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= Romantic Novel =

A New England Love Story

by Jean-Thomas Cullen

14.

Rain fell steadily in Emery, and the library was at its lantern best. It was quiet and dry inside. The children were still in school next door. Lillie, Terie, Rose, and Marian were busy reordering shelves that had been messed up by a lunchtime rush of kids. Linda was in her office, interviewing a high school boy for a possible intern job. Two high school interns were learning how to sort through the drops in back, where passers by could deposit returns into a shute that landed the materials in a bin.

Marian wore jeans, a green, floral blouse, and a heavy cream cable sweater open in front with three low buttons. She wore gray track shoes with dark-pink shoelaces because of the cold February rain. The damp weather made her hair frizzy, so she wore an ivory stretch band to capture it for future reference (brushing). The band ran from her neck in back, at the base of her skull, behind her ears, up, and across just above the forehead leaving an inch of dark hair pinned before it; behind it rose a tangle of dark hair with two small baby-blue bow clips—one toward the crown of her head, the other slightly off to the left above one ear, following the major, natural whorl of her hair. Sometimes, as she sat among the children at story time, wearing a denim coverall dress and cream blouse with periwinkles on the collar, she might hear passing grandmothers whisper dotingly among themselves "adorable," and she would turn red as a potato steamer knowing they meant her; because you could tell sometimes whom people were talking about by the way their voices followed the angle of their eyes’ gaze, even when you did not look at them. Marian had been a reasonably adorable child most of her life. As a widow of 28, she hardly placed it among the top of her desired qualities. More and more, she felt an occasional urge to stop in the tavern across the Green downtown, drink several stiff whiskies, and stand near the pond yelling obscenities at night; but it was usually a passing urge. She was the sort of person who could tolerate about one glass of wine, after which it was anything goes, luckily almost always ending with her falling sound asleep while snoring like a diesel truck going up a grade. The ‘almost’ referred to a night, about ten years ago during college, when she and three other intoxicated girls had walked along a downtown city street in suburban Oklahoma City, loudly singing Gothic Rock tunes and toilet papering police cruisers until they were arrested. Lectures had been received, notices sent to parents, and promises extracted never to repeat the offense. Marian had gone on to earn her B.A. in English with a Minor in Library Science. Since it was a first conviction (and the last ever) on record for Marian, she’d gotten off with a warning. Her life after that was not without sin or blush, but she’d graduated on time, held responsible jobs, married, and tried to live an acceptable adult life; which included this delightful relocation to New England; until her plane had crashed and burned with the arrival of those grim looking Army guys in the black sedan. Friends and family both in Oklahoma and Connecticut commented that she’d developed a faintly sarcastic, humorous curl of the lip and a slightly crazy sense of funny after that.

At about 2:30 like clockwork, the afternoon rush hit. Kids were getting out of school. On a rainy day, this involved extra logistics including umbrellas, raincoats, and other gear. There were a few fender-benders out on the thruway, meaning spots of flashing red or blue lights. Tow trucks from local garages were having a field day. Marian noticed one ambulance passing by with lights and sirens.

Marian kept working steadily inside the dry, comfortable halls of the library while the world passed by around her, outside. Sometimes she felt suffocated. Here she was with married women—wait, I am married too; no, I was—and older women. She was young, and bursting with hormones and ambitions. She had just driven through a huge tunnel, had her world pulled out from under her, all those clichés and metaphors— and her heart was telling her it was slowly getting to be time to make a fresh start. It was just such a let-down and an empty feeling after having a whole life laid out before her. She was sure if she thought about it long enough, dwelt on it, that she would cry again. There was no end to the tears, but she was all cried out. It was more of a reflex now. There were moments—not days, but hours, or even just minutes—where she felt overwhelmed. At such moments, she felt sorry for herself; but such feelings got you nowhere. You had to process them and admit to them, but you had to move them along the stacks and carrels of your soul. The sun rose every morning, it was a new day, and here she was—all those clichés suddenly made sense.

She thought about the strange man who seemed so focused on her library. Was he really so interested in her? Or was he some devious real estate pasha who planned to use the library for his acquisition schemes? You never knew. Between Rose, Lillie, and the other women around her, Marian was having prudent doubts. She would not let herself go with this strange man she did not know. She would let herself enjoy dinner and take it a step at a time. That gave her a sense of inner equilibrium.

Somebody had once told her that you needed a good five years to recover from a major life event. But there was something else she knew from gardening, which she thought about now. The rule of thumb was that, if you planted a tree, when it took, usually in a few years, you could expect that the root ball was about the same dimensions as the crown. You could eyeball a tree, and sort of imagine what its root ball looked like, hidden in the earth, just from how its crown spread out.

Here she was, having a kind of silly, disjointed thought. If she’d been married two years, then the leafy crown of her marriage spread across two years. That meant the roots were buried in the soil of her soul deep enough to require at least two years for the soil to turn over, life to renew itself, and a new start to open up. But then again, how many years did it take to arrive at those two years of marriage: how many years of learning, growing, day-dreaming, lousy dates, misunderstanding, buck-toothed boyfriends with ill-fitting suits, and painful dates you couldn’t wait to be over did it take until you met Mr. Right? Not many women had Mr. Right—no, Mr. Perfect, Mr. Forever—taken from them so abruptly.

"Marian," Terie said. She and Marian were walking into the break room together. Marian wanted to replenish the near-empty coffee cup in her hand, and Terie had to wash her hands at the sink, then dry them with a paper towel.

"Huh?"

"You are stewing again." Terie tossed the paper towel into the trashcan under the sink

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t be sorry. Just stop doing that. You should see your face."

Marian laughed. "I’ll bet I look like a toad."

"You are very pretty, but it’s scary when you look grim."

Lillie bustled into the break room, to the microwave oven, carrying a plate with stuffed peppers and a can of soda. A spicy, steamy aroma grew around her as the microwave cooked her dinner. Lillie said, aside, "How is Mr. Dinosaur these days? Heard from him?"

Marian made a mysterious face and Lillie shrugged.

Terie and Marian went into the children’s section, where they sorted reshelf books in adjoining aisles as they talked. It was noisy and crowded today. The air was humid and smelled of damp kid clothes. Lillie wrinkled a lip nearby as she resorted the shelves of teen adventure books.

"To the point, actually," Marian said nerdishly, "he is supposed to be coming by to drop off an overdue library book."

Lillie made owl eyes at the rain and gloom outside. "He could pick a more sensible day."

Marian shrugged. "I was making my round of calls to all the delinquents, and got a hold of him at some business meeting in New York City."

"New York City, huh?" Terie held an armload of Golden Books. She was from Brooklyn, descended from Puerto Rican roots. Her hair was frizzy, and her skin coffee, which made Marian’s skin tone seem less custardly.

Lillie had once explained during a bullshoe session that, although she was blonde and blue-eyed, she was part Algonquin Indian. Everyone was a mix these days.

There was a new library policeman on duty—a young, muscular man who looked as if he lifted weights and practiced boxing or martial arts, judging by the way he carried himself. He was a bit rough looking, Marian thought, though handsome in a street sort of way. Speaking of whom, Mr. Michael Chesney threaded his way amid piled backpacks of all colors, from table to table, in his dark green uniform with yellow braid insignia, shooshing Third Graders. Chesney, who looked to be about Marian’s age, had a nice way with children. He was a pale, freckled man with short red hair and humorous light blue eyes. He certainly had eyes for the younger librarians, it was quickly noticed as well. Marian enjoyed bantering with him, as did Terie who was two years older than Marian. Terie was a married woman, however, and Marian given Mike Chesney some stern looks to warn him off. He did not seem to like that one bit.

He was inquisitive, pushy, and persistent though. In a way it was cute. He was so self-assured. On the other hand, it got annoying fairly quickly. Linda had already given him one strong verbal hint, since she henned over her employees. The guard staff were not directly affiliated with the library system, but with the schools department. There were two tiny branches besides this main library. One was the Lake Branch, and the other was the Valley Branch, also known as the Downtown Branch. The Main library happened to land here on the thruway because the town’s grammar school had been built here over 130 years ago, when there had been a winding dirt and gravel post road running sort of vaguely between New York City and Boston, with stops in Hartford and Stamford and the like. Literally, unless they got stuck in axle-deep mud, only the occasional stage coach made the journey, including a daily mail coach authorized by Congress.

Mike Chesney was a wide-shouldered, powerful presence, replacing Mr. Perez. Chesney managed to keep order. The kids respected him, and he was good with them—easy going, humorous, but firm. He was a single man (Lillie said) and a veteran of the U.S. Marine Corps (hence the globe and anchor tattoo on one bicep).

To explain the absence of Mr. Perez, and his replacement by Mr. Chesney, Linda had called the staff together for a meeting. "Mr. Perez is on leave because his wife, unfortunately, is gravely ill and I am afraid it is now terminal. The end is near. Most of you know she has been pretty much in and out of a coma for the past year, unable to recognize her husband and children." A stir of sympathy passed through the dozen employees present, all women, who sat around on kid desks after hours for the meeting. Linda continued: "She is now in home hospice care, and the end could come any day now. We are going to have a substitute guard on loan from the schools department. I understand he is young, charming, and good at his job." She looked around. She laughed and made a wry face. "How do I say this?" Everyone snickered because they had already been hit upon by Mr. Chesney and knew what was coming. "Ladies, we will all conduct ourselves professionally, right? Goes without saying since most of us are married. A few of you are single, and I remind you that—how shall I put this?" They all laughed. "The guard must be able to focus on his or her duties and not be distracted by flirting, excessive joking, or whatever. You are to refuse all offers of lunch, drinks, walks, talks, or any other form of fraternization with the guard staff, consisting of Mr. Chesney. Have I clarified myself sufficiently?"

From the hum of approval, it was clear she had.

"So about Mr. Perez," Linda continued. "His wife Rosario is 55 and very ill with breast cancer." To the ensuing rustle of sympathy, she responded: "I know, it’s very sad. He is such a nice man, and it is a shame to see this happening to him. Although—Rosario has been in and out of consciousness for over a year now. She has not been lucid much, and they have had her in a care facility for a year since the dementia showed up. That’s from the metastasis of her cancer to the brain." Linda made a sorrowful face.

Marian, sitting in a back corner, found herself dabbing her eyes. She teared up and cried so easily these days at the slightest sorrow or sentimentality in anyone’s life, and there was so much of it. She glanced across the room, and sure enough, Rose Otto was dabbing her eyes with a hankie.

If Linda noticed Marian’s hankie and the sniffle, or the honk as Marian blew her nose, she did not react. "Mr. Perez took a leave of absence with pay last week when Rosario was moved to a hospice, and of course that is the end of life place where the care changes from saving to just making them comfortable on their last journey."

Marian could picture Adolfo Perez: a tall, wiry man with dark, short, almost kinky hair and reddish-brown skin that glistened in the library’s lights—extra bright, bluish where you read books, and that wan yellowish glow in the hallways. Mr. Perez always seemed to care personally for each of the staff, and escorted them to their cars each evening. Rose Otto always seemed extra nervous when Mr. Perez was in the building, and he was extra patient with her.

"How is Cleopatra this evening?" asked Mike Chesney, regarding Marian.

Terrie gave him a tisk. "You are going to get yourself in trouble."

Marian turned sharply away. Her thoughts were on her gondolier.

Mike flexed his muscles, maintaining his self-assured, almost cocky attitude, and rolled his tiny behind off a low book case so he stood with his thumbs hooked in his police-style belt. He carried a can of spray, but no other weapons—the town made sure it hired physically fit, imposing men and women for the guard positions. His other weapon, come to think of it, was a special little cell phone with pre-dials for town police and 911.

Lillie also ignored Mike, as the women turned to other tasks and left Chesney standing there looking ignored.

Chesney knew Marian was single, and seemed to be particularly taken with her. Marian enjoyed the attention up to a point. I must be starved for affection, she told herself, while avoiding eye contact. No way would she even be at the same lunch counter with this man. Tommy would have put a hurt on him, karate or not. Oops, must not think like that. She kind of hoped Chesney would not see her with Rick Moyer.

"I’m talking to you, Cleopatra." Chesney seemed polite in his flattery. You never knew if he was joking or if there was some ulterior motive to his endless challenging and attention getting. There was something coiled and dangerous beneath the surface with him.

Lillie swung a cart of books between him and Marian. "I hear they are tagging cars out in the lot. Mike, would you put on your slicker and go out, and make sure they don’t tow any employee cars away in their enthusiasm?"

"Sure," Mike said, flexing his shoulder muscles as if they ached. With one last gloomy glance at Marian, he turned and minced off to get his coat and hat. Outside, two tow trucks prowled about with their greenish-orange lights flashing—predators, hunting for their dinner in the form of a juicy towing fee on top of the township’s ticket for violators.

The compact, athletic Mr. Chesney minced away, walking like a rock star or a body builder.

Lillie laughed and winked to Marian and Terie. "If his buns get any tighter, he can put hamburgers in his pockets."

"If I were single, I might take a bite," Terie said. She leaned close to Marian, with the whites of her eyes large in her coffee features with pinked lips: "You are too white to be Cleopatra."

"That’s fine with me," Marian said. "You can be the Egyptian. You like those muscles?"

"He is a *boy*," Terie said her gaze followed the athletic Mr. Chesney.

"And you are married, girl," said Lillie.

"You have club eyes when you talk like that," Marian said to Terie. She felt weary, and the banter did not come easily today.

"Club you," Terie muttered fondly. She took her eyes of Chesney and returned her gaze to the books on her cart.

Lillie looked at Marian. "Marian, you seem a bit quiet today."

"It’s the weather," Marian said. It wasn’t. She had gone from being elated to being terrified again. She couldn’t admit that publicly.

"Oh I know," Lillie said, "doesn’t it make you want to curl up with beer and a ball game?"

"Whoa," said Rose Otto from the Help Desk. She pointed with a shaky hand. "Look who is coming."

Lillie, Terie, and Marian whipped around, and looked across the tables dotted with small heads, out through the large plate glass windows, at the whirl of people and cars out in the rain. Wind whipped stray leaves about in figure eight patterns. Tow trucks with green flashers prowled looking for illegally parked victim cars.

"What?" Lillie said.

"I don’t see anything," Terie said. "Rose, you have eagle eyes."

Marian felt a strange lurch in her gut. Her face instantly flushed, and she barely dared look up. Outside, sitting in the middle of the parking lot, was a shiny, expensive new car. At the wheel of the not-Jaguar sat none other than Mr. Richard Moyer, looking left and right for a safe place to stash his wheels. He was early. She glanced up at the library clock. It was barely 3:20. She did not get off until 5:00 today. What if—he made a scene? she fainted? he caught her? everyone laughed? he left in a huff? it was all a big mistake? she was being a fool? he’d been joking about dinner? What if? What if? Her legs trembled. He always did this to her. Oh mortification, and then her tongue would seize up and she wouldn’t be able to speak. Lisps and wheezes would come out.

"It’s the Dinosaur Man," said Rose tolerantly. She clearly knew his initial joke had been on her, which explained her ultra-dry sarcasm.

"He brought your book back," Lillie told Rose brashly.

Marian knew it wasn’t a dinosaur book, but the cowboy fable. She felt a bit like a child at Christmas time. Maybe this would be fun after all. He had certainly driven about 900 miles an hour to get here so fast.

"I have been lying awake at night worried about it," Rose said about the book. Her thin frame, big glasses, and shock of orange hair underscored her ironic tone.

"Here he comes," Terie said. "Bring me oxygen."

"Now, now," Lillie said wisely with a smurky, chummy glance toward Marian. "I think he wants to check out a different title."

As Marian watched, Richard Moyer, seeing an available spot, pulled his rather large, luxurious car into it.

"Looks like a rental," Lillie said.

"I wonder if he cracked up that Jaguar he was driving last time," Terie said.

"Kind of odd," Marian said vaguely. Hope he is okay, she thought. Hope nothing happened.

"Here he comes," Rose said.

"Everyone, pretend you aren’t looking," Lillie said.

The door opened, and in strode Mr. Moyer. He wore a raincoat, but no hat. His dark hair looked wet and mussy, with beard shadow on strong jaws, and brooding eyes that glittered in the yellowish lobby lights. Marian felt flustered—should she look? should she wave? should she act cool and ignore him? Those chiseled features, those crisp brown eyes under long lashes—they sought her out. She looked up at him as their eyes met in a glance of recognition. She gave him a shy, sidelong look. Are my eyes as big as his? she wondered. It was almost as if his eyes were yelling at her, to her. She quickly looked down. With a flutter of her eyelids, she saw that he had turned to the service desks, where Rose waited.

Under one arm, he had a flat briefcase. Rose moved languidly from Help to Check. Moyer placed his briefcase on it, and pulled out a book from inside. "I am afraid it is overdue."

Rose might as well have been chewing gum, so silently did she ignore him while reaching for the book. She did this many times a day—they all did. Moyer waited like a boy about to be chastised. His face radiated innocent concern.

Rose ran the book over the scanner and said: "Well." Marian was glad she didn’t say Mr. Dinosaur to him. "You owe twelve dollars. The fine is fifty cents a day."

Moyer patted his pockets all around. "I think I have change here…" He placed a beautiful walnut-colored leather wallet on the counter and peeled out some bills. Rose’s eyes widened. "Those are twenties," she said.

He pushed them across the counter. "I’d like to make a donation."

"I will make change for you if you cannot."

He rubbed his hands together. "My fingers are a little numb from the cold outside."

Rose gave the window thermometer a glance. It read 49F. Hardly a wind chill in there. Marian almost laughed. She didn’t know Rick Moyer from the Mona Lisa, but she could swear he enjoyed putting on an act like this.

"Oh here," Rick said, pushing two twenties across the desk. "It’s a tax deduction for a good cause."

Rose looked at him curiously.

He looked back emphatically. "Take it. I also get a hundred years off purgatory."

Rose clucked as she put the bills in the register, dropped the change drawer down on them, and handed him an electronic receipt. He thanked her. "I think I’ll browse in the fantasy section for a while."

Rose managed a tiny smile. "I hope you find something exciting to read."

"I already have. Thanks." With a glowing grin, he sauntered off toward the Fiction hall. He gave Marian a beautiful-eyed wink. She nodded excitedly, then looked demurely down, with a faint smile.

"Oh my god," said Terie, "Marian, I think he did goo-goo eyes on ya."

Marian put down the books she was holding, said something about excusing her, and went to the bathroom. In the Ladies’ room, she examined herself in the mirror. She patted her hair, adjusted the white band, tugged at the two little blue bow clips, and then gave up on her hair. She touched her cheekbones with her fingertips while making an O-mouth, then a D-mouth, then a W-mouth, and finally a big M-shape with her lips. She was not going to add make-up since they would (she presumed) be in the rain soon enough. A glance at her wristwatch told her it was 3:45. What would he do in the Fiction section for over an hour? Maybe he’d take a nap. Should she tell Linda she needed an hour off, and lose the pay? Or she’d—never mind. Let him make whatever move.

But she’d better say something. So, coming out of the Ladies’ room, she put her arms behind her, and pretended to be nonchalantly sauntering. She kicked an imaginary pebble to one side, whistled soundlessly, and did a skip-hop with both feet.

Where was he?

"Marian!" Rick whispered from the F’s somewhere.

"Where are you?" she whispered, flushing at the thought of her fellow librarians watching them.

"Here."

"Where?" She stopped like a child lost in the woods. The main fiction hall was round, with a rotunda dome capped by a glass oculus. Ages ago, during the Great Depression, talented and imaginative WPA artists had painted the houses of the Zodiac up there, complete with silvery-white stars on a blue-black evening sky backdrop, and then the twelve divisions, each with its own symbol—the crab, the virgin, the water carrier, and more.

"Between Faulkner and Fitzgerald."

"Oh." She looked at the F’s, and saw his face in a gap between the books. He was standing in the next aisle over. She laughed. "What are you doing there?"

"Teasing you."

She shook her head. "I will be laughing too hard to get any more work done."

"I will wait for you quietly."

"And behave yourself."

"I am incorrigible."

"You are."

"And so excited to see you."

"Me too. You came early."

"I know. Is that bad?"

"Actually," she admitted, "I am rather glad you did."

"Were you waiting for me?"

"No. I was sorting books." Her laugh that escaped must tell him she was bluffing. "Of course I was waiting for you." She walked toward his face, which was framed by books.

"You are just hungry."

"Yes." She put her fingertips on the shelf and peered at him with her face level with his. "I am hungry for you."

They looked at each other, made faces, and each burst into a laugh.

Despite herself, she felt as if she were in freefall. She did not feel at all as guarded as she had planned to be.

At that moment, a crackling sound echoed around the dome above, startling them both.

"Good afternoon," said Linda Damien’s voice. "Due to the rain today, we will be cutting staff. Miss McLaughlin, you can leave now. I will clock you out at five."

It took Marian a few seconds to realize that Miss and her maiden name were intended for her. Linda was acutely conscious of Marian’s new preferences. Lillie must have put in a word for me, Marian thought. Linda was being blatantly generous and understanding, letting her go early with pay. She’d expect the time made up somewhere along the line, of course.

"You look ravishing."

"Just call me Marian the Librarian." She remembered his words. "Call me anything—just call me, okay?"

"Go, clock out so we can clock in." He rested his chin comically on the shelf. He made a window with this two hands, thumbs tip to tip, framing it with fingers. "I am going to close the shutters now." He turned a large copy of The Beautiful and the Damned face-out, hiding himself behind it.

"You are very entertaining," she said. "Why don’t you read for a few minutes. I’ll quickly get my coat and punch out."

She walked back to the main lobby, and then into the break room. Terie and Lillie were there, preparing a last pot of coffee for the day.

"Did you talk to him?" Terie asked.

"I did. I thanked him for remembering to bring the book back."

"He could have mailed it," Lillie said with pragmatic insightfulness.

"Does this guy have a job?" Terie asked.

Lillie winked. "Good for you, sister."

Terie caught on. "Go get ‘im."

Marian unlocked her locker and pulled out her rain coat, umbrella, and purse. "He owns his own business." From a coat pocket, she extracted her fine silk scarf, which she threw over her hair in a triangle. From another pocket, she pulled a see-through plastic harmonica hood, which she tied under her chin.

"Well," Lillie said, "he wants to do more than return a book if he drove all this way in the rain."

"Be brave," Terie said. "Be careful. Above all, be wild."

"I’m not sure I remember how to get wild."

Lillie giggled. "It will quickly come back to you."