Falling for Hope

by Anne Conley

  Hope was dumbfounded. She listened to the rant but thought back to what she had heard of this particular group. It was a group of atheists, who made headlines standing against prayer in schools, the manger scene on the courthouse lawn, and protested a non-denominational chapel on the state university’s campus. So far, the squeaky wheel had not gotten any grease, but as she perused the list of titles she was supposed to meekly pull from the shelves, she couldn’t hold back a scoff.

  “The Chronicles of Narnia? That’s been tried before, sir. It’s an allegory, yes, but hardly blatant. Most children don’t understand the religious significance.”

  “It is subtle, but this is not the forum to brainwash our children. If their parents feel the need to do that, it should be done at home, not under the guise of ‘free public education,’ which is what a city-run library does.”

  “That’s all well and good, Mr. Hutchins, by your interpretation of the amendment, but it literally states, ‘freedom of religion and the exercise thereof,’ meaning, if the children want to read Narnia, they shouldn’t be kept from it, which pulling it from our shelves would do. Do you feel the same about witchcraft? That’s a religion for some. If you feel the same, why don’t we pull Harry Potter and Strega Nona from our shelves as well? Or better yet, why don’t we pull everything with the ongoing theme of good vs evil and just limit these kids to reading about dolls and matchbox cars?”

  “There is absolutely nothing wrong with reading about dolls and cars.” The woman who had, up until now, been standing behind the men stepped forward.

  “Sure, not if you want little dependently thinking leaders for our future, unwilling to look at equality for the sexes because they’ve never been challenged to read anything of any value in their lives.” Hope knew she was sinking to their level by even indulging in the conversation, but she was pissed. She had been working here for years and had helped turn the children’s library into a fun, open place for children to explore new ideas and grow into free-thinking adults.

  “This is a petition with twelve thousand signatures, signatures of concerned citizens who feel this is a travesty for the youth of our nation.” Mr. Hutchins poked the paper on her desk with his index finger.

  Hope couldn’t stop herself from arguing with this man. “This city doesn’t even have twenty thousand people in it. Are you seriously suggesting that more than half of them want to see C. S. Lewis off our shelves?”

  “We’ve been compiling signatures online and in person to make a stand against your corrupting our youth.”

  Unable to take any more of the drivel, Hope capitulated, against her better judgment. If they really thought twelve thousand people world-wide was a number to work with, who was she to continue arguing? “I’m not in a position to make this decision. Leave me your contact information, and I’ll submit the concern to the library board. I believe they meet again in a couple of weeks.” Her tone must have been as dismissive at she hoped, because a victorious gleam overtook the man’s eyes before he turned and left, his entourage in tow. Thank God.

  Hope quickly put the incident out of her mind and her morning passed by in a flurry of questioning co-workers about asbestos (the taste had gone away, thankfully), re-shelving books, helping readers find what they wanted, and cleaning up a diaper leak on the dinosaur rug. Before she knew it, it was one o'clock. She rushed to the door.

  He was waiting for her outside the library, where they had talked before. At the sight of him, her mouth pooled with tangy saliva again. It dawned on her that he was the reason.

  He was casually leaning on the railing to the stairs, but when he saw her, he straightened and held out his arm to her. She rested her hand in the crook of his elbow, enjoying the nearness of this man, no matter how strange the circumstances.

  "Something's just dawned on me," she began through the cloud of him, fingering the soft cotton of his shirt while unobtrusively feeling his bicep flex under the material.

  "My name is Gabriel. You can call me Gabe, if you like."

  "Do you read minds as well?" She blushed at the implications of the question.

  He looked down at her, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. "Typically not without invitation."

  "Oh." She blushed further, unsure if he was serious, wondering if she should invite him inside her little mind, to let him know what exactly she was thinking. He almost looked amused, and she realized that this man kept his emotions hidden well. She had sensed no desire, no enjoyment, nothing from him. And she was a pretty good judge of people's emotions. She liked to consider herself sort of an empath, but knew that was mostly just wishful thinking on her part.

  "So, what's your name?" He asked her, just as she was inhaling his scent. She couldn't get enough of the spicy sweetness.

  "Hope. Hey, are you doing something to my mouth?" She couldn't resist the question. This taste business had been driving her crazy.

  His steps faltered, and he looked at her, eyebrows raised, clearly perplexed. "Maybe. What's happening with your mouth?" His eyes fixated on said feature, and Hope licked her lips nervously.

  "Um. It's just that, the last few days, I've had this weird taste in my mouth, and it keeps filling with slobber. Not very pleasant."

  "My apologies. I think it'll get easier in time." He faced forward again, and continued walking.

  "What is it, exactly? I've been thinking I'm about to have a seizure or a stroke or something."

  He actually seemed uncomfortable with the question, and Hope had a brief period of satisfaction that she unsettled him almost as much as he did her.

  "I'll explain later. Now isn't the time." He had stopped walking in front of a café on the corner. Hope’s heart gave a little pitter at the idea that he assumed there would be a “later.” His hand settling on her lower back, she walked in the door ahead of him, unable to keep the flirtatious sashay from her hips.

  When they were seated, Hope acknowledged to herself that she was incredibly nervous, yet totally stoked. She'd never had a date with anyone this good-looking before. All of her previous boyfriends had been like her: overweight nerds. In fact, most of their ideas of dates was gaming with delivered pizza. What a difference.

  "So, what are we going to talk about, if not the funny things that you do to me?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Sure, he made her mouth taste funny, and he left words and images in her head, but he also did other things. And she knew the first date wasn't the time to bring those up. She felt the blush tingle her scalp, as it made its way across her face. Of course, he didn't seem to notice. What was up with him?

  "I want to get to know you," he said simply, leaning back and crossing his arms.

  "What's with all the stalking? Were you there at story time? Why didn't you say anything? Why were you just staring at me?" There were so many questions to ask, she didn't even know where to begin, and she was pretty sure she was missing some important ones.

  "I was trying to glean information. Sort of a reconnaissance mission, if you will. I decided the easiest way to learn more about you was to take you out to talk."

  The waitress came by to take their order. Neither one had looked at the menus, so Hope ordered a large salad, and Gabe nodded to the waitress to bring him the same.

  After she'd gathered the menus and left, Hope said, "There's not much to tell. I'm a librarian, I read a lot, I have five cats, and I eat dinner at my parents' house every Thursday night. I'm pretty boring, really."

  "What do you like to read?" Now he actually looked interested, so Hope sat up straighter and told him.

  "I read just about everything, but I'm really into paranormal romance."

  Confusion colored his features. "What is that, exactly?"

  "It's romances that involve supernatural creatures. Vampires, witches, shape-shifters, archangels, elves and fairies, stuff like that." She almost added psychics to the list, but didn't want to seem too obvious.

  His eyebrows crept back up into his hairline. "There are books about
that kind of thing?"

  "Hello? Where have you been? Twilight?"

  He was obviously still confused, as his eyebrows hadn't lowered any, but he acknowledged her with a grumbled, "okay."

  "Do you read?"

  "Not much. I work a lot."

  Hope perked up. Now she got to learn something about this mystery man. "What do you do?"

  "I travel a lot. My boss has me delivering messages, mostly. It's pretty boring, really." He seemed like he was being purposefully vague, his eyes wandering around her, not actually looking at her.

  "Like one of those hot shot services that drives around in trucks delivering important papers and stuff?"

  "Sort of. Only, it's rarely paper. And I don't travel by truck."

  A vision flashed in her mind. Of the two of them, standing close together in the library. It was an almost intimate pose. She was leaning back against the stacks, and he was in front of her, his hands on either side of her head, as he leaned close to her.

  Hope blushed and saw him watching her intently, as if trying to gauge her reaction.

  "You deliver psychic messages?" she whispered, in awe. She was sitting with a real psychic. He nodded at her, his eyes never leaving her face.

  The waitress brought their salads, and to have something to do with herself and gather her thoughts, Hope started eating. Gabe did the same.

  They ate their salad in silence, Hope lost in the whirlwind of questions. She wanted to ask them all, but knew she couldn't. She glanced at him, between bites, and he seemed intent on his food, never looking up at her. Hope wondered if he was regretting asking her out. He certainly didn't seem too interested. It was like she was a duty or something.

  Eventually, she pushed her plate back and asked him, "Why don't you ever smile?"

  He looked at her, mouth full of salad, a little dressing around the corner of his mouth. Wiping it with a napkin, he finished chewing and swallowed. "Like this?" He flashed her a smile so wide, exposing a row of even, white teeth that had her melting into a pool of goo on the seat.

  "Yeah, like that," she mumbled, studying her fingernails to avoid looking at him. She was suddenly out of her league. "I've got to get back to work."

  "I'll walk you." He unfolded his frame from the chair and threw a wad of money on the table without looking at the check. Gesturing for her to go ahead of him, he rested his hand on her back as she led the way out of the restaurant. Outside, she grasped his elbow once again, and they walked back towards the library.

  Hope gathered her courage. She'd never openly flirted with anybody before, and wasn't quite sure how it was done. This was no ordinary man, so ordinary flirting wouldn't work anyway. The entire way to the library, she girded herself. At the base of the steps, she stopped and looked at him.

  Suddenly feeling timid, she asked, "You said you could read minds with an invitation?"

  He studied her before answering. "Yes."

  Hope grasped both of his hands, feeling a strength and peace emanating from him. She had read in books that this made it easier to communicate telepathically. She closed her eyes, and sent him an image of the two of them, embracing in a passionate kiss. His arms were wrapped around her, and he’d pulled her flush against his body. Hope’s fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling his face to hers. While they were fully clothed in the image, Hope couldn’t stop the lust that bubbled to the surface at the mental picture. She put all of the energy she could find into the vision, and pictured it flowing from her mind to his. When she opened her eyes, he was grinning at her.

  Her knees almost buckled. This wasn't the flashed smile from the restaurant. This was an actual grin of delight. And the man obviously had no idea what effect it had on her.

  "That's good to know, Hope. Good to know." He brushed a feather-light kiss on her forehead, before turning to walk down the street.

  Feeling deflated, Hoped turned and trudged into the library to finish her shift.

  Chapter 5

  Standing on her parents' porch, Hope looked around at her surroundings. She had gotten her love of flowers from her mother, as well as her love of cooking. Unfortunately, she'd gotten her appetite from her dad. The yard was tended well, trimmed in flowering bushes and decorated with catalogue bric-a-brac like her own balcony. Only her mother wasn't into fairies like she was. She had enamel flowers, bird feeders, pin wheels, brightly colored ceramic mushrooms, and solar powered glass globes that lit up the yard at night.

  Hope took her customary cleansing breath before knocking on the door, then opening it and calling out, "Hello? It's me!" Smells of grease and cheese assaulted her as she let the dim interior of the house overtake her. She walked down the hall to the living room, to find her dad sitting in his recliner, watching the evening news at an impossibly loud volume. Her gaze traveled the room, noticing no difference from last week.

  The walls were still lined with pictures of her sister, Melissa, a shrine of sorts. Photos from school, dance, photos with trophies, with ribbons, the ribbons themselves were on the walls as well. Abruptly the photos stopped when Melissa was twenty-two, as is typical when someone dies. There was nothing else on the walls of the living room. No artwork, no shelves filled with books, no other family. Not even Hope.

  When Melissa had first been killed, her parents filled the walls with her image, in an effort to never forget her. Initially, it had hurt Hope, because in filling the walls with pictures of her sister, her own photos had been removed. That was fifteen years ago, and now with a little perspective, Hope realized her parents didn’t love her any less than they had then. They just possibly loved Melissa a little more in her martyred state. But it was incredibly difficult to explain to visitors, which was one of the reasons her parents had never met any of her friends.

  She bent and kissed her dad on the cheek, as he absently brought his hand up to pat her back, eyes never leaving the TV.

  "What's going on in the world, Dad?" She asked the same thing every week.

  "Not much. Murder, mayhem, war in the Middle East. Same old. Same old." Same answer every week.

  She walked into the kitchen, calling as she went. Still, her mother jumped and clutched her chest when she saw Hope.

  "Good God, girl. You scared the life out of me!"

  "Sorry, Mom." She hugged her mother around her waist.

  "Will you get the chicken out of the oven? I'm just finishing the salad. Then we can all eat." Her mother handed her a pot holder and a trivet, and Hope complied.

  When they were seated at the table, Hope's father sat at the head and dished servings onto everyone's plate.

  "Don't put quite so much on Hope's plate, dear. She needs to watch herself."

  Hope rolled her eyes, eyeing her own mother's ample waistline but kept her mouth shut.

  "I had a nice lunch today, with a man." It wasn't her favorite topic with her mother, but it had to beat her dress size any day.

  "Oh really? Who is he?"

  "His name's Gabriel, and he's…nice." She wasn't sure how to describe him to her parents. Smoking hot? Telepathic? Yeah, right.

  "Where did you meet him?" Her mother was the only one interested. Dad was just shoveling food into his mouth.

  Triumphant, Hope replied, "At the library. He came in yesterday."

  "Well, why didn't you say anything about him last night when I was talking to you?"

  "Because he didn't ask me out until today."

  Her mother put her fork down and looked at her squarely before she spoke again. "You're not making him up, are you?"

  "What? No! I'm not making him up!"

  "Well, you've been known to do it before…"

  "That was just because you were putting so much pressure on me to have a date to that damn memorial. I had to come up with something to get you off my back! Jees, Mom! Come on!" Her mother had wanted her to bring a date to the annual memorial for her sister, and Hope had told her that her boyfriend was at her place with a stomach virus. Of course, she got caught in the lie when her mother ha
d shown up at her apartment with Gatorade and chicken broth. And no boyfriend materialized.

  Her dad looked up from his food, a brows wrinkled and a clear scowl on his face. "Hope. Watch your language."

  "I'm sorry, Sir." Chagrined, Hope looked at her chicken, oozing greasy cheese along the edge of the plate.

  "All I'm saying is that you've been known to embellish the truth about men in the past to get me to leave you alone. I don't like seeing you living like a spinster, honey. We love you."

  Hope didn't answer. She focused on choking down her food.

  "I know! Why don't you come back home and live with us! I could help you diet, and we could go shopping for some new clothes. Maybe I could find some friends for you, too."

  Hope knew her mother meant well, but that was the last thing she needed.

  "Mom, if you're so concerned about my eating habits, why did you make this dish when I came over for dinner? I had a nice salad for lunch. Maybe a grilled chicken dish would have been better for me?"

  "But King Ranch chicken is your favorite."

  "No, it was Melissa's favorite. Mine's chicken-fried steak." Hope did it. She used her sister’s name in front of her parents, and it wasn’t the right time. The only time it was okay to actually talk about her was the annual memorial service. Not the dinner table in normal conversation.

  Both of her parents' utensils clattered to the plates.

  "Hope." Her dad warned.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it." She shoveled the last bite of chicken into her mouth, and stood up. "I'm sorry." Hope turned to her mother. "Mom, I appreciate the offer, really I do. But I'm over thirty. I don't want to move back in with my parents. I have a nice life that I'm living." She tried to be subtle, but her mother's mouth twitched at the word nonetheless. "I'm going home now. I love you guys." She bent and kissed them each before leaving as quickly as she could. Neither one of them made a move to pick up their forks and she knew that within a minute of the door shutting her mother would be in tears and her father would go to the garage.