until the receptionists know my voice. No response, other than ‘Fill out a form,’ which I did. But I can’t wait weeks or months. I have to figure out some way to teach these kids now. I’d buy books out of my own pocket if I could, but I’ve just paid for my move here, and I’m a first-year teacher, and I…well…I don’t have the extra cash.”
A blush starts around my ears and travels into my cheeks, then slowly paints the rest of my body sticky and hot. This is humiliating. I shouldn’t have to resort to begging in order to do my job. “And that’s why I thought, since all those books are just sitting there in the library at Goswood Grove, why not put some of them to use?”
He blinks, surprised, clenches his jaw at the mention of Goswood Grove. I realize he’s only now cueing in to what I’m asking. He’s probably wondering why I know about those books.
How much should I confess? I have been trespassing, after all. “One of my students told me about your grandfather’s library. Since I’m living basically next door, I did walk over and take a peek through the window. I didn’t mean to be invasive, but I’m a hopeless bibliophile.”
“You’re living next door?”
“I’m your renter.” He’s more detached from his holdings than I thought. “In the little house by the graveyard? Where Miss Retta used to live? I should have said that at the outset. I assumed you’d recognize my name. I’m the one Aunt Sa…I mean Donna took care of the roof emergency for.”
He nods, as if I’m finally starting to make sense to him, but not in a good way. “Sorry. Yes. The place sat for quite a while after Miss Retta had her stroke. Her family must’ve finally gotten around to cleaning it out. I’m sure the agent thought she was doing me a favor by finding a renter, but the house wasn’t in any shape for someone to move in at this point.”
“Oh, wait. I’m not complaining. I love it there. It’s perfect for me. I like being out of town a bit, and the neighbors are so quiet I never hear them at all.”
He misses the graveyard joke at first, then his cheek twitches upward. “True.” But he’s fairly flat about it. “I want to make sure you’re aware it’s a short-term thing, though. The plans aren’t public knowledge yet, so I’d appreciate your not sharing the information, but you should know, since it affects you directly. The cemetery board wants to annex that piece of property. The sale won’t happen before Christmas, but after that, you’ll need to find a new place.”
Stress hits me with tsunami force, drowning the pull of curiosity, books for the students, and everything else. Arrange for a move in the middle of the school year? Find a rental in a town that has barely anything available, especially at this price? Transfer utilities? I’m instantly overwhelmed.
“It’s not possible for me to keep the house until the end of the school year?”
“Sorry. The commitment has already been made.” His gaze darts off evasively.
I push a palm to my chest to calm the sort of instant panic that always hit the minute my mother announced we were moving again. Having grown up somewhat transient, I’ve become an adult who values the nest. The home space is sacred. It’s the zone where my books and dreams and comfy reading chair live. I need the little clapboard house in the quiet field by the cemetery, where I can walk the paths or the old farm levee lane, breathe and restore and settle my head.
I bite back the sting, stiffen my neck, and say, “I understand. You have to do what you have to do…I guess.”
He winces, but I can see his resolve solidifying, as well.
“So…about the books?” I can at least try to strike that bargain, and I am running out of time to make something good come of this visit.
“The books…” He rubs his forehead. He’s tired of me, or of the situation, or of being asked for things. Probably all three. “The agent has a key