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“I wish it was more.”
“It’s a start.” She returned to Boyd and tried to think how to word the job offer.
“Boyd, I double-checked with my boss since he’s been complaining forever about the awful state of the garage, and he said you’re welcome to the job. It’s only cleaning and organizing the space, but...”
Boyd studied her in a way that made her feel he saw as much as Gabriel did. “Do you know what Josie told me last night?”
“No.”
“We were in our bed, the RV was warm and she said, ‘I told you so, Boyd.’” He paused. “When I got laid off, and then when we lost it all, she told me not to worry. She told me that she believed that angels were everywhere and that things would turn out all right for us. So, last night, she said, ‘I told you so, Boyd. We’ve found our first angel.’ I didn’t argue.
“I can never argue with Josie. She listens to me, lets all my arguments bash themselves against her smile. Truthfully, though, this time, I wasn’t sure I believed her. But maybe I’m starting to.”
“Don’t,” Maeve told him. “I’m no angel by anyone’s definition. Letting someone park an RV next to my house, or mentioning a job...that’s nothing.”
“You’re wrong. Josie knew it right away and I’m beginning to believe it, as well.”
Boyd put the car in Reverse, backed out of the parking lot and headed for the highway. He didn’t say anything else. That was fine with Maeve. She was embarrassed by his praise. She knew that what she’d done wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.
It wasn’t long before Boyd pulled into her driveway and there was a light on in the RV. “Josie’s resting in bed. I’d better go rescue her from Carl. When I left, he’d had a bunch of books for her to read to him. She’ll be hoarse before she finishes.”
“You’re all welcome to stay in the house,” Maeve offered. It had to be difficult for Josie, being bedridden in the RV. “We can make over the living room.” She’d never wished for a bigger house until this morning. The small one-bedroom cottage was perfect for a single woman, but there wasn’t a lot of room for overnight guests.
“I’d like to say I’m shocked that a practical stranger would make that offer, but nothing you do shocks me anymore. Thank you, but we’ll stay in the RV. To be honest, I think it’s as big as your house.” He laughed then, and Maeve caught yet another glimpse of the man Josie had fallen in love with.
“I think there’s a chance you’re teasing me,” she teased back.
He pretended to consider her statement, there was a definite twinkle in his eye. “There’s always a chance,” he said. “And again, about today, I really appreciate it.”
“The garage thing is only short-term. A day or two at best.”
“It’s something. And it’s not only a job, it’s...hope. I haven’t felt hope in a long time.”
Since he was smiling, she decided to press her luck. “Will you let me help with Josie? Maybe make a meal, or mind Carl? If the doctor has her on bed rest, I can’t imagine taking care of a toddler is easy.”
He took a deep breath. “Yes. That would be great.”
“Fine. I’ve got book club tonight, but tomorrow, after work, I’ll come get Carl and he can visit with me at the library. That will give you both a break.”
Boyd nodded, then got out of the car and walked toward the RV while Maeve went into her house.
He’d called her an angel. She snorted. She took off her coat and boots and sat at her dining table without turning on a light. She didn’t need one to know that Mrs. Anderson’s cross-stitch was on the wall.
Maeve had helped, but surely there was something more she could do.
When she was young, she’d needed help. Her mother had needed help. And now that she thought about it, like Boyd, they’d lost hope. Admittedly, she still found it difficult to talk about those times. She should have told Boyd. Should have explained. Maybe he’d feel better about accepting her aid if he knew how Hank Bennington had given them a hand. Mrs. Anderson at the library and her principal, Ms. Mac, had helped, too. Not one of them had asked for anything in return, either.
Not one of them had saved the world when they’d helped her, but they’d certainly saved Maeve and her mom.
She’d done things to try to repay their generosity over the years. Volunteering at the library was one of those things, but there had been others.
Though none of it seemed like enough.
* * *
AARON NAVIGATED A SLIPPERY PATH to the library. It seemed ridiculous to drive the short distance from his uncle’s apartment above the supply store, but he wished he had. It was warming up and the snow was turning to slush. To make matters worse, Aaron hadn’t put on his boots because he knew that the sidewalks had all been cleared. He’d worn his sneakers, which were now soaked through.
Wet sneakers did nothing to improve his mood.
He wasn’t in Florida anymore.
He wasn’t sure why he was in such a funk. His family would say it was par for the course. He had been working pretty hard around the store. But he liked working so that wasn’t the cause of his bad mood. He just didn’t have time for frivolous endeavors.
And going to the library tonight was one of the frivolous endeavors he should have avoided. He should have stayed at home and ordered an ebook. It would have been delivered instantly to any number of the devices that he could read it on. But there was something about holding a printed book.
But it was too late to turn around and go back. He could see the library from over the bridge, and he was closer to it than his uncle’s apartment, so he kept on slogging through the slush.
He passed the small cottage that bordered the library. There were a few trees and a small stone wall that separated the cottage from the library’s parking lot. He knew it was Maeve’s house. There was a big old RV parked in front of it. When Uncle Jerry had called earlier that day, Aaron casually mentioned having met Maeve. Uncle Jerry told him the same thing Dylan had—that Maeve had almost single-handedly reopened the library, which had closed about a decade ago. And every customer who came into the supply store had been talking about the family Maeve had taken in.
“They’re not staying in a barn behind the inn, but an RV in a driveway is close enough,” he’d overheard Mrs. Dedionisio say to Mrs. Keith.
The two women had gone on and on about the young homeless couple who were expecting a baby at Christmas, as he set up a snowbrush display and eavesdropped.
He’d wished the conversation would turn to Maeve.
Aaron didn’t know what to make of the fiery redhead who volunteered her time at a library and took in homeless families.
She had to have an angle. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d learned the hard way that everyone had one.
To listen to his uncle and the customers, she was too good to be true. And Aaron knew that if something seemed too good to be true, it generally was.
Maybe it was his curiosity about her, more than some burning need to borrow a book that had driven him from his warm house tonight. He wanted to see Maeve again, and, according to his uncle, she was at the library most evenings.
There were roughly half a dozen cars in the parking lot and a neon sign in the window read Open. He stomped up the marble stairs. Someone had tossed sand on them to prevent people from slipping.
He opened the door and was greeted not only by heat, but noise.
He spotted Maeve immediately. Even if her hair had been a more sedate color, she would have still stood out. She sat on one of the wooden chairs arranged in a circle in front of the checkout counter. She was laughing at what someone had said. It struck him that there were a lot of people making a lot of racket and this librarian was not shushing a soul.
When she saw him, her laughter died. So did her smile. She turned to an older woman, said something, and then approached him. “May I help you?”
“I came in to browse,” he said.
“Fine. Help yourself. If you find something you want to borrow, we’ll set you up with a file.”
“Not a card?”
“This is a small library. I just started a database and whenever someone borrows a book, I mark it in their file. When they return it, I take it off. It saves people losing cards and the library the expense of reissuing them.”
He nodded. “Is there a time limit?”
“Time limit?” she asked.
“A deadline the book has to be returned by?”
“When you finish?” She made the statement sound like a question. She was looking at him as if he was nuts.
Aaron couldn’t help it if he liked things spelled out. He pressed on. “But what if someone else is waiting to borrow it?”
Maeve sighed and the movement caused her hair to flutter. He wasn’t sure what else to call it. Her hair moved.
Maeve smoothed it back, she’d noticed its movement, too. “If someone else is waiting to borrow it and you’ve had it a long time, then I’ll send you an email and tell you that. Most people are polite enough to hurry and finish it, or bring it back and sign it out again when they have more time and there’s no waiting list.”
“Maeve?” an older gentleman in the midst of the gathering called out.
Maeve held up a finger indicating she’d be right with him, and then turned to Aaron. “If you have any problems, holler. We’re in the middle of book club.”
“What is the book club reading?” Aaron asked.
She sighed again. Sometimes Aaron felt he wasn’t very good at reading people, but he had no problem understanding that Maeve was finding him frustrating.
“We finished Jim Butcher’s first Harry Dresden novel and we’re starting The Hobbit next. The English department at the high school wanted a book that was universal. Something both older and younger readers would enjoy. They’ve assigned the book to their classes over winter break. The kids get extra credit if they show up for our competition next week.”
“I never heard of a book club competition.”
“This is a first for me, too. But the teachers and I came up with it as a way to engage students and adults in the club. We’re having a riddle competition. The kids get bonus marks for attending. And those who show up for our regular January meeting will get extra credit if they join in the discussion.”
“Riddles?”
“Have you ever read the book?” Maeve countered.
Aaron frowned.
“Watched the movies?”
Again he frowned.
Maeve studied him carefully. “So, what you’re saying is, you live under a rock when you’re not filling in for your uncle.”
“Can anyone join? I could check out a copy and read it.” He wasn’t sure why he said that. He read. But his tastes leaned toward nonfiction. Biographies lately.
“Sorry. The library’s copies are all signed out. The school bought copies for the students.” She paused and looked as if she was trying to decide something. “But you can borrow my personal copy if you want.”
“You’re sure it’s okay if I borrow it and join your book club?” That seemed highly unlikely as she continued to look at him with an expression somewhere between exasperation and annoyance.
“The book club is open to all Valley Ridge residents,” was her prim response. “You might be a temporary resident, but you qualify.”
“Maeve,” the old guy hollered again.
“I really have to go. If you want the book, let me know. You can pick it up at my house after I’ve closed here, or I can drop it off at the store tomorrow.”
She rushed back to her circle, her hair bobbing as she crossed the room. She smiled at something the old man said.
Aaron walked over to the bookshelves, but he couldn’t help taking note of the people who made up the book club. There were a wide range of ages, male and female. There had to be about twenty people crammed into the limited space.
After a few minutes, Maeve stood. “I want to thank everyone for being here tonight. Don’t forget, we’ll still have our regular meeting in January to discuss The Hobbit, but instead of a December meeting, we’ll have our Riddlefest next week before the holiday activities begin in earnest. We’re hoping to get a lot of young people from the school joining us.”
She stopped and spoke to a few individuals as she made her way to the counter and began checking out books. A man with three kids in tow—a boy and two girls—put a large number of books on the counter. “Stamp ’em, Miss Maeve, stamp ’em,” the youngest girl commanded.
Maeve pulled out an old library stamp and thumped it against the card at the back of each book. It made a satisfying ka-thunk. Aaron had never given it any thought before, but he liked the sound.
He remembered his once-a-week visits to the school library where the librarian had used the same kind of date stamp. It was a nostalgic sound and reminded him of those carefree days.
“Last one’s for you, Mica,” Maeve said, passing the stamp to the little girl. The boy picked her up and held her while she stamped the card with far more energy than required.
“See you next week,” Maeve said to the family.
Slowly, the line of people shrank. Maeve spent a long time talking to a tall man Aaron didn’t recognize. He’d visited his uncle on occasion and knew a few people here in town, but not this guy.
When the man smiled and nodded, Maeve walked around the counter and gave him an enthusiastic hug.
Aaron realized he’d been staring at Maeve rather than looking at books, so he grabbed the closest book to him and took it to her.
Maeve asked for all his pertinent information, including an email address. “I’ll give you a shout if someone else asks for this title, but I think you’re safe keeping it as long as you need to. I don’t get a lot of requests for Julia Child. Are you cooking for someone special?”
Aaron glanced down and realized he had picked up a cookbook. A very old cookbook. “No. No one special.”
Maeve nodded and looked at him expectantly. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes. If you meant what you said earlier, can I borrow your copy of The Hobbit?” he asked.
“I’m sure you can, but you also may,” she responded with a grin.
“Funny,” he said, which made her smile wider. “I’m not known for my social skills, but my mother taught me better than that.”
“Give me a minute to turn out all the lights and make sure everything’s locked,” Maeve said.
He waited at the door as Maeve walked through the library.
A few minutes went by before she grabbed a coat from behind the counter, slipped it on and joined him. “I’m only next door.”
After Maeve switched off the sign in the window, and locked the door behind them, she and Aaron carefully made it through the snow-covered parking lot and past the RV to her door. His sneakers had begun to dry out in the library, but were now soaked again.
Maeve paused for a mere second and said, “You might as well come in.”
They entered a tiny mudroom, and when she opened the second door, they walked into a small kitchen. There was a table, a woodstove and cabinets that looked as if they were original to the house, a circa 1960s laminate counter and basic white appliances that seemed ancient.
There were glowing embers behind the glass in the door of the stove. She flipped on a light and said, “It will only take me a moment.”
