Page 59 of Every Chance After

You’re not an old man. You’re a good man. You should own that, too.

Whenever our long conversations wane, I ask:

Need anything?

Often, the text ellipsis lingers and disappears and starts again, like she doesn’t know how to answer. Then, she comes up with something like:

Only world peace.

Only world domination.

Only for the cats to finally take over and win world domination.

A good night’s sleep (to dominate the world tomorrow).

I always end our talks with the same message:

Anytime for any reason still stands.

Now, in the library with Marigold, I’m livid that people are still talking about her. For my part, I’ve forbidden talk of Marina Strange at the clinic and family gatherings—I don’t want to hear it and don’t want it spread in my vicinity.

So, I’ve resumed what Mom calls my “full but empty life.” Dad’s farm and work keep me busy, though Luke and Gil have been helping out more since the accident. To lessen my workload at the clinic, I’ve tasked Aunt Elena with hiring more vet techs and securing an intern from NC State’s vet school over the summer.

But for now, I welcome the work. Otherwise, I’d have too much time to think. And those thoughts would inevitably be about her.

Is it weird to miss taking care of her when all I wanted was for her to recover and no longer need help?

We reach the counter. I set Marigold’s books down and nod to her. “Go on. Like we practiced.”

Her shoulders rise with a deep breath. But instead of saying the words we practiced, she slides the librarian a note like it’s a goddamn bank robbery.

He opens the full-page note and smiles warmly at Marigold. “Aw, what a gorgeous sketch of the library.”

“Read the fine print,” I huff, motioning to the asterisk at the bottom.

He leans into the page, squinting. Then, he laughs. “Ah, I see. This is my first late fee apology sketch.”

“It won’t happen again,” she says quietly.

“No worries.” He takes her card and eyes the computer. “Are you able to pay the… thirty-five cents?”

She nods, setting the prearranged coins on the counter.

He scans her new finds—books on cathedrals and castles to use as inspiration for her next comic book.

A brief smile makes it to her lips—the first I’ve seen since last week when she told me about her overdue books and admitted she couldn’t handle it alone. If not for me agreeing to take care of it with her, I think she never would’ve gone to the library again out of shame. Social interactions are excruciating for her.

For me, too, these days.

The bullshit-shoveling women pass behind us, eyeing me as they go. “Poor Carmela. The Wines and Spines girls’ll be astounded to hear about this.”

“Hey, tell ‘em I said to go fuck themselves,” I call after them.

“Grady,rules,” Marigold tries again.

“Sorry,” I mutter to the librarian.

He shrugs, amused. “Maybe I should institute a swear jar, hmm?”

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