Henry

Henry ran all the way back to the library, anger melting away his shyness. He plowed into the foyer. If there was one thing he hated, it was unjust punishment. He’d suffered it enough in his life; he couldn’t let it happen to Matilda. Not now. “Beverly!” he bellowed, standing inside the door. A few patrons poked their heads out the ends of aisles. One woman, Lisa Pastor, a part-time cashier at Estelle’s Bakery, pulled her toddler daughter away.

Two determined steps forward. “Beverly!” he yelled again.

Finally, she lumbered out of the shelves toward the circulation desk, putting it between him and her. “What do you want, Mr. Craig? I’m not giving Matilda the job back.”

“You have to!” His fingers curled into fists until his stubby fingernails dug into his palms. Fear fueled his rage. Fear that the bridge he and Matilda had crossed last night was burned to ashes, he on one side, she on the other. He had to rebuild it, make it better. Make it like it was last night in the candlelight.

Beverly scoffed. “I don’t have to do anything. She knew full well I would not tolerate one mistake. She abandoned me once. I didn’t even have to give her the job back in the first place. But I did and she repays me by being late and insulting me. She’s done. For good this time.”

He plunged to the desk, gripping the edge of the wood. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t be … this way. She’s good. She deserves this job. It was one mistake—one mistake that was my fault. She never would have been late if not for me.”

Beverly crossed her arms and frowned her famous frown. “Yes. That fact is not lost on me. You’ve done a lot of good since you got here, haven’t you?” She huffed sarcastically. “Nothing you can say will change my mind. And I couldn’t care less about your little fling.” She added a nasty smirk for good measure, as if loving someone also broke a rule. “Get out, Henry.”

“No!” The word echoed in the large library. Henry felt the eyes of onlookers drilling into his back. Beverly rolled her eyes impatiently as she picked up the phone. Henry watched her, confused. “Who are you calling?” he demanded. Imagining himself in handcuffs, he released the desk.

“Henry!”

Henry spun. Abby was in the doorway, holding open the door. “Abby?”

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Not until Beverly gives Matilda her job back.” His voice had lost some of its strength.

Abby released the door with an impatient sigh. “You know that ain’t happening. What happens next is Bev gets Sherriff Bailey to put you in his little cell for the night. He likes you, but Bev’s sister is married to his brother, so you don’t stand a chance.”

“Don’t call me Bev, Abby O’Nell!”

Abby ignored Beverly’s chiding as if she’d been doing it her whole life. Henry shook his head, embarrassment edging out his anger. “But …”

“Yeah, I know, but you gotta go now.” Abby motioned toward the door. When he didn’t move she leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “Beverly’s mother left when she was about five and since then Bev’s been bent on making everyone else as miserable as she is.”

“How dare you, Abby!” shouted Beverly.

Abby ignored her again. “We grew up together; I’ve watched her do it over and over. So trust me—you’ll get no sympathy here, Henry. Best to leave.”

Henry looked back at Beverly, the phone cradled between her face and shoulder, her lips pursed smugly, and her face red with anger. With a heavy sigh, he let his shoulders fall forward. He followed Abby out the doors. Abby didn’t speak until they were at the bottom of the steps.

“What happened?”

Henry ran his hands back through his hair. “I got her fired. I held her in my arms, and now she doesn’t have a job.” He looked down at his empty arms. “I think I ruined everything,” he added more quietly. “You said she left once. What if she leaves again?”

Abby put her hand on his arm. A car drove passed, wheels sloshing on the wet road. “It’s just a job, not even a good one. Who wants to work with that woman?” Abby’s eyes moved up the stairs. “And aren’t you enough reason to stay?”

Surprised, Henry studied Abby’s face. “I don’t know.” He shook his head, his temples throbbing with a fresh headache. “I don’t know. What we have … it’s so fragile. It was one night. I didn’t even kiss her.”

“Is it—so fragile?” Abby squeezed his arm. When Henry didn’t answer, she said, “If it’s worth fighting for then go back to her and fight for it.”

Henry shook his head, stomach hollow and head aching. “She probably won’t even let me in.”

“You won’t know till you knock.”

n

Her door was the Berlin Wall. Henry wanted to climb over it, smash through it, but feared the consequences. Her doorbell looked like the spindle of a spinning wheel. Fated curses and all that. Maybe we are cursed. Maybe I am. He thought of going home to bash out his feelings with the typewriter. If he wrote it all out first perhaps then he’d know what to say to her. Because standing there, morning sunshine on his back, he didn’t know.

He flexed his hand over the doorbell and then knocked instead. Too quietly. He knocked again.

And waited.