Chapter 2 #2
“Stringing me along the whole time? Using me and lying to me? Making me believe love was real?”
Ariel gazed out at the park as sunlight glinted off the hood of the van. “I wouldn’t describe it exactly that way, but yeah.
It’s no wonder you’ve been angry and clutching reasons to stay that way.”
Was she holding on to Wade . . . on purpose? The idea made her insides squirm. Being with Wade had made Stella feel alive and
seen. While he hadn’t been as interested in books, he’d willingly listened to her prattle on about them. He’d also praised
Stella’s creativity and encouraged her to write, not just in her journals, but poetry and short stories. He’d even written
poetry for her. It was lousy, for sure, but it had charmed her.
The memories shot heat into her cheeks, followed by a burst of anger. Why had he bothered showering her with so much love
and attention if he never planned to follow through with his promises? Stella had tucked those stupid poems into the journal,
which was now a pile of ash.
Desperately needing to divert her thoughts from her ex, she glanced over at Ariel and noticed flower-shaped words spiraling
around her best friend’s throat like a daisy-chain necklace. Intrigued. Romantic pursuits. Ask me out. “Are you dating someone?”
Ariel shot a look at Stella, and her eyes narrowed. “Are you using your word magic on me?”
Stella laughed. “Are you admitting I’m right?”
Ariel sighed dramatically. “No, but I’d like to be. He’s a client, though, so I don’t know how it would work.”
Stella’s mouth dropped open. “Wait, you’d like to be dating one of your dogs?”
Ariel realized her mistake and giggled. “Wrong word. He’s a customer. He brings in his German shepherd, Scout. He named her after a character from one of his favorite books.”
“To Kill a Mockingbird?”
Ariel nodded.
“You should probably marry him. A book nerd is a solid choice.”
Ariel scrunched her face. “Marry him? I’m not even sure we can make a date happen. He’s really cute and nice, and he’s not
wearing a wedding band, but I have no idea if he’s dating anyone. Plus, some married men don’t wear rings. And it’s not like
I can slide that in without being awkward. ‘Hey, a regular shampoo and cut for Scout, and are you single?’ There’s just not
a way to segue there.”
“You have his name and number,” Stella said with a sly smile. “You could call him and ask him out.”
Ariel gasped. “Not happening. I’d prefer it to be more organic and not force it.”
Stella smirked. “You mean you’d prefer he do the asking.”
Ariel reached for another biscuit. “Exactly. Want half?”
Stella nodded, and Ariel split the biscuit down the middle, handing the larger half to Stella. They sat in silence for a few
moments eating.
Stella replayed tossing the journal into the fire with hope that it would free her from the connection with Wade, but if anything,
she felt worse. Then she thought of the violet words that ripped an ache through her chest last night: I fell in. Did the words have something to do with Wade?
“You know what I love most about fairy tales?” Stella asked.
“The jewels? The crowns? Having your own princess castle?”
Stella chuckled. “All great guesses, but I love how you always know who the bad guy is in fairy tales. He’s easy to recognize because he’s probably wearing black or a wild cape or has arched eyebrows and an evil gleam in his eyes.
But here in our world, the bad guy sometimes looks like Prince Charming, and he’s charismatic, intelligent, funny, and has the perfect smile.
Sometimes you think you’ve found the prince, but he’s actually the villain.
” She paused. “Do you really think I’m the problem here with Wade? ”
Ariel finished her half of the biscuit and wiped her mouth. “Honest thoughts?”
Stella braced herself and nodded.
“I’m not saying he didn’t have bad vibes and that he’s not at fault. He didn’t treat you well, that’s obvious. And the way
he left you was cruel in my opinion. But now after all these months, we can see that him being gone and not contacting you
is an indicator that you don’t need his kind of energy in your life. So it’s a gift, really, and if you’re still angry about
it or still feeling mopey about losing him, then maybe it’s because you want to keep holding on and being angry and sad.”
Stella frowned. “Why would anyone want that?”
Sadness drifted across Ariel’s face. “That’s a good question.”
The rest of the day at the library passed slower than chilled cane syrup. On incredibly slow days, Stella normally dusted
books, trying not to inhale the filth and microscopic debris collecting in crevices, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Breathing
in at the wrong time could mean you sucked in a throatful of dank, dusty particles and spent the rest of the day sneezing
with watery eyes.
Instead, she ran a report to see which books hadn’t been checked out recently.
Sometimes books hid amid the library shelves and weren’t checked out for years.
Last week she found a book that hadn’t left the library since February 1988.
Books like that had to be weeded out, a twinging liberation.
Stella cringed at the idea of getting rid of books, but space in the library was precious, and how could they make room for new books if they never weeded out the ones that had frozen in place?
Thankfully she and Arnie had creative ways of finding homes for the weeded titles. They advertised for people to come pick
through the free books or sold books at fundraisers for the library and other local activities. It amazed Stella how a book
could have sat on a shelf for a year with no interest, yet it might be the first one snagged in a giveaway. She imagined the
rehomed books trembling with excitement on their way to being loved and enjoyed again after feeling forgotten for so long.
After a few hours of weeding, Stella leaned her head against the edge of a shelf. When she closed her eyes, Ariel’s voice
sounded in her mind. Discomfort spread an ache to her chest area, giving her a feeling of indigestion. Could heartburn literally make her heart ache? Or was it just the bacon from this morning?
After all these months, how was it possible that she still had heart spasms because of Wade? Their time together was limited,
with his demanding job and caring for his kids, and every time they’d seen each other had felt exciting. The way he hugged
her like he never wanted to let go. The way they snickered like there was always a secret they couldn’t wait to share. She
missed feeling buoyant, missed the anticipation of the next kiss. Why was it easier to remember the heart-lifting moments and ignore
the truth?
Shame burned through her. Wade was long gone and the only thing stopping her from truly letting him go was her.
She rubbed her fingers against her breastbone.
Ariel would say that Stella’s heart chakra was out of alignment or needed to be “cleansed.” A defibrillator box hung on a nearby wall.
Could the paddles shock all the gunk from her heart, including stubborn emotions that she may or may not be allowing to linger?
She could hear Ariel’s voice in her head: That is most definitely not the proper way to cleanse your heart.
Fire hadn’t worked. Lightning wasn’t going to fix her. So what would? Ariel would say to try meditating and breathing. Breathing
she could do, but Stella meditated about as well as she spoke Italian. In fits and starts. Poorly.
“Hey, kiddo,” Arnie said, startling her from her thoughts. “The knitting club rescheduled. Why don’t you call it a night?
You look beat.”
“Thanks, Arnie,” Stella said with a sigh. “Just what a girl wants to hear.”
“I thought women wanted honesty,” he teased.
“Pfft,” she said. “Who told you that nonsense?” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “I know what
you mean. I do feel a bit worn down. I’ll take you up on that offer and head home”—she glanced at her cell phone—“half an
hour early. You sure you can close up without me?”
His expression said, Are you kidding me? “Is a heffalump pink?”
“Does a woozle leave tracks in the snow?” she countered.
Arnie smiled at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Stella grabbed her keys from the counter where she’d tossed them earlier and walked to her car parked behind the library in the first row, fourth space, to the right of the library’s exit.
Same as always. She drove through town with a persistent burn in her chest and wondered if she had any antacids at home.
After pulling into the garage, she grabbed for her purse, but it wasn’t there.
She stared in confusion for a moment, then checked the floorboard and the narrow area between the passenger seat and the car door—as if it would even fit there.
Her searching fingers found a pen, a rubber band, and a lonely, fragile cheese puff.
She climbed out of the car to give herself a different vantage point and fisted her hands on her hips.
Nothing but cracking leather seats. She retraced her steps in her mind and saw her purse sitting beneath the circulation desk.
It would take her less than fifteen minutes to drive back across town and grab it.
She called Arnie as she drove. Thankfully she kept her cell phone with her while she worked. When he didn’t answer, she left
a message. Even though the library’s rear parking lot was empty when she returned, Stella parked in her usual spot.
On the lot beside the library sat a bungalow where most of the head librarians had taken residence since it was built in the
early 1900s. Arnie had convinced the town to let him purchase the home, and for as long as Stella could remember, it had been
his.
Arnie’s most extravagant possession in an otherwise humble life was parked in front of his cottage—an inherited 1955 silver
BMW 503 convertible.
All the lights were off inside. Arnie never went to bed before midnight, and most evenings he stayed up well into the wee
hours. There was no way he was sleeping already. He must still be inside the library. Stella jingled the keys on her key ring
until she found the fat-headed gold key that unlocked the back door.
Her assumption that Arnie was still inside was validated when the beeping of the alarm didn’t start as soon as she opened
the door. The only light still illuminating the library dangled high above the circulation desk, spotlighting the circular
space like an actor in a play, leaving the rest of the stage in darkness.
“Arnie?” His name echoed through the empty library, returned to her, and circled around her shoulders.
She squatted behind the desk and reached for her purse. It seemed to jump into her hands, saying, I thought you’d left me here! She shouldered the bag and stood. The burning sensation in her chest intensified, and Stella gripped the edge of the counter.
A small pool of liquid, a vivid purple, rose through the desktop as though a fountain had burst inside the wood. Just as they
had last night, letters emerged from the glowing goo, forming words. Violet roots stretched out from the words and wrapped
around objects on the desktop as the fire in her blood intensified. Her hands became clammy, and Stella swayed with nausea.
The words love once undulated on the desk, and as soon as Stella spoke them aloud, the blistering in her chest lessened. She steadied herself
and swallowed, thankful she hadn’t barfed on the desk. She lifted a trembling hand to her forehead and inhaled a slow, deep
breath.
The journal was at home. Would the pain return if she didn’t write down the words immediately? She quickly said, “I’ll write
you down when I get home, I promise.” Seeming to understand, the words unwrapped their purple tendrils and skittered off the
countertop, disappearing into the dark library.
Stella drew in another breath and rubbed her fingertips across the left side of her chest. What was happening to her?
Laughter drifted across the foyer. She glanced toward the vault door on the opposite side of the room. The door to the antiquities
archives stood ajar, and more laughter—no, giggling—tumbled out the open doorway. Stella started walking toward the sound but hesitated. Arnie never giggled, and it was a woman’s voice.