Chapter Twelve

SHE HAD A secret weapon for getting information on the middle school library situation—Jeremy. Nan had been making a point to sit down with him every day, ask him what he was reading, what his homework was about, and to listen when he answered. He seemed starved for attention and mortified by it at the same time. His freckled face got red when she came over and stayed red the whole time she talked with him.

“I have to do a book report. They’re all reading baby books, but I picked this one. Not from the school library, from here.” He showed her a hardback copy of Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe. The cover showed a burly man in ragged clothes, standing on a shore, looking woefully up at seagulls.

“I remember that one,” Nan said.

He looked shocked. “You read that? It’s a boy book, isn’t it?”

“There’s no such thing.”

She wondered if Concetta Spitilli had organized the school library into boy books and girl books during her tenure. Nan wouldn’t have been surprised at that level of ineptitude. Ignorance, pure and simple.

“Why would a girl read this book?” Jeremy asked.

“I love runaways. I used to read every book I could find about runaways when I was your age. And orphans. I was dying to be an orphan.”

“Ha ha,” he said. “Dying to be an orphan.”

He had a sense of humor, Nan realized.

“I had two older sisters I couldn’t stand,” she said. “So I wished they would disappear, and my parents too, then I could go off on my own and make my way in the world as an orphan.”

When he looked down, his smile faded. She was furious at herself for her tactlessness. He was an actual orphan or might as well be. She changed the subject.

“So how do you like Robinson Crusoe so far?”

“I already finished it,” he said with a proud little smile. “It’s my favorite book so far in life, and I’ve read a lot of books. I’m going to read it a few more times just for fun. When I write this report, I’ll get an A-plus for sure.”

Nan wanted to say, oh little man, don’t expect that; don’t expect anything. For the cause of all unhappiness in life is expectation, as Buddhism taught. She wondered what Jeremy’s story was. How did he end up in foster care? Would he ever be reunited with his family? That was the bad thing about working with the public; she heard only parts of their story and never knew how the people she met ended up.

“Hey, Jeremy, help me out.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer. His clothes smelled unpleasant, as if they’d been slept in for many days. He gave off a nasty whiff of unwashed boy.

“What happened to Ms. Spitilli anyway?” She bet he would know. He had probably been there when it happened. This kid was attracted to anywhere books were.

He shrugged. “She said she wasn’t into it anymore. She said she wasn’t going to put up with our crap for no money, so she left. She said she wasn’t coming back ever again. And she called us little dirtbags.”

“So who’s in charge of the school library, then?”

“Nobody. The other ladies wouldn’t do it without her. The teachers said no way, and they’re in a union, so nobody can make them. The principal locked it.”

So, Pip Conti is pretty desperate right about now. I’m going to use that.

Mona was waiting for her in her office with her I-am-going-tell-you-something-important face on. “It’s Saturday, 4:45 p.m., and it’s almost time to close.”

“And?”

Make your point, Mona.

“Jeremy has been here since we opened at 9:00 a.m. He didn’t leave for lunch. He hasn’t eaten all day.”

“Maybe he’s not hungry.” Nan wasn’t accustomed to the mysterious ways of children.

“A boy his age needs to be fed regularly. Believe me. I raised six of them. They ate constantly. They need an incredible amount of food in them to grow. Just look at him; he’s so thin. It breaks my heart.”

Mona had a heart? This was news.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Nan was genuinely baffled.

“Handle it. He’s in here every Saturday all day long. Plus on schooldays, he stays after school for hours all the way through dinnertime, through evening hours, then he leaves all by himself in the dark. We are not babysitters for hungry children. We are not dumping grounds for neglected children. It’s outrageous. Something is very wrong with his living situation. You need to notify someone. Do something immediately before something terrible happens.”

The last line in Nan’s job description floated up from her subconscious: Other duties as assigned.

“I’ll take care of it.” She stood up to end the conversation.

But how would she take care of it? Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. Was it possible to literally die of worry? She was absolutely battered down by this latest worry, piled on top of all the others. The worst thing was she knew Mona was right. She’d noticed all of the same things about Jeremy but had chosen to push the thoughts away.

On her way home, Nan passed a dead deer twisted up in an impossible position and then a dead cat whose fur fluttered in the breeze in a shockingly macabre way. A record day for roadkill. She felt as bad as the perished animals looked.

A pain as hard as a brick slammed into the back of her head. This was all too much. She wanted to be taken care of. She wanted tenderness to flow toward her. She wanted someone else to make everything all right.

When she got home, she caught Immaculata inside her apartment, in her bedroom, looking in her closet.

It didn’t even seem all that strange a sight. This kind of thing happened when walls fell down, when lines were crossed so often you forgot they were ever there.

Instead of raging at Immaculata, Nan shocked herself by opening her arms silently, asking for a hug, then bursting into tears when Immaculata gave her a long brusque one. It was like hugging a wide-trunked tree. But she smelled so good (butter cookies and coffee) and felt so solid Nan hated to let go of her.

“Well, you don’t have to cry about it. It was no big deal,” Immaculata said. “I like to clean. I wanted to make the apartment nice for you.”

And snoop while you were at it.

Nan didn’t have the strength to do anything but collapse at the kitchen table and let Immaculata bring her a plate full of the most beautiful food she’d ever seen.

“I brought up manicotti and stuffed mushrooms since I was coming up anyway,” she said.

I’m so needy. I’m so tired. I’m so grateful. What invasion of privacy? What landlord-tenant rules of conduct? I give up, Immaculata. I need help, and you’re it.

Immaculata didn’t disappoint. “That Pip Conti has let power go to his head. He goes around telling the mayor what to do, town council, everyone. He thinks he’s in charge of the world.”

“Not just me?” Nan joked. Telling Immaculata every single thing that was on her mind had been a huge relief.

“Stand up to him,” Immaculata said. “If the rest of them fools would, he wouldn’t be such a jerk. They just let him have his way because they’re too lazy to fight with him all the time.”

“What about Jeremy? I hate to report him to social services before I know what’s going on. What if the group home manager makes him stay away from the library? The library is the only good thing in that kid’s life. It’s saving him.” Nan knew in her bones that was true. She had been that kid too. Hanging out in the library all the time had saved her from her home with a sad mother and awful sisters.

“One step at a time,” Immaculata said. “The only thing you need to do right now is feed him. I’ll send you with extra.”

Nan had not admitted to herself that Immaculata had begun handing her a lunch bag every day when she left for work like she was a kid in grade school again. It sounded so crazy, a landlady packing lunch for her tenant. But it was so good. It was right there, ready for her every day. It was irresistible to Nan—exotic Italian lunchmeats on the tastiest sesame seed rolls, fancy cut raw veggies with a swoon-worthy garlic aioli to dip them in, and homemade oatmeal-and-chocolate-chip cookies. She’d be happy to slip a bag of delights to Jeremy every day and find him a private place to eat it.

As for Pip, her chance to stand up to him came the very next day, the first day she was an official, permanent town employee. She felt untouchable now, a woman on top of the world.

No one else had made a big deal about her appointment. She was summoned to sign paperwork in Town Hall; that was all. But the step meant everything to her. She had many plans, starting with resistance against Pip Conti by any means necessary.

The phone rang as she was writing up a press release for the classic books lunchtime lecture series she’d been awarded funding for, having beat out way bigger and richer libraries.

Take that, Princeton Public Library. You may have a gorgeous mural by artist Ik-Joong Kang, “Happy World,” lining your entrance and be the most visited municipal public library in the entire state, but we won this time.

“I’m calling from the middle school office. You need to come get the eighth-graders,” a harried voice in her ear said. “You’re late. They’re ripping up the library. We unlocked it for you. Mr. Conti said you were on the schedule today.”

“Nope. He misspoke. I don’t work there,” Nan said, hanging up. That felt better than the buzz from a goblet of Joe’s best wine.

Five minutes later, a riot broke out by the front door. Thirty kids were pushing inside, then shoving one another, throwing hats, fighting over chairs and computers, calling one another names, and running through the narrow aisles. No one was touching a book. There appeared to be no adult with them, no teacher, no school staff, no security guard.

Nan watched for a minute, then called the police. “We have a riot situation at the library,” she said. “You better hurry up.”

She called Mona and Dunkan into her office and told them to wait there. She wasn’t going to try to control the kids, and she wouldn’t let them either. There were a few adults who had been using the computers, but they quickly left when they were jostled by the gang of kids. The same with the preschoolers and their caregivers who had been in the Children’s Room. One of the moms came up to see what all the noise was and saw that no one was in charge of the kids. Then the sound of the emergency alarm went off as the mom left by the downstairs security door. Nan didn’t blame them a bit.

When the library liaison officer opened the front door, she quickly closed it again and called for backup. A few minutes later, Nan heard sirens.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Why are we hiding in here?” Mona asked. “It’s just kids.”

“It’s a showdown,” Nan said. “Don’t worry about it. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

She pictured the steam coming out of Pip Conti’s ears when he heard, the slapping of his hands on the desk. For once in her life, Nan wasn’t nervous. She felt like a train on a track barreling toward the station.

*

A SUSPICIOUS CALM fell over the next few days. Even the staff schedule had stabilized for once. Nan went about her business, knowing that Pip would strike back but hoping she had established a firm stance. She hated conflict, avoided it at all costs. Was this what she needed to change her life, though, to learn how to stand up when people tried to shove her down?

She set up the Hypochondria Hotline, met with the staff about the rules, and wrote the form that advised callers right off the bat that library staff were not giving medical advice and asked them to verbally agree so there was no confusion.

“Is this a joke?” Mona frowned suspiciously.

“It’s meeting a real need,” Nan explained. “People will call with a symptom, and we read them what their symptoms could indicate, right out of the medical books. Or what possible side effects their medication has. No different than if they were standing here and we open the book and show them the page. We’re just reading it out loud, that’s all.”

“Oh, like story time for adults.” Dunkan seemed to get it. That was a good sign.

“I like a good story as much as anyone.” Trixie nodded agreeably. It was clear she had no idea what they were talking about, but at least she was amiable, bobbing along inside her own head.

Encouraged, Nan told them not to worry, that she’d handle the calls most of the time, especially while they were getting the new service off the ground.

“Good,” Mona sniffed. “It sounds disgusting. I’d rather not hear their nasty symptoms in my ear all day long.”

Nan sighed. She’d hoped her great idea would be met with more enthusiasm, but no matter. When she was on the cover of New Jersey Librarian, Mona would be singing another tune.