For a second, he said nothing.
For that second, I couldn’t read his face.
And then he said, “Buck smells?”
It wasn’t teasing.
I looked to his beard and mumbled, “You smell good.”
“Baby?” he called.
I looked to him.
“I was talkin’ about your job.”
His tone was serious. Questioning and warm, but serious. Not playful or amused.
“Oh,” I muttered, feeling like an idiot.
“I don’t even know what they do there,” he said. “But everyone knows the Hunter Institute. I reckon, for a librarian, that’s a big score.”
“It was,” I said quietly. “We…a library usually has as much stuff on every subject as they can afford to have in as much room as they can get to house it. A research library has a depth of things on one or two subjects. Hunter is rare books and papers. We had things like scratch paper John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote lyrics on. Or letters written by famous people to other famous people, like we had a letter written by Abraham Lincoln to the mother of a fallen soldier. Or letters written by non-famous people to non-famous people but about famous things. Or early or first editions of books. We had all of Hemingway. Copies of the Pickwick Papers. Things like that.”
“The Pickwick Papers?”
“Serial publications by Dickens.”
“That’s pretty impressive,” he muttered.
“I loved it,” I told him. “I was training to restore when they got rid of me.”
Buck had nothing to say to that.
“But they got rid of me, Buck,” I reminded him.
“You should look for a job as a librarian,” he murmured.
“They got rid of me, Buck,” I repeated.
He again said nothing, but now he kept his silence as he studied me intently.
“I did nothing. I was never even charged. And they got rid of me,” I stated. “You were right when we were fighting. I know the other world, and I don’t belong there. I don’t belong with the snobby, snooty women who lived in my neighborhood. Or their men who drive BMWs mean and aggressively, like where they have to go is more important than you, or anyone. The generation of the entitled whose parents gave them everything they wanted for reasons I don’t understand. It seems to me the best thing a parent can give, outside of love, is good lessons. And learning you need to work for what you want, and that you are just one of many in this world, we’re all living in it together and we all have to work together, are two of the most important lessons you can get.”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
His tone on that one word was one I couldn’t read either.
Though it was heavy.
But I was on a roll, and I had a point to make, so I kept explaining.
“They know nothing of foster care or the system or living paycheck to paycheck or struggling to make ends meet. But I do. And I didn’t belong there. I never felt comfortable there, even before it all happened and my place was taken away.”
I took in a big breath and kept going.
“So, to answer your question, no. No, I don’t miss it. There are things about it I miss, especially at the library, but they showed no loyalty to me. I was good at what I did, and I was an exceptional employee because I know how important it is to have a good job and further know to take care of it. None of that mattered. Reputation mattered. And they didn’t like theirs dragged through the mud whenever I was mentioned in a paper along with where I worked. No one there had the guts to say, ‘We know Clara Delaney, she’s an exceptional librarian who has given years of service to our Institute. She’s a good person and she had nothing to do with this. So we stand by her.’”
I shook my head.
And yes, continued explaining.
“But now, I have my own domain. My own system. Responsibilities. People count on me. Good people who get it. Who work hard, like I do, and who appreciate having a great place to work because they know that is a rare thing to find.”
“Is it enough for you?” he asked.
And it was my turn to stare intently.
Then I shared, “West, the most fun I’ve had since my life turned inside out, besides being with you and the kids, or Lorie and Minnie and the girls, and maybe even more fun than being with the girls, is when I got to make that office my own. Do I want to work admin for Ace in the Hole for the rest of my life? I don’t know. But I’m not coasting now. I love going to work. And not just because I’m glad to have work. I love the work. It’s about detail and organization, and there is no other who’s better at either of those than a librarian. Not to mention, your people are good people.”