The Sweetgum Knit Lit Society (25 page)

Camille shook her head. “I don’t think my mother would—”

“I’m sure she would be supportive of anything that helped you.” Eugenie knew she was pushing too hard, but the conversation about
Heidi
had unsettled her. Was she like the grandfather? And if she was, did she truly want to be redeemed, to be resurrected so that she had to risk hurt and betrayal all over again? Her soul had barely withstood it the first time. She didn’t think she could survive that again.

“But—”

“Please, Camille. She needs you.” Eugenie decided to appeal to the young woman’s better nature, the part of her that had set aside her own dreams to care for her mother. “I’m not sure that I—”

“If not you, then who?”

Camille’s face grew troubled, as if she saw a distressing
image in her mind’s eye. Eugenie waited, poised next to her on the church steps, ignoring the cold that nipped at their noses and ears.

“I guess we could try it. For a week or two. See if it works out.”

“Excellent.”

“But not immediately. I need some time to think about how to handle this. And to make sure I’m not doing anything illegal.”

Eugenie thought of all the sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, who pitched in at almost every business in Sweetgum. When it came to employment, a small town tended to turn a blind eye to children under the age of fifteen putting in a good day’s work.

“Perhaps in a couple weeks. I’ll keep her busy at the library until then.”

“All right.”

Eugenie wasn’t sure why Camille had agreed to her proposal, but she was glad and, to be honest, a bit relieved that the younger woman would be taking Hannah off her hands. She’d begun to care too much about the teenager. Always before that had been her signal that it was time to back out of the situation. It was the reason she’d been so successful rescuing all her strays. She never allowed them to become too dependent on her. She always focused on giving them wings.

For the first time, though, she admitted that handing off
her protégés served another purpose as well. It kept her heart protected, wrapped in the layers that had ensured its safety all these years. Detaching was the smart thing to do. It ensured survival.

It was also incredibly lonely. She’d managed to ignore that truth for a long time. Until Paul Carson had reappeared and threatened to capture her heart all over again.

Homer Flint, city councilman, visited the library about as often as Santa Claus came around, so when he showed up in front of the circulation desk right before closing time in early February, Eugenie knew enough to be worried. Thursday was her late night, so Homer was out past his suppertime. Clearly this was no social call.

“Good afternoon, Homer.” Eugenie set the books she was about to shelve on the cart at her side. “What can I help you with today?” He was wringing his hat between both hands, a clear sign of his nervousness. Well then. Her six months were up. The council must have finally decided to force her hand.

“Could we talk in your office?” he asked with a nervous look over his shoulder.

“Of course.” Heavens, it felt like a Mafia hit the way that Homer wanted to get her out of sight of any potential
witnesses—not that there were any witnesses since the library was empty at this late hour. “This way.” She waved him in the right direction, as if he didn’t know where her office was, right behind the circulation desk.

Eugenie held her head high, kept her spine straight, but inside she felt beaten down, defeated. All those years of faithful service to the citizens of Sweetgum, and for what? To be dismissed merely because she had gray hair and a few wrinkles?

“Eugenie, we’ve talked about this before,” he began, closing the office door behind him. She took her seat behind her desk, grateful for its scarred bulk. She fought not to reach out and grip it as if it were a life raft. “The council believes it’s time to make a change here. You’ve been diligent and faithful, and we all appreciate it. In fact, after all these years, you deserve a little time off. Time to do the things you’ve always wanted to do.” His smile was as oily as his hair. “Don’t think of this as retirement. Think of it as your reward for a job well done.”

She had thought she was prepared for this. Thought she could handle the feel of the chopping block on her throat, the ax on the back of her neck. But she wasn’t. She hated the fact that Homer Flint could make her cry. His words of appreciation for her years of work and loyalty were as false as his semi-successful hair plugs.

“Who do you have in mind to take my place?” she managed to choke out as she reached in her skirt pocket for a tissue.
Breathe, Eugenie. Just keep breathing
, she reminded herself. How unfair that men who had done nothing for the library all these years unless she shamed them into it were now preaching to her about their deep passion for the institution.

“Well, Ed Cantrell has a niece who just graduated from Middle Tennessee State with a degree in library science, so we thought we’d bring her on and see how it goes.”

Of course. She should have known that her retirement had been motivated by more than pure cost-cutting measures. Cronyism was alive and well in Sweetgum.

The admission made Homer shift nervously from one foot to the other. “You weren’t much older than she is when you came to Sweetgum.” The words were part defense, part justification, and all hooey. After she and Paul had parted ways, she never thought she’d feel this kind of betrayal again. In fact, she’d gone to great lengths to make sure she wouldn’t have an opportunity to. But here she was, once again at the mercy of a man who wanted to decide her future for her. Forty years later was she any smarter, any savvier, than she’d been the first time around?

She opened her mouth to speak, but Homer stopped her. He held up one hand, both to silence her and perhaps to ward off any potential blows. “Now, Eugenie, don’t be difficult about this. We’ve made no secret of the way the wind was blowing for a good while now.”

That was true. But that didn’t make it right.

“When do you want me gone?”

“Aw, don’t put it like that, Eugenie. We believe in positive transitions. We thought we’d do a big reception for you in a couple of weeks, but definitely by the end of the month.” Long before the spring came, then. She would miss watching the robins that built a nest in the tree outside her office window. Would Ed’s niece see that the stray black cat that loitered outside the library was fed so that he didn’t feast on the robins?

“It’s not right, Homer. You know that.”

He had the good grace to nod slightly at her words. “I understand your feelings, Eugenie, but nothing stays the same forever.”

Why did people always speak in platitudes and clichés when they had to say something unpleasant? Couldn’t they find their own words to deal with the situation? Obviously not.

“Will you want me to stay until Ed’s niece can get a handle on running things?” She couldn’t imagine anyone walking into the library cold and trying to pick up the reins. Especially not someone straight out of school. “If she doesn’t have much experience—”

“The budget won’t allow for that, I’m afraid. Besides, clean breaks are always better,” he said. “Less messy. She’ll figure it out as she goes along.”

Eugenie put a hand over her mouth to muffle the bitter
laugh that threatened. Like most people, Homer assumed that a relatively intelligent ape could do her job. After all, how hard could it be putting books back in their place and sending out overdue notices? It was almost funny. Emphasis on
almost
.

“I appreciate you taking it so well, Eugenie.” He reached in his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. “It’s really for the best.”

“Pardon me, Homer, if I don’t agree with you on that.” She stood up and gathered her purse from the desk drawer and her coat from the hook on the wall behind her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to close up for the day.”

To her chagrin, Homer lingered while she double-checked the back door and flipped out the lights in the children’s area and then in the main part of the library. Homer followed her out and waited as she locked the door. “Would you like a ride home, Eugenie?”

She kept herself from saying the first thing that sprang to mind, something having to do with a very warm clime freezing over.

“No, thank you, Homer.”

“It’s dark.”

“Yes. It is.” She wrapped her scarf more securely around her neck. “Good night, Homer.”

“Eugenie …”

She didn’t wait to see what else he had to say. Just whirled on the heel of one of her sensible shoes and started walking. Quickly.

Perhaps if she walked fast enough, she could outrun what had happened to her. A nice thought if a fanciful one. For some reason she thought of Dorothy desperately clinging to the belief that the yellow brick road was the one sure way to return home. Now she too was in exile, but the sidewalk beneath her feet was the usual slate gray. No helpful color-coding to tell her how to find her way back to what she’d lost.

Eugenie kept going, one foot in front of another, and as she crossed the street and approached the church, she saw that the light was on in the pastor’s study.

She pulled her coat tighter around her. She wouldn’t go in, of course. Even if the light was on. Probably just Napoleon emptying the wastebaskets and vacuuming because Paul had surely gone home for the evening. Still, she moved closer to the front of the church, and when she reached the steps, she grasped the rail and climbed them. The door was still open. Perhaps she’d just sit in the quiet, darkened sanctuary for a few moments. She needed a little time for reflection.

Hah! Her cynical side could only be squashed for so long. She hadn’t set foot in a sanctuary in forty years, so she’d hardly be seeking one out now. No, she had come here, consciously or unconsciously, because
he
was here. She shook her head, ashamed of her weakness. Strange how the past could suddenly
come alive again, even after years of entombing it beneath thick layers of denial.

She turned left in the narthex just inside the door, avoiding the sanctuary altogether and slipping into the foyer outside the offices. The fluorescent lights in this part of the church were so bright you could perform surgery under them. She blinked against their harshness and then moved toward the door that separated Ruthie’s office from the foyer. She opened it and stepped inside. Beyond Ruthie’s work area, she could see through the doorway into the pastor’s study. He was there, his back to her, typing away on his computer. She froze, afraid he’d heard the sound the door made when it closed behind her. What was she thinking? Clearly she’d lost her mind. Or rather Homer Flint had taken possession of it. Afraid to move too suddenly lest she catch Paul’s attention, she slowly turned to leave.

Please don’t let him—

“Eugenie.”

Her feet turned to lead. What on earth had possessed her to—

“Eugenie.”

She turned around. There was nothing else she could do. The flush on her cheeks was no doubt as bright as the fluorescent lighting.

“Good evening, Paul.”

He stood up, rounded the corner of his desk, and came
out of his office. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Lines of concern etched his face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. “I thought that … I mean, I hoped maybe Ruthie …”

“She left a couple hours ago.” Why did he have to look at her like that, with compassion and warmth and that hint of understanding that made her want to sink to the floor?

“I wanted to talk to Ruthie.”

Was that disappointment in his eyes? “Oh. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes … I mean, no. I’ll just call her when I get home.”

“Would you like to sit down?” He gestured toward the chairs in his office.

“Yes.” What? What was she saying? “Yes, I would.”

From the look in Paul’s eyes, her answer astonished him as much as it did her. “Come in then.”

She preceded him into the study, hoping he’d have the good sense to leave the door open but not wanting to mention it in case he might think … well, that there was anything of a personal nature to this visit. She was just upset, that was all. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong,” he said. “Because clearly something’s upset you.”

She sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of his desk, and he lowered himself into the chair beside hers. She would have much preferred that he take his proper place behind his desk, as she had with Homer.

“It’s nothing really. The proverbial ax finally fell. Homer
Flint informed me that my services at the library are no longer required now that I’ve reached retirement age.” She knotted her fingers together in her lap.

Paul said a word that ministers probably weren’t supposed to say. “Clearly they’ve lost their minds.”

“Ed Cantrell’s niece will be taking over.”

“The one that just graduated from college?”

Thank heavens
, Eugenie thought. He looked as incredulous as she felt. She nodded her answer, not trusting herself to speak.

“How much longer will you work?”