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“What are you doing?”
Bringing his mouth close to my ear. “I can see the gears in your head turning. If you have a plan, let us know,” he whispers.
“I… what?”
He leans back, giving me a mischievous grin, pleased to catch me off guard.
“Not yet,” I say begrudgingly, refusing to acknowledge his teasing.
That earns me the sort of disappointed expression one might give a child. The more I get to know this man, the more peculiar he becomes.
Lawrence shrugs, then loops my arm through his and proceeds to half-drag me down the hall.
“What are you up to now?”
“I’m helping,” he says with that grin I don’t trust.
Moments later, we come to an abrupt stop before a set of double doors engraved with elegant curves and twisting ivy.
Voices float to us from down the hall, but before they round the corner, Lawrence leads me inside.
It is the most beautiful library I have ever seen, larger than I could have ever imagined—and that is only what I can see from where I stand.
There are four stories of shelves up the walls. Wrought iron stairs, designed with the same wild vines that match the door, lead to each of the higher levels. Freestanding bookcases are arranged in long rows with rolling ladders connected to each. As I move further in, I notice alcoves at the end of several aisles along the inner wall.
Even if I had three lifetimes to do nothing but read, I wouldn’t be able to make it through more than a fraction of the books here.
“I often find that when I’m stuck, reading is the best way to free the mind.” Lawrence says in a conspiratorial whisper.
It is tempting…How long has it been since I’ve allowed myself such a simple pleasure?
“I can’t.” I shake my head.
Lawrence grabs my face, pressing in on my cheeks hard enough to make my face look ridiculous. “For the next few hours, read whatever grabs your imagination and put your worries aside. After that, you can put the weight of the world upon your shoulders again. It might surprise you what a good book can do for you.” I open my mouth to protest, but he pinches my lips shut between his forefinger and thumb. “Tomorrow, we will help you come up with a strategy together.”
Lawrence takes my shoulders, spins me around and gives me a gentle push forward. The doors click shut behind him before I can even turn back.
Two hours, I decide. Then, I will begin planning in earnest.
I wander up and down the aisles of shelves, looking for a place to settle. Near the entrance is a cold fireplace with a few chairs nearby and too few candles to read by. On the far end, a warm glow dances across the rows of spines, making the gilded details gleam. I’m drawn toward it before I think twice.
When I turn the corner, I’m pleased to find no one in sight. An unoccupied cozy chair is beside the crackling fireplace, and several sconces are lit, spilling their light into recesses. It almost feels as if this space was prepared specifically for me.
Taking my time, I scan the countless titles, weaving in and out of the alcoves until I’ve created a small tower of books. I sit before the fire, surrounded by a circle of colorful tomes as I flip through several before deciding where to start.
Before long, I am lost inside the worlds hidden between the pages as they come to life in my mind’s eye. The unfamiliar settings pull me in and hold me in their grasp.
When I close the third book, the fire has died down. More time has passed than I intended to spend here. As much as I’ve enjoyed this break and would love to stay and continue reading the others in my stack, I am no closer to a free mind, able to come up with a solution to everything.
Perhaps there is no satisfying solution, or even an unsatisfying solution. Perhaps there is no solution at all. That doesn’t keep guilt from rearing its ugly head, whispering how I will fail if I continue to be selfish.
Regretfully, I return each book to its rightful place. But as I turn to leave, a book near the end catches my attention. It’s worn and faded, looking much older than those surrounding it. Setting the stack I’ve collected on the floor, I reach for the ancient volume, pushing up on my toes to pull it down.
Carefully, I lift the cover and turn the pages. Exquisitely detailed painted images adorn nearly every page, surrounded by the words of a language I don’t know. From what I can tell, it’s a collection of fairy tales.
“Next time,” I murmur the promise to the book.
I stretch, struggling to balance and maneuver the book back into its narrow space. It was a lot easier to remove. The sconce at the end of the aisle sputters out, drenching the aisle in shadow.
