Elizabeth
“Maddison, please pick something out,” I plead with my eight-year-old. “Your brother is making Mommy crazy, and we still have to go to the store.”
She ignores me and continues to run her fingers along the spines of the books at a sloth’s pace, humming to herself. My face heats, jaw clenched as I take a deep breath.
Being a mother may be the most rewarding thing in the world, but it can also be the most trying. Dealing with two kids on your own isn’t easy. I thought having them nearly six years apart would make it a little easier, but it feels more like starting over.
“No, Sean. Please stop doing that.” I pull him off the shelf he’s trying to climb before losing my patience with my daughter. “That’s it, Maddie, I’m picking for you. We’re going to go with this one, this one, and…this one. Now, come on. Let’s go.” Adding the books to the stack already in my arms, I grab Sean’s hand, then turn on my heel and walk toward the front desk.
Maddison must recognize now is not a good time to argue because she follows me without another word. Sean, however, whines and moans, dragging his feet the whole way.
By the time we make it there, my ponytail is loose, the elastic barely holding it up, and my nerves are shot. My relief when we manage to find a kiosk with no wait evaporates into frustration when there’s a problem with one of the books.
The librarian makes her way over to us at the speed of molasses while I continue to wrestle with Sean.
My gaze floats around the room, my heart palpitating. The lines are growing, and I don’t need the extra attention. It already feels like I’m a sideshow act most days. For over two years now, I’ve had to endure side glances and looks of pity.
Living in a small town like Smyth has its advantages, until something happens to you. Gossip tends to spread like wildfire around here. Everyone knows your business and acts like they’ve got the right to know it. They’ll ask personal questions with no shame.
The accident was big news in this quiet town. But the way I fell apart is what held everyone’s attention. Xander died, and I lost myself. For weeks, I refused to leave the house. Even after life coaxed me out of seclusion, I made no effort to fix my broken-down, disheveled appearance. There was no point. Honestly, I wanted my exterior to match what I was feeling inside, hoping it would keep people at a distance.
“I can get this checked out for you, ma’am. It will just take a second, and I’ll need to see your card,” the librarian says.
“Oh, uh…you know what? She has enough for this week. You guys are getting busy. You don’t have to worry about that one,” I huff, nearly out of breath from struggling to keep my hold on Sean.
“But, Mom…I really wanted that one,” Maddison whines.
I cut my eyes to her in warning. “Are you kidding me? You didn’t even pick these out.”
“Yeah, but that one looked interesting.” She shrinks back, her eyes falling to the floor when my jaw sets, and guilt gnaws at my gut.
Too often Maddison has seen and suffered from my anger, frustration, and anxiety. The feeling of being in over my head most days isn’t her fault, though. She didn’t cause the chaos in my life.
My grip on reality has been slipping since Xander’s death, and it’s about time I gain control of it again. This has been hard on all of us. Maddison and Sean are kids. My babies lost their dad that day. Yet my daughter has been the one comforting and taking care of me. It’s not fair to her.
“It’s really no problem, ma’am,” the librarian interjects. “It’ll only take a moment.”
Relenting, I hand her my card before scanning the room again. The lines have continued to grow, and so has the irritation on the other patrons’ faces. Not like I blame them.
My eyes connect with a tall, broad man in the next line over. His gaze is plastered on me, and the attention from his blatant stare makes my cheeks blush.
I scowl. Two can play this game. I run my eyes over him, as if sizing him up. His leather jacket, blue jeans, and boots give off that whole tough-guy vibe, which is no doubt his intention.
“How about you keep your eyes on your own paper, buddy,” I mumble under my breath, narrowing my eyes at him before turning away.
“What paper?” Maddison asks me. “Who are you talking to?”
Ignoring her questions, I focus on getting my card and the books back from the librarian. “Thank you.” The tight smile on my face probably comes off as rude, but I arrived at my wit’s end some time ago and can’t find it in me to care about niceties. “Come on, guys. Let’s go.”
As I move to walk toward the door, Sean knocks the books out of my hand and laughs. Offering murmured apologies to the people behind me, I bend down to pick them up as quickly as possible. This boy is going to be the death of me. My heart races as I try to avoid looking up, my shaky hands finding it hard to grab ahold of the books. I’m pretty certain everyone is staring at me, and the thought alone makes me want to crawl into a corner and die of embarrassment.
As I stand, my gaze meets the same burly looking man from a moment ago. There’s a half-cocked smile on his face. It’s the mischievous kind. One that says: I know something you don’t.
An overwhelming need to flee washes over me as I fumble to take Sean’s hand and sprint toward the door. Glares of pity and judgment have become the norm over the past couple of years. I’ve learned how to deal with them—I’ve even become accustomed to them—but this man’s stare feels different. It feels too intimate, too invasive, too consuming.
Brenden
“I bet you didn’t spend your Friday nights going to the library and working on your schoolwork when you were my age,” Ben says, eyebrows raised and a smile playing on his lips.
“You’d lose that bet,” I retort, my own lips curving into a smile. “I stayed on top of my schoolwork and studied. It takes hard work to get where you want to be in life. An education and good grades are your ticket out, Ben. It’s the key to open the doors of opportunity.”
He presses his lips together, his narrowed eyes studying me as if looking for some type of telling sign that I’m full of crap. He isn’t going to find one. My answer was honest. I worked hard to get away from the life I’d been handed. I took school seriously. Of course, I’m not about to share with him how I spent my free time.
“Well, I guess I don’t need to feel bad about you having to bring me here then. Nerds love these kinds of places, right?”
With a tilt of my head, I raise an eyebrow at him. Ben chuckles, unfazed by my stern glare. He has no idea how wrong his statement is. On a normal day, you wouldn’t catch me in the damn public library. I enjoy a good book, but public libraries make me anxious. It could have something to do with all the time I spent in one as a kid, trying to find a warm, safe place to hide away. The public library in Smyth might be nicer than the one in the town I grew up in, but they’re all the same.
This is the last place I want to be, but Ben needed a ride. His useless parents refused to bring him, and he doesn’t have anyone else. I can’t turn my back when a student needs me. They already have too many unreliable people in their lives.
Ben reminds me so much of myself at his age—alone, bitter, afraid. Most of his classmates and teachers perceive him as a troublemaker with a chip on his shoulder. That’s how he landed in my office last year. But he’s a good kid. Students like Ben are often misunderstood.
They’re afraid more than anything. Of their abusive parents and the uncertainty each day brings. A lot of them are worried about things like if someone will notice they’re wearing the same dirty clothes from the day before. That fear, though, is why they act out. Why they’re angry and keep others at a distance.
“If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be,” I reply, looking him in the eye so he knows I mean what I’m saying. “I don’t want you to think twice about asking for my help. Got it?”
Ben averts his eyes and gives me a curt nod, taking a step forward as the long line moves. The silence that falls between us allows my mind to wander back to the woman who had stolen my attention a few moments ago.
I might not have noticed her at all if it hadn’t been for her son. He was acting out. Yelling, jumping, and pulling at his mother. His wild behavior was clearly a cry for attention. Good or bad.
Unlike everyone else in the room, my disdain wasn’t toward the young boy making the commotion. It was reserved for the parent causing his destructive behavior. My opinion about her was settled, and I expected to find the type of person who treats their child as a second thought.
But the picture in my mind was much different than the reality. The boy’s mother hadn’t seemed angry or annoyed as I suspected. Instead, she wore a look of loving concern, her voice and eyes soft as she spoke to him.
The intense sadness in her eyes drew me in, and I found myself unable to look away. Her disapproval of me was evident—eyes narrowed, mouth turned into a frown. It seems I wasn’t the only one making inaccurate assumptions.
The more I watched her, the more flustered she seemed to become. Her shaky hands continuously fidgeted with the ring on her left hand, making the fact that I was checking her out even more inappropriate. I tried to keep from looking when she bent over to pick up the books her son knocked out of her hands, but there was something oddly alluring about her. Right down to the way she kept blushing with embarrassment.
When we finally get to the counter, I glance over to the doors again, as if hoping to find her there. I shake the thought from my head. The fact that my interest was piqued by her to this degree is absurd.
“Did you know that woman or something?” Ben asks, observing me with curiosity as we make our way out of the library.
“What woman?” I draw my brows together, pretending to have no clue what he’s talking about.
He laughs and shakes his head, clearly not buying my act. “The one you were staring at a minute ago. Ya know, the one who put that dorky ass smile on your face. The same one who—”
“I got it,” I clip. “And watch your language. There are kids around.” I gesture to the young boy a few feet ahead of us. Ben looks at the boy, then back at me, smiling apologetically as he shrugs. “No, we don’t know each other. She seemed a little flustered, and I smiled to be polite.”
He studies me the way he had earlier, his mouth twisted to the side. “It sure looked like you were checking her out, Mr. B.” Chuckling again, he rubs his hands together. “You don’t seem like the type of guy who’d be interested in MILFs, though.”
“Dude,” I scold, unsuccessfully keeping my own laughter at bay.
He isn’t wrong. She was nothing like the women I usually date. If you could even call what I do dating. I like to have fun, in and out of the bedroom, but I have no desire for anything outside of that. A long-term commitment is not in my future. Getting involved with women who have children is not an option. And I sure as hell don’t get mixed up with married women.