Louisiana Saves the Library (10 page)

C
HAPTER
13

T
he next afternoon, Louise's brain was going numb from cataloging when she got an e-mail alert. Eager for any kind of break from the tedium, she clicked over to her mail program.

Louise stood up. “Did you guys see the latest inane e-mail from our esteemed leader?”

Sylvia set down the teen werewolf novel she was cataloging. “No, what is it now?”

“He says we can't eat or drink anything except in the kitchenette.”

Hope's chair squeaked, and a second later she was in Louise's cube. “Oh, no, he doesn't,” she said, reading the e-mail over Louise's shoulder.

“You could actually look at it on your own computer,” Louise said. “He sent it to everyone.”

Hope didn't bother to respond. “This man done pushed me too far. You all come with me. This is your fault.”

“How you figure?” Sylvia asked.

“You all shook things up is what. I won't say I like Mr. Foley, but we had a peace agreement until y'all arrived. Now, he's got some crazy bug up his butt. So y'all gotta help me fix this.” She stomped toward Mr. Foley's office.

Sylvia pushed her cart of books out of the way and followed with Louise trailing behind. Mr. Foley came out of the employee bathroom behind the kitchen, and Hope stopped in front of him, blocking the way back to his office.

“What's wrong with you?” Hope demanded to know.

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Mr. Foley moved to the side as if to walk around Hope, but Sylvia stepped up next to her.

“Let's start with the e-mail we all just received,” Sylvia said.

“I thought I explained myself pretty well. We need to keep food and beverages away from library materials.”

“Mr. Foley, I done worked here with you for ten years and you never ate lunch anywhere except your desk,” Hope said.

“What I do is none of your concern.”

“You listen to me. I know you ain't happy about these city girls up in here. But you done hired them and you can't be taking it out on us this way. If I gotta set in the kitchen area every time I want a cup of coffee, no work's gonna get done. And you know that.”

Mr. Foley pushed his glasses up farther on his bulbous nose. “Well, I suppose you'll have to drink less coffee, then.”

“Then, I suppose you're gonna have to find yourself another children's librarian.” Hope reached for the coffeepot, poured herself a cup, and headed back to her cubicle.

Lily came through the open door from circulation. She hesitated at the sight of Mr. Foley standing near the kitchen with his hands balled into fists at his side. “Um, Mrs. Gunderson is here to see you.”

Mr. Foley brushed past her without a word.

Lily motioned to Louise and Sylvia. “Come out here for a second. You need to see who the real boss is.”

They walked through the door to circulation just in time to hear Mr. Foley welcome the police juror. “Mrs. Gunderson! It's so good to see you.”

“What just happened?” Sylvia whispered. “I've never seen Mr. Foley smile. Never.”

“Shhh.” Louise couldn't believe it either. Not only was Mr. Foley grinning like an ape, but his voice had ascended an octave. The effusive performance was painful and comical at the same time.

“What brings you to our humble establishment?” Mr. Foley asked.

Mrs. Gunderson was a matronly woman with curly gray hair. She wore a straight, knee-length skirt and a stiff, coat-like shirt that had silver-dollar-size buttons down the front. “I heard you were extending your hours.”

“Yes.” Mr. Foley wrung his hands together. “We felt that our patrons would appreciate more opportunities to visit the library during times when they might be off work.”

“Well, I'm in favor of it, so long as it's not too expensive. Y'all have a tight budget right now, just remember. Mr. Henry has informed me that he is planning to try to put a library tax on the next ballot. As you know, I oppose any tax increases. Government is the problem, not the solution. The last thing it needs is more of people's hard-earned dollars.”

“Yes, ma'am. My new librarians, Louise and Sylvia, are changing their hours to fit the new schedule. I assure you that the extra cost will be minimal.”

“You also need to keep track of your circulation. I would expect an increase from such a move, and if you don't get one, then you ought to consider returning to your previous hours of operation.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Perhaps, you should also consider ordering some multimedia materials and look into this e-book thing. Pointe Coupee library just started offering books for Kindle and so on and I hear it's popular.” She made a point of looking around the nearly deserted library.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Sylvia stepped through the door to circulation. “Mrs. Gunderson, I'm Sylvia Jones and this is Louise Richardson. We would like to personally invite you to our first night of extended hours Monday. We will be serving refreshments.”

“Pleased to meet you. I'm afraid I can't make it, but you will be careful about food around the library materials, won't you?”

C
HAPTER
14

S
al stood under the showerhead and let the hot water pelt his body. He'd been planting strawberries all day with his workers, and his whole body ached. There seemed to be dirt in every crevice of his skin. He scrubbed his hands again with the loofah thing that Betta had given him. Stepping out of the shower stall, he dried off with a threadbare towel and wrapped it around his waist.

His bedroom wasn't even as large as the bathroom in his Chicago apartment had been, but he didn't care. When he was in his twenties, he'd craved the big-city life. Walking down the streets in Chicago, he'd felt the excitement through the concrete. There was so much going on, all the time. He'd loved being able to leave his spacious apartment in Evanston, walk to the train, and ride into the city. He ate food he'd never tried, listened to music late at night in bars with creaky wooden floors, and spent hours in the art museums. He'd dated a few women, but they all seemed to want something he didn't—a fast life that he was already outgrowing. Eventually, it stopped being fun. Especially after the one woman he'd actually started to care about decided that she didn't want to spend her life with him. He was lonely, and time was passing. His parents died suddenly, and he came back home to Alligator Bayou.

Sal bought the trailer from a distant cousin whose mother had lived in it until she passed away at age ninety-two. He'd purchased the bed for himself, but the dresser had belonged to his father along with the pine nightstand and even some of the cuff links inside the drawer. Sal's father hadn't wanted him to quit. He'd been proud to tell his friends that his son was a big-city lawyer showing those Yankees a thing or two. Sal wished he hadn't let his worries about disappointing his father keep him away so long. Moving back to Alligator Bayou was like slipping into a cool stream on a hot day. It felt good and right.

He opened the dresser drawer and inhaled the scent of the wood that still reminded him of his father. He wanted to see Louise again, and the “Opening Night” party seemed like as good a time as any. Maybe she'd be too busy to talk to him, but he had to try. Besides, he was hungry and he'd run out of bread after feeding the workers ham sandwiches for lunch. Betta would have made him dinner, but she spent Monday nights with a group of women she'd known since elementary school. She called it the Old Maid Club, though most of them were married. Not Betta, of course.

He selected a clean pair of jeans and some boxers. A T-shirt should be fine. He didn't want to be overdressed. His clothes fit into two categories—old lawyer stuff and farm casual. He never touched the fancy clothes anymore if he could avoid it.

 

As five o'clock approached, Louise stared out the library's front door at the nearly empty parking lot. Sylvia straightened the napkins on the food table and arranged the drinks in the cooler for the third time.

Louise lifted the lid of the Crock-Pot and stirred the fragrant stew. There were four more pots on the worktable in back. She'd borrowed slow cookers from everyone she could find to keep the gumbo warm. Even Hope had reluctantly contributed her prized four-quart model. She'd also allowed Louise to use her three-gallon crawfish pot to cook in, since Crock-Pots were no good for browning vegetables or reducing stock. Hope had looked surprised when she tasted the finished product. Clearly, she hadn't expected the Yankee girl to pull it off.

But no one was coming to eat it. Flashback to the time she'd planned a birthday party for herself in junior high. Only her best friend, an equally geeky girl with a passion for knitting, had shown up. They'd ended up spending the afternoon playing cards together and eating most of the cake themselves. During those awkward teenage years, Louise's mother always told her to make more friends. As if she could just call the popular kids and invite herself over.

“No one shows up on time for parties in the South,” Sylvia said, slamming the top down on the cooler.

Though her tone was breezy, the way she squinted toward the door as she said it gave her away. Sylvia was as nervous as Louise. They'd put themselves and their jobs on the line for these new hours. It was the first big change they'd talked Mr. Foley into implementing. If they failed, they might never be able to convince him to try anything else. This was much more important than a junior high birthday party.

“Someone's coming!” Sylvia grabbed Louise's arm. She squeezed hard enough to leave a bruise before trotting to the door.

She swung it open and four teenage girls came in, giggling and talking. The sound filled Louise with relief. Directly behind them were two elderly women dressed in pastel colors. Louise couldn't remember their names, but she knew they liked cozy mysteries.

The teenagers—Ashley, Joan, Mindy, and Susanne—walked to the food table and examined a plate of store-bought cookies that had been Sylvia's contribution. They chose chocolate chip and bottles of fruit punch and moved off to one of the tables in the teen area. The older women paused by the gumbo, taking the lid off and sniffing with expressions of approval.

Ms. Trudy arrived along with Harry, Mike, and Jonathan, who worked for Miller Construction Company. They joined the gray-haired women at the food table and helped themselves to dinner.

“I told you this would work. I wasn't worried for a minute.” Sylvia put her hands on her hips and surveyed the crowd with a possessive air.

“Yeah, right. That's why you were obsessively lining up the napkins,” Louise said.

“Okay, so maybe I was worried for a minute, Minnesota girl. But I know Southerners. They won't miss a party. Let's get to work. These people need to check out books and bump up our circulation numbers.”

Sylvia picked up some books and marched over to the young adult area. Once there, she tossed the novels onto the table, right in front of the startled girls, talking the whole time. The teens stared skeptically at first, but then something Sylvia said made them laugh.

More people arrived. Three preteen girls and their mother waved to Louise before getting gumbo and cookies and taking over a library table. Sylvia called the girls the B sisters because all of their names started with the letter. Louise was on her way to greet them when she spotted a skinny girl wearing thick black-framed glasses shoving cookies into a backpack. Something about the teenager captured Louise's attention. Maybe it was the methodical way she stole the cookies, almost as though she expected to be caught.

“You're going to get crumbs in your books,” Louise said.

The girl gave her a look that was equal parts defiance and shame. She zipped the pack and shouldered it, seeming to dare Louise to tell her to give back the cookies.

Louise slowly took off her suit jacket and draped it over her arm, trying to show the girl that she wasn't upset. “What do you like to read?” she asked.

“My mom says the only book worth reading is the Bible. I just came because I heard there was free food. Sometimes, there's nothing for dinner at home.” The girl hunched over, either from the weight of the pack or the burden of her life, real or perceived.

“Get a bowl of gumbo and let's sit down and talk.”

The girl contemplated Louise. For a moment, she looked like she was going to run out the door. Instead, she ladled rice and gumbo into a plastic bowl and selected a drink. Louise led her to a table near the back of the library.

“I'm Louise. What's your name?” she asked when the teen had chosen a chair facing the emergency exit.

“Mary Hebert.”

The name was pronounced “A-bear,” but Louise had been in Cajun country long enough to know the correct spelling. Mary bent over her bowl and began to spoon gumbo into her mouth, not stopping until it was almost gone.

Louise watched her, trying to decide how to start a conversation. She waited until Mary paused to open her drink and then said, “What do you like to read in school?”

Mary scraped the rest of the gumbo from the bottom of the bowl. “I dunno. Most of it's old. I guess some of the books are still okay, though. I liked
To Kill a Mockingbird
and
Dicey's Song
.”

“Do you like the
Hunger Games
movies?
True Blood
?”

“I'm not allowed to watch any of that stuff. My mom's kind of a religious freak. I got a
Divergent
book from the school library once, but I had to be real careful not to let her see it.”

“What did you think?”

“It was good. I might try to get the next one.”

Louise leaned forward, careful not to sound as excited as she felt. The girl was a potential reader, she could tell. She just needed a little encouraging. But Mary wouldn't respond to Sylvia's over-the-top personality, at least not yet. She aimed for an even tone. “How about something by Sarah Dessen?”

Mary raised her head, and a tiny smile appeared on her lips. “I've heard of her. Sounds too teen-cute. Do you know what I mean?”

Louise nodded, remembering how hard it was to be that age. The desire to be her own person had clashed with wanting to fit in and have friends. “I sure do. I have the perfect book for you. It's not teenager-y at all.”

“Okay.” Mary tipped up her drink and drank the dregs. Her shoulders looked less tense as she put on her pack and gathered up her trash.

Louise resisted the urge to help her. She didn't want to crowd the girl. Instead, she wove her way through the crowd to the young adult section. She found
Clockwork Angel
and turned, afraid Mary would be gone. But the girl was standing behind her, watching the other teens and Sylvia gathered around one of the wooden library tables. Sylvia was talking about a
Hunger Games
–themed trivia game party and costume contest. Mary backed away until she was leaning against the wall of books. She looked as panicked as the deer in Mr. Foley's office had. Louise understood. When she was a teen, her peers had made her feel just as confused. She touched Mary's shoulder lightly, directing her toward the circulation desk.

Once out of the crowd of teenagers, Mary dropped her pack on the floor and opened it, reaching for the book.

“Not yet. I have to get you a card and check it out,” Louise said. She went behind the circulation desk and entered Mary's information quickly, still worried that the girl might change her mind and leave.

When she handed the card and book across the counter, Mary smiled. “I can check out whatever I want?”

Louise smiled back. She'd given her a gift. It felt good. “You sure can. Come back soon, anytime.”

“I will.” Mary placed the book in her bag, zipped it up, and put it back on. The pack on her back made her seem even smaller and skinnier. As she left, five teenagers arrived, ignoring her completely. Neither of the two boys in the group even held the door for her, a serious breach of Southern manners. Louise felt a stab of empathy so intense that it was almost physical.

Since everyone was too busy talking and eating to check out books, Louise took some gumbo and retreated to the corner behind the periodicals. She had just eaten her first bite when Sal appeared from behind the group of teenagers who had snubbed Mary. The sight of him made her shiver, and she had to work hard to swallow the gumbo. She hadn't seen him since he'd showed her around the house, almost a week ago. She'd been barefoot and muddy, so he couldn't have been impressed. But she hadn't forgotten his blue eyes and the way he'd hunched his muscled shoulders against the cold.

He took a can of Coke and leaned against the wall next to her. “Busy night.”

“I can't get away from you,” she said, trying to make her voice sound casual.

“Do you want to? Because I can disappear even in this little town.”

“Not really. You clean up nice.”

He smelled of soap and spicy aftershave. He'd made a point of showering before coming. So maybe he'd come to the library just to see her. Louise almost laughed at her own audacity. She ate another spoonful of gumbo.

“Are you still thinking about buying that house?” he asked.

“I looked at a few places with the real estate agent this weekend. But the one next to you is really the only one I can afford. I mean, that I could actually live in. You should have seen some of the dumps she showed me. One didn't even have a kitchen because someone had been using it for an office.”

“I think it's nice. And I mean it—I really would help you fix it up.”

“I'm warning you, my home-improvement skills are limited to replacing lightbulbs.”

Sal took a swig of Coke. “That's okay. I like doing it. Another of my many hobbies.”

“My hobby is cooking. You should try the gumbo I made. No one's complained yet, even though it was made by a Yankee.”

“A little help over here!” Sylvia called from behind the circulation counter. The line was ten people deep.

“Uh-oh. I'd better go. I guess I'll see you around,” Louise said. She'd been so distracted by Sal that she had left poor Sylvia alone to tend to the masses.

 

Sal wished he'd asked Louise on a date. He'd been working his way up to it, but he was too slow. The last time he'd really let down his defenses with a woman it hadn't worked out very well. Still, he couldn't let his stupid insecurities stop him from trying. He'd been lonely long enough.

He went to the food table. A group of teenage girls in too-tight T-shirts were standing in a circle, giggling about something. The girls were like colts—long-legged and awkward. All three were daughters of his high school classmates. How had they gotten to be teenagers already? Time moved too fast. Sometimes, Sal felt like he'd wasted it.