I grew up with a roof over my head and a half-full family that loved me. But dad wasn’t around, and the local library was my sanctuary. I still remember the first day I met Nicholas Cartwright for the first time. He found me crying in between the bookshelves over my mother refusing to give money for the ice cream truck. Since then, he’s beenthere for me. When he passed…
Let’s say I never knew how grief felt until it melted in my very hands.
“I went to his funeral,” I say solemnly. “He was a great man.”
Nadine squeezes my hand. “That greatness didn’t extend onto his daughter.”
While Nicholas owned the library, Ms. Cartwright, his now forty-eight-year-old daughter, took care of it. She smelled like sadness and overripe guavas.
When Ms. Cartwright rolled around with her cart full of books and colour coordinated them, I fixed them. It made more sense to organize books based on popularity. Except, I always put the least popular at the top.
She hated it. Complained to my mother multiple times—who threw the responsibility on Nadine—who didn’t know what to do. Instead of punishing me, she reorganized the books after every visit.
That’s how she’s always been.
If I make a mess,shecleans it up.
If I do something wrong,shemakes it right.
“Has Cathy been treating you well?”
Nadine’s looking at me with those discerning eyes of hers. Brown eyes swallowed by the line of redness. Her sharp, yet soft features relax as she speaks. Her smile widening and the slightest dimple below her left eye appears.
I memorize her because I’m not sure when I’ll see her again after this. Probably when she gives birth.
“Cathy who?” I ask.
Her brows pinch together. “Cathy, the girl who helped you get the job as a book editor at Berkenlin Publishing?”
Oh, that Cathy. From the job I quit after four weeks two and ahalf years ago, and Nadine still doesn’t know. “She’s good.”
She gives me an odd look, but the knock at the window steals our attention.
Easton stands outside with a tray of Tim Hortons iced cappuccinos. He’s smiling, bending down to look in and waves. His brown waves are brushed neatly back and his thick beard scruffs against his smile.
For a lack of better words, Easton is a big teddy bear.
Nadine opens the door and smiles lovingly at her husband. “You didn’t have to.”
He presses a quick kiss to her lips. “I did. You’ve been avoiding me all morning and gave me the stink eye when I said cuddles later.”
Nadine gives him another kiss.
I clear my throat. “Not that I want to interrupt your sweet lovefestthing here, but I’d rather not gauge my eyes out.”
They pull apart.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the criminal of the hour.” Easton hands me one of the icedcapps.
“That’s not funny.”
He chuckles. “How are you holding up, kiddo?”
The nickname pierces a wide hole in my chest. I’ll be sixty and he’ll still call me kiddo.
Sticking the paper straw in the drink, I mix it around. “Been better but doing good enough.”
“At least you weren’t sentenced to prison.”
