18. Chapter 18 Eli #2
Children are sprawled across quilts beneath the reading tent, each one holding a book someone from the used book sale insisted they take home.
Earl is enthusiastically explaining raffle tickets to a family that clearly understood them five minutes ago.
Dottie June is sending two teenagers away with paper plates piled far higher than either of them can reasonably carry.
"I've been trying to find the right word all day," Maggie says quietly.
"For what?"
She looks at me instead of the festival.
"I keep thinking about when I first arrived."
"You mean when you nearly got flattened by a leaking ceiling?"
She smiles.
"I was so convinced this library was my responsibility."
"It is."
She shakes her head.
"No."
She gestures toward the crowd.
"This is."
For a moment neither of us speaks.
A breeze stirs the ribbons hanging from the reading tent, carrying with it the sound of children's laughter and the faint strains of bluegrass music drifting across the square.
"I owe you an apology," I say.
Her eyebrows lift.
"For what?"
"For thinking I was helping you save the library."
She looks puzzled.
"You were."
"I was helping you."
I glance toward Sophie, who is sitting on the grass helping a younger girl sound out the title of a chapter book.
"The library would've survived one way or another."
I look back at Maggie.
"But I don't think Sophie and I would've had the last two months we've had without you."
Her eyes soften.
"Eli..."
"I mean it."
The words come more easily than I expected.
"You've given Sophie confidence I couldn't."
I smile.
"You even convinced her that reading out loud can be fun."
"She did the hard part."
"So did you."
She studies me for a long moment. Then she smiles that smile. The one that reaches all the way to her eyes.
"And you've given me something too."
"I have?"
"A place where I stopped feeling like I had to earn belonging."
The words settle quietly between us.
I don't think.
Not this time.
I reach for her hand.
She doesn't hesitate.
Her fingers slip naturally between mine, as though they'd been waiting to do exactly that.
"Maggie..."
She looks up.
Whatever I was about to say disappears the moment our eyes meet.
Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, I lift my free hand and brush my thumb lightly against her cheek.
She smiles.
"So this is the part where you stop overthinking everything."
I laugh under my breath.
"Was I that obvious?"
"Only for the last several weeks."
"That's embarrassing."
"A little."
I shake my head.
"I was aiming for mysterious."
"You missed."
We both laugh.
Then the laughter fades.
The space between us disappears almost without either of us moving.
When I kiss her, it's gentle.
Unhurried.
The kind of kiss that asks a question before it makes a promise.
She answers by smiling against my lips.
When we finally pull apart, neither of us says anything for several heartbeats.
We don't have to.
Some things are perfectly clear without words.
Just a few feet away, applause suddenly erupts near the raffle table.
Neither of us even glances in that direction.
For one perfect moment, the rest of Cedar Hollow simply fades away.
The afternoon slips by almost unnoticed.
The raffle baskets disappear one by one. Children carry armfuls of books toward waiting cars. Volunteers begin folding chairs while Jim Harper insists the reading tent can stay up another fifteen minutes "because stories don't wear watches."
No one argues with him.
The donation thermometer stands near the library entrance, its bright red line climbing higher than any of us had dared hope.
Mrs. Davis catches my eye as she walks past.
"I think we did it."
I look around the square.
Families linger instead of hurrying home. Children sit on the courthouse lawn reading books they'd chosen only an hour earlier. Earl is somehow buying back two mystery novels he'd donated on Monday.
I smile.
"I think you're right."
Beside me, Maggie slips her hand into mine.
Not for long.
Just long enough to give it a gentle squeeze before another volunteer calls her name from across the lawn.
"I'll be right back," she says.
I nod.
"I'll still be here."
She smiles one more time before hurrying toward the book sale.
I watch her go. It's funny how quickly one person can become the first face you look for in a crowd.
I don't realize I'm smiling until Captain Reyes bumps my shoulder.
"I've seen that look before."
"What look?"
"The one that says you've stopped pretending."
I laugh.
"Was I pretending?"
"For months."
He glances toward Maggie.
"You might've fooled yourself."
"I doubt I fooled anyone else."
"Not a chance."
He starts toward the fire engine, then pauses.
"For what it's worth..."
I wait.
"I'm happy for you."
Before I can answer, someone calls my name from the edge of the sidewalk.
"Eli?"
The voice is soft.
Tentative.
Almost uncertain.
I turn.
A woman stands just beyond the crowd with an overnight bag resting beside her feet.
She looks exactly the way I remember.
Older.
More tired around the eyes.
But unmistakably...
Stacey.
For one impossible second, the sounds of the festival seem to disappear.
Children are still laughing.
Someone is still playing guitar.
People are still talking.
Yet all I hear is my own heartbeat.
She offers a nervous smile that never quite reaches her eyes.
"Hi."
I don't move.
I don't think I can.
Across the lawn, Sophie looks up from the stack of books she's helping Mrs. Davis organize.
Her eyes drift toward the sidewalk. Toward the woman standing there.
She freezes.
The smile slips from Stacey's face.
Very quietly, almost as though she's afraid the little girl won't remember her, she says,
"Hi, Sophie."
No one around us understands why the entire world has suddenly stopped.
No one...
Except Maggie.
I see her turn from the book table.
Her eyes find mine first. Then they follow my gaze to the woman standing alone on the sidewalk.
Confusion flickers across her face.
Mrs. Davis, standing beside Maggie, looks toward the entrance.
The color drains from her face. She reaches for Maggie's arm. Without taking her eyes off the woman by the sidewalk, she whispers just loud enough for Maggie to hear,
"That's Sophie's mother."
And for the first time all day...
The celebration no longer feels like a celebration at all.