“I like it,” Theodore Kowalski said. “Everyone looks so young and free.”
“Oh yes,” Bertie said, “those were the days. We were young and free.”
“You still are, Bertie,” Connor McNeil, mayor of Nags Head, said.
She gave him a big smile.
“You’ve done a fabulous job with this collection of old junk,” Connor said. “Feel free to come around any time and clear out the basement.”
I studied the photo of a row of cabinets with neatly printed little labels on them. “Hard to imagine having to do all that on paper.”
“We managed,” Bertie said, “just fine.”
“Some of this stuff’s well before your time, isn’t it, Bertie?” Connor asked.
“Charlene and I gathered whatever we could find,” I said. “This exhibit isn’t meant to be only about Bertie’s year, but about the history of libraries in general. We thought the women would get a kick out of it.”
“When do your friends arrive?” Mrs. Fitzgerald asked.
“Tomorrow,” Bertie said. “They’ll be dribbling in throughout the day and gathering here tomorrow evening for a welcome reception.”
“Which is not,” I reminded Mrs. Fitzgerald as well as Connor, who, as the major of Nags Head, was the overall boss of the library, “an official library function. Charlene, Ronald, and I are working it as a favor to Bertie, and the refreshments are being paid for by the attendees themselves.”
The three—four including Charles, and one must never forget Charles—employees of the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library were a close group and extremely fond of Bertie. We’d do just about anything for her. Including acting as waitstaff and cleaning crew for her college reunion. We’d been through some tough times together, and Bertie always had our backs.
“You don’t have to keep reminding me, Lucy,” Connor said.
“She’s afraid someone will complain about inappropriate use of library resources,” Louise Jane said. “But you needn’t worry, Lucy, honey. I’ll be here to set them straight.”
“Thank you so much LJ,” Charlene said. “We can always count on you.”
“I would hope so,” Louise Jane sniffed.
Connor put his arm loosely around my shoulders. “The town’s fully supportive of Bertie hosting her class here. We’re happy to have the tourist dollars, if nothing else. Where are they all staying?”
“Most of them are at the Ocean Side,” Bertie said, “but a few have friends or family to visit, or are coming with their families to make a vacation out of it. One or two of the women live locally.”
We studied the exhibit for a few moments more, and then Bertie turned to us. It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much. Lucy. Charlene. Ronald. This weekend means the world to me.”
Louise Jane shifted from one foot to the other and cleared her throat.
“And you as well, Louise Jane,” Bertie said. “You’ve proven yourself to be a valuable member of our library community many times.”
Louise Jane waved her hand in the air and sniffed again, but I could tell she was pleased.
“I can’t wait to show it to Helena,” Bertie said. “She’s going to love it.”
“Is she in one of these pictures?” Connor pointed to a picture of the 1990s-era library staff.
“I don’t see her,” Bertie said.
“She wasn’t one for the limelight,” Aunt Ellen said. “She pretty much stayed inside her office and never came out unless she had something or someone to criticize.”
I cast a quick glance at my aunt Ellen, who rarely ever had a bad word to say about anyone. Helena must have rubbed her the wrong way somehow.
Helena Sanchez had been the library director before Bertie. I’d never met her because, on retirement, she moved to Florida, and as far as I knew, she’d never come back before now. It was just a coincidence that she was in the Outer Banks for a visit at the same time as Bertie’s reunion, but when Bertie heard about it, she invited her predecessor to come to tonight’s party, mainly to see our historical exhibit and talk about the old times in libraries.
Charles leaped off the shelf and landed nimbly at my feet. He rubbed himself against my legs and meowed as though to say, “Enough of this standing around and talking. It’s dinner time.”
Bertie agreed. “Thank you for coming everyone. It’s time to close the library. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
“As do we all,” Theodore Kowalski said. “I haven’t even started the current book club selection yet, and I’m very much looking forward to it. The Moonstone. One of my absolute favorites. Are you reading it, Connor?”
“I’m trying,” Connor said. “When I can find the time. It’s a big book.”
“As are most of the great works of literature. Go big or go home—isn’t that what young people today say?” asked Teddy who was all of thirty-three years old. He, unlike almost every other person on planet Earth, likes to pretend he’s older than he is. He thinks it gives him, and his rare-book-dealing business, a more serious air.
“The Moonstone?” Charity asked. “Is it about travel to space? I like those old-timey books about rocket ships and weird aliens.”
“The Moonstone of the title,” Theodore said, “is a precious jewel with a mysterious past that’s stolen during a house party in England. It’s a mystery novel. The mystery novel, some would say.”
The group began to disburse. While Theodore explained the plot of our book club selection to Charity, Mrs. Fitzgerald called good night and walked out with Mrs. Peterson who, as always, had some suggestions for expanding the children’s programs at the library. Ronald and Charlene collected their briefcases and left; the remaining patrons gathered their books, and I went behind the desk to check them out. Bertie headed down the hall to her office to gather her things.
Soon only Connor, Louise Jane, and I remained in the library.
“Uh, can I help you Louise Jane?” I asked.
She looked between Connor and me.
“What?” he said.
“Would you mind,” she said.
“Mind what?”
She jerked her head toward me.
“Oh,” he said. “Right. I’ll
