While the kids lower themselves back into their spots, I pick up the next book.Five Little Cows. I make my eyes as round as I can, dramatizing a look of surprise, and give a little gasp. “Oh, look! It’s a book all about me. Mooo!”
The kids giggle, and I open the book. Every time the wordmoois on the page, I point to it, and the kids all do their best cow impersonations.Five Little Duckswas checked out, and the library doesn’t haveFive Little FirefliesorFive Little Hummingbirdsto continue our five-little marathon, so I’ve chosento end with the classicGoodnight Moon, which even the adults will enjoy since they were likely read this book when they were kids as well.
I settle back in my chair, silently signaling the tone of the book before I read. ForFive Little MonkeysandFive Little Cows, I sat on the edge of my seat, a constant smile on my face, projecting the fun and energy the story within contained. But now it’s time for calm. For the lulling that only a good bedtime story can bring.
“‘Good night noises everywhere.’” I close the book in my lap. “Good night, May,” I say in the same soft, lilting voice I’d used while reading. “Good night, Rosa. Good night, little Jordan, and good night, Derrick. Good night, Theresa and Evelyn and Carter.” I wish them all a good night and wave as parents hold on to hands and lead their children out of the library to drive them home and tuck them into bed.
“You forgot to whisperhush,” Hayley says with a grin after Amara is led out the front door and there aren’t any more kids left.
I stand up from the rocking chair that does resemble the one in the picture book. “Are you implying that I’m the quiet old lady?”
“Who me?” Hayley touches her chest in mock innocence. “I would never.” She bends down and collects the sock monkeys for me, then begins to fold the Nugget to go back to the storage closet. She pauses and smirks at me. “I might have heard one of your munchkins guess at your age, though.”
I wince. “I don’t think I want to know.”
Hayley straightens. “Let’s just say that that many candles on your next birthday cake might be a fire hazard.”
“I’m not surprised, considering they think anything before the year 2000 is ‘the olden days,’ when pictures were only in black-and-white, and we didn’t have television.”
“Ouch.”
“So, depending on who you overheard, in their mind Laura Ingalls Wilder and I could’ve been childhood friends.”
“I guess you know how to milk yourself, then, huh?” Hayley cackles.
I look down at the udders hanging from my belly. “Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
“Any idea what he wants to talk to you about?” She’s jumped to Ryan’s unusual presence here, which, even though she and Evangeline often help me clean up from story time, was probably why she’d come over in the first place. Not to taunt me about how much farther ahead on the number scale of life I am than she is. The big four-o might be just one skip count by twos away, but hitting middle age is the least of either of our worries right now.
“Not a clue.”
“Yeah, Evangeline didn’t know either, which I find odd. She’s practically the boss without the official title, but Ryan hasn’t told her anything.” Hayley hefts the Nugget into her arms. “I’ll finish up here if you want to go figure out what’s going on.”
I bite my lower lip, sigh, then nod, accepting that there’s no use putting off the inevitable. “Thanks.”
Evangeline is helping a patron at the circulation desk as I pass. Our eyes meet, and she gives me an encouraging dip of her chin. When I reach Ryan’s closed door, I pause. My heart is thumping against my ribs, and even though I don’t know what he wants to talk to me about, I feel like my subconscious has picked up on some subtle foreshadowing and is warning me that whatever the news is, it isn’t good.
Not that it makes an ounce of difference to projecting any sort of professionalism while wearing a cow onesie, but I reach up and tug the hood off the top of my head. I may still have udders, but at least now I don’t have horns. My head falls forward in resignation, inadvertently thudding on the door in front of me.
“Come in,” Ryan calls.
The knob turns in my sweaty palm and, yeah, now I’m not only a cow, I’m a sweaty cow. Perfect.
“Have a seat, Martha.” Ryan indicates the chair that he’s placed on the other side of his desk, one that isn’t usually there. His office isn’t large. There’s not much room for things like chairs. Or other people, for that matter. Especially those of us who reside in bigger bodies.
I squeeze into the seat that’s wedged between the wall and his desk. Or I try too. I manage an embarrassing slow horizontal slide between the two pieces of furniture that are acting like a trash compactor on the lower half of my body, but my udders, which I had very much not wanted to draw attention to, are making it even more difficult to maintain any sort of poise. Especially when they flop on top of my boss’s desk and no amount of tugging or pulling on my part—all while struggling to maintain a nothing-to-see-here strained expression—gets them to budge.
“Martha.”
I sigh and admit defeat, threading my fingers together and placing my clasped hands over the pink fabric teats. Very demure, very mindful.
“Let me start off by saying what an amazing children’s librarian I think you are. You’ve created programs here in Little Creek that other libraries in the region are adopting. You’re dedicated, hardworking, and the children and parents love you.”
I give him a moment, allowing him time to continue. Except he doesn’t. He seems just as hesitant to say what he needs to say as I am to hear it.
Feeling a little bit bad for him, I break the silence. “Thank you, but I’m sensing abutcoming.”
“Did I mention you’re also very intuitive?” He forces out a chuckle meant to ease some of the tension.
