Pamela Morsi (9 page)

239.2 Apologetics & Polemics

D.J.
arrived home a few moments after six. She had the first week down as Verdant’s new librarian. It wasn’t a total success, but she’d gotten a lot done and she felt well on her way to having a handle on the situation. She also had some ideas on how things could be improved. Still, she’d ended the week on a sour note. She’d lost her temper.

That was not good.

Being cool under pressure was the hallmark of a good administrator. And the more troublesome the employee, Amelia Grundler being the poster child, the more calm the demeanor one should maintain.

“Fail,” D.J. said to herself aloud.

She parked her car and gathered up her computer and the notes and files she’d planned to work on after-hours. Her heart was barely in it, though. D.J. really wanted to go upstairs, heat up something in the microwave and spend the evening vegging in front of the TV. Things would surely look better in the morning.

Yet she just couldn’t seem to shake the events of the day. It was bad enough that she’d blasted Amelia. It was worse that she’d done it in front of Amos and Suzy.

A smart boss would have stayed at the circulation desk and made her point clearly and firmly without raising her voice.

D.J. had virtually dragged the offending biddy into the back and then proceeded to go off on the woman like a crazy person. Worse, she really
felt
like a crazy person. She’d been so angry, so overwrought, she hadn’t even realized she’d had an audience—but the truth was that it might not have even stopped her.

Amelia had touched a nerve. In the short term, D.J. had embarrassed herself and behaved inappropriately. But the long term was even worse. Now Amelia knew which button to push. And D.J. had no doubt that she’d make full use of that knowledge.

With weary steps, she climbed the stairs to her apartment. She was disappointed in herself. Not simply for her unseemly reaction, but for revisiting the seeds of it. She’d come a long way since those days of emptiness, those old insecurities. They shouldn’t still have an impact on her actions.

Somehow, she thought, the hot guy shared some blame for this. If she’d been sleeping better, eating better, been less edgy, she would have maintained her rational composure. But worrying about him had her walking through the world on eggshells. And that had made her more vulnerable to her own demons.

She groaned as she opened her door. Maybe she should quit while she was ahead. Maybe Verdant was not the place where she could finally find a home. How could she build a life around Scott’s faulty memory? She couldn’t see herself reminding him of exactly what they’d done together, but she’d never been good at lying, either. And it was probably late to be developing the skill.

Inside her apartment, D.J. dumped her load of work and her purse on the kitchen table. She hung her suit jacket on the back of a chair and kicked off her shoes. She unpinned her hair. Releasing the weight of the severe bun at the back of her head was such a relief. It was almost literally taking a weight off her shoulders.

She wandered through the apartment aimlessly. Her apartment. This place had nothing in common with the sterile, nondescript, cookie-cutter condo that she’d owned in the city. Even with its mess of unpacked boxes, she already liked this place better. It was beginning to feel like home.

The solid character of the old house extended into its refurnished rental. The living room had two nice windows on the south side. The bedroom was a good size and brightly lit, as well. The kitchen was small and galley style, but it did feature a cozy nook with a little table for two. Her favorite room, however, was the bath. The huge, old-fashioned room was tiled in basic black and white, complete with both an antique claw-foot tub and a very modern dual shower in a glass enclosure.

She looked longingly at the tub. A nice long soak might soothe the worst of the day’s mistake.

Maybe after she and Dew had dinner.

Dew?

D.J. suddenly realized that her best friend, buddy, roommate and pet had inexplicably not met her at the door when she arrived. That simply never happened.

She called out the dog’s name as she walked through the place. With no answering yip or telltale patter of paws on the hardwoods, she knew Dew was not at home.

Annoyed, she headed out the door, across the porch and down the steps. It
was
nice, she reminded herself, that Viv was taking Dew for his walk during the day. But she should return him to his own house, not take him into hers. D.J. knocked on Viv’s door sharply.

Nothing.

She waited a minute and knocked again.

Beyond the landlady’s back door was complete silence. D.J. peeked in through the glass panes. No one in the kitchen. Perhaps the woman was taking a nap. But Dew was no sound sleeper. If he were in there, he’d hear the knocks and be barking the house down.

Viv’s lavender Mini was still parked in the driveway, though. It was late for the two of them to be gone. Then she spied Dew’s leash draped over the porch railing. He was running loose?

“Just perfect,” she complained.

Dew was a great dog, mostly obedient, and he would come when D.J. called him. But he hardly knew Viv. There was no telling what he might try. And how would the older lady keep up with him if he took it in his head to run off?

D.J. would have to go find them. But she couldn’t do that barefoot. She hurried back up the stairs to get shoes, then decided it made more sense to put on some clothes more suited to a dog search than her business suit. She began pulling boxes open looking for jeans. The first thing she spotted were biking shorts she hadn’t worn since her bicycle was stolen. In the upheaval of moving, those things buried at the bottom had worked their way to the top. D.J. didn’t have the time or patience to search any further. Quickly she pulled on the knee-length, skintight spandex and the bright blue zip-neck jersey that went with them. She hopped the length of the apartment as she pulled on first one running shoe and then the other heading out the door.

She jerked her hair up into a ponytail as she made her way across her second-floor deck and down the steps. She knocked again at Viv’s, just in case, before taking off with a loping stride down the driveway. The idea of Dew getting lost was scary. Verdant was a brand-new place. Nothing would seem familiar. The town was not that large, but he was a small dog. And the surrounding wheat fields all looked alike. She had no idea what kind of wildlife might live out there, but she was sure that most of it would be unwelcoming to a terrier.

In the street, D.J. hesitated. Left or right? One way led to the center of the community. The other toward the path along the creek. Viv might have gone either way. As she stood there, indecisive, a familiar vehicle came into view.

A white minivan with Sanderson Drug Store painted on the side was hardly mistakable. It was the hot guy. Beside him, in the passenger seat, was Viv. Dew was on her lap, his head sticking out the window, mouth open, tongue hanging out, his fur and ears blowing in the wind.

In a cloud of Kansas dust, the van pulled to a stop beside her. D.J. immediately reached out to her happy, smiling dog.

“You found him,” she said.

“Oh, Mr. Dewey was never lost,” Viv assured her. “He and I went for a good long walk along the river path to see Scott. The exercise was good for both of us.”

Dew seemed perfectly content to let D.J. stroke his fur and scratch his neck. He happily licked her hands, but he was in no hurry to relinquish his place in the car window. In fact, he squirmed for release when she pulled him into her arms.

“Thank you for walking him, Viv. But you really shouldn’t try that without the leash. He might wander off and I don’t know if he’d come when you call.”

Viv seemed unconcerned. “Well, he didn’t disappear and he’s home now. No worries.”

D.J. raised her eyebrow at that, but kept her opinion to herself.

She allowed her gaze to go beyond her dog and her landlady to the van’s driver, not quite able to meet his eyes.

“Go ahead,” she said, stepping back and allowed Scott to turn into the driveway and park near the back door.

She walked back toward the house, holding Dew in her arms until his wiggling moved to full-on writhe. As soon as she let the dog down he went running happily toward Viv getting out of the car.

D.J. followed more slowly. As she neared the older woman spoke.

“He is the smartest little dog I’ve ever seen.”

D.J. nodded. “Terrier mixes can be very intelligent.”

“And he loves riding with his head out the window.”

D.J. pursed her lips together thoughtfully. It was very nice of Viv to hang out with Dew, but she needed to understand the ground rules.

“I don’t let him do that,” she said, firmly. “It’s not safe. If you’re going to transport him, you’ll need to get his crate.”

Viv laughed lightly. “I’m not actually
transporting
him, dear. We’re just taking a little jaunt through town.”

D.J. didn’t want to be difficult about it, but she knew that she was right and that it was important.

“It’s too dangerous, Mrs. Sanderson,” she said. “You could be involved in a crash.”

“In Verdant? Maybe if I were intoxicated and out on the highway,” she said with a facetious chuckle. “We haven’t had a major accident in town...why, in years.”

D.J. shook her head. “In even the most minor fender-bender a loose animal in a car gets tossed around like a projectile. He needs to be in the crate at all times and the crate needs to be secured with the seat belt.”

The older woman shrugged, but her smile didn’t fade. “Oh well, then,” she said. “He and I will stick to the walking paths. But it does seem a shame with life so short, to give up such a sweet, pleasurable activity for something as stodgy and illusive as safety.”

It was in her mind to retort that safety was neither stodgy nor illusive, but the ability to form a sentence momentarily eluded her as Scott came around the front of the car looking gorgeous in simply jeans and a tee. This afternoon he was the exact same person she’d met in South Padre. He was even wearing the same shirt, she was surprised to remember. He might not recollect their night together, but her lower body tightened as if in muscle memory of it.

He joined the women, leaning languidly against the car’s wheel well.

“So were you going out jogging?” Viv asked.

D.J. glanced down at her cycling clothes, debating how to explain that she’d been about to go searching for them.

“Scotty runs, too. I’m sure I told you that.” Viv turned to her son, teasing. “He doesn’t dress as well at it. He wears ratty old sweats from his college days.”

“Compression pants are for the bicycle, Mom,” Scott said, indicating D.J.’s clothing choice. “You don’t really run in them.”

“Oh, is that what they’re called? It seems like you could run in them. You make the same moves on a bike as in a sprint.”

He shook his head. “No, Mom. They’re not good for that.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Not enough ventilation in the groin,” Scott said with a smirk.

Viv laughed a bit too loudly and gave D.J. a conspiratorial glance. “Oh, my goodness! Maybe we girls don’t have as much need for that as the gentlemen.”

D.J. decided that the less said about that area of human anatomy the better. But she was having trouble thinking about anything else to say. Why did he have to look so good? She stuttered slightly, grasping at words to change the subject.

“So do you have plans for the weekend?” she blurted out suddenly. She’d directed the question at her landlady. To her horror, the woman turned to her son, as if to indicate that the inquiry was meant for him.

He immediately quit his leisurely pose. Standing straight, he looked unhappily surprised and uncomfortable.

“I, uh...I work on Saturdays.”

D.J. nodded. “I intend to open up tomorrow, as well.”

“The library doesn’t have hours on the weekends,” Viv told her.

“I want to change that,” D.J. stated. “I think it’s the best time for families. Lots of kids who need something to do.”

“How will you staff it?” Viv asked. “I’m not sure the board will welcome taking on new employees.”

“I’m going to do it myself,” D.J. told her. “At least until we see how well the community responds. Public libraries don’t typically keep bankers’ hours. Nine to six is fine if you’re retired or home with small children. But we need to make our services available to all our citizens.”

She was surprised to see Scott was nodding. “Probably a good idea. Saturday is when the most people are in town. It’s our busiest traffic day in the store.”

“Exactly,” D.J. said. “If we are going to breathe new life into the library, we’re going to have to reach out to people who haven’t been in the habit of thinking of us as a source of things they need.”

“Well, if that’s what you want to do, then that’s fine,” Viv said. “As I told you when you were hired, we’re all excited to see what new ideas you can bring.”

“Thank you.”

Viv wasn’t finished. “But all work and no play makes D.J. a dull girl, right? A dull librarian is what we’ve had for years. I was hoping you would change that.”

“Oh, I will,” D.J. assured her.

“Good,” she said. “You can begin on Saturday night. I was telling Scott that showing you around, helping you meet some younger people is simply the neighborly thing to do.”

“Well, I...”

“Isn’t that what I said, Scott.”

“Uh...yeah. You did.”

“Wonderful.” Viv turned back to D.J. “What time should he pick you up?”

302.7 Social Interaction

S
aturday was as busy as Scott thought it would be. Harvest was quickly approaching and everyone in town wanted to be ready. Their prescriptions needed to be filled. Their first-aid boxes needed to be replenished. They needed particle masks and flashlight batteries. Sunscreen and corn plasters. All of which could be purchased at Sanderson Drug Store. Between harvest preparation and the accompanying camaraderie of old friends and fellow farm families, business was hectic.

There was excitement in the air this time of year. The typically staid and sedate inhabitants of Verdant were almost giddy with anticipation. Not that harvest was a carefree, happy-go-lucky adventure. Actually, it was a couple of weeks of hard, backbreaking work. But it was also the proud culmination of a year of effort and a radical change in the town’s day-to-day routine. Plus, with a harvest as good as this year’s was looking to be, the mood was easily upbeat.

As Scott counted pills, answered phone calls and waited on customers, he couldn’t help but be drawn into the noise and bustle around him. Farmer after farmer came to drink coffee and report or comment on the results of their crops’ moisture content. Even those who were only growing petunias in pots were eager for the latest word.

With all the activity, the morning flew by. Scott had Paula bring him back a sandwich when she went on her lunch break. He ate it seated on the cold box behind the counter, since all the seats in front were taken. Age, occupation, gender—none of it seemed to trump the solidarity of shared expectation and experience.

But it was not as if other concerns couldn’t provoke interest.

Scott had just taken a hearty bite of his spicy egg salad from Gleason Sandwich Shop when one of his mother’s friends, Edna Kievener, spoke.

“So I heard you’ve got a date with the new librarian.”

The silence that followed that bombshell was deafening. Scott struggled to chew and swallow as movement in the room was frozen and every eye trained upon him.

“Not a date,” he managed to get out with food still in his mouth.

He gulped down a swig of pop so he could speak.

“Mom asked me to show her around, introduce her to a few people, that sort of thing,” he explained. “It’s no big deal.”

There were a lot of nods and some feigning of unconcern. But Scott didn’t exactly see people going on about their business. Everyone was interested. Everyone was listening.

“Well, do you like her?” Mrs. Kievener asked.

“I...uh, I really don’t know her,” Scott replied, diplomatically.

“Viv likes her a lot,” Edna informed everyone within earshot. “She says the girl is very charming.”

“She’s not exactly a
girl,
” Nina Philpot pointed out.

Scott thought to himself that he wouldn’t describe her as particularly charming, but it was not an opinion he would share.

“From all accounts she seems to be delightful,” Edna replied.

“That’s because we don’t know much about her yet,” Harvey Holland said. Harvey, the local big shot, if Verdant had one, was dressed today in bib overalls and a Feed Company hat. This close to harvest, it was good business to be seen as a man of the people.

At the end of the counter, Karl Langley, the deputy sheriff and the only law enforcement for this part of the county, nodded. “Until we do, we give people the benefit of the doubt. Besides, aren’t librarians supposed to be a quiet kind of people.”

Beside him, Suzy Grandfeldt, who clearly knew the librarian better than anyone in town, spoke up. “Well, she’s no Marsha Milquetoast, if that what’s you’re thinking. Actually, she has a bit of a temper.”

Suzy glanced down the counter toward Amos Brigham who was eating a banana split for lunch. Her co-worker nodded in verification.

“Really?” Nina asked.

The room was all ears, including Scott.

“Yesterday she raked Miss Grundler up one side and down the other.” The words were spoken with pride and admiration.

Harvey whistled.

“Good heavens. What brought that about?” Edna asked.

Suzy leaned forward slightly as if revealing a confidence, although in current circumstances it was tantamount to putting up a billboard.

“It was about Ashley Turpin.”

“Ashley Turpin? Julene’s little girl?”

Suzy nodded.

“Julene doesn’t finish her shift at the Brazier until after the dinner rush,” Amos explained. “My guess is that she doesn’t have anybody to watch Ashley this summer, so the girl’s been coming to the library every day.”

“At closing she walks out to the restaurant to meet her mother,” Suzy added. “I’ve offered to give her a ride, but she says she isn’t allowed to get into other people’s cars.”

“That’s a long walk for a little girl,” Edna said with a voice of concern.

“She does it all the time,” Harvey said. “All summer I spotted the kid coming or going.”

Edna tutted with disapproval. “A parking lot on the highway isn’t
my
idea of a child’s playground.”

Amos agreed. “She’s better off in the library.”

“But I don’t think D.J. even knew where Ashley goes or why,” Suzy said. “Miss Grundler doesn’t like ‘the library being used for babysitting.’ And since we never see Ashley’s mom, she was making sure that Ashley passed on the message.”

“I see her point,” Karl said. “The taxpayers shouldn’t be paying for someone to watch the woman’s kid.”

“But the girl shouldn’t have been dragged into it,” Edna said. “Children are often the innocent victims of a parent’s bad judgment.”

“And it seems that our new librarian agrees with you,” Nina pointed out.

Harvey chuckled. “It says something, too, that she was willing to take on Amelia Grundler. That’s one female I’d be afraid to meet in a dark alley.”

Edna gave the wealthy owner of the grain elevator a wry glance.

“And yet, much of the gossip that shows up in this town seems to be centered around you, a woman and a dark alley.”

That brought titters of laughter to the room. Harvey took it with a good-natured shrug.

“No, you people don’t understand,” Suzy protested. “Nobody has more fantasies of telling off Amelia Grundler than I do. And for this, she totally deserved it. But this was way over the top of my imaginings. D.J. was seriously on fire and, I’m telling you, Miss Grundler got burnt to an ash. Normally she’s so sweet, but she was practically snarling. It was as if she thought the entire purpose of the library was to provide a refuge for lonely children. It’s one thing to argue for the right thing, but this was something more personal, and she really let Amelia have it. Ask Amos if you don’t believe me.”

“Of course we believe you,” Paula reassured her.

“She’d probably come to the end of her rope with Grundler,” Nina said.

Edna agreed. “That woman could get on anyone’s last nerve.”

Scott nodded. He didn’t have any trouble believing that D.J. had a temper. She’d disliked him on sight and she’d made no attempt to hide the fact.

He continued to think about her off and on through the day.

“Who is it that she looks like?” he asked the group. “The librarian, she reminds me of somebody. Who is it?”

There were shrugs all around. People were shaking heads.

“She just looks like herself to me,” Suzy said.

Scott was sure that he knew her from somewhere. She was simply too familiar to him.

He was still wondering about it later as he got ready for their date.

“It’s not a date,” he said aloud to his reflection in the mirror. Two people who didn’t really like each other but were forced to spend an evening together out of politeness—that definitely did not qualify as a date.

Still, he did consider wearing a tie. Dark blue to go with his blue striped shirt. On second thought, Scott decided against it. If he showed up in a tie, people would definitely talk. They would probably talk anyway, but there was no need to give them more ammunition.

He picked her up at exactly seven. She came outside just as he approached the steps to the upstairs deck, as if she’d been watching for him. She hadn’t exactly dressed for the occasion. She was wearing the same kind of blue-gray business suit and sensible shoes that he’d seen her in the evening they’d met. The shapeless, bland clothing was in sharp contrast to his memory of her in those biking shorts. A narrow waist and generous booty were not typically things women liked to hide. But then, women didn’t typically look at him as if he were a worm.

He smiled, hoping to appear more sociable. If anything, that seemed to evoke an even less gracious response.

“You don’t really have to do this,” she said. “I am perfectly capable of meeting people and introducing myself.”

“Of course you are,” he said, agreeably. “But Mom is right. It’s always nice to have someone to run the introductions. And if you’re anything like me, after a long work week, it’s always tempting to curl up alone at home.”

“I’m not anything like you,” she stated with more certainty than she could possibly have on such brief acquaintance.

Scott didn’t argue.

“I thought we’d catch a movie. It’s about the only thing there is to do in town, so it’s what most people do.”

“Fine,” she answered.

As they walked to the car, his mother came out the back door. “You kids have fun,” she called out.

He didn’t think that was likely. Scott liked the image of D.J. standing up to Amelia Grundler. Running defense for a kid who probably had more than her share of things to be defensive about. It made him want to like her more. But the grumpy expression on her face suggested that she didn’t share his sentiment.

“I won’t be out late,” she assured his mother, who only laughed.

“I wasn’t worried about that. They pretty much roll up the town after ten o’clock,” she said. “Besides, I’m going to go up and get Mr. Dewey to keep me company.”

“Uh...he’s in his crate,” D.J. said.

“No worries. I’ll bring him downstairs.”

Scott still couldn’t imagine why and how his mother had become attached to the dog. But he didn’t question it. Instead he opened the door of the van for his date, before remembering that it wasn’t a date and that D.J. might not appreciate such a gesture.

She didn’t.

The Ritz on Main Street showed films old enough that you could stream them at home. But the popcorn was good and there were lots of people to see and meet. A family of five could have a night out together for twenty bucks. And farm families in town for the weekly grocery shopping had a reason to stay through the evening.

The popularity of the place was evident in the parking. Scott pulled into an angled space across the street and at the end of the block.

D.J. didn’t require his assistance to get out of the passenger door. He made an effort to walk beside her down the sidewalk, although she did keep a couple of arms-lengths between them, as if he might suddenly grab her and she wanted to be prepared.

At the glassed-in ticket booth, a line of rowdy teenagers had formed. Young guys were acting silly in order to get the attention of young girls, who were giggling with appreciation.

They took a place behind them. Scott wondered if he had ever been that young. Technically he had, of course. But he had been a quiet, studious guy in his teens, working in the store every weekend and dating Stephanie. She had valued seriousness and maturity. So even back then, he’d behaved more like forty than fourteen.

“I suppose you do this every weekend.”

He was shocked that the silent woman beside him had finally spoken. Maybe that was progress.

“No, not very often really.”

“It seems like a lot of very young people. Lots of teenage girls, I guess.”

“All ages, I promise,” he said, offering another polite smile.

She didn’t like that one much, either.

“It is nice that we still have the theater,” he pointed out. “We’re so far from the entertainment extras that most people take for granted. If we want to keep it available, we need to patronize it.”

She nodded thoughtfully at that. “Yes, I suppose so.”

In truth, Scott rarely ventured to the place. In some ways it held bad memories. It was in the Ritz Theater that he had first begun to suspect that maybe there was something strange about his relationship with Stephanie. If he’d acted upon his instinct then, everything afterward might have been a lot different.

D.J. was rifling around in her purse for something. The kids in front of them were buying tickets. One second before it was his turn to step up to the window, she found what she was looking for. She held up a twenty-dollar bill and attempted to hand it to him.

He simply stared at it, uncomprehending until finally realizing her intent.

“I’ve got this,” he said.

She pushed the money toward him more forcefully. “There is no reason that you should pay my way.”

“It’s two bucks a person,” he said. “You can buy the popcorn.”

He pulled out his wallet and handed the appropriate amount to Christy Tacomb, the ticket seller, who was watching the exchange between them as avidly as a cub reporter at a house fire.

Scott hated provoking gossip. But at least everybody in town would soon know that the librarian, at least, didn’t consider their night out to be a date.

He took the tickets that were handed to him, but he was so distracted that he forgot to mention the half inch of uneven flooring between the town’s more recently relayered sidewalk and the old movie theater’s 1920s black-and-white tile.

D.J. stumbled, and Scott reacted on instinct, wrapping a protective arm around her waist.

Touching her felt so familiar, so perfect, that his heart immediately caught in his throat. Other body organs were also affected.