Chapter Eighteen

Dolores was dressed to impress. Decked out in a maroon wrap dress, sensible black heels, and gold hoop earrings, gone was the gray sweater set and pearls of the drab librarian. Tonight, Dolores was on the prowl. Libby caught her boss putting on lipstick in the hallway mirror.

“Look at you, fancy pants,” Libby teased. “Ready for the big date?”

Dolores brushed off the comment and returned to the circulation desk to continue date-stamping the new releases. “I’m not sure why you insist on calling this a date.”

“Dolores, you are two adults, attending an organized function, where there will be food, wine, and possibly dancing. That’s a date.”

“The term is juvenile.”

“I beg to differ. If I wanted juvenile, I’d say you’re hooking up.”

“Good heavens Libby, we’re not fish.” The faint chime over the front door announced a visitor. Dominic, clad in navy blue suit, pinstriped shirt, and stylish red tie rounded the corner to the circulation desk, a bouquet of Gerber daisies in hand.

“Hello, ladies.” He extended the flowers to Dolores. “These are for you...a little peace offering.”

“Thank you.” Dolores’s hands trembled as she took the flowers. “I need to get my coat. Please wait here; non-employees are prohibited behind the circulation desk.” She walked back to her office, leaving Dom to chat with Libby.

“Well,” Dom grinned, “I wouldn’t want to break the rules. Thanks for covering for Dolores tonight, Lib. Seems to me she could use a night out on the town. Maybe she’ll have a little fun for a change.”

“Is Dolores the only one who needs some fun?” Libby asked.

“I suppose I’m entitled to a good time once in a while, too.” His cheeks flushed. Dewey leapt on the desk.

“Well, hello sir,” Libby stroked his fur. “Nice of you to visit. Let me guess, you’re hungry?”

“That’s a good-looking animal.” Dom rubbed the cat under his chin. “I’ve never seen him in here before.”

“You wouldn’t have, Dewey’s a shadow. He usually stays out of sight during the daytime hours, but at night he hangs out with us, especially Dolores. He loves her. He usually wakes up around now, eats a little something and starts his night watch duty.” Dewey purred as Dom continued to scratch him. “He’s not usually this friendly. You must be special, Dom.”

Reaching under the counter Libby pulled out a bowl of cat food and set it on the countertop.

Behind her, the door to the office closed, and Dolores approached. Tucked into a gray overcoat and matching scarf, Dolores exited the circulation desk, an award-winning pineapple upside-down cake in hand.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Dominic.” Dolores said.

“No problem.” He took the cake from her. “Do you still want to take your own car?”

“Absolutely. Just pull around front and I’ll follow you over to the Community Center.” Dolores marched to the front door. “Come along, we don’t want to be rude and keep your friends waiting.” Dom shrugged his shoulders and hurried to the door.

Libby, feeling like a mother sending her kids off to their first dance, watched them go. Although Dolores pretended the evening was a nuisance, Libby knew her friend’s stomach swarmed with butterflies. It was lovely to see two people she cared so much about finding a small piece of happiness. It was about time for both of them.

She returned to Dewey. “What say you and I do a little re-shelving before quitting time?” The cat ran off to the audiovisual section. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

At seven-thirty, the phone rang. “Rhyme Public Library.”

“Hi Mom,” Shannon said.

“Hi honey.” It was unusual for Shannon to call, especially given the fact Libby would be home in half an hour. “Everything okay?”

“Dad wanted me to call and tell you I got an A on my Susan B. Anthony report.”

“That’s great!” Libby heard Bob saying something in the background. Shannon giggled. “Okay, what am I missing? Obviously something’s funny, and I’m not in on the joke.”

“Dad said it was my job to soften you up with good news before he talks to you.” Her laughter intensified. “Here he is.”

This is not good, Libby thought. The last time Bob had one of the kids call her at work he accidentally booked a boys’ golf weekend in Myrtle Beach the same date of Charlie’s scout campout. In his absence, Libby took over den leader duty and slept in a rain-soaked tent with ten sneezing, homesick five-year-olds.

Bob picked up the extension in the bedroom. “Hi hon, how’s work tonight? Enjoying your quiet time?”

“Cut the crap, O’Rourke,” Libby growled. “We both know I’m not going to like whatever you’re going to tell me; get to it.”

“Okay, no small talk. I can respect that.”

“Spit it out Bob.”

At the risk of bodily harm, he said, “My mom called.”

“Oh shit.”

“Don’t get upset, it’s not all bad.”

Shelia O’Rourke was a hairspray-drenched tornado, who typically blew into town with no warning, and took out everything in her wake. A widow, Shelia made the most of her single status. Men flocked to her like moths to a flame. Unfortunately, the caliber of men flocking to her flame had run the gamut—ranging from wonderfully dashing to bottom-feeding troll.

Taking meticulous care in maintaining her youthful appearance, Shelia often neglected to inform her suitors she was, in fact, a grandmother. On more than one occasion, she had taken Shannon or Charlie shopping, never outright claiming to be their mother, but not denying it when others assumed. Through strong genetics and regular trips to the spa, she could pull it off.

Shelia had yet to pay Libby a compliment without an accompanying suggestion on how to improve. She had a good, well-intentioned heart buried beneath an age-defying super bra.

“Hear me out,” Bob pleaded his mother’s case. “Mom was supposed to be on that Caribbean cruise for Thanksgiving this year.”

“‘Supposed to,’ as in she will not be there now?” Libby’s anxiety grew.

“Fred, the guy she was going with, broke his hip at swing dance class and can’t go...Mom refuses to go alone, so”—he prayed Libby would not kill him in his sleep—“I asked her to come stay with us for a few days.”

“Define ‘a few days.’” Like spicy mustard, Libby loved Shelia in small doses.

“I pick her up at the airport on Wednesday, and she’ll leave Saturday. I’ll make sure we have lots of wine, red and white. You can accompany any meal or snack with alcohol.” His lawyer tone came out, “I can also offer a full body massage with no inappropriate touching or lingering on your girl parts.”

“Your proposal has appeal, counselor.” Libby grinned. “I guess this means one more for Thanksgiving dinner? How many are we up to now?”

“I think we’ve moved past quaint dinner and into the realm of mess hall.”

Between Libby’s entire family, Caroline, Trevor, Dominic, Dolores, and now Shelia, Libby needed to roast an ostrich. “Okay, I still love you, and you know Shelia is always welcome, but you owe me big time!”

“I know.” His relief was apparent. “Dear God, I know. Are you coming home soon?”

“I’m leaving here at eight on the dot. I’m exhausted. I need a decent night’s sleep before the trip to the doctor with Mom tomorrow.”

“Shoot, I forgot that’s tomorrow. Sorry to pile more stress on you with Shelia. Have you spoken to Mae since the blow-up?”

“Only via email, I sent her a message confirming I’d pick her up at three. I got a one-word reply—’fine.’ This is going to be a picnic.”

“One step at a time. Maybe it won’t be that bad.”

“I appreciate the pep talk, but Mom only reverts to the silent treatment when she’s good and mad. Should be an interesting ride to Hartford.”

Libby could hear Bob sit down on the creaky old bed, their first purchase as husband and wife. The owner of the little antique shop they bought it at said it belonged to her parents, and their marriage lasted for sixty-four years, so the bed must be charmed. Libby could not wait to get home, climb in beside Bob and nod off to the sports channel theme music. Tomorrow was going to be hell.