Her heart clenched in her chest. She didn’t belong in the picture. The attitude of both Cody and Lucas, turned toward her as if they needed her, left an unsettled feeling in her stomach. Cody gave her too much credit. All she’d done was her job, her real job, the one where she compiled information, got buy-in from stakeholders. The picture implied she’d made a difference, when all she’d done was her job.
She cast a quick glance at Cody, and found him watching her. She couldn’t tell from his expression what he’d deduced, if anything. “It’s sweet of you to put me in the mural,” she said. “Can you paint over it when the new library director starts?”
“What do you mean? You’re the library director.”
“Acting library director,” she corrected. “I’m leaving in a couple of weeks.”
Shock froze his features. “What?”
Did he not know? How could he not know that she was a contract librarian? “I’m not a permanent hire, Cody,” she said gently. “I was only here for a few months while the town conducted a search for a full-time librarian. I should have left yesterday, but Mayor Turner and the council approved the renovation. I’m staying to complete it, but then I’m going home to Chicago.”
The room had gone quiet again. Suddenly Cody looked as young as his grade-school brothers. His eyes were bright, and his lower lip softened into a quiver until he got it under control. “Sure,” he said. “I knew that.”
She pulled him into the kitchen, away from the listening ears, and looked at the mural design as if seeing it for the first time. Who else would get the position of honor at the top of the library steps? The composition wouldn’t make any sense to have Lucas gazing ever-so-slightly up at the new hire, especially if the town hired a man.
The drawing only made sense if she stood there.
Don’t be ridiculous. One person doesn’t make a difference in a place like this. Community matters.
He looked at the rendition as if realizing that his entire worldview was completely wrong, that he’d spent the last few weeks thinking the world was round only to discover it was flat.
“You can redo it,” she said encouragingly. “Move Luc—Chief Ridgeway to the station, and add the new library director when he or she starts. These are small changes, easy to do, right?”
But even as she said it, she knew what she suggested changed the entire composition. The color scheme depended on Lucas’s dark suit and dark hair against her lighter colors. The whole thing depended on her and Lucas together. Which wasn’t going to happen.
He looked at her. “Right. Small changes. I’ll just shift some people around.”
“Cody, I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I thought you knew.”
“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “Of course I knew people leave. It’s what people do.”
Her heart broke a little more. “Look,” she said. “When I get back to Chicago I’m going to talk to a friend of mine who runs the summer program at the Art Institute. It’s past the application deadline, but I think I can pull some strings and get you a spot there this summer. That will give you an edge when you apply to colleges in the fall. The school takes quite a few students from their summer programs. You’ve got the talent to make art a full-time career.”
The disbelief in his face held tones of a world-weary cynicism. “I’m not going to art school this summer,” he said.
“Why not? There are scholarships—”
“Who’s going to take care of the little kids?”
Her mouth shut with a click.
“Mom works nights. Colt’s not going to be around for long. That was his stash in the car,” he said, magnificently unconcerned about Lucas’s presence in the basement. “The little kids love him, and someone has to pick up the pieces when he goes to jail again.”
“Surely there’s someone who can . . .”
“You’re looking at that someone, Miss Wentworth,” he said, so gently she wanted to cry. “I’m not going to summer school, or art school. I’ll graduate. Probably. Get a job. I’ll look after my brothers, and my mom. On the plus side, when I have a job, I’ll be able to buy art supplies.”
“I’m going to ask anyway,” she said. “We can figure something out. There must be something, a program, something through the state.”
“You can find day cares that take kids at night,” he said. “But we can’t afford it, and anyway, I wouldn’t put my brothers in one. I appreciate the offer,” he said. “But that’s not how we do things around here.”
His voice was deeper, expressive, an indication of how he’d sound when he made the full transition into adulthood.
“Can your mom go to the day shift?”
“Sure,” he said. “But the night shift gets a pay differential. She can afford to do that when I’m working. Until then, it’s a choice between feeding us all or being around at night.”
Alana looked around the kitchen overflowing with food. Without a word she got up and started packing leftovers into pans and plastic tubs. Macaroni and cheese, pasta salad, a casserole made from tater tots, ground beef, and cream of mushroom soup. “I’ll give you a ride home,” she said.