She patted my shoulder. “Derbyshire Library is only forty-five minutes away from here.” Her voice cracked as she said it. “All of our books will be transferred to other locations within the Connecticut system.”
Forty-five minutes! My breathing grew more rapid again. Forty-five minutes was long enough for someone to give birth to a child! When Mom had Coco, she barely made it from the entrance to the hospital to her room before Coco came and the doctor had to . . . not important! The point was that forty-five minutes was a long time for me and an eternity for parents of most children between the ages of zero and five. Or, in the case of my hyperactive student Jonah Brownlee’s mother, zero and eight.
“Yeah, good thing,” I murmured. “Okay, I’m going to go now.”
“See you,” Geraldine said, replacing her mask before heading back inside.
As I made my way back to my car, feeling nauseated, two other cars pulled into the parking lot. Lula Cabrera and her kids piled out of one. “Hi, Dodie. We’re here for story circle. Are you sitting in?” Lula asked.
“Um . . . no. There’s no story circle today or for a while, it looks like,” I hedged.
“What do you mean?” Her son was peeking out from behind her leg, listening to our conversation.
“The library is closed indefinitely for renovations,” I announced.
A frown creased Lula’s face. Her daughter tapped her on the arm. “Closed, Mama?” Her lower lip trembled. “But you said . . .”
“I know, sweets, but there’s nothing Mama can do,” she replied helplessly, patting the two children. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Not your fault. But they were really looking forward to this,” she replied just loudly enough for me to hear. “Their father has been at the new mall’s construction site constantly for the last three months, and the library is the only thing keeping all of us sane.”
“Good luck,” I offered, feeling lame and strangely guilty. Not that the library closing was my fault or had anything to do with me. I just wished I could do something to help Lula and her kids.
And what was I going to do now that the library was closed? Well, first of all, I would go to Wendell Wye’s Bookshop to remind myself that there were other places to get something to read.
I was sitting on the ground in the bookstore, looking at an illustrated history of Paris. Elmira Pelle passed by, trailing after her mother, with a stack of books in her arms. I was about to get their attention when I overheard her say, “Mom, can I have one of these?”
“No, Elmira. I bought you a new book two weeks ago. If you can’t show any self-restraint and you’re going to read them that quickly, you’re going to have to check them out of the library.”
I goggled at her words. First of all, was she really reprimanding her daughter for reading too quickly? Second of all, did she have any idea of the burning urgency of reading for a book-loving child, how two weeks was a complete eternity without a new book to dive into?
They didn’t know yet that the library was closed. I had a feeling her mother wouldn’t be up for driving her to Derbyshire. So what was Elmira going to do now?
I bought a nice, juicy historical novel to cheer myself up.
“Here you go, Miss Fairisle.” Wendell handed me my book.
“Please, call me Dodie,” I replied distractedly, mesmerized by the hair of the man walking out the door in front of me. It was dark with a swirly cowlick. Even seeing his shoulders from the back made me weak in the knees. Who was that? And where could I get one?
By the time I had paid and gotten outside, he was driving away. I sighed as I watched him brake at the exit, then proceed out into the street.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. I was still recovering from having my heart crushed by my last boyfriend.
A few days later, Elmira was sitting on the bench outside the gym reading From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler—again. Now, I have probably read that book more times than there are visitors on a Saturday afternoon in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where the action takes place. But in the months since my arrival, I had hardly seen Elmira reading anything else.
“Hello there, Elmira. Reading Mrs. Frankweiler again?”
“Yup,” she said, sticking a bookmark between the worn pages.
“I love that book. But don’t you ever want to read something different?”
“Sure, but I’ve read all the books in the school library, and the big library is closed, and it’s difficult for my mom to find time to take us to the one in the next town or to the bookstore with her schedule being what it is.” Everything in the second part of that sentence sounded parroted, I thought, frowning.
“Listen, what if I lent you some books?” I offered. “You could tell me a bit about what kind you like—besides Basil, of course—and then you can borrow them from me.”
Elmira looked intrigued. “You have books like this, for people my age?” she asked, ever practical.
“Yes,” I lied. “A few dozen.”
“Okay,” she agreed, even though she was eyeing me strangely, as most girls would a thirty-two-year-old who’d confessed to having a collection of chapter books at home.
“Great! I have to go. See you later,” I said because now I wanted to be sure that I had time to get back to the bookstore before it closed.
A week after I first lent Elmira the dozen new chapter books I’d bought, she knocked on the door of my classroom.
“Hi, Elmira,” I said, stepping down from the ladder I was using to hang the kindergarteners’ sock puppet self-portrait gallery. “What’s up?”
“Thanks for the loaner, Ms. Fairisle.” Elmira lifted all twelve books out of her backpack and placed them on the edge of my desk.
“Not a fan?” I asked.
“No, I loved them!” she enthused. “I read them all.”
“Already?”
“Yeah.” She looked sheepish. “Now I have to buy some new batteries for my parents’ flashlight so they don’t find out I was reading past bedtime.”
I winked at her. I would have to get more books.
Remembering Elmira’s talent for art, an idea hit me. “As it happens, I could use a helping hand on this project I’m working on, and you’re exactly the person I need.”
“Really?” she breathed, as though I’d just asked her to join a trip to Narnia.
“Really. Here’s the thing. I’d like to gather some books that people don’t want anymore so I can lend them to others. I think we need a flyer asking people to donate. Could you help me design it?”
Elmira’s ponytail was swinging as she nodded. “I’ll do it!”
The next afternoon, she handed me a drawing. Over the edge of a book that someone was reading, all that was visible were two eyes and the top of the person’s hair, similar to the little old ladies you’d see behind the steering wheel in Florida. It was funny and silly and . . . absolutely perfect!
“I love it!” I cried, giving her a big hug. Elmira looked surprised.
“Thanks,” she said shyly.
“Do you need a ride home?”