Page 51 of Roses in Summer

—

“Your schedule will be Monday through Wednesday, from eight until four. You’ll have an hour lunch break in there, so don’t worry about starving to death, dear.”

I smile at Dr. Harrington—or May, as she instructed me to call her—and nod my head repeatedly as she talks. “That sounds great. My classes are mostly evening courses, so I have no scheduling issues. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to work on?”

“You’ll start in the archive room; all this school funding, but they’re stingy on the library preservation effort. Luckily, we’re down to the school newspapers and periodicals. You’ll be responsible for digitizing and cataloging those files.”

“That’s wonderful.” I breathe, excitement filling my chest. Dr. Harrington—May—is nothing like I expected. Unlike the stigma associated with most librarians, whose hair is pinned back in a severe bun and frown lines mar their faces, May seems well-lived, cultured, and vibrant. The bright-pink caftan she’s wearing looks better suited for a day on a yacht than a library, but I can’t say I don’t love how eccentric she appears to be.

“Follow me, dear, and I’ll show you where the archive room is. Don’t be alarmed; it’s in the basement.” I don’t respond to her confession because I’m not worried. Most libraries keep their archives and infrequently used texts and materials in a space separate from the general activity. For these documents to be in the basement isn’t a surprise.

I follow May’s footsteps into a short hallway right off the entrance and down a flight of stairs. The stairwell is larger and brighter than I expected, and I’m surprised to find the archive room one large, well-lit space with stacks of boxes and a commercial scanner in the center. Next to the scanner is a giant computer, one that looks suspiciously like it’s from the nineteen hundreds.

“The boxes are set in chronological order, from oldest to newest. We bring in new archives every five years, so, lucky for you, we haven’t had more documents come down here for three years. You’ll see over there.” She points to a wall lined with boxes. “Those documents are already scanned and named according to the nomenclature formula. They’ll be taken to another part of the basement for permanent storage.” Nodding at her explanation, I do a mental tally of the number of stacks; unless there are some hidden, I count twenty-seven.

“How far back do these files go?”

“The last graduate assistant finished the forties and the first year or so of the fifties. She was only here for two months. I’m confident you’ll be able to work through more of these files.” May looks over the boxes, her mouth twisting in a scowl. “As long as you don’t bring food down here likeshedid, we should be fine.” She sneers the pronoun, keying me into the fact the previous assistant definitely brought food down here and probably made a mess.

“Understood,” I squeak, my voice high-pitched.

She looks over at me, her face falling back into the pleasant smile she first greeted me with. “Excellent. Let’s fill out your paperwork for the provost before you leave. Follow me to my office, please.” She spins on her heel and heads back to the stairs. I hurry after her, making sure not to linger too long in this history-laden room, even though I would love to dive right in. “Now, Seraphina, do you prefer Sera, Phina, Seraphina, or another name entirely?”

“Seraphina or Sera is fine.” I shudder at the thought of Fin or any variation of that.

“Lovely. Now—”

“May, oh, thank goodness.” A frazzled middle-aged woman rounds the corner, stopping short as soon as she sees our approach. “One of the professors spilled their coffee all over one of the computers in the east wing. The coffee seems to have dripped down to the power bank and shorted the outlets in that wing.”

“Was it Professor Reddenbalm again, Julia?” At the other woman’s nod, May’s face turns stormy. “I will ban that man from this library. This is the second time he’s caused damage, and the faculty doesn’t seem worried about it.” Releasing a breath, she turns back to me with a tight smile. “Come back later this week, and we’ll handle the paperwork. It was a pleasure meeting you, and I look forward to having you join our team.” She extends her hand, and I don’t hesitate to grab it in a firm grip.

“Likewise. Thank you for this opportunity. I hope everything works out with the computers and the outlet.” I give her a guilty smile as though I had something to do with the catastrophe. She shakes her head and leaves me with a smile before marching into the stacks.

I would be terrified if I were the professor on the receiving end of her wrath. Julia follows May, casting an apologetic smile over her shoulder before disappearing behind the rows. Once they’re out of sight, I let my smile stretch over my face, allowing myself to feel the excitement of this opportunity. I take in the dark wood beams, the rows upon rows of books, and the coffered ceilings. I feel like I’m in another world, another person’s life, one that’s romantic with a tiny bit of mystery.

I swing my backpack around, allowing me access to the front compartment’s zipper. Opening the pouch, I fish out my keys and phone, preparing to call my parents and text my siblings and Liv as soon as I leave the library walls. Looking down, I take my time walking through the main part of the library and toward the entrance. But my footsteps halt at the sound of an all-too-familiar nickname being called out.

“Fin!”

Part of me wants to shush the voice and tell them to have some respect in the library. But a larger part of me is confused by who would call out my high school nickname in the middle of the Marymount University library when everyone I know who attends this school is not here. Whipping my head around, I search for the voice, confused by the anthropomorphic books lining the shelves, shouting my name.

“Fin! Hey, this is a shock.” A hand grabs my shoulder, and I look down at the offending touch. Instant panic seizes me at the all-too-familiar gold bracelet that adorns that wrist, one linked by two lion heads devouring a snake. Mitch had that bracelet and refused to remove it as soon as he received it our junior year of high school.

Something inside of me knows that whoever this is grabbing me and speaking an old nickname isn’t Mitch—it’s not his voice or his hand with the small scar on the thumb from where he broke it playing lacrosse. But that bracelet, that nickname, is an omen. I’m frozen until the hand on my shoulder spins me around, putting me face-to-chest with the phantom voice. “God, you look fucking good. How are you?” the chest speaks, decidedly male, before pulling me in for a bear hug.

I feel uncomfortable with the hug and even more uncomfortable that I still have no idea who approached me in the middle of the library. Lifting my palms, I push against the chest, stepping back as soon as my assailant’s hands drop to his sides. Looking up, I’m momentarily speechless by the person in front of me.

“I thought you were at Penn. When did you get back to Jersey?”

“H-hi, Chris,” I stutter, blinking twice to make sure I’m not imagining things.

I haven’t seen Chris Kopicki since that horrible bonfire four years ago, where Bianca and I fled with our brother. He was part of Mitch’s crew, an entitled teen who thought his parents’ money was justification to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to. I never liked Chris, and I don’t have any illusions that he liked me. So I’m not entirely sure why he’s giving me a big hello, but it’s unsettling.

Just like before with Lincoln, memories of Mitch slam into me with the subtlety of a freight train—images of him scowling at me, disappointed in me, grabbing me just a little too hard.

“Hey, Fin,” he repeats, a boyish smile on his face. I’m sure most women fall for that look, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, making me shiver in the warm air.

I step back, placing more distance between our bodies. Pointing over my shoulder, I furrow my brows, attempting an apologetic look. “I have to run, but nice seeing you. Have a great rest of your summer.” I don’t ask why he’s here; I don’t care to know. But I do want to get away from him, his creepy smiles, and the memories that he evokes.

---