Page 50 of The Silence Between

“Sorry to interrupt. Just checking lights.”

“You work here,” he said, not quite a question.

“Night maintenance. Seven years now.” I gestured vaguely with my key ring.

He half-rose from his chair. “I knew... Marcus mentioned... but I wasn't expecting...” He stopped, seeming to recognize the futility of completing any of these sentences.

“I should let you get back to work,” I said, already retreating toward the door, pulse thundering in my ears. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“Leo, wait?—“

But I was already pulling the door closed behind me, moving down the corridor at a pace just short of running, cleaning cart abandoned and forgotten outside the library.

In the empty bathroom at the end of the hall, I gripped the sink's cold porcelain, staring at my reflection in the institutional mirror. The face looking back appeared calm, composed, unchanged from twenty minutes ago. Only the whiteness of my knuckles betrayed the earthquake happening beneath the surface.

Ten years. Ten years of careful compartmentalization, of rebuilding a life around responsibility rather than personal desire, of transforming teenage heartbreak into distant memory. Yet one glimpse, one word, and everything I'd buried resurfaced with devastating immediacy.

I splashed cold water on my face, the shock providing momentary clarity. Nothing had really changed. Ethan's return complicated things, yes, but my priorities remained the same. Everything else was secondary, including whatever ghosts his presence had awakened.

With deliberate movements, I returned to my cart and continued my rounds, bypassing the library entirely. The English department could wait until tomorrow night. Or the night after. Or forever, if necessity permitted.

* * *

The followingafternoon found me seeking refuge in Second Chapter Bookstore during a rare free hour between the diner and my evening handyman job. I'd been drawn here instinctively, returning to the space that had offered safety when home couldn't, when the pressures of guardianship overwhelmed, when I needed quiet that didn't feel like isolation.

Eleanor looked up from her inventory clipboard as the bell announced my entrance, her silver hair elegantly coiled at the nape of her neck. “Right on time,” she said, though we hadn't scheduled a meeting. “I've pulled the management manuals for you to review.”

The practical focus of her greeting felt like a lifeline—something concrete to discuss rather than the emotional turmoil that had kept me awake most of the night.

“Thanks,” I said, following her to the small office behind the counter. “I can start looking at the accounting software this week.”

She waved this away. “Plenty of time for that. Sit. You look like you haven't slept.”

The familiar ritual of Eleanor preparing tea created space for my tightly-wound nerves to loosen slightly.

“So,” she said, settling into her chair with a cup of Earl Grey, “let's talk about what this position would actually entail.” She pushed a folder toward me. “Full-time assistant manager to start. Thirty-five hours a week, with benefits after ninety days.”

I opened the folder, eyebrows rising at the salary figure. It was modest by most standards but significantly more than I was making cobbling together my current jobs.

“You'd learn the ordering system, staff scheduling, event coordination,” Eleanor continued, ticking points off on her fingers. “Eventually taking over the monthly book club and author events.”

“That's a lot of responsibility,” I said, scanning the detailed job description. “Are you sure I'm qualified?”

Eleanor fixed me with the same look she'd given me when I'd questioned whether I could handle AP English as a sophomore. “You've been working three jobs while raising three siblings and maintaining excellent grades. I'd say you're overqualified in time management and responsibility.”

“Fair point,” I conceded, allowing myself a small smile. “But what about the business side? I've never done payroll or inventory management.”

“Hence the training period. I didn't emerge from the womb knowing how to run a bookstore, Leo.” Her dry tone made me chuckle despite myself. “You'll shadow me for the first month, then gradually take over specific areas. By six months, you should be handling most of the day-to-day operations.”

I turned to the next page in the folder, finding a tentative schedule that would allow me to finish my degree while working. “You've really thought this through.”

“Of course I have. I've been planning this since you reorganized my poetry section three years ago. Nobody who cares that much about proper shelving should be wasting their talents serving coffee.”

The timeline she'd mapped out was ambitious but thoughtfully constructed. Training through the summer, increasing responsibilities in the fall, with flexibility built in around my class schedule.

“What about finances?” I asked, the constant concern of my existence. “I need to be sure this can cover our expenses. The kids?—“

“Will be fine,” Eleanor interrupted gently. “I've budgeted for gradual raises as you take on more responsibility. And the hours are predictable, unlike your current patchwork. No more midnight maintenance shifts or double waitstaff duties on weekends.”

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