Jaded by Anne Calhoun

whined and one lurched forward to tug the leg of Cody’s jeans. “More Growler!” he demanded imperiously.
    “I can’t, buddy,” Cody said. “I’ve got to get back to work. But if you come back tomorrow, I’ll tell you another story about Growler. Next time he delivers pumpkins.”
    He threw Alana a defiant look that made her smile. If Cody thought that reading to little kids was the best part of this job, he could have it.
    Cody strolled over to the desk, the first real smile she’d seen on his face. “That was fun.”
    “The kids loved you,” Alana said. “Nice job.”
    He shrugged. “No big deal. Want me to sort some more books?”
    “Yes, please.”
    She scrolled through Freddie’s e-mail again, which was asking for a slightly different angle on the literacy issues. Her mind wandered between the conferences she’d attended, the conversations in the identical hotel ballrooms about global literacy efforts, and Cody’s take on story hour. Lights went on in little eyes when he told Growler’s story. It was a sweet moment, one that made her heart lift a little. Good for Cody, good for the kids, good for the moms watching. But she knew her place, and it wasn’t here.
     • • • 
    ALANA CLOSED THE library’s front door and locked it. Mrs. Battle clocked out just after three, but Cody hung around after Alana pointed out that as long as he wasn’t in school, he might as well make a dent in his community-service hours. Arms laden with her purse, tote, and laptop bag, she opened the back door of her A4 and set her bags on the backseat. After a deep inhale, she took off her coat as well. Late afternoon spring sunshine gilded the tops of the trees and cast long shadows on the street, and the air held a faintly sweet scent she didn’t recognize. After a few moments, she decided it was the smell of blossoming, sap pulsing through winter-iced trees to produce and unfurl buds. Spring in Chicago had a smell all its own, but spring was far too delicate to overcome concrete and exhaust.
    The scent would be even stronger when she got out of town, which was exactly what she intended to do. Lucas wanted her aesthetic opinion on the kitchen, and she didn’t want to tell him that decorating wasn’t her strong suit. Her mother did all of that and went for ultramodern. But Lucas’s tiny jewel of a house deserved a better kitchen than the one it had. It was small, yes, but the right countertops, perhaps some built-in shelves in the wall behind the door, and a brighter color scheme would make the space feel airy, even beautiful.
    With that in mind, Alana planned to make a pilgrimage of sorts to Brookhaven, form and function and beauty rocking tranquilly on the rolling prairie a few miles outside of town. Marissa Brooks had restored the grand house in a way that honored its period feel without sacrificing modern conveniences and comfort. She’d been to Brookhaven almost weekly since Chloe Nichols had bought the house and opened a yoga studio and retreat center, and Brookhaven’s new owner had become a friend.
    She carefully backed out of the library director’s parking space and turned right, heading for County Road 12 and Brookhaven. On the edge of town she passed Cody, walking along the shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets, the book tucked under his arm. As she approached, he turned and stuck his thumb out. She pulled over next to him and rolled down her window.
    “Hello, Cody.”
    His wary expression closed off. “Keep driving, Miss Wentworth.”
    “I’m going to Brookhaven,” she said. “Your house is on the way.”
    “It’s a couple of miles out of your way. I’ll catch another ride.”
    If this boy walked home from town, he’d burn off all the calories from lunch and then some. “A couple of miles isn’t much,” she said, and reached across the car to open the door. “Get in.”
    “No, thanks.”
    “Get in or I’ll tell Chief Ridgeway you’re hitchhiking. Which is illegal in South Dakota.”