Page 6 of Hiss and Tell
After tidying the children’s section, I retreat to my office. The space feels smaller than usual today, but it’s where I do my best thinking. A crayon drawing of a green brachiosaurus catches my eye—Milo’s artwork from last month. He’d been so proud of remembering to add the correct number of toes.
The incident report form glows mockingly on my computer screen. Standard procedure requires documenting all code of conduct violations. My fingers hover over the keyboard as I struggle to find the right words.
The truth is, the incident didn’t fit neatly into any procedure. Most policy violations come from teenagers trying to sneak food, or patrons arguing over computer time limits. Not single mothers pushed to their breaking point while trying to protect their children from disappointment.
My snakes stir as footsteps approach—Jenny, carrying what looks like budget reports.
“Bad timing?” she asks, noting my expression.
“Just finishing the incident report.” I gesture at the screen. “What do you need?”
“The board’s breathing down my neck about next month’s presentation. Attendance numbers, programming effectiveness, budget justifications.” She settles into the chair across from my desk. “Mrs. Randall specifically mentioned ‘incident rates’ affecting our family-friendly reputation.”
My sanctuary effect falters slightly. “One incident in eighteen months hardly constitutes a pattern.”
“You know that. I know that. But budget season makes everyone nervous, and children’s programming is always the first target.” Jenny’s expression grows serious. “They want to see innovation, Sebastian. Community engagement. Proof that we’re not just providing childcare, but adding real value.”
After she leaves, the weight of professional pressure settles on my shoulders alongside my concern for Milo and Aspen. The incident report cursor still blinks, waiting.
Finally, I type:
During the 3:00 PM storytime, a patron expressed inappropriate language after receiving distressing news about a family situation. A standard three-month suspension from library premises has been implemented. Recommendation: Review after one month pending demonstration of commitment to library standards.
Clicking submit feels like a betrayal, but policy is policy. My snakes droop further as I set aside the cape, a silent reminder of the collateral damage of rules applied without consideration for human circumstances.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across Main Street as footsteps carry me to Ming’s Garden. Through the window, familiar red lanterns glow against the approaching dusk. A bell chimes as the door opens, and Mrs. Ming’s face brightens with recognition.
“Ah, Mr. Sebastian! The usual tonight?”
My shoulders relax at her warm greeting. “Yes, please.”
She’s already writing the order for extra spicy General Tso’s before the words leave my mouth. “Double rice today? You look tired.”
“That obvious?”
Her laugh rings through the empty restaurant. “Three years, every Friday, same order, same time. Only difference is howmuch rice you need.” She pauses, studying my face. “Today? Definitely double rice day.”
The routine soothes something raw inside. While the food preparations create a comfortable symphony of familiar sounds, my gaze drifts to the wall calendar featuring a serene mountain landscape. Three years of takeout for one. Three years of quiet dinners in an apartment that feels too empty.
Mrs. Ming slides the bag across the counter, refusing my attempt to pay. “On the house today. You look like you need it.”
My protest dies at her stern look. “Thank you.”
“Next time, bring friend,” she calls after me. “Or date!”
The walk home feels longer than usual, the weight of the day settling heavy on my shoulders. Between the incident report, Jenny’s warnings about the board, and the image of Milo’s devastated face, I feel the familiar urge to retreat into my books and let the world sort itself out.
But something about Aspen’s fierce protection of her son, her willingness to fight for what matters even when the odds are stacked against her, makes retreat feel like cowardice.
Some battles, I’m realizing, might be worth fighting.
Chapter Five
Sebastian
The morning starts with a betrayal from those closest to me. Through the peephole, Iris Blackwood’s steel-gray curls bounce with determination as she jabs the doorbell again. Behind her, Mabel Green’s round face beams with barely contained excitement, and Dorothy Watson clutches what looks suspiciously like a laptop to her chest.
Maybe if I stay very still…
