James polished off his thin cookies and was silently wishing three more bags of them would materialize out of thin air when Francis burst into the staff room.
“Professor!” he whispered urgently, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Things are getting a little hairy at the computer terminals. Mrs. Hughes claims that Mr. Tuttle has gone way over the thirty-minute allotment but Mr. Tuttle refuses to budge. She’s threatening to sit right down on his lap if he doesn’t move. I tried to intervene but …”
“That’s all right, Francis. Why don’t you have some lunch and I’ll handle this.”
Clearly relieved, Francis strode over to the fridge and pulled out a lunch bag twice the size of Scott’s. “We’ve just got to come up with a stellar fundraiser idea, bro. I can’t take this kind of conflict,” James heard him say to Scott.
James couldn’t agree more. The computers had become more and more popular with patrons of all ages and there was rarely a time during the library’s working hours when someone wasn’t anxiously waiting for one of the two PCs. And thirty minutes didn’t turn out to be very long when it took each of the archaic hard drives several minutes to complete even the smallest of tasks. The result had been friction among the patrons. The Shenandoah County Library was a place meant for peace and quiet discovery, not for patrons pacing with impatience or getting into heated arguments.
Out in the nook between fiction and nonfiction where the two computer terminals were set up, Mrs. Hughes stood with her hands resting on her formidable hips and a deep scowl wrinkling her face. She was normally a cheerful, pleasant lady, and James always tried to get in her checkout lane at the Food Lion as she was the speediest cashier and bagger in Quincy’s Gap. She could process and pack a week’s worth of groceries in under three minutes.
Mrs. Hughes latched onto James’s fleshy upper arm. “Oh, Professor! Thank the Lord you’re here! I’m trying to bid on an online auction and Mr. Tuttle here won’t get off this machine. I’ve been timin’ him since I came in and it’s been well over forty minutes since he first got on.”
Mr. Tuttle, a small, balding, middle-aged man with a pasty complexion turned a pair of narrow eyes upon James. “Hey, I’m lookin’ for work here. Isn’t that a bit more important than somethin’ this woman wants to go shoppin’ for? I got a pile a bills at home high as the Appalachians, so I need more time on this here computer.”
James indicated a sign hanging over the two computers. “You know there’s a limit, Mr. Tuttle. You’ll have to relinquish your machine until Mrs. Hughes has had her thirty minutes.”
Mr. Tuttle slammed a fist down next to the keyboard. “Damnation, man! I’ve been out of a job for three months and I can’t even use my own library’s computer to look for a new one? What kind of public works joint is this after all? I paid my taxes like everyone else.” He stepped away from the computer and gesticulated angrily at a spinner rack containing romance novels. “Instead of buyin’ that trash, why don’t you spend our tax money on gettin’ some more computers in here?”
As James opened his mouth to reply, a man with a briefcase tapped on the shoulder of the young woman using the second computer. James recognized her. It was Amelia Flowers, daughter of Megan Flowers, who owned the Sweet Tooth, the town’s only bakery. Amelia worked for her mother part-time and also attended classes at the community college. James knew that she was interested in fashion design.
“My turn, missy.” The man plunked his briefcase down on the floor next to Amelia’s cavernous book bag.
“One sec. I just need to print this article,” Amelia replied without looking up from the screen. She continued typing as Mrs. Hughes slid into the empty seat next to her.
“Why, hello Amelia. You doin’ work for school?”
“Hi, Mrs. Hughes. Yeah, I got a paper due for my History of Fashion course and the books here aren’t as up to date as some of the articles I found on this awesome website.”
“How nice, dear. I know your mama is awful proud of you for goin’ to college and all.” She tapped on the computer screen. “I’m gonna bid on a Petal Princess Barbie doll for my granddaughter. She’s been collectin’ them since she was five and her ninth birthday’s comin’ up.”
“That’s just great, ladies,” the man with the briefcase said acidly. “But I’ve got some stock prices to check and I’m on my lunch break, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to have my turn.”
At that moment, the printer jammed in the middle of the ten-page task it was performing for Amelia.
“Sir,” James held out a pacifying hand to the agitated male patron before he tried to physically remove Amelia from her chair. “Let me just fix the printer and then it will be your turn next. Amelia? Is this article all you needed to print?”
Amelia nodded at James. “That’s all, Professor. Thanks.” She then cast an irritated glance at the man standing over her shoulder and added, “I couldn’t work in this hostile atmosphere anymore anyway.”
James tugged at the crumpled piece of paper blocking the printer. It ripped into several raggedy pieces but finally tore free. He then reset the print job and sighed with relief as the machine reluctantly resumed working. Noticing that his hands were now covered with smudges of black ink, James apologized to all his patrons for their inconvenience at having to share two computers and then headed to the restroom to wash up.
Francis was already in the men’s room as James entered. The twin was rubbing his glasses absently, his eyes staring at the mirror without actually absorbing any of the details of his own reflection.
“Lost in thought there, Francis?”
Francis started and dropped his glasses in the sink. Without bothering to dry them off, he shoved them onto his face and turned to James. “I’ve got it, Professor!” he exclaimed happily. “I know how we can raise the money we need for the computers.”
James began scrubbing his hands with pink liquid soap. “That would certainly be nice. If Mrs. Hughes doesn’t get that Barbie for her granddaughter before her thirty minutes are up, I think she and Mr. Tuttle are going to come to blows.”
Francis screwed up his lips in thought. “I’d have to bet on Mrs. Hughes to win that fight. I’ve seen her toss twenty-pound watermelons into people’s carts like they were bags of cotton balls.”
“Your idea, Francis?” James reminded him.
“Oh, right! Well, Scott came up with half of it. Anyway, we thought the library should host a Spring Fling.”
James was unimpressed with the title. “Like last year’s Spring Book Drive & Bake Sale? The library only made a couple hundred dollars from that event.”
“That’s because you weren’t here, Professor. You’ve got more vision than our former employer. This Spring Fling would be a cross between a book drive and a county fair. We could have it at the beginning of next month, when the weather is so nice.” Francis opened the door and James followed the exuberant young man out of the restroom and behind the circulation desk. Francis drew out a piece of paper with a flourish. “Here, I made a quick sketch of how we could arrange things in that empty field behind the strip mall. It worked so well for the benefit last fall and we don’t need to pay anyone to use it—we’d just need to get permission from the mall owners to allow for parking and we’re good to go.”
James leaned over the drawing and tried to decode Francis’s scraggly handwriting. “Does this say ‘Pig Race Course’?” he asked incredulously, pointing to a wobbly oval in the center of the paper.
Francis beamed. “Sure does! We could have two contests. One could be a pig race. That’ll appeal to a lot of folks, including men. It seems like we always have women at our events, but rarely men or children. Now, if we get some carnival rides and food booths like they’ve got at the state fair, we can attract a huge crowd.”
“Then we’d have to charge admission.” James frowned, concerned over the logistics of such a large event.
“Yes, sir. We’d also charge for people to enter the pig race and the Ladies’ Hat Contest. The
winners would receive cash prizes. Scott and I think the cash will encourage more folks to enter.”
James looked at Francis in surprise. “Ladies’ Hat Contest?”
“Well, we haven’t worked out the details of that one yet, but it’s a bit different than the usual boring bake-off. Megan Flowers would win any baking contest we held anyway.”
James agreed on that point. “Well, we should remind folks that this event is about the library. What if it was a hat contest with a book-title theme? The ladies could parade in front of a panel of judges and then be awarded first, second, and third-place prizes.”
“That’s good, Professor!” Francis beamed. “Boy, if I were a lady I’d design the coolest War of the Worlds hat or maybe a—”
“This is a rather large undertaking, Francis,” James interrupted before Francis could fantasize about the creation of a dozen hats based on his favorite works. “I think we should limit the number of outside vendors we have for the first year and see how things go. I’m sure we could get Dolly’s Diner and the Sweet Tooth to set up food stalls and we could hire a few ride and game vendors, but we don’t want to get too big for our britches. We could lose money if we don’t sell enough tickets.” James paused. “But overall, it really is a great idea. This library branch is very fortunate to have you and Scott. If we could just make enough for two more computer terminals …” James trailed off as he dreamed of new machinery being placed by the windows and of a row of beaming patrons applauding their arrival.
“Two?” Francis pushed the reshelving cart past his boss. “We were thinking of at least four—maybe six. We could move those paperback spinners closer to the Children’s section and create a whole Tech Corner.”
James looked beyond Francis to where Mrs. Hughes sat staring at a computer screen. Mr. Tuttle was close by, flipping the pages of an automotive magazine with unnecessary vigor.
“Six new computers.” James mused. “That would certainly serve our patrons a whole lot better than these two dinosaurs with microchips. I’d better get on the phone with some vendors.” He retreated to his office and contentedly began to sort out the details of the first Shenandoah Library Spring Fling. All afternoon, he was so busy that he completely forgot about the banana and small bag of pretzels he had brought for snack. Even when he chatted with a vendor regarding cotton candy, elephant ears, and funnel cake, his mind remained focused on improving his beloved library, not forbidden foods.
When James arrived home a little after five, he was ravenous. He had eaten the banana and pretzels in the truck right after work but still felt as if his stomach were totally hollow. He forgot all about his hunger, however, as soon as he pulled up in front of his house.
There was his father, thirty feet off the ground, tool belt strapped around his trim waist, inspecting the newly laid roof shingles surrounding the base of the chimney. As James watched in a state of incredulity, Jackson made his way over to one of the workmen who was stapling shingles around the area that had allowed water to leak into the upstairs bathroom with every rain. His father moved in that stooped half-crawl that men employ when transversing the steep slopes of roofs, and James could not believe the older man’s limberness or the camaraderie he displayed in slapping the other man heartily on the back. Soon, the two men were laughing like old friends. James hadn’t heard his father laugh aloud in such a manner for years, and he smiled at the deep and refreshing sound. Jackson spied his son on the ground below and, after waving, headed for the metal ladder propped against the side of the house.
He climbed down like a man half his age and beckoned for James to follow him into the kitchen.
“Lookin’ good, isn’t it?” Jackson asked, his cheeks rosy with exertion and his eyes sparkling with pride.
“Sure does, Pop. Did you … were you working up there the whole time with those guys?” James asked, barely recognizing the invigorated person standing before him.
His father turned, filled a glass with cold tap water, and then drank the liquid down in three gulps. Slamming the glass triumphantly on the counter, he puffed out his chest and exhaled happily. “Next I’m gonna do somethin’ about this kitchen. It’s a mighty big disgrace. Your mama was all set to rehaul the whole room, but I kept frettin’ about the cost.” Jackson looked down at the stained and peeling linoleum flooring. “If I woulda known, I’d have given her the finest kitchen in all of Virginia.” He looked up at James, his fuzzy eyebrows shooting high on his forehead. “But now it’s you and me, boy. We gotta make this place the kind of home men would be proud to live in.”
James didn’t want to put a damper on either his father’s fluidity of speech or his enthusiasm for home improvement, but he squirmed in his shoes and mumbled, “We just don’t have the money for a new kitchen, Pop. I don’t even know how we’re going to pay for the roof. I had planned to talk to Hugh Carmichael over at Shenandoah Savings & Loan sometime—”
“We’ve got the money, son,” Jackson said and then cackled. “We just gotta decide on cabinets. I’m partial to wood ones with a walnut stain. Nice and manly.” Jackson spread out a few wood samples and then dumped out a bag of granite chips onto the countertop. “This granite stuff is what folks are doin’ now, but it looks too darn shiny to me, like somethin’ those weirdos out in California would like. I’m liable to think there’s nothin’ wrong with good ole laminate.”
James glanced at the array of materials and then again at his father’s face. Ten years seemed to have melted off of the old man’s visage in the single day he had spent laying roof shingles in the temperate spring air. “I won’t pry about the money, Pop. If you say we’ve got it, then I’ll believe we do. Even though it worries me a bit, I trust your judgment.” Jackson nodded in appreciation and James was relieved that he had said the right thing. “And I prefer the laminate as well. Neither you nor I are exactly gourmet chefs so I don’t think we need granite or fancy appliances for that matter. If we can update the fridge and the stove and replace the floor, that’ll do.”
“No, sir!” Jackson shook his head. “We’re gonna get new cabinets, new appliances, new counters, and I’m puttin’ in a dishwasher. You’ve got better things to do than wash up after our every meal.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” He actually enjoyed the quiet moments spent scrubbing up each evening.
“Well, I don’t have time for it, and once you get yourself a girl, you won’t, either.” Jackson eyed his son. “Weren’t you sweet on someone from your Sunday night … uh … club?”
James felt himself reddening. “I don’t know, Pop. I think I messed up with her. With Lucy, I mean.”
“How’s that?” his father asked as he refilled his water glass and took a seat at the kitchen table. James, half wondering if he was dreaming, sat down across from his father and told him all about his feelings for Lucy Hanover. Jackson listened carefully, staring at the strewn pile of samples and brochures, until James was done.
“So you’ve got another chance. When you see this girl tomorrow, you tell her you were a chicken before and now you’re not. You gotta go after her, James, or someone else is gonna snap her up like a bass in the lake. You ain’t too young, my boy. If you wanna start any kind of family with a good woman then you’d better get in gear.” Jackson paused. “Can she cook?”
James laughed. “She’s not bad, I guess. She’s a horrible slob, though.”
“I don’t know what the world’s comin’ to,” Jackson grumbled with a trace of his usual gruffness. “There was a time when women cooked and cleaned and sewed and were damned proud of it. What’s a man supposed to do these days?”
“Things are more equal now, Pop. Men and women share in the household stuff. A lot of women are working outside of the home. They want their own careers and don’t have time to wait on others.”
“What a bunch of crust.” Jackson frowned. “Maybe you shouldn’t show up for that coffee date after all.”
“Hello, my friends!” Ronnie chirped that evening at the Witness to Fitness me
eting. “I’m sorry I’m all sweaty, but Dylan was practicing his workout on me before you all showed up.” She patted the light sheen of perspiration on her brow with a purple monogrammed towel and took an infinitesimal sip from a water bottle. “But don’t worry! He’s going to go much easier on you! You are going to have so much fun in there!”
James saw Lindy throw Lucy a look of panic and his own stomach lurched at the thought of bouncing around in front of both friends and strangers.
“Let’s get the icky money part out of the way first, shall we?” Ronnie beamed at the group of nervous people waiting to enter the exercise room. “Now, I’ve got all of your entrées packed up and ready to go home to your freezers. Phoebe and I will accept cash or checks for this week’s meals and for the three required exercise classes. But before we do, why not give yourselves a hand for being here tonight? Come on! Let’s hear some noise for your courage and determination.” She began clapping loudly and a few others tentatively joined in. “Good for you, I say! Way to go, all of you!”
James reluctantly clapped when Ronnie turned a luminescent smile in his direction. Within moments, the twenty people gathered around the cubicles were rifling through purses and digging in wallets in order to cheerfully pay for their first week at Witness to Fitness. James blanched when he saw the actual total. Each meal was almost ten dollars and did not include the salad or light dessert that should accompany a complete Witness to Fitness dinner. At almost $500 per month, James prayed that he would truly make amazing progress in only six weeks or he wouldn’t have much spending money for the upcoming summer.
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