Chapter 1 #2
Not that it makes an ounce of difference to projecting any sort of professionalism while wearing a cow onesie, but I reach up and tug the hood off the top of my head.
I may still have udders, but at least now I don’t have horns.
My head falls forward in resignation, inadvertently thudding on the door in front of me.
“Come in,” Ryan calls.
The knob turns in my sweaty palm, and now I’m not only a cow, I’m a sweaty cow. Perfect.
“Have a seat, Martha.” Ryan indicates the chair that he’s placed on the other side of his desk that isn’t usually there. His office isn’t large. There’s not much room for things like chairs. Or other people, for that matter.
I squeeze into the seat that’s wedged between the wall and his desk.
Or I try too. My udders, which I had very much not wanted to draw attention to, are making it difficult to maintain any sort of poise.
Especially when they flop onto the top of my boss’s desk and no amount of tugging or pulling on my part—all while struggling to maintain a nothing-to-see-here strained expression—gets them to budge.
“Martha.”
I sigh and admit defeat, threading my fingers together and placing my clasped hands over the pink fabric teats. Very demure, very mindful.
“Let me start off by saying what an amazing children’s librarian I think you are. You’ve created programs here in Little Creek that other libraries in the region are adopting. You’re dedicated, hardworking, and the children and parents love you.”
I give him a moment, allowing him time to continue. Except he doesn’t. He seems just as hesitant to say what he needs to say as I am to hear it.
Feeling a little bit bad for him, I break the silence. “Thank you, but I’m sensing a but coming.”
“Did I mention you’re also very intuitive?” He forces out a chuckle meant to ease some of the tension.
It doesn’t.
He sighs. “But, unfortunately, we’ve run out of money.”
I blink at him. “What do you mean?”
“We didn’t get the grants.”
My heart sinks. A bad storm a few weeks earlier had caused a lot of damage to the library’s roof, to the point where the whole thing needed to be replaced.
Because of the type of insurance the library carried, they would only issue a check for the value of the old roof.
Which turned out to be a drop in the bucket after estimates from roofers came in.
We’d filled out applications for a few federal grants, hoping those funds would cover the additional costs that weren’t in the library’s current budget. Without those funds . . .
“It’s going to take the rest of the levy money to cover the cost of the new roof.”
The levy money that had previously been allocated for the library’s youth programs. The money that paid my wage.
While everyone calls me the children’s librarian, technically I’m only a librarian’s assistant.
I don’t have a library science degree like Evangeline and Hayley.
I’m a part-time employee who volunteers just as many hours.
“What about the new levy?” I ask weakly, already knowing what his answer will be.
Ryan shakes his head. “It didn’t pass. I’m sorry.”
“But . . .”
“It’s not fair, I know. We’ve all been very excited about the programs you’ve implemented, and no one wants to see the funding cut and those programs put on hold, nor do we want to lose you, but the money has to come from somewhere.”
Put on hold? He can’t put the programs on hold.
If Ryan pauses Budding Authors, then what will happen to Bethany and Andi?
They’re both at pivotal parts of their stories, not to mention journeying through the valley of doubts about creativity, craft, and community.
And Sam. Sam just started to open up. To find a place with like-minded peers when she’s been searching for so long.
If Ryan pauses Budding Authors, Sam might not know that she belongs.
That she’s not an outsider and that she does fit with other girls.
Lego Builders? Yes, the hour is loud and takes time to clean up, but the response since starting a dedicated time for young Lego enthusiasts has been more than we ever expected.
Some families can’t afford the increased price in Lego sets and so the library is the only time their kids get to play and create with the bricks.
And Lego is so much more than a toy. Lego helps with social skills, problem solving, spatial awareness, creativity and experimentation, fine-motor development, focus, anxiety, and so much more. Ryan can’t get rid of Lego Builders.
Community Connections? Crafternoon? Homework Help? STEM Time? Story time? Every program meets a need. Pausing these programs isn’t an option. We must find a way to cover the costs.
“There’s got to be something we can do. I can volunteer more.” My brain has switched to solution mode.
“Unless you’re independently wealthy, I hate to be the one to remind you that you can’t work for free if you also want to pay rent and eat.”
Well, there is that. Rent isn’t an issue since I work on the Anderson property in exchange for living in the apartment above their horse stables, but I would like to continue to have food in my pantry, and that does require some source of cashflow.
“How much money do we need for the new roof so the levy funds don’t get reallocated?” I ask, knowing whatever number he gives me, I have no way of paying. My contribution to Friends of the Library is buying a few books here and there. I’m not a big donation tier.
Ryan looks away, not meeting my gaze. I’d think that was it, all doors closed, if it wasn’t for the rhythmic strumming of his fingers on the desk. After a few moments, he turns back and looks bleakly into my eyes.
“We’d need a big donation,” he hedges.
“How big?”
He winces “A hundred thousand dollars.”
Definitely more than the paltry sum currently sitting in my bank account. More than in any bank account in Little Creek, if I had to wager a guess. Which means local fundraising would only be a splash in the bucket when what we need is a downpour.
I close my eyes and draw in a deep, slow breath. Lucky for me, I know where to find a thundercloud. “I might be able to get the library that donation.”
All I have to do is go back on a promise I made myself. The one in which I swore to never step foot in Mr. King’s office ever again.