“If you need me, I’ll be putting away books.” She pointed to the brochures. “You can add those to the ashes in the furnace.” She skipped the grease needed to ease the cart’s front wheel and squeaked and shoved her way toward the children’s section.
She heard Percy’s voice in her head:Just the two of us against the world. Stella and Percy had no family left except an aunt living in Rhode Island. She didn’t count their mother, who had been nonexistent in their lives for more than twenty years. Stella didn’t even know if the woman was still alive. Percy had always looked out for her and was grateful he didn’t have to shoulder the burden of sorting through their dad’s final arrangements alone, but he certainly hadn’t wanted Stella to quit her accounting job in Memphis and move back to Blue Sky Valley.
Aside from telling her she needed toGet a better jobor return to accounting, Percy had also been nagging her to sell the family home they’d both inherited, but Stella refused. When Percy pressed her for a reason, she’d said,It’s our home.
He’d corrected her:It was our home, and just because a thing once was something doesn’t mean it always has to be. We can change our minds, start over, try something new.
Starting over and trying something new was easy for Percy. He had a temperament built for adventure and taking life just as it was.Percy knows how to hold up his hands on a roller coaster and enjoy it, their dad used to say.And what about me?Stella had asked.You’re a lot more like me, he’d said, and she had shined at the compliment until he added,You like to hold on too long, too tightly. I wish I’d held up my hands and enjoyed the ride more.Her dad had never confirmed if holding on was good or bad, but at the time she’d suspected that holding on wasn’t the best option. These daysholdingonfor Stella was the same asbeing stuck.
Now Percy lived on the west coast of Florida, enjoying the beach life he’d dreamed about. He worked as a financial advisor in a successful firm, and every time he talked to Stella, he pestered her about going back toa real job.
Stella sometimes thought about looking for a job in finance again, but imagining sitting through years of crunching numbers and balancing someone else’s spreadsheet made her eyes glaze over. As a kid, she had believed a more magical life was possible—one where words came to her, books were portals to other worlds, and her mother cherished her. But after her mom left, life didn’t feel magical anymore, and the only thing that was left of the magic were the words and books. Suddenly her ability with words had seemed too weird, and she wanted to be normalish.Normalequated to boring, safe, and practical. Growing upand pursuing a career in finance made sense, but she never loved it and certainly wasn’t happy doing it.
Returning to Big Sky Valley and working in the library was a bit of an escape, and she loved how books made people happy, how they made people think about and question reality. Mostly she cherished how she could disappear into a book and not have to engage in the world unless she wanted to. After four years, she had settled into a life here, and the idea that she should or even could change her life path sounded unsafe. And exhausting.
She shelved books up and down the aisles in an annoyed huff until she heard Margot Marshall call out to her from the foyer.
Stella stepped out from the stacks, and Margot lifted one hand in a wave. She carried a plastic container of cookies in her other hand. Her dark braids draped over her shoulders.
“Morning, Mrs. Marshall. Excited for story time? Can I help you get ready?” Stella asked, thankful for the distraction from her frustration.
Margot thanked her as she handed over the container and a stack of napkins. Stella breathed in the scent of warm chocolate chip cookies as she followed Margot into the story time room. Once inside she placed the cookies and napkins on the far table.
Margot dug through her worn canvas bag of books and removed a hardback copy of Washington Irving’s short stories. “I checked this out last week, and I need to return it. Television and movies have skewed my students’ knowledge of therealIchabod Crane, and I needed to set them straight. I was satisfied in knowing they enjoyed Irving’s original story just as much as all of the copycats. It’s so mysterious and open-ended.” She passed the book to Stella.
The book warmed in Stella’s hands, radiating heat like a lava rock. Slanted cursive words rippled out of the book like circular waves leaving an epicenter.Green eyes. Pontificating. Bible.Stella looked up at Margot, a shiver quivering up her spine. “Did—did Ichabod Crane have green eyes?”
Margot tapped a scarlet fingernail against her matching cherry lips and then nodded. “Most people remember the description of his skinny body and smallish head, the opposite of a bobblehead, I would imagine. But yes, I think he did. Glassy green. Why do you ask?”
A gentle buzzing filled Stella’s head like the distant hum of white noise. She lowered the book, causing the words to dissipate. “Just an image I remember. We arranged the bean bags and chairs in here last night, although most of the kids want to sit on the floor—”
“Or lay on the floor,” Margot said with a chuckle.
“Don’t you wish adults would allow themselves to get as cozy and attend a story time? I’d be up for lying around all day listening to someone read books.”
Margot’s laugh filled the room. “Sign me up for that!”
Stella smiled. “I’ll add it to the suggestion box. Anything else you need?”
Margot turned in a full circle, her knee-length polka-dot skirt twirling out like an opening umbrella as she studied the room. “Not at the moment. Thanks, Stella. I’ll holler if I need you.”
Stella carried Washington Irving’s short stories to the circulation desk. She tapped her finger against the front cover of the book. The world was full of coincidences, but her fingers tingled, so she grabbed her notebook and jotted down her thoughts, a haiku this time.
My Ichabod Crane, Lover of she who did not, You were never found.
Then she closed her notebook and returned to the book cart. As she shelved the last children’s book, the story time children beganpushing through the front doors with their parents in tow. Half the parents stayed with their kids, and the other half dropped them off as though the library were a temporary day care. Tiny voices and whispered giggles filled the downstairs until the kids were safely snuggled in the room with Margot. The sounds of the library soothed Stella, and she found herself relaxing somewhat.
At the circulation desk, she opened one of the side drawers and pulled out her mug, which saidLibrarian Because Book Wizard Isn’t an Official Job Title. Arnie had given it to her last Christmas. She wasn’t officially a librarian because she lacked the proper schooling and license, but he didn’t care, and she liked thinking of herself as a book wizard.
She wanted coffee, but Arnie would probably encourage her to have at least two cups of green tea before she imbibed high levels of caffeine again. Green tea tasted like drinking earth, which was probably the point, but Stella preferred her dessert-style coffees.
One of the mothers slipped out of the children’s room and walked toward her. The mother waved a book before placing it on the counter. “Arnie suggested this book last week for Tyler. He said all young boys love it, and he was right. Downside is that Tyler has been jumping off everything. It started with his bed, and this morning he asked if I thought there was an easy way to get on the roof. Lord, have mercy—theroof.” She rolled her hazel eyes as she shook her head. Tiny words marched up the woman’s forearm:Resilient. Thankful. Youthful.
“Boys. God love them, but they just grow up to be men while still holding on to their little boy spirits, right? What do we do with them?”
“Not fall in love with complicated ones, that’s for sure,” Stella mumbled.
“What’s that?” the woman asked, leaning closer.
