see the brilliance of Craig’s smile, a boy hiding in a big army jacket, whom I almost got to know really well. Who’d a thought it?
I took a deep breath, walked over to the new girl and in my strong new voice, said “Hi, I’m Amy.”
About the Author
Marcia Strykowski has always felt a connection to the ocean and its creatures. She has adopted a puffin named Abigale through Project Puffin, and more recently adopted a harbor seal from World Wildlife Fund. When she’s not watching the waves, she works at a public library. After numerous magazine and anthology contributions, Call Me Amy is her first novel.
Call Me Amy Page 11