“But I do.”
Back upstairs she vacuumed and swept. The computer was up and running, so she checked in and reshelved returned DVDs and audiobooks, which were in high demand. Mrs. Battle was due to work today, so she would reshelve returned books while Alana helped the library’s visitors, worked on a blog post detailing upcoming releases and asking for the community’s input into which ones would be purchased, and checking the Facebook and e-mail accounts.
Mrs. Battle arrived just before noon. Alana went downstairs to find Cody working his way through the books. The edge of one table held a few books while a larger section was stacked back in the boxes.
“I’ve found a few worth some real money,” he said, without looking up from the phone. “Most of them are junk.”
She walked over to one box, crouched next to it, and picked through the selection. “It was worth a try,” she said.
“Your mother sent you an e-mail with the subject line DO NOT IGNORE THIS EMAIL and someone named Frederica e-mailed six times. Your battery’s almost dead.”
She’d forgotten about the notifications on her phone. Cody slapped the hot phone into her outstretched hand. Alana opened the e-mail app and saw the e-mails queued up.
“Do you always ignore your mother’s e-mails?”
“Not always,” Alana said as it opened. Just when she’s e-mailing about her plans for the party she’ll throw when I return to Chicago, or asking when I want to start work again, if I need a vacation from my vacation, and how exactly do I feel about David dating Laurie? Alana couldn’t think about that. She had a kitchen to renovate, the town’s police chief in her bed, Freddie’s wedding to plan, and a proposal due in less than a week.
And a sullen teenage boy talking to her. A boy who, other than answering direct questions, hadn’t said one word. She tapped back to the home screen. “I need you upstairs.”
He snagged the book of sketches and followed her up the stairs. Back on the first floor, she made sure he saw the half sandwich sitting on her desk, then she went back to circulation. A few moments later, he emerged from her office. “What now?”
“You can read Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day to the preschool kids, or you can shelve magazines,” she said, half joking.
With a cocky grin, he said, “I don’t need the book.” Alana nearly gasped Wait! but bit back the word at the last minute. She should know better than to make jokes like that.
Some of the mothers looked a little taken aback at the idea of having a juvenile delinquent read to their children, but others took the opportunity to browse the popular-fiction rack themselves. Cody settled himself onto the low stool, his knees nearly in his armpits, gangly elbows perilously close to pigtails and cowlicks. One of the little kids giggled at this awkward stork impression. He drew the chalk easel to his side and started drawing. Within a couple of minutes, the kids were clustered around his feet, practically in his lap as he quickly drew, erased, and drew again, illustrating a story about a truck trying to deliver tomatoes to a store. He did voices for the truck, named Growler, and the tomatoes, who didn’t want to go to the store and be made into sandwiches. They wanted to throw themselves at things, people, trees, other trucks, which sent the kids into a fit of giggles.
Mrs. Battle set a stack of paperbacks on the circulation desk. She wore polyester slacks, a print blouse, and a cardigan. Her glasses were perched on her nose, and the chain got caught in her collar. “Well, that’s unexpected,” she said.
Alana watched him a moment longer, then turned to Mrs. Battle, who had her head cocked at an odd angle as she studied the Dewey decimal sticker on the book’s spine. “I get the same problem when I need a new prescription,” she offered.
“A new prescription won’t help,” Mrs. Battle said matter-of-factly. “My eyesight’s getting worse. I have an appointment tomorrow to see a specialist in Sioux Falls. I’m going to have to reschedule, though,” she said. “My neighbor fell yesterday and isn’t up to driving me.”
“What time is the appointment?”
“First thing in the morning.”
The older woman’s lips were firmly pressed together, holding in tears. In the story nook, Cody drew Growler convincing the tomatoes to throw themselves at the wall above a big vat to be made into pizza sauce.
“I’ve been meaning to run to Sioux Falls,” Alana said. “How about if we drive down together?”
“You don’t need to do that,” Mrs. Battle said firmly.
“I’d like to,” Alana replied. “It would be a big help for me. We’re so busy, we don’t have much time to talk about the proposal. We can talk on the way there and the way back.”
“All right,” Mrs. Battle said.