14.
 Next day, at the library, Tom encountered Antonio's children. The little serious girls took him by the hand and towed him to the story corner. The boys, who were bored with their homework, whooped and joined them. The older library assistant came with a stern mien and told them all to be quiet. She glared at Tom and walked away. Tom told a story about how he'd been in New York, Times Square, one New Year' Eve, and watched the giant apple drop.
How giant? one boy asked.
Was it really an apple? asked one of the serious little girls.
On and on. When he finished, he was out of fibs for the moment. It was like being out of breath. The children were all quiet, with a glow as they imagined New York City. And when he looked up, he saw Eve leaning on the children's bookcase, watching. She too had a glow. It was the first time she smiled at Tom directly.
"Very good," she said checking out his books after shooing the younger assistant away. "I didn't realize you are such a talented story teller."
"I didn't realize it either."
"You should come and tell stories more often."
"Well, I don't know any stories really. Just what I make up about where I travel."
"You don't have to know any stories. You can read them out of a book. We need readers, Mr.—?"
"Smith. Tom Smith."
"We need readers, Mr. Smith. I'd really like it if you'd come back some time for story hour."
"We'd like it too, a lot," said one of the serious little girls.
Tom did go back a few days later. He made arrangements with Eve ahead of time, and there were actually a dozen children. He told them a story about his travels in Oregon, along the fog-shrouded coast where trucks hauled away gigantic logs big as houses. Then he read from a book. Eve thanked him heartily. She had a clear voice, a rich voice that was kind of like an instrument, not deep at all, but rich, like an oboe maybe. He loved listening to her, and wished he could hear more. "Maybe we could have lunch sometime," he suggested. He'd already inquired by now. She was divorced and lived alone.
She made a little 'hmm' for a second that made him think she was going to say no, but then she had a twinkle in her eyes and said: "Okay. I'd like that."
So a few days later they had lunch in a little Italian place, nothing fancy, just pizza and colas. "I was hoping you wouldn't think I was—intruding," he said. "I mean—."
She laughed. "I see. Well, there is a Mr. Somebody who has been around for some time, but he's not around just now."
"I see. Well, I don't want to intrude, is all."
"We'll just let this go in little tiny steps, okay?" she said, sort of wrapped around her cola like a young girl.
"So what is it you do when you wear the jeans and the old jacket?"
She laughed. "Oh, that's how you first saw me. Well, on weekends, and whenever there is time during the week, I try to do gardening. Keeps me feeling good."
"I used to like gardening," he said seeing darkness, and stray lights moving about.
"Hello? Tom?" She was peering intently at him and when he realized it she laughed. She laughed a lot, and it made him feel relaxed. In a certain mood, sometimes, she had a reckless, naughty laugh.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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