Louisiana Saves the Library (11 page)

He took one of the last plastic bowls and spooned in gumbo and rice. Louise had used parboiled rice. Smart move, because even though it had been sitting on the table for a while, it wasn't sticky. He shook in a little hot sauce and took his bowl to the periodical area. The chairs were occupied by four clerks from the Piggly Wiggly. He nodded in their direction and rested his back against the wall, setting his Coke on a nearby shelf.

Sal had eaten a lot of gumbo in his life. His mother had made it for special occasions. After she was gone, Betta took over the tradition. Usually, it was chicken and sausage, sometimes with okra if the slimy vegetable was in season. The dish required hours of cooking, and some people even let it rest overnight before serving. Louise had done something to hers that seemed to wake up every taste bud on his tongue. Even though she'd used frozen okra and tomatoes—an ingredient that some purists rejected—he couldn't stop eating it. As soon as the bowl was empty, he pushed away from the wall and went back to the table, but the pot was scraped clean.

Louise stood behind the circulation desk, checking out a stack of books for Ada Gautreaux. Sal wanted to try to talk to her again, but the crowd was getting bigger. He took a cookie and left.

C
HAPTER
15

T
he next Monday, the library still smelled like the most recent party food: chicken and dumplings made by Louise. The residual odor reminded Louise that she had a new mission. By Sylvia's count, two hundred people had come in each day for the new hours. They didn't just eat, either. The patrons talked to Sylvia and Louise about ideas for the library, filled out surveys, and borrowed hundreds of books. Even Hope attended the party on Friday, helping check out books and declaring Louise's chicken and dumplings “good, but not near as good as mine.” By the end of the week, Louise felt like all the people she'd met were, if not friends, at least neighbors. For the first time, she realized how important the library was, especially for a town like Alligator Bayou that had no bookstore, no movie theater, no college. She owed it to the residents to make it as useful and welcoming as she could.

As she turned on her computer, she glanced out toward the parking lot. A green van with a mismatched red passenger-side door pulled in and parked near the entrance. “The B sisters are here.”

“I'll open early.” Sylvia tapped past Louise in her blue patent leather pumps and went out into the patron area. The girls came in, sounding like a herd of elephants. Except that elephants were supposed to be highly intelligent animals. Maybe the B sisters were more like hippos. Sweet, friendly hippos.

Sylvia returned a few minutes later and poured herself another cup of coffee. “Can you watch them? I need to make a few phone calls about my book talks at the high school tomorrow.”

“Okay. I'll make sure they don't overdose on the cute animal videos.” Louise pushed the cart of books out of the way and went to circulation. One of the girls was standing at the desk. She had frizzy hair, glasses, and fifty extra pounds packed around her midsection. “Bonny, right?”

“No, I'm Belinda.” The girl didn't smile. Louise remembered that she was the serious one. The second-oldest.

“How come you guys aren't in school?”

“The furnace in the building broke down. Second time this week.” Belinda dropped her backpack on the floor. She slid her library card across the desk along with a pile of novels with photos of crying teenagers on the covers.

Louise checked out the books, and Belinda stuffed them into her pack before rejoining her sisters at the bank of computers. The sisters chatted and surfed the Internet, occasionally switching seats when one found an especially funny cat video. The three girls and their mother were built the same—like doughy fire hydrants—but their faces and personalities were different. Louise felt bad that she couldn't keep their names straight.

Mary pushed through the glass front doors and put
Clockwork Angel
on the counter. Her khaki uniform pants rode two inches above her ankles. Instead of a jacket, she wore a voluminous black sweatshirt that fell halfway down her thighs. The sleeves were rolled, revealing skinny wrists.

“Did you read it already?” Louise asked.

“Yeah. I liked it. It's really . . . cool. Um, do you have the other ones?” The girl ducked her head and smiled shyly, like Louise was a friend she was sharing a secret with.

“I sure do.” Louise led the way to the young adult section. “So I hear your school is closed today. You must be glad to be off.”

“Not really.” Mary studied her high-top sneakers. The right one had a hole by her big toe. A bit of white-gray sock showed through the opening.

“Why's that?” Louise stopped by the
C
's and found the next two novels in the series.

“My mom's working anyway and there's nothing to eat. At school, at least I get breakfast and lunch.”

“What do you do in the summer?”

“I get pretty hungry sometimes.” The girl adjusted her backpack as they walked back to circulation.

“Just a minute,” Louise said. She left the books next to the checkout terminal and hurried to the refrigerator in the workroom. Her lunch was in a plastic grocery bag and Sylvia's was right next to it—a turkey sandwich and carrot sticks. Louise thrust all of the food into the bag, brought it up front, and handed it over the counter. “Don't look inside, just take it.”

“Thanks.” Mary squatted down and placed the bag in her open backpack.

Louise scanned her card and the books. “If school doesn't open tomorrow, stop by, okay?”

Mary put on the pack and stared at her feet again. “I might come after school anyway. I mean, if you don't mind.”

“Of course not. You're always welcome here. You can stay now and read if you want.”

“I might come back later.”

The girl left, heading back to an empty house, probably. Or, more likely, a trailer or apartment building. She might live in the trailer park on Lowell Lane that was filled with dilapidated mobile homes slowly being eaten by black mold. A ten-year-old boy had accidentally fallen into the park's swimming pool the previous Friday and drowned. The picture in the newspaper had made the place appear menacing, even in the afternoon sunlight.

Lily arrived and shook her head at the girls using the computers. “I see the B sisters are off school.”

“Furnace broke down yet again,” Louise said, still trying to banish the image of the creepy trailer park from her mind.

“Let me get my coffee and I'll take over circulation.”

When Lily returned with her cup and the latest Alligator Bayou Historical Society newsletter, Louise went to her cubicle. She had a cart of books to catalog, a prospect that would have brought on nostalgic thoughts about her lost academic career just a few weeks previously. Now, she didn't mind. She knew that the cozy mysteries were for Ms. Trudy and her friends, the thrillers would be read by Mr. Gaberdine, who taught at the high school, and Ada Gautreaux was waiting for the new romances.

Sylvia popped her head over the cubicle wall on Louise's side. “You know what I want to do? Zumba classes on the nights I'm scheduled to stay late and on the Saturdays when I'm working.”

“What's that? A new kind of knitting for the younger set? Are you going to teach the teens to Zumba themselves some sweaters?” Louise said.

“No, my chronically out-of-touch friend, it's like Latin dance.” Sylvia swayed and executed a hip bump. “I'm sick of being out of shape. And I know a lot of people around here could use some exercise.”

“Y'all are crazy,” Hope said from her corner.

“I'm going to the certification class this weekend.”

“Don't you have to ask Mr. Foley?” Louise said.

“Nope. I asked Mr. Henry and he said it was fine. Women pay big bucks in health clubs for Zumba, and we're gonna offer it for free.” Sylvia did another dance move that involved a lot of arm swinging and almost knocked her computer to the floor.

“Okay, good luck with all that.” Louise took a book from her cart. “Oh, this is probably the time to tell you that I stole your lunch.”

Sylvia stopped dancing. “Why's that?”

“A girl named Mary.”

“Mary Hebert,” Hope said. “Skinny. Long hair.”

“That's her.”

“Her momma bags down at the Piggly Wiggly. She used to be a cashier, but she had sticky fingers, if you know what I mean. Only reason they let her stay is because of Mary. You still gotta pay attention if she packs your stuff. Get home and your nice steak might be missing. Bring your receipt back and complain, and old Jude'll give you another one, though. Don't know why he puts up with her. Some people say they have a thing going on, but I reckon he just feels sorry for the daughter. I seen her go in there with a quarter for a gum ball and leave with a loaf of bread.” Hope came out of her cube and stretched her arms above her head.

Louise opened the book to the title page. “She said school was off and she had nothing to eat, so I gave her my lunch and Sylvia's.”

“What's wrong with her mother?” Sylvia asked.

“Lazy, drunk, dumb. Too busy chasing some guy or a bottle of something to take care of her own daughter or even show up to work half the time,” Hope said. “I gotta warn you, that Mary's like a stray cat. You feed her once and she'll keep coming back.”

“I hope she does,” Louise said. “I lent her some books, for one thing. Plus, I like her.”

“She's a good kid. Better than her mother, I'll say that.” Hope went back into her cubicle. “I'll call Anthony's and order us some lunch.”

C
HAPTER
16

L
ouise sat at a table in the patron area, staring at her plate of homemade brownies. Even though she was committed to making the library relevant, she wasn't thrilled about the book club idea. Studying some cheesy pop culture book with a group of daytime TV watchers wasn't her favorite activity. But the library patron survey had revealed that it was one of the most popular program ideas, so Sylvia had pushed her to organize one.

While Louise waited for the book club members to arrive, Sylvia and a group of high school kids decorated the young adult section with lava lamps, beanbag chairs, and paper stars. Sylvia had bought the supplies herself because Mr. Foley refused to contribute any of the library's funds. He'd only reluctantly agreed to let her go ahead with the project using her own money.

Mary sat at a table in the corner, pretending to read a book and stealing glances at the group. Louise wanted to tell her to just join in, but she knew firsthand how hard it could be. Finally, Sylvia sashayed over and placed a lava lamp directly in front of Mary. The girl smiled but stayed where she was.

“Is this the book club?”

Louise set down her coffee cup. She hadn't heard anyone approach, but now Ms. Trudy and two other women were in front of the table, regarding her with motherly concern. All three wore reading glasses around their necks and polyester blouses. They were like old-lady versions of the B sisters.

“Yes, sorry, I was just daydreaming. Would you all like some coffee?”

“That would be wonderful,” Ms. Trudy said.

Louise trudged back to the work area. This was going to be exactly what she was afraid of: a bunch of women who wanted to read Nicholas Sparks.

At the coffee machine, she chose three mugs and added cream and sugar to the tray. She'd brought real half-and-half, since she hated Mr. Henry's chemical powder.

On her way out to the table, she was watching the coffee, thinking she'd filled the mugs a little too high. When she glanced up again, her hands shook and the cups overflowed onto the tray. In the few minutes she had been gone, the table had filled up with people. Two women she recognized as clerks from the Piggly Wiggly. One man was the father of a teenager who often came in after school. The mother of the B sisters—Brianna?—was already helping herself to a brownie while she talked to a dark-haired man who looked a lot like a certain strawberry farmer. Louise held her breath and waited for him to turn his head. She was sure it was Sal. But who was the woman next to him with the Betty Boop figure and the big hair? His wife?

Louise headed back to the kitchen with the tray of spilled coffee. She tried to compose herself as she cleaned up the mess and poured six more cups. So what if Sal was married? They'd had a few friendly conversations—that was all. Besides, she hadn't even seen him since the opening-night library party, a whole week ago. Not that his absence had stopped her from thinking about him. She took a deep breath and carried the loaded tray out to the patron area.

She set the tray down on the table and took the last available seat. Next to Sal.

“We ought to all get acquainted,” Ms. Trudy said, taking a cup of coffee and a brownie. “This here's Louisiana Richardson, and she's supposed to be running this thing.”

“Yes,” Louise said. “Though you're welcome to take over if you want, Ms. Trudy.”

“Nah. But I'll introduce myself. I'm Trudy and these are my friends Eloise and Eleanor.”

The two white-haired ladies nodded, their reading glasses swaying identically.

One of the Piggly Wiggly clerks looked like she lived on Twinkies and Coke. Her friend apparently stuck to Pall Malls and breath mints.

“I'm Amber,” the larger one said, reaching for a brownie.

“I'm Tina.” The thin one had a whiskey voice that matched her leathery face.

The man with the teenage daughter spoke up next. “Michael. My wife made me come. She says I don't read enough.” He loosened his tie and reached for his coffee.

“I think you know me,” the B sisters' mom said. “Brianna.”

“Sal,” Sal said. “And this here's my sister Betta.”

Louise almost collapsed with relief. Sister, not wife. She should have guessed since the two had matching black hair and blue eyes. She drank her coffee and tried to look casual.

“I can introduce myself, you know,” Betta said, nudging her brother in the ribs. Sal's appearance didn't scream Italian, but his sister's certainly did. Barely five feet tall in her high-heeled boots, Betta was big in all the right places. Her helmet of roller-curled hair wouldn't move in a strong wind.

“Ow.” Sal rubbed his side. “Watch it there, sis.”

A young couple approached the table. He was dressed in business casual—khaki pants and a button-down shirt—and she wore a fitted dress and high heels. They looked like actors playing young professionals.

“Are we late?” she asked. “I'm Catherine and this is Steve.”

“Not at all.” Louise got two more chairs. Sal scooted closer to her to allow room for the newcomers. She sat down, her elbow almost touching him, and nibbled on a brownie. She was having trouble concentrating. Her mind was focused on Sal and the proximity of his body. Had he come because he really wanted to read books? Or did his sister force him? Or was there some other reason? And how could someone smell so good?

 

Sal was glad there were two other men in the book club. That way it wouldn't look like he was just there to meet women. Which he was. Except that he was only interested in one particular woman. He'd been too busy to drop by the library again since the party. When Betta called and asked him to come with her to the book club, he'd agreed with an eagerness that surprised his sister. Attending the club probably wasn't the best way to get Louise's attention, but he couldn't just waltz into the library and ask her out. Maybe Chicago Sal would have done that. These days, he wanted to be more careful, especially with his sister and cousin watching his every move.

In fact, Betta was sitting a little too close to him. Even though she was short, his sister took up a lot of room with her big hair and loud voice. People who didn't know her would never guess how Betta had lost herself when their parents died. She hadn't cried at the funeral, but then she completely broke down while the lawyer was reading the will. They'd left her the house. She and Sal had spent a week cleaning it out. Most of the time had been spent arguing over whether it was okay to throw away old ticket stubs, dried-up ink pens, and expired spices. She'd insisted on keeping their mother's clothes, even though they were all too small for her.

For three years, she had been casting around for something to do. She latched onto Sal, helping him on the farm whenever she wasn't working and cooking dinner for him almost every night. He loved her, but she needed to get her own life.

Sal inched his chair away from his sister and closer to Louise. She was staring into her cup of coffee as though deep in thought.

“I think we could go ahead and start,” Ms. Trudy said.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Um, what do you guys want to read?” Louise met Sal's eyes for a moment as she glanced around the table.

Sal reached over and took a brownie. It was rich, chewy, and delicious. He must have made a sound because Louise looked at him again.

“Something good, but not too depressing. No Khaled Hosseini please,” Eloise said.

“I agree.” Eleanor set her brownie on a napkin. “I mean, I guess I understand why everyone raves about his books, but life is too short to read about horrible childhoods.”

“Y'all are so anti-literature,” Ms. Trudy said. “We are not reading Nicholas Sparks.”

“No one suggested that,” Eloise said.

“Well, if you don't want anything horrible . . .”

“I said no horrible childhoods,” Eleanor said.

Ms. Trudy laughed. “So horrible adulthoods are okay.”

Sal leaned back in his chair and finished the brownie. He loved eating Louise's food. Either she was a great cook or the brownie tasted wonderful just because she was sitting so close that he imagined he could feel the heat of her body.

“My brother reads a lot. Maybe he has some ideas,” Betta said.

Sal hadn't been paying attention to the bickering old ladies. He narrowed his eyes at his sister. Did she know the real reason he'd come? Betta had always been able to read his mind. The skill had been useful when he was three years old and still unable or unwilling to talk, but ever since then it had been mostly just annoying.

“I like Michael Chabon. Richard Russo, at least his early stuff. Ed McBain, Elmore Leonard,” he said.

“Guy books,” Betta said.

“I'm a guy. What do you want?”

Betta punched his shoulder. She seemed determined to give him a bruise.

“I have an idea,” Louise said. “We'll take turns choosing the book. Each month, someone else gets to pick.”

“Great idea. Let's go oldest to youngest,” Ms. Trudy said.

“That means I'm first,” Eleanor said.

“I know, darling.”

Eleanor crumpled her napkin. “Then, I choose
The Longest Ride
.”

Ms. Trudy groaned.

“Just kidding! Seriously,
East of Eden
.”

“Depressing,” Ms. Trudy said.

Eleanor shrugged.

“Okay. There's just one problem. Mr. Foley—that's the library director—won't buy enough books for the club. So I don't know how many copies we have. I'm guessing one,” Louise said.

“Don't worry, honey. We all read on Kindle now, anyway,” Ms. Trudy said.

Business concluded, the meeting devolved into social hour. Sal folded his hands behind his head and let the chatter flow around him. He was not going to miss the opportunity to ask Louise on a date this time. He touched her shoulder. “Can I talk to you over there for a minute?”

Louise nodded and followed him to the periodicals. Sal leaned against a chair and studied his scuffed work boots. “I have a confession to make. I know this sounds crazy, but I can't afford to buy the book. I don't want Betta to know. I sank all my money into these new strawberry plants. They're a special variety from Germany. I don't know how they're going to work. They all might die. But I want to be in the club.” He raised his eyes and gave her a sad puppy dog face.

“You can have my copy,” Louise said. “No problem. I've already read it, but I'll want to reread it for the club.”

“We can share,” Sal said. “I read fast. I had to, for law school. We can pass it back and forth.”

“Sure.”

Sal heard a note of disappointment in her voice. Had she been hoping that he'd ask her out? Clinging to that idea, he plunged ahead. “I want to ask you on a date, but since I don't have any money, you'd have to endure my cooking and a movie on TV.”

“It's a deal,” Louise said. “I can get a sitter for tomorrow night.”