Chapter 10
The first day of any new job should never start with tardiness, so I rushed across the street as fast as my legs could carry me.
Lady Luck granted me some of her coveted good juju, and the doors stood open for me, which I shut as soon as I got inside.
The small insane woman obsessed with Pauly was nowhere to be found.
After a solid half hour, I stopped looking for her and started cleaning, hoping she knew I was here and I’d somehow get paid for it.
A layer of fine dust covered every single inch of the place, yet—and I use this word sparingly—the library held a magical essence to it.
When I walked through the large glass doors, it threw me into a small marble entryway.
Two doors sat on opposite sides of the room, one to the right and one to the left.
In the center, a large cherry wood desk split the area in two.
There was even a little spinning globe on the top. And a bell.
No lie, I rang that thing a solid dozen times before moving on. It satisfied that annoying part of me that never left childhood.
The doors to either side remained locked, but I found a set of keys hidden in the desk and opened both doors before flipping the sign to “Open.”
I dubbed the left side the adult side. It held all the normal things, like fiction and non, as well as ancient encyclopedias. Dust motes danced in the air, and with a little light, I could almost imagine them as fairies.
It was the right side of the building, though, that stole my breath.
It’s a fairy-tale land reimagined as a library. Tall trees made of papier maché stretched to the ceiling, while a certain caterpillar lounged in the rafters and a dusty tea party sat frozen in time.
Shivers danced up my spine as I moved between the shelves. I decided then and there to open this side first, and starting Wednesday, we were going to have story time.
That thought stole my entire day. I washed the shelves after finding a bucket in a supply closet, the one set beside that break room where I did not find the elusive Ms. Aberdeen. I did, however, find Jersey Shore playing on repeat.
I’m not a cleaner, if I’m honest, preferring to hirie someone to do the tasks I don’t like to do. Granted, that isn’t very often because,k for most of my life, I lived in squalor.
Growing up with Gram was incredible, and some of my favorite memories of her were when she’d read us bedtime stories. The pages came alive, and my imagination was filled with princesses and knights, as well as heroes braving death and war to find their brides.
Those nights were my favorite, and not the ones that reminded me I didn’t have a mom and dad. I could pretend my life was something else, something magical, when she read to us.
And at the end, as Gram lay dying in her hospital bed, I read to her. I read about love and romance, as well as witches and warlocks. Even my brother flew down to spend those last moments with her, and together, we filled them with some of our favorite works.
The Velveteen Rabbit, Charlotte’s Web, and even Lemony Snicket’s were on the reading list—all books she read to us. Some nights, I even snuck in some raunchy romance books just to hear her laughter, though we both loved them.
At the end of the day, it wasn’t about what book we read, but the time we spent together. When Gram died, my love for reading slipped.
Until now.
I graze my fingertips along the shelves to the pile of laundry in the center of the room. I found bean bags, pillows, blankets, and little chairs to clean. There isn’t a single washer and dryer here, but something tells me Saffron won’t mind.
This room shouldn’t sit in a layer of dust. It should be filled with the laughter of children as their imaginations run wild.
My time here may slip through my fingers, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make every moment count. I will breathe life back into this library, even if it’s for someone else to keep alive.
“Mom?” Lark’s voice pulls me out of my musings as I imagine kids rushing about with little thought bubbles above their heads.
“Yeah?” I might sniffle a little bit, and Lark doesn’t miss it, not at all.
“What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Awe fills my voice, and I don’t even try to swallow it back. “All the books are here. Someone kept them stocked through the years. I even found boxes and boxes of new books, some published only months ago.”
Her knowing smile lights up her face, and luckily, she doesn’t have time to respond before Ms. Aberdeen cuts in.
Really, where the heck did she come from?
“That would be Arthur,” she says wistfully, stepping from behind a rack that I just walked out of. Was she following me? Watching me? How did I not know?
More importantly, why did she do that?
“Who is Arthur?” Lark questions, and I know she’s still mentally placing everyone in this town. Her penchant for memorization astounds me.
“Oh, my son.” She smiles, her glasses slipping down her nose a little before she pushes them back up. “He is the CEO of a big publishing house in New York.” She presses a wrinkled hand to her chest, her smile full of parental pride.
“He donates all of this?” My arms flap and my hands slap against my thighs for emphasis.
“Well, who else?” She sighs once more, but those intelligent eyes of hers scan each shelf. “You’ve been busy today, Wren.”
For a moment, embarrassment floods me. Did I go too far? She wasn’t around, and I kind of just took over. Passion filled me for the first time in years, as happy memories reminded me of why I love books. “Did I—”
“Oh hush, child. You did well. I wanted to see what you’d do. Arthur is pleased. He won’t be here until Christmas, but he loved all the pictures I sent him.” She waves a shiny new phone in her hand, which I bet she uses to watch Jersey Shore reruns.
“Let me get this straight.” I cock out a hip. “You purposely didn’t meet me just to see what I’d do?”
“Of course. Arthur wanted to know if I made the right choice. I knew I did. But he needed convincing to pay you.” She rolls her eyes before giving me that look, the one that screams I’m a mom.
“You know how it is with children, always thinking they know better than you. They don’t. ” At that, she looks at Lark.
Usually, she’d argue that point, but she buried her nose in a book and can’t even hear us.
“She will need a library card for that. Come on, Lark.” Ms. Aberdeen moves to the front desk faster than I ever gave her credit for. I’m thinking she’s not as insane as people assume she is, but perhaps just calculating—which is even worse.
As she gets Lark a library card, I bundle all the pillows into two bean bags to take home to wash. I already regret the decision as I push them into the lobby.
“Your ride is here.”
“What?” I sputter at the sneaky woman, who points out the door to a truck idling at the curb. “You called Arlo?”
“It’s Monday. He always has dinner with his mom and sister on Monday, while the others flock to the bar for ladies’ night.” Ms. Aberdeen cocks her head to watch as Arlo climbs the steps, and I swear she licks her lips at him.
“Come on, Lark.” I’m still eyeing the little woman as Arlo opens the doors.
“Need help with those?” He doesn’t even wait for me to answer before he grabs both and heads back to the truck with Lark on his heels.
Shaking my head, I look back at Ms. Aberdeen. “I had an idea for story time.” Nerves flare in my stomach at the thought, but I can’t take it back now, even if she tells me no.
“What a great idea. What day?” Her eyes twinkle, and a part of me wonders if she set all of this up.
After giving her the details, I walk through the brisk cold and throw my body into the truck just as Lark was mid sentence.
With a full body shiver, I slam the door shut and give her my complete attention. “So?”
“So what?”
“Don’t play coy with me. How was the first day?” I direct all the heating vents directly at me, but it’s no use. The temperature dropped hard and fast, and I can smell snow in the air again.
“We were just talking about school.” Arlo pulls away from the curb, glancing down at Lark, whose smile has yet to waver.
“Ms. Larson is amazing. She’s better than all the teachers I had in Atlanta.
She made everything easy and simple, and it was incredible.
I got to read whatever book I wanted, and she even said when you finish with the library, we will have library days!
” she gushes, coming up for air before continuing.
“Ms. Larson is the smartest teacher I’ve ever had.
She taught algebra. Algebra, Mom! And she was amazing at it.
I didn’t even have to struggle. I got it on the first try.
Now some kids struggled a bit, but she teaches so well that they got it on the second try.
Mom, that is unheard of!” she hisses on an inhale.
“Breathe, human, breathe.” Her excitement spreads, filling the truck with a sense of happiness at something new.
“Mom, it was incredible.” My little goblin turns to face me, the strap of the seat belt cutting across her neck. “I’ve never had a teacher like Seraphina.”
“She is great at teaching,” Arlo muses, but the pride on his face for his sister is breathtaking.
The truck rumbles into the drive as Lark bounces in her seat. She’s excited to get out and do homework, so when I climb out, I’m not at all surprised when she launches herself toward the house, almost tripping over her own feet on her way to the door.
“She really likes school, huh?” Arlo asks as we walk around to the back to grab my pile of laundry.