‘shakes’ that were supposed to cure anything. Holly, still her best friend, had characterized her meals as such, “You can live on 'em, but they taste like shit.” All in all, she was pleased with the possibilities of moving to Georgia and was looking for a fresh start, a new job, and even the notion that Mr. Right might come along and inject some excitement into her life. Barring that, she’d take a steady paycheck, a decent TV and maybe a cat.
The decision to leave Arizona had not been so cut and dried that she didn’t have second thoughts as she sat on the plane, knowing that everything in the world she owned was in the luggage compartment of the Boeing 727. She’d sold everything she could, given a bunch to friends and neighbors, including the ashtray that Tony had brought back from Jamaica on one of his ‘business trips’ that Blanche now knew to be ‘give me the business’ trips. Everything else had gone to charity or the local dumpster. She had saved the ashtray to give Holly as a special going away memento. It was round at the base like most ordinary ashtrays but had a rather large phallus, carved out of local Jamaican wood, that rose from the tray’s rim and defied gravity as it balanced on the table in front of them. When he had brought the odd gift home she thought perhaps he had purchased it to titillate her, but as she looked at it now, the undeniable truth struck her as somewhat funny.
Holly had been speechless when she saw the item. “I don’t know what to… Well, I really think it’s uh… Is it really possible that they ever get that big?” she finally said.
They shared a laugh and hug knowing that they wouldn’t get a chance to see each other until Christmas, if even then. The years following the split with Tony, Holly had been a great source of comfort and solace. They went to the gym together, often ate lunch at the plaza near Holly’s craft store where she sold local home made items and antiques. Blanche really didn’t know how she would make it without her lifelong confidant but was assured that they would only be as far apart as a phone call. Her family on the other hand needed some space from her or perhaps she needed the space from them. It was growing increasingly apparent that they didn’t approve of her lifestyle, and were disappointed that she didn’t have a husband, four children, a mortgage and a Dodge Caravan. That was not Blanche, never was, never would be. Something in the air told her she was meant for something different, something more, something unusual. She didn’t begrudge her friends and women who chose the path of a family and the whole 'settling down routine', but the books of her youth kept her searching for something that, most likely, was completely unattainable.
The farewells at the airport had been awkward but sincere. Tears had flowed freely as she kissed her nieces and nephews goodbye, hugged her mom and dad, and held Holly longer than she should have. “Yes, maybe life does start at 33,” she thought to herself, as she left the teary crew and made her way through security and onto the plane.
CHAPTER ONE
The stairs to the old library were well worn by the soles of book lovers the years over, and it gladdened Blanche's heart to know that she was perhaps among kindred spirits. The top of each step was freshly painted with a yellow stripe in an attempt to keep the senior citizens on their toes and not their knees and elbows. More than once the county had doled out legal fees resulting from errant footfalls. The librarian carefully maneuvered the stairs and paused, her hand on the large handle below the sign reading 'Quietly Enter and Enjoy the World of Books', followed by another sign that read 'Valdosta Public Library — Donations Welcome'. The hinges creaked ever so slightly as she pulled the door open and got her first look at her new home away from home.
Initially it didn't appear to Blanche to be very busy but under closer inspection she could see individuals scurrying about behind the scenes, taking books out of bins, sorting and getting them ready to go back on the shelves. She was surprised to see so many actively working considering the financial crunch they were under. The library itself was a warm and inviting space filled with row after row of shelving units interspersed with tables, computer monitors and comfy armchairs for those wanting to stay awhile. Rich wood accents highlighted the walls and angles giving the library a homey feel that culminated with a large reception desk in the centre of the first floor. Near the desk and stretching to the second floor was the most amazing cantilever staircase. Inlaid hardwood steps, beautiful iron work and an elegant hand carved wood grip, drew Blanche's eyes to the open area above, topped with a domed cathedral style ceiling that she had noted from the moment she'd gotten off the bus, complete with a Georgia flag waving in the noon breeze.
At the desk stood a woman in her late fifties, hair in a graying bun, dress to the floor and wrists, with a nametag hugging her chest. Blanche moved close enough to make out the name, Ester Anderson — Director. She fit every stereotype and unsaid expectation Blanche had ever run into over her years of service in a library setting. Mrs. Anderson appeared to be all business as she moved from the desk counter to the computer and back again. Logging information, moving books from one pile to another and answering the phone while still working the papers and items in front of her, occasionally looking up to cast a sideways glance at the youth in the corner making paper airplanes and sending them into space. Blanche stood patiently waiting for Ester to have a lull so she could introduce herself.
“What can I do for you?” the head librarian said, without even lifting her eyes from the countertop.
“I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m the new librarian, Blanche Delaney from Arizona.”
It was as if the older woman had just been injected with adrenalin, “Well, let’s see, welcome, welcome, but we didn’t expect to see you until, um let’s see, tomorrow August 6th,” she replied, as she moved papers about on the desk looking to find something of importance.
Blanche, in an attempt to be tactful, replied in a hushed tone, “I believe today is the 6th?”
“Oh my heavens, is that right, are you sure? Do you mean to tell me that I’ve spent the entire morning stamping items with the wrong date?” and with that she grabbed the date stamp from the desk, flipped it over and read, “August 5, oh no, that just won’t do. Now I’ll have to spend the remainder of the day correcting the errors of the morning, but that’s neither here nor there for you.' She straightened herself up, took in a full breath of air and repeated these obviously rehearsed lines, 'We are so pleased to have you join us here at the Valdosta Public Library and we look forward to getting to know you and helping you settle into our little community.” She extended her hand and took Blanche’s in a firm grip and shook it a time or two before releasing it and going back to the desktop in search of the illusive document she needed. “Oh here it is, I knew it was here somewhere. It says here that you are single and will be working full time with responsibility for the library only. I guess that leaves the museum to me but I’m sure I’ll need your help there on occasion as well,” more speaking to herself than Blanche. “Were you planning on working today or do you need some time to get your things taken care of?”
Blanche was nodding yes to her question even before she had finished, “I had anticipated working today. I’ve been in town a couple of days already and got my things,” ‘which aren’t many,’ she thought to herself, “stowed and I’m ready to go.”
“Alrighty, that sounds good. Let’s get you started with a tour of the library and I can answer some questions as we go along.” She turned and motioned to a young man working in the room behind a glass window. As he approached the front desk she said, “Can you watch the desk for a few minutes? I need to show our new librarian, Ms. Delaney our facility.”
“Sure Mrs. Anderson, no problem,” he replied, with a smile on his face, taking in the shapely librarian as she turned and headed off down a row of books with Ester.
The tour was brief but informative. The library had been of service to the community for many years and Mrs. Anderson had been the director for more years than she cared to divulge. The working hours would be typical, starting at 8:30 a.m. and closing one half hour beyond the posted closing time. This would allow time to straighten things up in preparation for the next day. The library, however, was open two nights a week until 10:00 p.m. and Blanche would be expected to work those shifts on a regular basis, as she was the newest member of the staff.
“Mrs. Anderson, you indicated in our correspondence that funding was a concern, yet I see so many young people working in the back room today,” she inquired.
“Oh them, they belong to a work study group from the high school. They come in a couple times a week to help sort books and get them back on the shelf for us. Without them we’d be in real trouble. There are only four of us that are actually paid to be here. That’d be you, me, (pointing at herself), Marcus the custodian, I’ll introduce you to him later today, and Seymour. He’s a college student that helps out in the evenings when we need him. I guess that’s about it,” she said, with a shrug of her lace-covered shoulders. “I think today you should spend some
