Suddenly, he gave a little jolt and snapped his fingers. “I know where I’ve seen you. You were at—”
Her mouth fell open, realization dawning. “The library,” she chorused with him.
A smile broke over his face, completely transforming him. “You were there reading today, weren’t you?”
She nodded. And he was the creep who’d stolen the most important part of the newspaper. Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe someone else had taken it before he got to it. Maybe he wasn’t a creep after all. He didn’t seem like a creep, with firelight rippling across his face and tall, solid frame.
“I’m Emmett Tharp.”
“I’m Addie Cowherd.” Addie extended her hand, and his warm fingers encased it for only a brief second—a perfect gentlemanly handshake, Mother would say.
“It’s nice to meet you.” He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, as if settling in for a lengthy chat. “I didn’t know you were a student here.”
Given the size of the campus and the number of students attending classes, she wasn’t surprised their paths hadn’t crossed before. What did surprise her was the niggle of regret settling in her chest. Here they were at the end of the year, and she most likely wouldn’t return next year. And somehow she’d failed to make his acquaintance earlier. Getting to know him now presented a challenge for more reasons than the short amount of time remaining in the semester. The bonfire, with all its noise and revelry, made a less-than-ideal setting for conversation.
She linked her hands behind her back and raised her voice. “I’m a junior in the College of Education.”
“You want to be a teacher?”
She shrugged. The courses offered the best preparation for becoming an author, but she hadn’t shared her dream with anyone besides her parents and a trusted teacher or two, and she certainly wouldn’t open up that secret part of herself to someone she’d recently met, no matter how kind and charming he appeared. “What degree are you seeking?”
An odd look creased his face—half frustration, half sorrow. “I’m a senior, graduating with a bachelor of science in commerce.”
A senior. So he wouldn’t be back next year either, although for a different reason. She wanted to ask whether he intended to open his own business, but a rousing cheer rose from the crowd behind her. He angled his frame slightly and peered past her, and she turned around.
The crowd was separating, forming a circle around the dying flames. They slung their arms around one another’s shoulders and gently swayed to and fro. A male voice began to sing, “ ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot…’ ”
Dozens of others joined. “ ‘And never brought to mind?’ ”
A lump filled Addie’s throat. Was it too late to join the circle? She wanted the kinship the others were experiencing. Did Emmett Tharp also wish to join in? If he went, she would go, too, and they could become part of the singing and swaying. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see the same longing that twined through her reflected in his expression.
But he wasn’t there.
She spun and surveyed the area. Finally, in the waning shadows, she spotted his retreating figure. With his hands still in his pockets, his head low and feet scuffing through the grass, his dismal posture increased the sadness settling in her heart.
Addie
“HURRY NOW. WE DON’T WANT to let in any flies.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Addie held one suitcase in front and the other behind her, watching both front and back as she crossed Miss Collins’s back door threshold. If she bumped the doorjamb, she might damage what appeared to be a recent coat of white paint. Miss Collins was kind enough to allow Addie to stay with her temporarily, so she’d strive to be the best houseguest ever.
She entered a small kitchen, and Miss Collins snapped the door closed behind her. Addie placed her suitcases on the shiny clean linoleum floor. A sigh of relief eased from her throat. Carrying the packed cases the entire half-mile walk from the university to Miss Collins’s little bungalow on South Upper Street had taxed her muscles. She might not be able to lift so much as a magazine come Monday morning. At least her walk to work would now be cut in half.
Miss Collins stepped past the suitcases and faced Addie, hands on her hips. “Are you all checked out at the dormitory?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you made your way here with no problems?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Addie blinked several times, wincing. An uncovered bulb hung from the center of the papered ceiling on a strand of brown twisted wire. Its light glared off the white painted cabinets, white enamel stove, and white electric refrigerator. Were it not for the mottled-green linoleum covering both the floor and countertops and the green gingham curtains gracing the single window, the room would have no color at all. So different from Mother’s cheery red, yellow, and blue kitchen at home.
Home…She no longer had a home. She swallowed a knot of sorrow.
“I imagine it feels good to be done with another school year.”
Addie contemplated an appropriate response. She couldn’t honestly say she felt good. After all, a half year’s efforts were lost, she had no idea when or if she’d be able to return to school, and her entire future looked bleak. Felicity had fussed at her, claiming Addie would wither up and die if she didn’t do something fun, but she’d avoided closing activities. Instead, she’d spent the last days of the school year seeking a place of employment. And failing. What would she have done if Miss Collins hadn’t offered to host her for a while? Her active imagination painted pictures in her head, and she shuddered. “I really appreciate you taking me in. I promise I won’t be a nuisance.”
The woman laughed. “If I’d feared such, I wouldn’t have offered you a room. Let me show you where you’ll stay.” She turned and moved at a brisk pace.
Addie grabbed the handles of her suitcases and straightened, stifling a groan as her arm muscles complained, and followed the librarian into a sparsely furnished dining room. A wide doorway on the opposite side of the room revealed a parlor with a sofa and pair of chairs, all upholstered in a dreary green velvet. The walls were papered, but the paper was so old the color had nearly faded away, leaving behind only muted smudges of what Addie surmised had once been flowers. Although the rooms appeared drab in comparison to her childhood home, she didn’t spot a speck of dust anywhere. She’d need to be extra fastidious and not offend her hostess.
Miss Collins entered the opening of a narrow hallway, then came to a halt and turned a rueful grimace on Addie. “There are only two bedrooms in my house. When my mother passed away, bless her departed soul, I moved the sewing machine from the corner of the dining room to her bedroom. I confess there isn’t a great deal of space in there. You’ll be crammed in tight as a cork in a bottle.”