2. Jane
Iglance at the clock hanging above the reference desk, exhale a hard push of air, and assume the hands on hips Wonder Woman pose, ready to take on the world and all its challenges. I have three minutes to post my daily video before the library opens.
My phone is already set up in front of the ring light, so I pull up my QuickStar app and start to record.
“Hey, guys, I have some sad news about Book Talk with Byron.” I pause the video briefly to gather my thoughts.
I know what I have to say next, but it’s not easy. I’ve been doing this daily segment where I chat with Byron about books for the past six months. Not that Byron actually talks back. I just tell the viewers what I imagine he’s thinking. In an Irish accent, like Nana’s.
I’ve gathered quite a following of fellow readers, and I love doing it, but it’s a hobby, not a job. It’s never going to pay the bills. And once I no longer work here, I won’t have that either. My hobby has been stolen, too, just like my career.
I sigh, force a smile, and hit record again.
“This is probably going to be my last video.” Because I just can’t see myself filming over the next two weeks, knowing my days here are numbered. “I’ve been laid off. Byron here will be taking over my job, and he hasn’t learned how to post to QuickStar yet. He also can’t talk—at least, not yet…”
Considering how brilliant Bryan Brooks is, I wouldn’t be surprised if Byron 2.0 had the capability of taking over my social media following, too. Not that I say that part aloud. I just force out a chuckle instead.
I learned a long time ago that when life gets tough, you can laugh or you can cry. And I prefer to laugh.
I hold up the book I promised I’d review this morning. “This was a special request from a library patron here at Maple Valley Library. It’s not something I’d normally read, but with a title like, Knitting With Dog Hair: Better A Sweater From A Dog You Know and Love Than From A Sheep You’ll Never Meet, how could I resist?
“Byron, you’ve never told me if you dream of electric sheep, but if you do, I imagine the thought of being wrapped in an electrified scarf must make you a little anxious. I haven’t researched whether we have any spinners in Maple Valley, but, buddy, if we do, I’m going to have them knit you something made of dog fur donated by all the patrons in this town. A little something to say thank you for your hard work helping me keep our shelves so organized.”
I blink hard to keep my tears from spilling over. Here I am offering to knit a scarf for a robot, and the Library Board is disposing of me like I’m no more valuable than the dust the cleaners sweep off the floor. Cleaners who—I might add—have not been replaced by robots.
I spend a few minutes talking about the book and then force one final smile. “This is it from us. Goodbye, everyone. And all the best to you, Byron. I hope you love this job as much as I have.”
I post my video to QuickStar, delete the stupid app so I can forget all about the robot and his inventor, and head downstairs to grab my purse. My locker is right next to the tiny lunch room overlooking the garden, and I step inside with a heavy heart. The large padded windowsill makes for a cozy little reading nook, and all the librarians who have worked here since the building first opened in 1907 have added decorations to it to leave their mark.
I run my fingers along the patchwork quilt Amelia and I helped the quilting group make and fight back tears. My shoulders slump, and I grab the throw pillow—which has the first chapter of The Duke’s Regret printed on it in tiny text—and squeeze it tight against my chest. Our other coworker, Tabitha—who’s a general librarian and is completely obsessed with the historical romance in question—and I found it on the author’s website during one of our more quiet shifts… while Byron was probably in the stacks, hard at work. Tabitha is around my age, and a good friend. I’ll miss seeing her at work every day.
It takes me a while to gather my thoughts. I’m so lost in shock I don’t realize I’m staring at the painting of anthropomorphic books I hung up on April Fool’s Day two years ago as a joke. At least I’ve left my mark here, too.
I head back upstairs and find Tabitha at the librarian’s desk with her weeding cart. She has the tough job of deciding which books stay on our shelves and which get discarded to make room for new ones.
My heart goes out to the old medical textbook as she raises her stamp and slams it down onto the title page.
Withdrawn. Just like me.
“Hey, Tabs,” I say softly.
She looks up, and her blue eyes widen behind her cat-eye glasses. If ever there was a librarian who looked the part, it’s Tabitha. Her glasses are attached to a beaded chain, her brown hair is up in a bun, and her outfit consists of a white blouse beneath a blue cardigan, paired with a matching knee-length pleated skirt. She takes pleasure in playing into the librarian stereotype, and it suits her.
To be fair, I’m in a cardigan today, too, but only because the temperature in the library always skews cold. And my own hair is up in a bun for very practical reasons—so it doesn’t get in my eyes when I bend down to put books on the lower shelves. Not that I’ll be doing that anymore.
“Oh, Jane,” Tabitha abandons her work and rushes around the desk. “I’m so sorry. I just heard. I can’t believe the Board would do this to you. It’s preposterous. You’re so much more than that hunk of junk Byron, and the fact that they don’t see that makes them all idiots.”
“Thanks, Tabby.” I fight to hold back tears. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Miss me?” Tabitha scowls. “We may not have been friends growing up, but we are now. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
I smile my first genuine smile since I’ve been told I’m being let go. “Brunch on Sunday like usual?”
“Always.” Tabitha smiles back. “And please tell me you’ll keep coming to Book Club? The ladies are always meddling in my love life when you”re not there.”
I snort. “Are you saying you don’t want to hook up with Millie’s grandson?”
“Can you believe she said,” Tabitha lowers her voice, “that he’s not the brightest crayon in the box, but he’s good for casual sex?”
I give her a quivering smile, and my eyes well up with tears. “I’m really going to miss this place.”
“And this place is going to miss you.” Tabitha looks like she’s going to cry, which is my cue to leave.
“Amelia told me to take the morning off, so I’ll be back after lunch.”
“Speaking of…” Tabitha gestures across the library toward Amelia, who’s heading our way.
“Jane, there you are!” she calls out, looking surprisingly perky for someone who just fired me. “I called the lunchroom, but you didn’t pick up. I was worried you’d already left.”
My heart leaps. Did she figure out a way for me to stay? Did the Board change their mind?
Her eyes sparkle and she’s practically bouncing on the tiptoes of her Mary Jane’s. “There’s someone in my office who’s here to see you.”
“Go.” Tabitha squeezes my arm, and I can’t help the hope that blooms in my chest.
I hurry after Amelia. When we reach her office, she steps aside so I can enter first. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, and I draw a deep breath to collect myself before I step inside.
The man waiting for me is standing in front of her desk, examining one of the many paperbacks littered across its surface. His back is to me, and I can’t help checking him out. His perfectly tailored gray suit hugs his broad shoulders and tapers off at the waist, and his black hair is cropped short in a classic haircut that lends him an air of power. His black leather shoes are polished to a shine. He looks like he dressed to attend a library gala, not to check out a book on a Monday morning.
He’s definitely not a member of the Board. I see them all regularly, and none match his height and build. So who is he? And why is Amelia practically vibrating with excitement?