Louisiana Saves the Library (9 page)

“No.”

“Me neither. But we'll make sure we get one with a swing set.”

“And a slide?”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” Max ate the rest of his cereal in silence while Louise tried to put the situation in perspective. She had two great kids, a decent job. It was going to be okay. The house was only a thing. An eminently replaceable thing. When she was a child, her father used that phrase every time something broke or got lost.
It's just a thing.

“Come on, Max. I'll read you a story,” she said, putting the empty bowl in the sink and heading to his bedroom.

“Okay. Read about the bunny with the box.” Max padded back to his room, yawning.

Louise found the book and sat on the bed next to him. He pulled the covers up to his chest and tucked his teddy bear under his arm. By the time she was finished reading, he'd fallen asleep. She kissed his forehead and went back into the living room to e-mail the real estate agent.

C
HAPTER
11

L
ouise stared at the duck painting over her boss's desk and thought about the buck taking its last breaths in the cluttered, stale-microwave-dinner-scented room. She clenched her hands into fists.

After the incident with the deer, Mr. Foley had managed to re-create his office clutter quickly. The floor was covered with new titles waiting to be cataloged, old books that needed to be discarded, and stacks of books on tape. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed to overflowing. Louise's feet were just inches from a dusty pile of file folders. Sylvia stood two stacks over, her stilettos grazing the edge of a collection of 1970s-era encyclopedias. They couldn't sit down because all of the chairs were occupied by folders, books, junk mail, and loose papers.

Mr. Foley hadn't offered to clear off seats for them. His attitude was so unwelcoming that he might as well have hung a “Closed for Business” sign over his door. Sylvia shoved the encyclopedias with her foot and stared down at the director. “People work from nine to five weekdays,” she said. “They can't come to the library during those hours.”

“Not everyone,” Mr. Foley said. He glanced at the computer screen and clicked the mouse, possibly checking the date of the next goat-breeding conference. “And they can come during their lunch breaks.”

“A lot of people work in Saint Jude. It's not like they can just skip lunch and pop in,” Louise said.

“We're not asking you to pay us more,” Sylvia said. “Whoever is working that night will come in a little later in the morning. And we can take turns so it's fair. Some of the staff might like having different hours once in a while. On Saturdays, just two staff members will be needed to work and we can do with two fewer workers on Fridays, which are pretty slow anyway. It won't cost any more money except for a slight increase in utilities for opening the library a few more hours.”

“We've always been open eight to five just on weekdays and no one has complained,” Mr. Foley said.

Louise almost rolled her eyes. As though anyone would be brave enough to make a suggestion to the sharp-tongued library director. Not to mention the fact that he stayed in his office all day, avoiding almost all exposure to the public. Louise had not yet solved the puzzle of how Mr. Foley had become head of the library system. He seemed to loathe the job, the employees, and the patrons. She was pretty sure he didn't even read books.

“But we've started offering computer classes at night. Matt has to stay late for those. Why not leave the library open?” Sylvia persisted.

Mr. Foley answered with a dismissive snort. “I have to get back to work.”

Sylvia gave the encyclopedias another kick, and the top one slid off the stack. “We also need to talk about the collection.”

“What about it?”

“This has to be the only library in the twenty-first century that has no multimedia materials. Not to mention artwork, graphic novels. We don't even have board books for the toddlers.”

“Libraries are for books. Now, if y'all are finished, I have work to do.”

“No,” Sylvia said. “You need to understand something. This library is dying. The last time the citizens of this parish were asked to raise the millage rate for the library system, they voted against it. If that happens in this next election, you will barely be able to make the light bill. You certainly won't be able to pay your employees' salaries. If you don't do some simple things like buy materials people want to check out and offer hours that fit with their schedules, they will decide they don't need us around anymore.”

Mr. Foley took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt. “In case you haven't heard, there's something called Netflix.”

“There is also something called Barnes and Noble. We are here to provide materials for people who can't afford them. We will also provide educational and entertainment programming that they wouldn't otherwise have available to them. If you don't agree that this is the mission of the library, I'll resign right now and get a job at Walmart. Because I can't work like this.”

“Don't quit. Fine. You can stay open later hours as long as you coordinate everyone's schedules. I have enough to do without worrying about that. I will think about your idea about the multimedia materials.”

“It's a deal,” Louise said, taking Sylvia's arm and leading her out before she could argue any more.

 

Hope put her hands on her hips. “Oh, no, you don't.”

“Come on,” Sylvia said. “It's just one day a week. You come in at noon and leave at nine. And each staff member works one Saturday a month. We keep track of circulation, and if we don't get more business, we'll go back to the old hours. Besides, Louise and I will provide dinner for the first week.”

“We will?” Louise knew “we” meant her since Sylvia could barely make scrambled eggs.

“Sure, you know, just sandwiches. Stuff like that.”

“Oh, no, you gotta have gumbo to get me to stay.” Now, Hope smiled.

“I hear you make a mean chicken and dumplings, but I won't believe it until I see it,” Louise said.

“You know that won't work. I ain't gonna make my chicken and dumplings for you just for that. You gotta do something special to earn my chicken and dumplings.”

“It was worth a try,” Louise said. “I'll make gumbo then. I might be a Yankee, but I can cook.”

“I'll believe
that
when I see it.” Hope sauntered back toward her cubicle. She stopped at Sylvia's desk and picked up one of the titles waiting to be cataloged.

Unlike Louise, Sylvia didn't seem to miss academia. She claimed that after so much dry prose, reading novels about vampires and dark teenage secrets was a vacation. The paperback Hope selected from Sylvia's pile featured a pair of bright red lips and a crimson drop of blood. “Garbage,” she said, thumping the book back on top of the stack. “I hear you're encouraging the teens to read this filth.”

“I started a teen book club,” Sylvia said. “I'm also going to the high school and junior high and giving book talks. I try to balance it between the junk they want to read and the serious stuff. But you'd be surprised. Some of the ones with the racy covers are actually pretty good.”

Hope snorted. “People ain't gonna like it.”

“That I'm trying to get kids to read instead of watch TV and play video games?”

“If they're reading this crap, they may as well watch TV.”

“Hope, I just told you—”

“All's I know is some of this here is banned from the school libraries around these parts.”

“If anyone complains, let me know,” Sylvia said.

“I surely will.” Hope went to her desk and started cutting out paper flowers for the children's program.

 

After work, Louise sat in the van with Sylvia and studied the real estate listings her agent had sent. “Are you sure you don't mind going to see a couple of houses?”

“I mind you moving,” Sylvia said. “I don't mind helping you look for a house. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I don't. But I have to.” Louise started the van. “When I bought the house in Saint Jude, I didn't expect to lose my job. I mean, we're making just over half what we got at A&M. Brendan said he'd give me more money, but I can't take it, or if I do I'll put it in a college fund for the kids. I hate being dependent on him.”

Sylvia ran her hand through her hair, one of her signature nervous gestures. “Yeah. We're running the well dry too. But I'm really hoping Jake will find another job soon.”

“I don't want to leave the state right now,” Louise said. “And Brendan would kill me anyway, since he's going to be moving here in a couple of months. I have no choice.”

“You're not buying out here just to avoid him, I hope,” Sylvia said.

The thought had occurred to her. The more distance between herself and her ex, the better. Aside from Brendan and Julia, though, there was no reason for her to live in Saint Jude anymore. Her job was in Alligator Bayou. “No. I'll save a lot of money without the commute. And houses are way cheaper out here.”

“Okay. Turn here. We're coming up on the first one.”

Louise slowed and took a right down a newly paved street. Mailboxes lined the road, but the houses were set back so far that they were barely visible through the trees. The spacious front yards had porch swings hanging from massive live oaks. Louise imagined the kids playing in the shade while she sat in a rocking chair on a porch. Her new house might be even better than the one in Saint Jude. Highly unlikely since her budget was cut in half this time.

“This one,” Sylvia said.

The street dead-ended into a fenced-off strand of trees. The house Sylvia had pointed out was the last visible one on the block. The front yard was overgrown with scraggly grass and randomly placed trees. Louise drove halfway up the unpaved driveway to get a better look. The tiny bungalow had wood siding and concrete blocks underneath for a foundation. There was a porch, but it was barely large enough for a rocking chair. Not a model of luxurious rural living. The house made her think of Adwell again. If he knew she was actually relocating to Alligator Bayou, he would conclude that she'd lost her mind.

Louise read the real estate listing. “It's in my price range, at least.” She opened the door, stepped out, and sank into mud up to her ankles. “Sylvia! Stay in the car.” Abandoning her shoes to the sinkhole, she slogged to the passenger side of the van.

“What?” Sylvia was preparing to place her tan three-inch platform heel on the ground. Then, she saw that Louise was standing in mud. “I didn't bring my Cajun Reeboks. You'll have to check out this place on your own.”

Louise retrieved her muddy shoes and tossed them in the back of the van. She sat down on the edge of the cargo area and stripped off her nylons. She was rolling them into a ball and searching the back of the van for a plastic bag when she saw a man walking down a long driveway at the dead end of the street.

C
HAPTER
12

A
woman was sitting in the back of a van parked in front of Trey's old place. Sal couldn't tell what she was doing, but when she jumped down, her legs and feet were bare under her knee-length skirt. He felt a little jolt of electricity when he recognized Louise. He'd meant to stop by the library, but strawberry season was approaching and he'd been busy lining up workers. In fact, it was nearly five o'clock and he was just finding time to pick up the mail from his box.

At the sight of Louise, he completely forgot why he'd hiked down the gravel driveway. Her hair was loose and floated around her shoulders when she shook her head. She hugged her maroon suit jacket around her as though she was chilly. He wondered why she wasn't wearing a proper jacket. February was one of the only cold months in Louisiana. He had a thick flannel jacket on; if she wanted it, he'd give it to her. Hell, he'd give her his shirt too, if she needed it. He stepped onto the driveway, and his work boots disappeared up to the laces. “Deep mud here.”

“So I found out.” Louise's shapely legs were flecked with mud. She reached up and closed the back door of the van. The movement lifted her skirt slightly.

Sal caught his breath with difficulty. “Yeah, you could do with some boots. A jacket too. Are you cold?”

She turned back around and laughed, a beautiful sound. “No, I'm from Minnesota. This would be shorts-wearing weather there.”

Sal felt warm himself. He unzipped his jacket. “You thinking about buying this place?”

“I guess so. It's in my price range.”

“Probably needs a lot of work. Old Trey owned it, but he let his cousin live in it for a while. He wasn't much to speak of, and I imagine he didn't keep it up too well. Sure let the driveway go, as you can see.”

“I might as well take a look since I already sacrificed my shoes to the cause,” Louise said.

“I'll come with you.”

They walked up to the house together. She seemed surprisingly comfortable in bare feet, especially since the mud had to be freezing. Concrete pillars raised the house three feet off the ground. It was painted blue with white trim. Trey's cousin and his three rowdy teenage boys hadn't bothered to mow the lawn, let alone clean. They'd neglected the place so much that when the old man wanted to sell it, he'd had to hire a team of cleaners to scrub the walls, the carpet, everything. In fact, Trey should have replaced the carpet, but he probably hadn't. The old man's days of doing things like that himself were long gone, and he was too cheap to pay anyone competent to fix up the place. He'd hired his brother Jack, who was younger and spryer than him but not by much.

Louise stepped onto the forest green porch, her muddy feet leaving brown prints.

Sal followed, forcing himself to look at the house instead of her legs. “It's small and Trey did a lousy job painting it, but overall I think it's a well-built house. Fifty years old at least,” he said. “Siding looks good. You'll have to get an inspector to check underneath for termite damage. Windows aren't great, but the caulking isn't bad.”

He cupped his hands around his face and looked in the window. Just as he'd thought, Jack hadn't replaced the carpet. It was unraveling in places. He could just see into the kitchen, which was equipped with a harvest-gold refrigerator and stove that had to be at least thirty years old. The linoleum was peeling up from the floor, and a huge air conditioning unit was visible in the far window.

“Do you live around here?” Louise asked, moving her face close to the glass to see inside.

“That's my place next door at the end of the street. You can't see it from the road, but I've got a few acres back there and a mobile home I live in. I was getting the mail when I saw your van out here. Doesn't look bad inside there. Carpet's a mess and the kitchen's out of date, but I could help you retile it, if you want.”

“No central A/C.”

“Yeah. It has heat, though, which means there's already some ductwork. So, central air would be expensive, but not prohibitive.”

“Two bedrooms?”

“Two upstairs would be my guess. Though I believe this room over here is a parlor that could be made into a third one.” He walked over to the window on the other side of the green door. “Here, see what you think.”

Louise peered inside. Sal couldn't read her expression. He desperately wanted her to like the place. He was already imagining driving his tractor over to mow her lawn and staying for dinner. He had to get a grip and stop daydreaming.

“I'd better get back. Sylvia's waiting in the car,” she said.

“Didn't want to ruin her nice shoes, huh?”

“I was going to suggest that she take them off and join me, but she's not the slogging-through-mud type.”

“And you are?” Sal raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

She smiled. “If the situation calls for it.”

He climbed down the porch stairs and held his hand out to help her. He felt the electricity again when she touched him and he didn't want to let go. Her hand felt soft and cool. Feminine. It had been a long time since he'd felt this way about someone.

“Let me know what you decide,” he said as they walked back down the driveway. “You know where to find me.”

“I will.” Louise used the running board to scrape some of the mud off her feet and got in the van.

Sal went back to his mailbox and watched her drive away. He wanted to break into the house and replace the carpet, just to convince her to move in.