Page 40 of The Fall Back Plan
I’m careful to look away from the sheriff’s station as I pass, and when my unruly brain tries to wonder if he’s in there and what he might be doing, I force myself to think of something else. Like whether I need to talk to our brewer about adding another IPA to our lineup. Or maybe a lager?
Mrs. Herring smiles at me from the front desk when I walk in. “Hello, Jolie. I admit I expected to see you before now. It’s not like you to go so long between library visits.”
I haven’t been in since that first day, and already I feel it working its magic on me. “Hey, Mrs. Herring. Needed to give myself a break, and my feet carried me here.”
She chuckles. “Smart feet. Looking for anything in particular today?”
It’s a little after 2:00. Schools will let out in an hour, and we’ll open. It’s not a coincidence. We’re building a steady repeat business of different teacher groups coming in after work for a drink almost every day of the week. When we open the kitchen, we’ll get even busier because we can turn it into a happy hour with half-price appetizers.
“Order in chaos?” I say. “Some people have Zen gardens or meditation apps.”
She nods in understanding. “And you’ve always had the library.”
Always. I consider that then smile. “I guess I always have.”
“Would it interrupt your peace and quiet too much if I ask you to catch me up on what you’ve been up to since you left Harvest Hollow? You can pull up a chair, and we’ll have a nice visit.” She points to the empty chair tucked beneath the counter next to her.
My eyes get big. “Wait, like sit behind the checkout desk? Am I allowed?”
“You are if you’re invited. Come on around.” She meets me at the side door and welcomes me in.
I take my seat and survey the library from this angle. “It looks totally different. I feel like I snuck into a restricted section or something.”
Mrs. Herring laughs. “Behind the velvet rope, as it were. It’s a very specific kind of person who thinks my side of the desk is the VIP section.”
“I’m a library superfan. I’m not sure you realize how much I needed this place when I was younger.”
Mrs. Herring smiles. “I think I do. I always have a handful of patrons I look after, and you were one. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to. Start with college. Duke, was it?”
I tell her about majoring in finance, working in the Duke dining hall to help pay my incidentals even though my scholarship covered room and board. I’d even gotten a scholarship from the library, and it helped so much, but there were always expenses that fell outside of all the financial aid, and with a head for money, I knew it was best to keep my loans to an absolute minimum.
She wants to know all the details. Why did I choose finance? What kinds of jobs can you do with that? How did I end up at a hedge fund? What was the environment like?
I’m not used to people taking such a deep interest in the details, but it makes sense that a librarian wants to know everything. Mrs. Herring always seemed like one of those magical adults who knew everything about everything when I was a kid, and on the rare occasion she didn’t know something, she took great pleasure in finding the answer. In fact, I think that’s part of where my interest in trivia developed.
I answer all of her questions until she gets to the one I dislike discussing most.
“It sounds like you enjoyed Chicago,” she says. “What made you decide to leave?”
The answer doesn’t speak well of me. I make a face.
She laughs. “A man.”
“How’d you know that?” I ask, startled by her guess.
“Dear, that’s what that face always means. Every man in my life before my darling Cornell put that look on my face.”
“Is it okay if we skip over that part?”
“Of course, dear. But I’d love to know why you came back to Harvest Hollow. I’m delighted you’re here, but as I remember, you don’t have much family here, do you?”
“An aunt and a few cousins,” I say. “One of them works for me.”
Neither of us mentions my dad. She’d dealt with him a couple of times when he’d come into the library looking for me, belligerent and loud.
“Then why Harvest Hollow?”
I consider my answer. “To give back to the community,” I finally say. Sure, I meant to dish out to everyone who had forced me to take it, but Mrs. Herring has only ever been good to me, and she doesn’t deserve my cynicism.
