Chapter 27

I knew the next day would be an awful one at the library. I also knew that Eleanor Richtenberg’s no-show was not my fault. One of those facts outweighed the other. Not so much in my favor. I spent the day organizing and preparing all the rented furniture for loading. Once it was carted away, I cleared out several more boxes from the basement and scanned documents and pictures for hours. It was two before I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day.

At four o’clock, Will walked in to the library with a huge tray in his hands. He headed for the circulation desk. Kevin sat at the computer in the corner answering emails with a polite form message: “We appreciate hearing from you. As soon as we can work out all the formalities, we will refund your ticket purchases, minus a small processing fee.” Instead of doing a copy-and-paste, he was typing each message word by word, almost singing the words as he went. It was aggressively cheerful and, frankly, getting scary after a few times.

Julie was in her office, maybe hiding, maybe not. Will came over to the desk and stood in front of me. He pointed with his eyes at the giant plate of brownies balancing in front of him. Because of course he thought to bring the library staff a huge plate of brownies the day after the failed fund-raiser. This was Will, after all. I reached over and lifted the brownies off what I thought was a tray. It wasn’t. It was a huge wooden picture frame.

“Is Ms. Julie here?” Will asked in his most polite, cultivated library voice.

“She is busy in her office. Can I help you?” I smiled back at him.

“Actually, she might want to see this.”

I waved toward her window to get her attention, but she didn’t look up. I went over and knocked on her door. “A patron has something for you,” I said.

“Is it a box of rotten fruit?” I was pretty sure she was joking, but I shook my head no, just in case she meant it. I could tell by her posture as she walked to the desk that maybe she meant it.

“I have something I’d like to give you,” Will said, handing the frame across the counter. When Julie saw it, she made an O shape with her mouth, but no sound came out. She held the frame and stared for a long minute. Then she held it up for me to see.

Half of the large frame was filled with the photo of Joshua Silver and Dr. King standing outside the library. The other half held a copy of the old newspaper article about Dr. King’s visit to Franklin.

Julie wasn’t saying anything, so I said, “Wow. That looks great.”

Will smiled his thanks. “I thought it might look really nice hanging on the wall.”

Julie still didn’t say anything. I moved to take the frame out of her hands, but she pulled it toward her. “This is beautiful. Thank you for thinking of us.” She put out her right hand, and Will shook it. I could tell she was trying not to get emotional.

“I’m really glad you like it. But I brought brownies in case you didn’t.”

She looked where he pointed. “Those are beautiful, too.” She set the frame on the desk and stepped over to the wall. She pulled a painting off a nail and up went Dr. Silver and Dr. King.

“They look perfect there,” Julie said to Will. “This is lovely of you.” Then she turned to me. “You,” she said quietly, “are a lucky girl. Hold on to this one.”

My mouth might have flopped open trying to deny that I was holding on to Will. She sounded like she thought he was my boyfriend. And that was not even close to the case. But obviously I should keep him around. Ack. What? I had no idea what I was supposed to say. Or think.

I picked up the plate and held it out to Julie. “Brownie?”

When I walked up my porch steps that night, I almost ran into a box at the door. Not just a box. The box. I lifted the corner with my shoe so I could get my hands under it. It weighed a ton. Lurching and staggering, I managed to get the box into my arms and stand almost upright. Who would have thought that forty skinny metal signs and stakes and eighty magnet sheets could weigh so much? I guess everyone who thinks about mass and volume.

I am nobody who thinks about mass and volume.

Once I was standing nearly vertical, I balanced the box against the door and turned the knob.

Locked. Of course. Because I’m not an idiot. I lock my door when I leave my apartment.

I slid the box down the door and held it against my bent knee with one hand. The other hand fished around inside my bag for keys. I pulled out two packs of gum, a broken pencil, a pen with yellow ink that was practically invisible, and a bracelet I hadn’t seen in months. The box tipped dangerously to the left, and I dropped everything else to steady it. I reclaimed the bag from the ground, shook it, and totally heard the keys. They were in there somewhere; all I had to do was keep digging. Or dump.

I poured the contents of the bag onto the box that was cutting off my circulation. Aha! Keys.

All the other bag fodder slid onto the porch as I unlocked the door and pushed it open. The box nearly dropped to the floor, but I didn’t let it, because my toes were down there.

Upon inspection, I found what I expected to find.

They were magnetic signs, the kind people slap on the sides of their cars to advertise their business. Innocuous, simple: “Don’t Forget to Vote on November 6” in red, white, and blue. With stars. I’d ordered them in bulk from a sign vendor. I didn’t use library money. This was personal.

I stuck the magnetic signs on top of the other signs, lining up edges perfectly and hiding the message underneath. They looked seamless. Then I hauled a few at a time through the neighborhood, on the public access ways, and on busy corners surrounding the library.

I shoved the metal legs of the signs into the grass. I knew if I waited another week the lawns could freeze, and it might be too hard to slide the bars in. I didn’t need this project to have any elements that were too hard, so I took another breath and another “Don’t Forget to Vote” sign and planted it for everyone to see.