Page 11 of The Librarians
The guy is already out of the restroom. Sophie again offers him the option of not only filing a police report but calling EMS. He thanks Sophie repeatedly but rejects any further action and leaves.
Except he then proceeds to stand outside. Waiting for an Uber?
Can the man not even do a dramatic exit properly?
Hazel comes up to Jonathan. “Does the library have CCTV cameras?” she asks softly.
“We do. But they’re not currently working and they’re not exactly a priority on the city’s maintenance list,” Jonathan answers, distracted. A second passes before he gets the gist of her question. “You want to see footage of what just happened?”
“I thought it was strange—completely one-sided. The patron who got beat up—I don’t think he had any idea why the other patron went after him in the first place.”
Jonathan shrugs. “Our cameras wouldn’t have recorded anything. But last time there was a fight in the library, a couple of years ago, somebody caught it on their phone and uploaded it. It could happen again this time.”
He studies Hazel’s expression, afraid he might see a distress similar to Astrid’s. But Hazel does not appear disturbed, only puzzled.
She shakes her head. “Much more of a thrill ride than I anticipated, working at the library.”
Sophie needs to write up the brawl. But the day doesn’t want her to file an incident report in peace.
By the time the aftermath of the fight has been dealt with—chairs righted, carpet sprayed, terminals disinfected—a potty emergency arises. And by the time Sophie, who keeps a pair of heavy-duty tongs for just such occasions, extracts a sippy cup stuck in the drain hole of the family restroom toilet bowl, the on-again-off-again drizzle outside has turned into a downpour.
“The rain is supposed to stop in about forty-five minutes,” Jonathan says.
He means that weather shouldn’t be a factor for Game Night’s attendance.
Sophie’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Elise, adores tabletop gaming and has been trying to find a local club with people her age where she won’t be the only girl or the only Black person in the room. Game Night is Sophie’s attempt to see whether Elise can find that community of younger and more diverse players via the library.
It hasn’t been billed as a teen event or an event aimed at traditionally underserved segments of the population. But in terms of marketing, Sophie targeted area high schools—specifically, teacher and parent sponsors for clubs for girls in coding, STEM, and leadership.
Unfortunately, registration numbers have been sluggish, to put it kindly.
Astrid has been hyping the event to kids who attend the library’s teen book club and LGBTQ+ social club. She’s even started to pimp the event to the young parents who come to her baby and toddler storytimes, telling them to think of it as a pre-Halloween treat for themselves.
Jonathan has reassured Sophie, using historical data, that usually more people show up than those who register ahead of time, but Sophie is secretly convinced that everyone is going to find something more fun to do and Game Night will end up a complete dud.
“I’m sorry, what?” She realizes that Jonathan has said something else and she hasn’t heard.
“Nothing, really. Just that I disinfected the toilet tongs and put them back,” answers Jonathan.
“Thank you, Jonathan.” She rests her hand on his arm for a moment. “You’re a godsend.”
He really is a great person, always respectful and always helpful. And gets better-looking every year in the way that sometimes happens for men in their thirties and forties. If he were a woman she’d have no choice but to date him.
Behind him, in the middle of the circulation area, stands Astrid, staring at nothing in particular.
“Astrid, isn’t it almost time for your next program?” Sophie asks, momentarily jolted out of her own problems.
“Oh, right,” says Astrid and hurries off.
Sophie sighs. She recognized the beat-up man: She saw him once, in the grocery store, the loading zone of which abuts the edge of the library’s lot. He and Astrid had their arms around each other, whispering, oblivious to their surroundings.
But something went wrong within days—pain had been written all over Astrid’s face. It was only in the past month or two that she had regained some of her liveliness and interest in life.
Sophie sighs again and heads for her office. She now has two incident reports, in addition to all the reports she must generate at the end of every month. And a slew of emails to get through before six p.m.
She opens her door and almost steps directly on an origami love knot—the things one learns to identify from library summer programs over the years. Puzzled—and a bit excited—she picks it up. Can this possibly be an old-fashioned love note? With Elise nearly grown, maybe it’s time for Sophie to think about herself again.
The unfolding of the knot is a barrel of ice water upended on the tiny fuse of her anticipation.
