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ChapterFour
SPENCER
On Wednesday afternoon, the library is extra busy, with a steady line of patrons on the main floor. And I understand why. Books are awesome, plus there aren’t that many places to visit in this town. But our library traffic really picked up about a decade ago, when Ted McCoy expanded this place. He added a children’s wing to the adult side and a giant aquarium between them. There’s also a park behind the buildings. And now a new teen center.
This is also awesome.
But by then, we were already famous. Okay, maybefamousis an exaggeration. But after Springfield Fitness Center ran a social media campaign featuring local business owners as their clients—getting fit, the whole work-life balance thing—Apple Valley leaped onto the map. Curious residents from surrounding counties wanted to meet Doug from Pets Are Us. Bev from Beverly’s Beanery. Dex from Dexter’s Doughnuts.
You get the picture.
People from all over started stopping through town, looking for fun. They found a library. Which, as I’ve mentioned before, is awesome. Word spread. Our reputation grew. And I’d like to think I had something to do with the increase in popularity. But today it feels like all of Oregon needs a librarian to answer their questions.
Everything from the significance of fireworks on the 4th of July (which I assumed is obvious) to where we might keep our adult coloring books (which we don’t have, because you can’t use crayons in a borrowed book).
Things only get worse when the For the Love of Pets Club meeting ends. Every week they gather in the park behind us, then wander in afterward to check out books. They claim their Chihuahuas are emotional support dogs, and their tabbies are support cats. In between handing out paper towels to clean up all the emotional ‘support,’ I’ve also been trying to review the books on order for next month.
So many requests. So many options. So little time.
This is why it’s close to 5:30 before Kayla and I finally have a free moment at the reference desk. Glancing around to be sure Mr. Dudley won’t catch us talking, I slide a card out of my drawer.
“For you.” I hand the card to Kayla. “Happy Anniversary.”
Her brown eyes go round. “What?”
“You thought I forgot?”
“I don’t understand.” She adjusts the headband that keeps her brunette curls under control.
“It’s the anniversary of your first shift here.”
“Ahhhh. That.” When she smiles, her teeth are like two rows of piano keys. She uses a pair of scissors to open the envelope, and reads my personal message inside the card. I went all out and wroteHappy Anniversary.
“How did you remember?” she asks, displaying the card on her side of the desk.
“Easy.” I point to my daily planner.
She peers at the top sheet. “Ummm, there’s nothing there.”
“Exactly. I draw a little star in the corner of the squarebeforeany significant date. The star reminds me to check the private calendar on my phone for whatever might be important the next day. Yesterday’s square had a star. So I checked my private calendar and discovered today was your anniversary. I’d show you, except it’s on my phone and we—”
“Can’t use our phones while we’re working.”
I nod as she finishes my sentence. “Exactly.” It feels nice to be understood. “Luckily, I keep a supply of greeting cards on hand for all occasions. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Weddings. Babies. Get well. Sympathy. That’s why I was ready to celebrate without even having to shop.”
“That’s very organized, Spencer.”
“Thank you for noticing. You know, it’s truly a pleasure partnering with someone who appreciates preparedness. Someone who shows up on time. Someone who does her job diligently. Truly,” I repeat. “A pleasure.”
“I feel the same way,” Kayla says. “Thanks again, Spencer.”
Before we’ve had a chance to finish complimenting each other, a warbly voice calls out, “Yoo hoo!” It’s Mrs. Dodd, hobbling through the sliding glass doors. Mrs. Dodd is Lucy’s grandmother-in-law. Lucy’s mother, Jeanette Devlin, follows close behind with a pack of small kids. Each of the kids is wearing a shirt with a name scrawled on it in Sharpie. Happy. Grumpy. Dopey. Doc. Mrs. Dodd is dressed like an eighty-seven-year-old Snow White.
For her, this is pretty tame.
Archie, the security guard, blocks her with his walkie-talkie. Then he points at the big red apple she’s carrying. “Sorry, ma’am. No food in the library.”
Mrs. Dodd waves the apple in his face. “Don’t act like you don’t know me, Archie. I’m notma’am. I’mGrams.”
