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“You still are. Always will be. But you’re also Hallie—and Hallie is beautiful for all her flaws. Because the good things about you far outweigh the bad.”
Until Lorna said those words to Hallie, she didn’t know how badly she needed to hear them. Some of the density in her chest lessened, her grip loosening on the steering wheel. “Thank you, Lorna.”
“I’m happy to tell you the truth any time you want to hear it.” Lorna patted her shoulder one more time before taking her hand back. “What made you decide to approach the library today about the landscaping job?”
Hallie hummed. Took a deep breath. “I want to do something she would be proud of. But . . . I think, more importantly, I have to do something I’m proud of. I have to start . . . taking pride, period. In myself and my work. It has to be for me now.”
Hallie pulled her truck up against the curb across the street from the white, U-shaped building, also known as the St. Helena Library. It stood by itself at the end of a cul-de-sac, sun-soaked vineyard vines spreading out behind the structure in endless rows.
This morning, while pondering the trip, she’d bitten her nails down to the quick.
It had been a long time coming. Some part of her never really expected to get there.
The courtyard of the library definitely needed greenery and color and warmth. As of now, it had none of those things. Just overgrown indigenous plants that would have been beautiful with a little maintaining and the addition of some perennials. It did have a big lawn in front, shaded by an oak tree. Two children sat on that lawn now, blowing bubbles with very little success, suds dripping off their wrists onto the grass. A smaller toddler nodded off in her mother’s lap, their library books spread out around them.
Hallie couldn’t help but think the library could be thriving, with a little care. If people drove past, the flowers would call to them like an invitation. Marigolds and sunflowers and water fixtures. But in order to do this particular job, she would have to come up with an exact blueprint, have it approved by the library manager, Ms. Hume, and stick to it.
With Rebecca there to guide her, Hallie would have had no problem with a plan. But she was a dress pinned to a laundry line in a windstorm these days, waving in every direction. Had the years she’d spent under her grandmother’s wing been a waste, though?
No.
As soon as Rebecca left, Hallie had gone back to being indecisive and jumbled. But it didn’t have to continue that way. She could do something spectacular, all by herself. She could be proud of herself, discombobulated chaos and all. She was the granddaughter of a community staple—a gloriously kind woman who loved routine and simple pleasures, like wind chimes on the back porch and teach-yourself-calligraphy kits. Hallie had settled down as much as she was capable, because it was important to her grandmother. She appreciated when Hallie tried, when she reined in her scattered focus and applied it to schoolwork or carried out a specific landscaping strategy. There was no one around now to appreciate those efforts.
No one but herself. That would have to be enough.
I propose that we both do something that scares us this week.
Taking on a huge project like this definitely qualified as scary. It was a job that would require structure, diligence, and a very particular librarian looking over her shoulder the entire time.
Was she up for it?
Yes.
Something had to give. Putting her anxieties on paper, writing letters to Julian, had been therapeutic. She could be totally honest about her fears and feelings. That honesty felt good. Authentic. But now she needed to be truthful with herself. To admit she’d been avoiding the library job, because she didn’t believe herself capable of the focus it would take to complete a task so large. Rebecca believed in her, though. So did Lorna. It was time to take that faith and turn it inward.
Lorna nudged her in the ribs from the passenger seat. “Go ahead, dear. You can do it. I’ll be waiting right here.”
She turned to her. “Are you sure you don’t want bottomless champagne brunch, instead?”
“Maybe next week.” Lorna laughed, shooing her into opening the driver’s-side door. “For now, I want to watch my best friend’s wild-child granddaughter learn a lesson. That she doesn’t have to change to suit anyone. Unless that anyone is herself.”
They held hands for a moment; then Hallie blew out a slow breath, climbed out of the truck, and crossed the street.
The cool brass doorknob slid against her palm, and she opened the heavy library door. Just as she remembered, the place was bright and inviting on the inside. Stained glass windows lit the stacks in reds and blues, hushed conversations took place over laptops at the tables, and the distinctive scent of old leather and floor polish drifted out to greet her.
