As it turns out, nothing—but they had everything to gain.
In February of this year, Jubilee was given the news she’d once only dreamed of. “?‘You’re cured’—that’s what Dr. Zhang said. I don’t think I really believed it. Even when she hugged me,” Ms. Jenkins said. “It’s a miracle.”
But Dr. Zhang disagrees. “It’s just science,” she said. “And a little bit of really good luck.”
* * *
* * *
JUBILEE
“OH DEAR, SOMEONE ripped a page of Charlotte’s Web,” says Louise, reaching in the drawer for the Filmoplast.
I look, and my heart leaps into my throat. It’s the book. The same blue hardback binding. The little girl with the red dress. “I’ll fix it,” I say, taking it from her just so my hands can touch the same place his did seven years ago when he read to me under the cover of darkness in the library. I hold it to my nose, even though I know it will only smell like a musty old book. I inhale anyway. Louise looks at me funny and then grabs her purse. “I’m going to lunch.”
Mr. Walcott used to say, “Time heals all wounds.” But it’s not true. Time doesn’t heal anything. All it does is dull the memory, until some reminder—like a classic children’s book—sharpens the focus, takes your breath, and all the feelings come rushing back.
I revel in it for a minute, then set the book down on the top of the circulation desk, smooth a piece of Filmoplast on the torn page. When I close the cover, a bark grabs my attention. I look up and see Rufus dragging Madison into the library.
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to leave him tied up outside!”
“Oh, like I’ve ever had any control over him,” she says. “Are you ready to go?”
I laugh, marveling at how I can never be mad at her. Even years ago when I felt completely betrayed by her, I caved at her first sincere apology.
It was only a few weeks after that Louise got her job back. Not because of Madison—there was nothing she could really do. But because the library received an anonymous donation for $400,000, a whopping sum that put Maryann in such a good mood, she forgot why she was ever mad at me to begin with. A lot of chatter ensued among the staff on who could have made such a gift. I thought it was Donovan at first, but Madison howled when I shared my suspicions. “I mean, he’s doing fine at the bank, but his salary isn’t even close to that much money,” she said.
And then I wondered if maybe Eric had somehow had a hand in it. I didn’t think he had that kind of money either, but maybe he was able to convince one of the many corporations he worked with to make the gift. I reveled in the thought, playing out his generosity like the end of some Lifetime movie, even though I knew it was a remote possibility.
It wasn’t until years later that we discovered that Michael, the pillow golfer (though it feels weird to call him that now, considering), was behind it. Turns out, what Michael meant when he said his parents were “prominent citizens” was that they were filthy rich—and he was their sole heir.
“Come on, Jube. Let’s go.”
“Keep your pants on,” I say, scanning Charlotte’s Web in and making a note of its damage on the computer.
Outside, the sun is a giant orange in the sky, radiating a sweet warmth and happiness into the July day. “Thanks for getting Rufus,” I say as we stroll down the sidewalk. “I promise I’ll get a new dog walker soon. It’s just hard to replace Terry. He loved Rufus so much.”
Terry was my mailman (not Earl, as I had dubbed him). I met him while walking Rufus one day and he mentioned—while producing a dog treat out of his pocket that Rufus snatched with glee—that he was retiring from the post office and would be taking care of dogs as his new hobby. I hired him on the spot and he had been walking Rufus on the days I worked ever since. But now he and his wife are moving down to Florida to live in a condo on the beach.
When we reach TeaCakes, I tie Rufus up to the stand outside, where the owner has left a big bowl of water and a few chew toys for the dogs of his customers.
“Jube, seriously. You’re moving like a glacier.”
“So? What’s the big rush?” I ask as she holds open the door for me and I step inside. And then I see.
“Happy birthday!” a chorus of familiar faces shouts. But the brightest, loudest one of all is Michael. He steps forward, grinning. “Are you surprised?”
I cover my mouth with my hand, taking in all the people in front of me: Louise (how’d she get here so fast?), Roger, Dr. Zhang (I can’t believe she drove in from the city), and even Terry and his wife. My eyes return to Michael.
“Did you do this?” I ask him.
“Yeah. Well, with some help from Madison.”
I reach my hand out to him and he takes it, squeezing it. My heart swells, and I think how lucky I am. Not just for Michael, but for everyone in this room. For the family I never thought I’d have.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Wait, I thought you were supposed to be in Chicago.” Michael had been talking about the National Golf Course Owners Association’s annual meeting for a month now. Per his plan, he bought the abandoned course on the outskirts of Lincoln a few years ago and has quickly turned it into a hot spot for NYC businessmen and -women looking to hit the links.
“A little white lie,” he says. “It’s actually next month.”
I laugh. “I guess you’re forgiven.”
“Did I miss the cake?” a voice behind me says.
I turn around.
“Maryann!” I give her a hug and then step back. “Hold on—if you’re here, who’s at the library?”
“I closed it,” she says, winking. “Just for an hour.” She leaves her arm on my shoulder and Louise comes up and puts her hand on my waist, steering me toward a long table in the back groaning under an entirely too-large sheet cake. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s go eat.”