“Gentlemen. There appears to be a problem.” He smiled at the brothers, letting his fondness for them show through his eyes. “We’ve tackled some tough challenges before, so let me know what we’re dealing with and we’ll come up with a plan.”
Shoulders slumping slightly in relief, Scott held out a sealed envelope. “This is for you. It’s from Mrs. Waxman.”
James raised his brows in surprise. He certainly hadn’t expected an issue to arise around his former middle school teacher. Mrs. Waxman was his only part-time employee. She worked weekday evenings and every Saturday, managing the library as efficiently as she’d once run her classroom. A few months ago, James had become aware that Mrs. Waxman was moving slower and looking more fatigued than she had in the past. She was nearly his father’s age and because he was worried that she might be overdoing it by working so many hours, he’d asked her if she’d like to cut back.
“This is my home,” she’d responded with heat, waving her arm around the library. “I love this job. No, I do not want fewer hours!”
That was the end of the matter as far as James was concerned. Mrs. Waxman knew her limits and since he felt exactly as she did about their work, he’d accepted her answer without argument. But now, as he tore open the letter and digested the first few lines, he saw that even though Mrs. Waxman would never retire by choice, circumstance was now forcing her to do just that.
According to the letter, her younger sister had recently been widowed and was having a difficult time caring for herself due to some complicated health issues. After giving the matter much thought, Mrs. Waxman had come to the decision to move into her sister’s condo in Phoenix.
“Therefore, it is with no small measure of regret nor shortage of gratitude that I tender my resignation. This is my official two-week notice,” she’d written in her tidy script. “It has been an honor and a joy to work as an employee for the Shenandoah County Library and to share these wonderful years with Francis and Scott and with you, James Henry. For those who believe library work is dull, they have never had the privilege of working in your employ. Thank you for making my Golden Years so fulfilling. I am very proud that I had the chance to know you as a bright young boy and now as a fine man, community leader, and father. I wish you the very best.”
Mrs. Waxman’s signature became blurred as James’ eyes grew misty. He sniffed and simultaneously inhaled a giant breath in an attempt to gain control of his emotions. Folding the letter into a small rectangle, he avoided looking at the twins for a moment in order to fully collect himself.
“What’s that song our local Brownie Troop sings at the end of their monthly meetings?” he asked the brothers. “The one about friendship?”
The twins answered in perfect unison. Without the slightest hint of shyness, their bass voices lifted together in song, “‘Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.’”
James nodded. “That’s it. Let’s look at this as an opportunity to make a new friend while keeping in touch with an old one. I’ll put an ad in the paper first thing. We only have two weeks to find someone to meet our high standards.” The brothers didn’t seem overly cheered by the idea of a new employee. “You two know as well as anyone how much I dislike change. But the biggest surprise of my life, finding out that I had a son, was also the most wonderful. Who knows? Your new coworker might just be a sci-fi loving, video-game playing bibliophile. She might even be your age. That wouldn’t be so horrible, would it?”
As he was already dating Milla’s business partner, Willow Singletary, Francis just shrugged, but Scott instantly brightened. “You raise an excellent point, Professor! We have the chance of a lifetime to pick the perfect coworker. Can you put all the requirements you just mentioned in the classified ad?”
James swatted the younger man with a parenting book and all three moved off to begin their daily duties.
_____
After prepping the coffee machine in the break room, James pushed the brew button and went into his office to compose an ad for a part-time librarian.
“Wanted. Part-time library assistant,” he spoke to the empty room. He paused, sharpened his pencil, and resumed. “Must be available weeknights from 5 to 8:30 p.m. and Saturdays from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. High school diploma required. Customer service and computer experience a plus.” Placing the eraser nub against his lips, James hesitated again. “How can I say that the suitable candidate should love books, be able to tolerate even the most aggravating patrons with courtesy, and be prepared to soothe anxious toddlers and tangle with surly teenagers? How can I say that each book must be treated like a crown jewel and though the salary isn’t very high, it is worth every meager cent to be able to serve the public as we librarians have served them for hundreds of years? The ad would cost a small fortune if I could ask for what I truly wanted!” James tossed the pencil down and sighed.
He then picked up the phone and dialed the main number of the Shenandoah Star Ledger. “I’d like to place a classified ad,” he told the woman on the other end of the line. When she gave him the go-ahead, he dictated the words and then added a line saying that any interested candidates should phone him for an interview.
“So have you heard the big news, Professor Henry?” the young woman asked breathlessly after their business was concluded.
“Apparently not,” James replied pleasantly.
“Your famous ex-girlfriend is back!”
Frown lines furrowed across his brow. “What do you mean? Has she released another book so soon?” He struggled to recall if the library had received a postcard similar to the one he’d been mailed at his father’s address announcing the debut of Murphy Alistair’s thrilling mystery, The Body in the Bakery.
“Not yet. I think the sequel comes out a week before Christmas. But she’ll be able to tell you all about her future bestseller in person.”
James knew he was being baited, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “And why would that be the case? I thought she spent most of her time in New York or on tour?”
“Not anymore! She’s come back to Quincy’s Gap!” The girl shouted in triumph. “In fact, she bought The Star! She’s moved into one of those big old houses off Main Street and is working on her third book. A celebrity! And now she owns the paper where she used to work! Can you believe it?”
The news hit James like a punch in the gut. It was bad enough that his former flame had written a novel portraying him and the rest of the supper club group as fat and goofy amateur sleuths, bumbling their way through a small-town murder investigation. Whether out of spite for having been dumped by James or merely for the sake of comic exaggeration, his character was especially inept and spineless. Though he’d refused to read the book himself, he’d heard more than enough about it from friends and library patrons to be angry and embarrassed by his fictionalized persona.
“Professor?” The young woman’s voice penetrated his unpleasant reverie. “Are you there?”
“Please place the ad as soon as possible,” James answered as though he hadn’t heard the unpleasant announcement that his ex-girlfriend, local reporter-turned-celebrity novelist, had returned to stir up more strife. “Thank you and have a nice day.”
James hung up the phone and walked over to his window. He let his eyes rest on the brilliant green hue of the spring grass bordering the tidy sidewalk and then lifted his gaze toward the parking lot, as though Murphy Alistair was sitting out there in her car, plotting the next chapter in which she would make certain to depict him as a corpulent fool once again.
“Why did she come back?” he asked the pink dogwood blossoms at the edge of his vision. “Half the town hates her because of how she described them in her book.” On the other hand, he had to admit that many citizens were pleased with Murphy, citing her novel as the reason so many tourists had flocked to Quincy’s Gap over the course of the year. In fact, the number of visitors had nearly doubled, bringing much-needed income to small-business owners. Milla had told James several
times that she’d made sales to tourists who’d asked her numerous questions about the “real” people described in The Body in the Bakery. Of course, Milla always tactfully replied that she hadn’t been around when the actual events occurred, so she couldn’t attest to the truth of Ms. Alistair’s version.
James turned away from the window and strode out to the circulation desk, his fists balled in irritation. The morning had gone from bad to worse. First, Eliot’s declaration, then Mrs. Waxman’s unexpected retirement, and now, the return of a troublesome ex- girlfriend.
“Are you okay, Professor?” Francis asked as he passed by with the shelving cart.
A hunger pang awoke in James’ belly and he looked at his watch without really noticing the time. “Hold the fort, Francis. I’ll be right back.”
“Aye, aye, Captain!” Francis saluted and gave the cart a mighty heave toward the open space where patrons lined up to wait for assistance checking out. Scott darted from behind the Information desk and deftly caught the cart. In a continuous and fluid motion he pushed it toward the Children’s Corner while giving his brother a thumbs-up behind his back.
James never left the library during the morning. Occasionally, he’d meet one of the supper club members for a casual lunch at Dolly’s Diner or he’d eat a sandwich in the Bronco while running a few quick errands, but he and the twins had a system for handling midmorning coffee breaks. James would brew the coffee around ten o’clock, as he had this morning, and then he’d take a mug into his office to review emails or complete necessary paperwork, such as balancing the budget or placing orders to the library supply company. When he reappeared at the circulation desk, Scott would venture into the break room next. He’d repair a few hardcovers while bolting down a Twinkie and a cup of milky coffee or a Mountain Dew. He’d then switch off with Francis.
In this relaxed manner, all three enjoyed a leisurely morning’s work. They never got behind because they all worked during this respite. No one kept track of the length of these sit-down times and no one took advantage of them.
Yet now, James Henry, Head Librarian, was blatantly leaving the building just as the coffee pot finished percolating. Knowing he was unbalancing their perfect system, he jumped into the Bronco and drove northwest to the nearest Wawa. Once inside, he filled up a Styrofoam cup with French Vanilla-flavored coffee, and selected half a dozen doughnuts from the Krispy Kreme display.
“Were these baked this morning?” James asked the clerk.
“Yessir. The truck came in at five-thirty. They were still warm enough to fog up the glass after the deliveryman unloaded them.”
James pulled the bag to his chest and inhaled the scents of chocolate, cinnamon, powered sugar, baked dough, and glazed icing. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
Inside the privacy of the Bronco, he reached into the bag and pulled out the doughnut on top. At this point, he didn’t care which of the six varieties his fingers closed around. Any one of them would do. Unhinging his jaw like a python attempting to swallow his oversized prey whole, James sank his teeth through the layer of chocolate icing and into the soft, cake-like dough. An explosion of sugar coated his teeth, gums, tongue, and the roof of his mouth. For a moment, he was completely lost in the overwhelming power of the sensation. It was heavenly. It was, he admitted silently, a total high.
It took all of forty-five seconds for James to consume the doughnut. He then licked his fingers, took a sip of coffee, and leaned back against the seat with a sigh of contentment.
“I needed that,” he murmured, noting how his anxiety had drained away. He immediately felt calmer and more optimistic. Turning the engine on, James pulled out of the Wawa parking lot and headed back to Quincy’s Gap. He breezed through the lobby doors as though it was completely typical for him to have left work for a doughnut run. Still, when James raised the white and green Krispy Kreme bag in the air so that Francis could see it over the head of the elderly patron he was assisting, the younger man’s eyes sparkled with delight.
James placed the bag in the center of the round table in the break room, removed a blueberry cake doughnut from the bag, and placed it on his desk blotter for later. Returning to aid the patron waiting at circulation, James looked over his shoulder and smiled as the Fitzgerald brothers circled the pastry bag like sharks, bickering good-naturedly over which treat to enjoy first.
“We’ll cut them in half, bro,” Scott suggested. “That way we get to try them all.”
“Totally!” Francis happily agreed. “Do you think this will become a new tradition? The Monday morning sugar rush?”
After a pause in which James imagined his employee’s mouth was crammed with a glazed cruller Scott said, “Nope. The professor is going to be hypnotized after work today, remember? This might be the last time we’ll walk into this break room and find one of Milla’s cakes or Mrs. Waxman’s pies or Mrs. Goodbee’s brownies.”
Francis groaned. “That would be a total tragedy for us, bro.” He sighed. “Well, at least we’ve got Willow’s chocolates to eat at night.”
“You got that right!” The brothers exchanged high-fives while James loaded the last two books in the Harry Potter series into a Friends of the Library canvas tote bag. “You’re going to enjoy these, Mrs. Gibb.”
“Oh, I know I will!” The old woman cackled. “I saw the boy who played the movie Harry Potter onstage in England.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What a play! That boy was as naked as the day he was born! Cute little tush on him too.” She patted her tote bag. “It’s gonna be real hard to picture him back in the old Hogwart’s robes again, but I’ll do my best!”
Doing his best to hide a grin, James set to work on the hold and transfer requests until Scott reappeared from the break room. His upper lip was lined with chocolate frosting and a sprinkling of powdered sugar covered the front of his navy polo shirt.
“I don’t know how you’re going to live without it, Professor. Sugar, I mean. All the best-tasting food is filled with loads of sugar or loads of salt. Your giving that up would be like Francis and me being hypnotized to lose our love of video games.”
James indicated his protruding belly. “But video games aren’t bad for your health. Being sedentary is, yes, but you boys get plenty of exercise. I need to do this so I can live a fuller life with my son.”
Scott nodded. “For what it’s worth, Francis and I think it’s really cool of you to give this alternative treatment a shot.” He fell silent for a moment and then began brushing the flecks of sugar from his shirt. “You’ve given me something to think about too. Maybe I’m not living a full life either. Francis has been spending more and more time with Willow and they’re super happy together. I think they might be the real deal. But me? I waste countless hours trying to complete missions with a bunch of online friends I’ve never met face-to-face.”
“It’s a hobby. I don’t see any harm in that,” James replied kindly, but Scott remained rather distressed.
“But life’s about making connections,” Scott continued. “For example, there’s this person I team up with every night. She even lives around here somewhere, because her User ID is Shenandoah Shutterfly. For an entire year we’ve sent instant messages about all kinds of stuff, but I don’t even know her name.”
“Can’t you just ask?” James inquired.
Scott shook his head. “That would be poor gaming etiquette, Professor. We’re all on there pretending to be brawny barbarians or powerful mages. For example, I’ve never told anyone I’m a librarian. I’ve got to stay in character. When I’m playing I become Fitz the Fierce!” He brandished his right arm as though it held a sword.
“Excuse me, Fitz the Fierce,” a middle-aged man carrying a thumb drive interrupted. “Could you help me with the computer? I keep on tryin’ to open a file and the danged thing won’t let me.”
Smiling, Scott jutted his arm forward again. “Lead the way, sir. No stubborn Word doc or paltry PDF can withstand the lightning-quick fingers of Fritz
the Fierce!”
Between the chocolate-glazed Krispy Kreme and Scott’s play-acting, James discovered that his bad mood had been wiped away like the powdered sugar from his employee’s shirt.
_____
James opened the blue front door of A Better State of Mind’s office at half past five that afternoon. He was too nervous to read the selection of magazines stacked on the end table, so he merely sat on the sofa and stared at the bowl of purple crocuses on the credenza near the door.
Skye appeared a few minutes later, carrying a CD in her hand. “Hello, Mr. Henry. Would you like to settle up before your session begins?”
“Sure.” James pulled out his wallet and handed Skye a credit card. “Is my friend Bennett in there now?”
“No. He switched appointments with Ms. Perez. She and Harmony have just finished, actually. I just need to label your friend’s nighttime CD and then it’ll be your turn.” She smiled in encouragement.
“I guess you hear many interesting things working this job,” James remarked as Skye ran his credit card.
She swiveled abruptly in her chair, her eyes stormy. “I don’t listen in on Harmony’s sessions, Mr. Henry! They are strictly confidential!”
“Of course! I didn’t mean to imply …” he trailed off, feeling moronic. He was relieved to hear the sound of Lindy’s voice. She called out “thank you,” from farther down the hall and when she entered the reception room, she seemed calm and slightly groggy. “How was it?” he whispered anxiously to her.
“Great.” Lindy’s voice was soft and relaxed. “I feel like I had a long nap, but I heard every word Harmony said.” She touched James on the arm. “You’re gonna be just fine.”
Lindy collected her CD from Skye, and James noticed that his friend continued to speak using a slow, sleepy voice, as though her tongue could not move any faster.
James would have liked to ask Lindy more questions but Harmony glided down the hall. Smiling, she greeted him and asked him to follow her. After giving Lindy a nervous wave, he walked down the hall and into a dimly lit room. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that a large indigo sofa and a beige recliner took up most of the space. Several small lamps sat on side tables covered with butter yellow cloths. Watercolors of lush gardens hung in a set of three above the sofa, and a pair of midnight blue curtains covered the room’s large picture window.
Black Beans & Vice Page 4