Page 123 of The Librarians
“Poor Jo-Ann,” says Elise.
Decades of Aubrey Claremont’s directives finally kick in. “She’s your mother,” Sophie says, “don’t call her by name.”
“She gave birth to me.Youare my mother.” Elise takes Sophie’s arm and places her head on Sophie’s shoulder. “I don’t regret the path not taken. I only hope—I only hope you also have no regrets. If you didn’t take me on, maybe today you’d be working at New York Public Library—Grandma said that was your dream when you were a kid.”
Sophie doesn’t know whether she ought to thank her mother or cuss out the woman who defended and protected Sophie in her own harsh ways. To lay all that guilt on a child—they were lucky that Elise, strong and ebullient, was able to turn that psychological pressure into changes for the better.
“I also wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid, until I tried a human gyroscope for the first time and almost passed out.” Sophie pulls back alittle, so she can look Elise in the eye. “I don’t need the NYPL to be happy. Everything I need to be happy is already right here, in my life.”
For the first time since Elise was two, mother and daughter cry together. Afterward, to calm themselves down, they bundle up for a walk on the golf course.
The sun, reclined upon the horizon, gilds the expanse of long grass and turns it into a veritable field of gold. Sophie fluffs the pom-pom atop Elise’s beanie. “Do you remember all those old, old board games you pored over when you were a kid? They were all Jo-Ann’s. You’ve always been her daughter too.”
Elise is silent for some time. And then she says, “Mom, remember when Game Night just got over and you were mulling over another one in January? Do you think there will ever be another Game Night at the library?”
“In January, probably not. But I think I’d recover enough by March or April. What do you think?”
Elise snuggles more tightly against Sophie. “I think that’d be great.”
And then, like in the old movies, they ride—or walk arm in arm, rather—into the sunset.
Chapter Thirty-three
Saturday is day one of the Texas Book Festival.
Jonathan, who has long been involved with the festival, moderates a panel on queer love stories in the morning and a second one on the Marvel Cinematic Universe early in the afternoon. Both are well attended, the second especially so. At the end of the MCU panel, after he shepherds the panelists to the signing tent where they can meet their newly acquired fans, he turns around to find Ryan, with a varsity jacket hooked over one finger, standing only a few feet away.
Jonathan’s heart leaps. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
Ryan is wearing his dark-rimmed glasses again, which just might prove to be Jonathan’s greatest weakness. “I came with Conrad. We were at your panel, but he had to go to the airport—he’s taking Perry back home to England. He was sad about missing a panel on romance.”
“Does he read romance?” Men do read genre romance but Jonathan hadn’t figured Conrad for one.
“I don’t know for sure but he was curious about the socioeconomic topics that might come up at such a discussion.”
It looks like the people who bequeathed Conrad their book collections chose the right person.
“Anyway,” says Ryan, smiling, “do you have more stuff that you need to do for the festival?”
“Not today.”
“Cool. Want to take a walk?”
Jonathan’s backpack is still in the green room set aside for authors and moderators, but he answers without hesitation. “Absolutely.”
They head south on Congress Avenue, toward Town Lake—or Lady Bird Lake, as newcomers call it. The last time they were alone, they were parked a quarter mile from Astrid’s house, tensely waiting to get an okay from her, whether she found any spy devices or not. And before that—good gracious, on the same night—they’d had the basketball game on TV to act as a buffer. This time, it’s Ryan who keeps up a running commentary on the hotels, bars, and eateries along the way, Ryan who seems to have visited every single one of the establishments.
Jonathan is openly astonished.
“I used to live downtown, I didn’t cook, and I went out a lot.” Ryan shrugs. “It would be odd if I didn’t know the places around my own neighborhood.”
Jonathan shakes his head. “They don’t pay librarians enough for me to sample all the places aroundmyneighborhood.”
“So you cook?”
Jonathan nods.
“And you read?”
