I remember.
I smiled and headed to work, a strange flutter of anticipation in my chest at the thought of more conversations with Rion.
CHAPTER FOUR
“No, no, no!”
I was balancing on the second-highest rung of our ancient library ladder, one arm stretched towards the heavens like a supplicant in prayer, the other white-knuckling the side rail. The carefully constructed stack of mythology books I’d been arranging on the top shelf of the display cabinet had just collapsed in a papery avalanche, raining down Greek gods and Japanese yokai alike.
“Stupid ladder,” I muttered, feeling it wobble beneath me. “Stupid display. Stupid?—”
My phone buzzed in my cardigan pocket, nearly startling me off my precarious perch. I scrambled down, ungraceful but intact, and fished out my phone, already knowing who it would be.
Rion:Did you reinforce the cross-bracing as suggested?
I glanced at the ladder, which I had indeed attempted to stabilize following his instructions from yesterday. Apparently, my execution left something to be desired.
I tried. But I think I need more specific instructions. Or an engineering degree. Or possibly both.
I snapped a picture of my amateur reinforcement attempt—two pieces of wood I’d scavenged from the storage room, awkwardly attached with a combination of duct tape and what I hoped was wood glue but might have been ancient paste from the children’s craft supplies.
The three dots appeared immediately, disappeared, then reappeared for a longer time than usual. I could almost feel his dismay radiating through the phone.
Finally…
That is not what I described.
I couldn’t help but smile at the understated horror in those five words.
I know. I’m working with limited resources here. The library budget doesn’t exactly have a ‘ladder crisis’ contingency fund.
Three dots. Pause. Three dots again.
Do you have access to proper wood screws? That adhesive appears to be Elmer’s glue.
I squinted at the tube I’d used. He was right. I’d grabbed the wrong one in my haste.
I can probably find some. There’s a maintenance closet that might have actual tools instead of kindergarten supplies.
Good. And proper screws, not nails. The vibration from the ladder’s movement will loosen nails over time.
Who was this person? A construction worker who moonlighted as a physics professor? A carpenter with an engineering hobby?
The question had been circling my mind since our first exchange. In the absence of actual information, I’d begun constructing a variety of mental images. Perhaps he was tall and lanky, with calloused hands and serious eyes. The kind of man who built things with quiet exactitude, measuring twice and cutting once, as the saying went.
Or maybe he was older, silver-haired and weathered, the type who’d been building things since before I was born and had forgotten more about structural integrity than I’d ever know.
The fantasies were harmless, I told myself. Just my brain’s way of putting a face to the name. A very human face.
“Clara? Are you communing with the books again or can I borrow you for a moment?”
I looked up to find Brenda watching me with amused exasperation. I quickly pocketed my phone.
“Sorry, just trying to figure out this ladder situation.”
“Ah,” she said knowingly. “Consulting with your mystery builder again?”
“He has a name now,” I informed her with as much dignity as I could muster. “Rion.”
