No one comes to the library on nice days. Miss Coffey tells Imogene to stay, in case anyone shows up. She says she has a doctor’s appointment, but Imogene suspects she’s going to her cabin. She’s probably not supposed to leave the summer student in charge, but what odds.
Imogene turns on OZ FM and opens the front windows. It’s sunny, but the breeze is cool. Around here, a day without goosebumps requires some kind of magic weather equation. If she wasn’t in clear sight of the road, she’d sit outside and practice smoking. But all she needs is some nosy passerby calling the house. I saw young Imogene having a puff in front of the children’s library. Tsk, tsk.
At least she can sit outside on the bench and read. Who could complain about that? She takes a stack of magazines with her. This is her summer—complete solitude or total lack of privacy. Both are inescapable. She opens a National Geographic magazine. “New Orleans contains a unique blend of American, Spanish and French culture,” it says. The music, the food, the creepy graveyards that inspire crime movies and novels about vampires. She could go there, go to Mardi Gras. She could walk around fanning herself.
Someone is coming up the road. The silhouette and the slight hop in the swagger announce Liam Lundrigan. She holds the National Geographic to her face. She should have picked something bigger.
Liam starts up the Youth Centre driveway. Is he coming all the way over to torment her? What a loser. But he slows when he notices her and confusion ruffles his forehead. She should have stayed inside.
He stops at the bottom of the steps. “You work here, do you?”
“Yep.”
“Summer job?”
“For now.”
He spits on the ground. “Must get some boring.”
“Better than sloggin’ around a farm all day.”
“I guess. You here by yourself?”
“What do you want?”
“Gotta get a book.” He nods at the door. “I heard there might be some in there.”
She sighs and lays the magazine down. She walks in first without holding the door for him.
“I need a book on how to build a deck,” Liam says. “Or woodworking or something.”
“Okay.”
“Dad’s been sayin’ he’s going to put a deck on the house for years. I didn’t think he was ever gonna do it, but he brought home the lumber yesterday.”
“We’ve got some stuff over here.” She walks to the home section. Liam follows.
“But he wants to build it straight off the back of the house,” he says. “I don’t see the point in having a deck if you can’t see the water from it. Even if it is less windy that way.”
Imogene yanks books off shelves: Home Renovations. Basic Carpentry. Home Repairs. “What about this?” She hands him a glossy book entitled Outdoor Building. The cover shows a man in coveralls standing proudly by a spacious cedar deck.
“Yeah, something to give him ideas.”
“Great. That all?”
He stares at her. His face is browner than the last time she saw him. He’s kind of buttered-toast colour. Compared to him, she must look paper-white, like a New Orleans vampire.
“I don’t know,” he says. “This the best you got?”
“B’y, it’s not like you’re paying for it.” She gestures to the shelves. “Go ahead, find something else.”
“No. This looks good. I trust you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I do. I’ll sign it out.”
Imogene scribbles his name and the date on the card. He stares at the return date like he’s trying to memorize it.
“Maybe when the deck’s done,” he says, “you can come over for a barbeque.”
“Maybe when the deck’s done, I’ll come over and set it on fire.”
“Sounds like something you’d do.” He folds the book under his arm. “Thanks for helping me out with my dick. I mean, my deck.” He grins. “Maybe I’ll tell people Imogene was by herself in the library and she helped me out with my deck.”
“Maybe I’ll tell them it wasn’t a big problem.”
“Oh. Nice one.” He gives her a wink. She doesn’t smile. “See you around,” he says.
When his back disappears up the driveway, she shuts the windows. Anything to get the place ready to look closed, if necessary.
The next day, it rains so hard the walk from the car to the Youth Centre drenches her. Miss Coffey sits at the desk pinching the bridge of her nose between her eyes. “This rain is killing my head,” she says.
No one shows up. Miss Coffey makes Imogene reorganize the card catalogue. Before closing, a figure comes up the driveway. The rain blurs everything, but Liam moves the same when wet. Imogene braces herself, but he uses the outside depository and leaves. He stamps down the driveway, hands thrust in his pockets, shoulders tight into himself. She retrieves Outside Building from the depository. Completely soaked. It’s about a mile from the Lundrigans’ place to the Youth Centre. He must be feeling pretty spitey to walk the whole way in the rain.
According to Miss Coffey, when books are returned damaged, a form has to be filled out. The price of the original book has to be retrieved from the files and a bill is mailed to the person who returned it. Imogene takes the book to the kitchenette in the back and presses it between two dishtowels. Maybe Liam and his dad had a fight. Maybe he refused to do the deck. Before she leaves, she opens the book and hangs it upside down between two tables so the pages dangle and don’t dry stuck together.
The next day, the book is dry, but the pages are warped and crispy. She returns it to the shelf. Liam wouldn’t pay that bill anyway. If Miss Coffey asks, she’ll feign ignorance. Better for everyone.