Chapter Seventy-One
I’ve changed.
Or maybe I’m sheltering inside that numb sensation I woke with this morning, re-creating it now, cowering in a proverbial corner while a storm brews, deep in my soul, rallying for another big showing. Whatever the case, I walk into the library a few minutes after my coffee date with Jess, and I am fully aware, too aware, of the fact that I simply no longer feel the joy I once did when I stepped inside these doors. I no longer hear the imaginary sound of pages being turned in gloriously addictive books, as I once did every single morning as I started my day.
The happy version of me, the girl who loves books and her job, who usually greets everyone inside the walls of the library, even when I expect to be greeted by few in return, barely even speaks to the security guard. I whiz past Doug as if he’s a stranger, my mind preoccupied with nothing at all, as crazy as that might seem, considering the content of my meetup with Jess. But some part of me just seems to know that if I allow anything, even one little thing inside my head, the effect will be a fast-rolling snowball down a hill that ends nowhere good. Even the sweet compliment on my dress from Wanda, one of the floor-one zoo employees, barely registers. I don’t even think about visiting Kara’s office to fight for my job in the auditorium, when one might think it would be the first thing I’d do upon my arrival this morning.
What’s done is done.
I have no fight left in me, at least on this topic, not even when Akia—dressed in one of his perfectly fitted button-down shirts, in the same shade of green as his eyes—literally places his body between me and the escalator. “We should talk,” he states. “Can we go to lunch?”
Translation: Can I teach him how to do the job I did well, just as well? The embarrassing truth is that there was a time not so long ago when I’d have helped him no matter the detriment to myself. Now is not that time. “No,” I say simply. “We cannot go to lunch.” I try to step around him.
He blocks my path, arguing his position. “I didn’t do this. It was—”
“The man with one red shoe?” It’s a joke based on the title of an old eighties Tom Hanks movie he’ll never know, but I do. I do because my father loves that damn movie. And I love my father. My energy will go toward protecting him, not helping Akia.
“Tom Hanks,” he surprises me by saying. “I actually love that movie. I watched it with my dad.”
The comment on his part might open the door to a connection between us if I respond with my similar history, but I do not. I zip my lips, seeing him for what he is, a cobra who hypnotizes you and then strikes. I’ve already been bitten. Now is the aftermath. “I didn’t take your job by choice,” he adds, the shift in his eyes suggesting a lie, but I can’t be certain. “It was forced on me,” he continues. “And I told you. I know Neil well. When Neil decides he’s done with someone, he’s done. That’s what happened to you. Truth be told, the only reason I’ve survived him this many years is that he and my father grew up together. My father shelters me.”
But not me, I think, and he certainly knew that and took advantage of my fall from the presenting podium, so to speak. “Then you could have supported me and survived it just fine.”
“I tried.”
This time I’m certain he lies. I really do see it in the shift of his eyes that I’ve read about in hundreds of crime novels. This conversation is going nowhere but to a pile of more of those lies. Therefore I say what my father said about the Lion’s Den disaster, “Things happen for a reason, even if we don’t understand them until much later. I need to get to floor three. Good luck with your new duties.”
His look is incredulous. “You’re really going to blow me off?”
“I really am.”
He grimaces and accuses, “I thought you were more professional than this.”
I almost laugh. “No you didn’t. You didn’t think of me at all. Not until I served my job up to you on a silver platter. My mistake. Lesson learned.” This time when I step around him, he doesn’t stop me.
I close the few steps between me and the escalator, claiming my spot on the steel step.
I don’t turn around. I also don’t survey the library for fun tidbits of joy from those enjoying a book or family time. Nor do I study floor two for the stranger who I’ve convinced myself was watching me but may not have noticed me at all. I focus on what is above. My tree house, my safe place, floor three. The only place where I might just find the joy of reading and sharing book recommendations again.
The only place where I might find the ghost of Mia past. If I could find her, I feel like she’d know which book to pick up and find the solution to all this inside.
Chapter Seventy-Two
I’m actually the first to arrive on floor three for the day.
I quickly settle at my desk with the intent of relishing some time alone. Maybe if I step into the circle of books beyond this door, inhale the smell of the books, and listen, I’ll hear the imaginary flutter of pages turning. I’ll remember the love of books that grounded me in life, love, and family.
That hope is dashed a moment later when Jack joins me and shuts the door firmly behind him, ensuring our privacy. My fingers curl into my palms as I steel myself for what is to come. Jack is no Jess. He will push me harder on my meltdown last night, at least where my job is related. That’s where our worlds collide, where we connect. That’s where he will focus his queries.
Before I can even turn around, he’s ranting. “Jess told me about Akia taking your job,” he says. “I’m furious for you. I swear I’ve never wanted to punch someone, but I want to go punch him for you right now. Why wouldn’t you take my calls last night? I was worried about you. I am worried about you.”
I stand up to face him and lean on my desk, and that worry and anger he spoke of radiates from him. His jaw is tense and jutted forward, but there is more in his stare, a hint of hurt that I understand a bit too well. He feels second best, in this case to Jess, a sentiment that has been a theme as of late, it seems.
“I didn’t want to take Jess’s call, either,” I say. “She threatened to come over by text if I didn’t talk to her, and I knew she would. I didn’t want to see her. I just needed a minute to myself.”
He gives a nod, the shadows in his eyes lightening but not fading. “What did Kara say? Did the email you sent do nothing at all to help? I thought it was brilliant.”
“The letter was good. She said it helped. I appreciate you suggesting it.”
“It helped? Please explain how. You lost your auditorium gig.”
“Yes, but apparently not my pay. She says she got calls about my email, and there is more to come on that, whatever that means.”
“I’ll be interested to see what that means, too. It’s good you kept your pay, right?”
“Yes. Of course it is, but I guess the money wasn’t what really mattered. I mean, it did, and it does—I need it—but the job and my duties were personal to me. I felt like I did good work that just didn’t matter in the end.”
“You feel unimportant,” he supplies and then motions to my dress. “You’re dressing for success, looking good, doing good work, and it just didn’t seem to matter.”
God, this man understands me. I do love and adore him. “Yeah. It sucks.”
“Well, for the record, you’re important to me. And I have to believe that Kara is telling you that there is something unexpected brewing for you.”
He has no idea, I think.
“Can you believe that Akia actually asked me to go to lunch with him to ‘talk’? You know, he wants me to show him how to look good. I told him no.”
He arches a brow. “And he said?”
“This is not his fault. Neil is an asshole who just decides to hate people, and Neil is a friend of his father’s, which works in his favor.”