aback.
“I thought you’d be happier to see me,” he said uncertainly. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
Janie was checking out books a little farther down the big desk.
“You seem to have found a way to keep busy while you waited,” I remarked, and picked up the ringing phone. Porter Ziegler wanted to know how to get scum off the surface of his pond. I told him I’d find out, but I was registering Robin’s reaction.
Robin looked a little guilty instantly. Not my imagination, then.
“Just passing the time till you came in,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t just come in and chatter to the librarians when they’re at work. I guess I don’t know that many people here in Lawrenceton yet.”
And he was in Lawrenceton because of me was the subtext to that subtle plea for sympathy.
“Here I am,” I said after considering several possible responses.
“Are you okay?”
He was sounding so sympathetic and caring, I felt like I was being a big idiot. Then Janie, having finished with the patron, sidled over and reached across the desk to finger Robin’s coat, which was a very nice suede. In what I could only characterize as a coo, Janie said, “You’re so snuggly in that coat!”
Gun control, I thought. Gun control.
“Let me leave you two to your discussion,” I said lightly. I smiled at both of them with all the warmth of an alligator, then went to ask the reference librarian if she could find out about pond-scum removal. She thought for a minute and then gave me the phone number of the county agent. Porter Ziegler would surely find the answer from that individual, a man who seemed to know everything about the out-of-doors.
When I went back to the main desk, Robin was gone. Janie, looking a little sullen, was checking out some books for a bearded man who had made the library his second home. We had often speculated about Horton Aldrich. He was clean, and he never smelled, but he was noticeably shabby, and gaunt. The address he’d listed when he’d gotten his library card had turned out to be the address of the local Salvation Army store. Mr. Aldrich was prone to laugh to himself while he read the paper, which was maybe not so odd, considering the state of the world. He seldom talked directly to anyone, staff or patron, but he was nearly always through the doors right after they were unlocked, and he trotted out of them when the closing employee walked toward them with the key.
Today, Mr. Aldrich seemed to be in a jittery mood. I wondered what had happened to upset him. But he was so peculiar, I would have asked about his well-being only if he’d been bleeding or sobbing. My policy—my chickenhearted policy— about Mr. Aldrich was, Let him be. I always tried to smile at him, I tried not to look nervous when he decided to have a conversation with me, and I made sure no other patron hogged the Atlanta paper, thus preventing Mr. Horton from reading it right away, because I’d noticed that really made his day bad.
Everyone in the world wanted to use our computers today, and the phone rang every time I put it down. I got about halfway through filling out the book order, when it should have taken me thirty minutes to do the whole thing. Phillip called at eleven o’clock, right on time, to tell me who’d phoned the house. He’d met Sandy and Marvin Wynn, who had come in briefly to retrieve an address book. Kind people had dropped off a cold-cut platter so the Wynns could have sandwiches whenever they were hungry, and a pie, though Phillip anxiously told me he didn’t know what kind it was. But he swore he had the name and a description of the dish written down.
“You better have a sandwich and a piece of pie. Then you’ll know what kind it is,” I said.
“Shouldn’t I save all this for Mr. and Mrs. Wynn?”
“Honey, I would say ‘Sure’ if I had any idea they were going to be eating, or caring what they ate,” I said. “And you know there’s no way two skinny older people like the Wynns
“I thought you’d be happier to see me,” he said uncertainly. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
Janie was checking out books a little farther down the big desk.
“You seem to have found a way to keep busy while you waited,” I remarked, and picked up the ringing phone. Porter Ziegler wanted to know how to get scum off the surface of his pond. I told him I’d find out, but I was registering Robin’s reaction.
Robin looked a little guilty instantly. Not my imagination, then.
“Just passing the time till you came in,” he said. “I know I shouldn’t just come in and chatter to the librarians when they’re at work. I guess I don’t know that many people here in Lawrenceton yet.”
And he was in Lawrenceton because of me was the subtext to that subtle plea for sympathy.
“Here I am,” I said after considering several possible responses.
“Are you okay?”
He was sounding so sympathetic and caring, I felt like I was being a big idiot. Then Janie, having finished with the patron, sidled over and reached across the desk to finger Robin’s coat, which was a very nice suede. In what I could only characterize as a coo, Janie said, “You’re so snuggly in that coat!”
Gun control, I thought. Gun control.
“Let me leave you two to your discussion,” I said lightly. I smiled at both of them with all the warmth of an alligator, then went to ask the reference librarian if she could find out about pond-scum removal. She thought for a minute and then gave me the phone number of the county agent. Porter Ziegler would surely find the answer from that individual, a man who seemed to know everything about the out-of-doors.
When I went back to the main desk, Robin was gone. Janie, looking a little sullen, was checking out some books for a bearded man who had made the library his second home. We had often speculated about Horton Aldrich. He was clean, and he never smelled, but he was noticeably shabby, and gaunt. The address he’d listed when he’d gotten his library card had turned out to be the address of the local Salvation Army store. Mr. Aldrich was prone to laugh to himself while he read the paper, which was maybe not so odd, considering the state of the world. He seldom talked directly to anyone, staff or patron, but he was nearly always through the doors right after they were unlocked, and he trotted out of them when the closing employee walked toward them with the key.
Today, Mr. Aldrich seemed to be in a jittery mood. I wondered what had happened to upset him. But he was so peculiar, I would have asked about his well-being only if he’d been bleeding or sobbing. My policy—my chickenhearted policy— about Mr. Aldrich was, Let him be. I always tried to smile at him, I tried not to look nervous when he decided to have a conversation with me, and I made sure no other patron hogged the Atlanta paper, thus preventing Mr. Horton from reading it right away, because I’d noticed that really made his day bad.
Everyone in the world wanted to use our computers today, and the phone rang every time I put it down. I got about halfway through filling out the book order, when it should have taken me thirty minutes to do the whole thing. Phillip called at eleven o’clock, right on time, to tell me who’d phoned the house. He’d met Sandy and Marvin Wynn, who had come in briefly to retrieve an address book. Kind people had dropped off a cold-cut platter so the Wynns could have sandwiches whenever they were hungry, and a pie, though Phillip anxiously told me he didn’t know what kind it was. But he swore he had the name and a description of the dish written down.
“You better have a sandwich and a piece of pie. Then you’ll know what kind it is,” I said.
“Shouldn’t I save all this for Mr. and Mrs. Wynn?”
“Honey, I would say ‘Sure’ if I had any idea they were going to be eating, or caring what they ate,” I said. “And you know there’s no way two skinny older people like the Wynns
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