The Rebel and the Bookish – by Stephanie Scott #4
Being back in Derby hasn’t been easy, but this feels easy.
Of all the people I’ve reunited with, Valerie sat at the edge of my mind.
A question mark. No need to ask what happened to her—I knew she was here in this library—but whether she ever wanted to talk to me again remained a mystery.
I took her support for granted. Her steady presence that absolutely mattered.
She felt ignored. The irony being, at the time, I felt ignored. But she did too. By me.
Man, youth is wasted on the young. If only I could go back and make her feel seen.
But she’s here, now, in my arms. Valerie is twenty-five plus years of mystery to me, of future discovery, if she’ll let me back into her life.
Her hands drift up my forearms, landing on my biceps, then curl behind them beneath the sleeves of my T-shirt. My mind empties out. I don’t know what I’m doing but I’m feeling everything. No, not everything. Good things. I’m feeling peace, safety, comfort.
I’m feeling desire.
One thing is clear. Never underestimate a librarian who knows more about your band than you do.
She pulls back first. A small shock hits at the sudden absence. My brain fogs. I’m probably staring at her like a freak, but she’s so beautiful and perfect and unexpected. I really did just come to the library for an escape. That cracked door called to me. Down here, I found treasure.
“You are such a bastard,” she whispers. There’s no fight in those words. She’s smiling.
It’s the perfect thing to say to me. “I know.”
She presses her hands against my chest but doesn’t push away. “You have to know what your kissing does to me.”
I don’t. “Please tell me.” I need to know this information so I can do more of it.
“Come on. I’ve been following you for years.”
“But with science,” I remind her. “With library science.”
She giggles. A downright, pure giggle. Never let anyone say adult women shouldn’t giggle. It’s adorable and sexy. Her voice hits at a lower register, which really strums my strings, if I’m honest. “I’d love to harmonize with you. And I mean that strictly in a musical sense.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t.”
I kiss her again. She doesn’t stop me. And there’s no one else here to stop either of us.
I never knew I had a librarian fantasy waiting to break free.
A buzz comes from my pants. Not that part, but my back pocket. My phone. I’m an idiot for checking, but I do. Several messages appear from Angelica.
Angelica: Dad? Things are OK but we haven’t heard from you. Are you OK?
That’s a trip. My fifteen-year-old checking in on me.
“Think I should tell them I’m making out in the library basement?”
Valerie gasps. “No! We can’t tell our kids. Ever.”
“Ever? That seems shortsighted. We’ll have to work on that.”
There are more messages.
Angelica: Caden will be mad I told you, but there’s more kids here than we said. He said it’s cool but I don’t want to get in trouble.
I face the phone to Valerie. “See? They trust me. Angelica is ratting out her brother.”
She takes the phone for a closer read. “Ian, it sounds like they’re having a house party.”
“I’m aware. I told you that.”
“No, not like game night, but a real, actual party.”
“Been to many of those?” I tease, but it’s mean. I never saw her at parties in high school. There’s probably a deeper reason I don’t know. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s fine. I went to plenty of house parties in college and threw my own a few times. One of my roommates DJ’ed at raves.”
“A librarian raver?”
“It was the late 90s, okay? Raves were kind of everywhere. And she’s not a librarian, she’s a botanist. Anyway. Your kids are having a house party and we’re stuck in a basement.”
“Yes, but I trust my kids. They’ve been properly scared straight after I had them meet a certain unnamed musician who happened to melt down on MTV’s TRL back in 2007.
His brain is pretty fried and now he works exclusively with fries—at a burger joint.
That part isn’t a joke. Addiction took everything from him, and he’s worked hard to get to a sober place.
I talk to my kids about drugs, drinking, and abuse?—”
“Oh my gosh.” Valerie backs up. It’s not me she’s talking to. She’s looking at her phone. No, she’s still holding my phone. “Your daughter says Emma is there. But Emma is supposed to be with Carina. At Carina’s house. With Carina’s parents.”
“Your daughter Emma is at my house?”
Her eyes flame. “She’s not supposed to be there.”
I throw my hands up. “I don’t know anything about it.”
“Isn’t that the problem?” she grinds out. “Shouldn’t you know who your children are inviting into your home?”
“You’re acting like they’re in grade school. They’re high schoolers?—”
“Who require supervision.” She thrusts the phone back and grabs her own. “I’m texting Emma. She better get back to Carina’s or there will be trouble. Big trouble.”
I want to say she’s overreacting, but maybe I’m underreacting? My instinct is to say if we push to forbid their freedom, we’ll lose them that much faster. Also... “I thought you didn’t have cell service.”
But Valerie is in a clear panic now, racing up the steps to the door Alan never responded to. She rams her fist against the door again. “Hey! Open up! Anybody out there?”
Frantically, she pushes against the door, cranking the knob, to no avail. Kicks the door, yells for it to obey her.
I approach slowly. “Valerie.” I place a gentle hand at her shoulder. “It’s time. We need to call the Old Crone.”
Valerie
This is what I get for letting my girlish daydreams play out.
My daughter is out there with the wolves.
At a high school party she’s not prepared for, because I didn’t properly prepare her.
I’m protective but I’m only human, with a full-time job, and an ex-husband who only shows up once a month and a handful of holidays. This is on me.
Ian strokes my back, but retracts his hand when I flinch. We’re standing at the top of the steps by the locked door. “I think you need to hide.”
He half laughs. “What?”
“When Mrs. Fisk gets here. You need to hide so she doesn’t see you.”
“Valerie—”
“If she sees you, it will be that much worse.” I can’t look at him. “Please, can I get by?”
He stands aside as I descend the stairs.
I pull up the contact on my phone and hit Call.
I want to take myself out of circulation on this one, but I’ve done harder things.
I can do this. It’s just a promotion. Maybe Alan will be a good boss.
He’s gentle. We’ll for sure end up with twice the amount of dog-themed programming, but I can live with that.
“ Hello .” Doreen arrows her greeting like a bullseye.
“Doreen, it’s Valerie. I’m downstairs in the library, sorting books for the charity sale, and it appears the door is locked.”
The conversation goes as expected, with Doreen harshly questioning why Alan was negligent at closing and how I could dare to be so careless. How valuable an asset the library is to the community and the respect the institution deserves that we are not granting.
Her voice fades as the phone suddenly lifts from my ear.
“Hello?” Ian says into the speaker. “Unlock the door and we’ll be on our way.”
“Who is this?!” Doreen squawks from the distant phone. “Who is that man?—”
Ian ends the call and hands back the phone.
He hung up on Doreen. No one hangs up on Doreen. “You just?—”
“Ended a toxic call.”
“But—”
“No one talks to you that way. Not on my watch.”
A wave of emotion pours through me. I could cry or laugh hysterically. Same energy, really. He’s right. I know it. I’ve let Doreen talk to me like that for years.
“It’s not about me,” he goes on. “No one should be talked to that way.”
“She’s my boss. What choice did I have? Give up the only job I’ve ever loved because of a cranky, controlling woman?”
“It should go without saying, but I’m not hiding. I’m not a hider.” He offers a soft smile. “Let me handle Doreen.”
He doesn’t know what he’s getting into. Then again, maybe he does. Ian and every kid who grew up in Derby knows the wrath of the mean old librarian. It’s an image I’ve worked to shatter every day at work. It feeds into my vision for this library as a welcoming place for every patron.
Only now that dream is over. I’ll just continue in my current role and hope for the best.
“What should we do while we wait?” Ian arches a brow.
The mood is shot. Even Ian Heartbreak is no match for the worry stirring in my gut.
“May I?” He lifts a hand toward my arm.
Consent is sexy, so I agree. His touch is welcome, and surprisingly, a comfort. He squeezes my hand and leaves it there. Ian is holding my hand. I’m sixteen again with hearts for eyes. “ Ian .”
“Say my name again.”
“You really are full of yourself.” But I’m laughing. I can’t help it.
“Ian,” I start again, attempting to be measured but feeling butterflies wreck my composure. “Why are you holding my hand?”
“Because I want to. And I think you like it.”
I wasn’t literal enough. “I meant, what we are doing? As soon as we go upstairs, this is over.”
His smile dissolves, but he doesn’t let go. “Is that what you want? To forget this ever happened?”
No. I don’t want to forget. And this is not an experience I can catalog and post to the Stone Hearts forum. This is private. For us.
“I don’t know.” I slip my hand from his and grab my purse and jacket, heading for the stairs.
Ian follows until we reach the top steps again.
“You’re not invisible, Valerie.” He’s one step lower, but taller than me, so his breath tickles my ear. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way. Or that anyone makes you feel that way.”
I curse the tear forming. I know what he says is true, but believing it is another matter.
Plenty of people know me and recognize my value.
My coworkers, library patrons, my family.
But that small, persistent voice speaks louder some days, in a familiar tone belonging to an aging librarian who’s never satisfied by anything I do.