I have philosophy that sometimes works, sometimes doesn't: the more I put my writing out there, the more it encourages me to keep at it. So in that spirit, the following is a chapter from a novel I'm working on. It's still in rough draft form, but here you go...
Rosalee
double checked the cart of books that put in order, then glanced at the clock.
Thirty minutes until closing, just enough time to get these books shelved. She
wheeled the black metal cart from behind the desk and headed to the chapter
book section of the children’s room at the library. Things were pretty quiet this
evening – Mondays often were. Rosalee loved this little library. There were two
public libraries in town now, but this was her favorite. It had originally been
just a converted old farmhouse. Eventually, the town had added on a nice,
modern building, but had left the farmhouse. First floor was now a coffee shop,
and the second floor housed offices and administrative staff. Sometimes Rosalee
would come to work early and treat herself to a pastry and cup of coffee at the
coffee shop. Jessica had even worked there for a while in high school.
Carolyn,
the full-time children’s librarian, was laying out material in corner, prepping
for Tuesday’s regular story-time. That corner of the room was slightly sunken,
with three steps leading down to a good-sized wedge-shaped area with a rocking
chair at the point. A pile of pillows sat along one wall. Sometimes the kids
pulled them out for story-time, and sometimes they’d just pull them out and
read for a while when nothing else was going on. A low table lined the other
wall, where Carolyn or one of the other librarians would set up crafts. Some
front facing book shelves were built into both walls, providing a place to
display books relating to that week’s story-time theme, or just books the
librarians wanted to display and highlight.
Stephanie,
one of the other part-time staff, was at the desk in the opposite corner doing
some work on the computer. Rosalee was about half-way through shelving her cart
when Stephanie looked up from her work and called out.
“Rosalee”
she said. “Carolyn and I and a few of the reference staff are headed to Brick
Oven tonight. It’s Beth’s birthday. Would you like to join us?”
Rosalee
turned toward her. “Well…” she said, her first instinct to politely declinje,
although she wasn’t sure why.
“I
know it’s last minute,” she said, waving her hand. “Beth wasn’t sure her sitter
could stay late, so we didn’t have final plans until this afternoon. If you
can’t, I understand.”
“Actaully,”
Rosalee said, “that sounds great. I’d love to.” After all, she thought to herself. What plans do you have. None, that’s what. And weren’t you just
thinking the other day that you had become a hermit?
She
finished shelving her cart of books while the other two began getting
everything in order for closing. Twenty minutes later, Rosalee was climbing in
her car to calls of “see you there!” and pulling out onto the relatively quiet
street. She smiled to herself, looking forward to a nice dinner with her
coworkers. She made a quick stop on the way at a dollar store, grabbing a cute
birthday card and gift bag. At the restaurant she took a moment in her car sign
the card and put the bag of coffee she’d purchased that day into the gift bag.
It’d been an impulse buy – she’d had a thought of giving it to Celia Blair. But
she could always buy another bag; she knew Beth liked coffee as well – she
always had a mug in her hand – so it worked out nicely.
Rosalee
was the last to walk in, but the other ladies were still taking off sweaters
and jackets. They’d snagged a table against the wall, much preferable in
Rosalee’s opinion to sitting in the middle of the room. She set her purse down
in an empty chair, then dropped her small bag in front of Beth’s place. “Happy
Birthday!” she said, leaning in for a quick hug.
“Oh,
thank you!” Beth said, returning the hug. “Rosalee, how sweet. You didn’t have
to get me anything. This is all so last minute and casual.”
Rosalee
waved away Beth’s protests. “It’s not much,” she said, smiling. “But I can
still hear my mother’s voice in my head: ‘Rosalee, never go to a party
empty-handed.’”
Beth
laughed. “My mom says the same thing.”
Rosalee
moved back down the table a few chairs to her own spot and, after a quick check
to make sure the hardwood floors weren’t too grimy, slid her purse under her
chair. There were six ladies of varying ages around the table. Alysia, head of
information services, Donna from technical services, Beth, Stephanie, Caroline
and Rosalee. Rosalee was pretty sure Donna and Caroline were around her own
age, Beth and Stephanie in their mid-to early 40s, and Alysia somewhere between
25 and 35. Rosalee was terrible with ages. She only guessed Beth and
Stephanie’s because she knew how old their kids were. Either way, it was a
comfortable group. Everyone except Rosalee had been working at the Woodson
Public Library for at least 10 years. Rosalee had only been at the library for
a couple of years, but the staff had been more than welcoming. This was the
first time she’d ever accepted any offer for out-of-work socializing though,
and she found herself to be a little bit nervous. But, as she’d been realizing
more and more lately, it’d been a long time since she’d done any kind of
non-family related socializing. Which, since she genuinely enjoyed the company
of her co-workers, was one reason she’d said yes to the invitation.
Rosalee
gave herself a little mental pep talk and picked up her menu, glancing around
the restaurant as she did. She’d never been to Brick Oven before, although she
heard various members of her family talk about it all the time. The décor
reminded her a bit of a pub – lots of dark wood, warm light and high-backed
booths. Since the restaurant had the benefit of being a stand-alone building,
there were a lot of windows. Rosalee could imagine how bright and cheery it
looked in the daytime, but with no less warmth. There was a long bar at one end
of the building, and behind the bar you could catch a glimpse of the big
wood-burning pizza ovens.
She
glanced down at her menu, then turned to Caroline, who was sitting beside her.
“Have
you been here before?” she asked. “What’s good?”
“Oh,
we come all the time,” she said. “My favorite is the carmelized onion, pear and
gornonzola; my husband’s favorite is the barbecue chicken; and my daughter
usually sticks with the margarita.”
“Hmm,”
Rosalee mused. “Those all sound delicious.”
“You
can’t really go wrong with anything,” Stephanie chimed in from across the
table. “It’s all pretty outstanding.”
Their
server arrived a moment later and took drink orders. Rosalee heard Beth ask who
was driving her home because she was definitely planning on some birthday
drinks. Rosalee laughed along with the rest and joined in the general
conversation about wine and beer preferences and which pizza they were all
going to order. She and Caroline ended up deciding to split a pizza, and before
too long their waiter had slipped off to place orders and conversation turned
to other topics.
“So,
Rosalee have you always lived in Mapleview?” Caroline asked, taking a sip of
her red wine.
“No,
my husband and I moved here not too long after we got married. I grew up in
Carrolton,” Rosalee answered.
“No
way!” Stephanie exclaimed. “My grandmother’s from Carrolton. I didn’t think
anyone else even knew where it was.”
Rosalee
cocked her head slightly. “Who’s your grandmother?” she asked. “I’m sure I know
her.”
“Betty
Mason.”
“Mrs.
Mason, of course!” Rosalee said, smiling. “She lived two blocks from the
pharmacy and always had the most beautiful flowers in her front yard.”
“Sounds
like Gramma,” Stephanie said. “We used to go visit every summer and every
Thanksgiving. What a small world!”
“What
about you ladies,” Rosalee said. “Who’s from around here?” All but Donna
admitted they’d grown up in Missouri, if not in Mapleview. Donna had moved to
Mapleview with her husband’s job. They’d both grown up in California.
Rosalee
raised her eyebrows. “That must have been quite a culture shock,” she said. She
looked at Caroline with new eyes noting the sleek and expertly colored hair,
easy but flawless makeup, and casual but stylish clothing. She could see it
clearly – Donna may not have lived in California for 15 years, but she exuded
West Coast.
Donna
laughed, her brown eyes warm. “In some ways, yes,” she said. “I’ll admit I miss
being equidistance from the mountains and the beach. And I don’t know that I’ll
ever get used to Midwestern weather. But Mapleview is a great home. I felt
welcome the moment we rolled into town, and that’s never changed.”
Rosalee
felt proud of her home state.
“So
what have you all been reading lately?” Stephanie asked, shifting gears.
Caroline’s
eyes lit up, “I just finished the best book! I’ve been in a reading slump for
weeks, so I took a chance on a recommendation from Kelly and it was perfect!
I’d never have picked up this book on my own. I don’t usually read romance
novels, but Kelly assured me that I would enjoy this one and I absolutely did.”
“I
love a good romance novel,” Donna said from across the table. “Who was the
author?”
Caroline
mentioned an author Rosalee had never heard of – not too surprising since she
tended to stick to mysteries and historical fiction – but she made a mental
note to branch out.
“What
did you like about the book?” she asked.
Caroline
rested her chin in her hand and thought for a minute. “It was smart,” she said.
“Smart and funny, but not silly. And the characters seemed very real. I tend to
like character-driven fiction, and this story was as much about the characters
as people as it was about their love story.”
Rosalee
nodded in understanding. “I try to find those authors when it comes to
mysteries too,” she said. “I love a good mystery, but there needs to be as much
character development as there is plot development. Fortunately, a lot of my
favorite authors write series, so I can usually find something I like.”
Donna
asked her if she’d read a certain author and the women around the table kept up
an animated discussion about books and authors until the pizza arrived. Rosalee
breathed deeply, enjoying the variety of scents coming from the table. Garlic
and tomatoes and savory meat. She smelled the tang of barbecue sauce from the
barbecue chicken pizza that Donna had ordered, a smell that Rosalee would have
expected to seem out of place. It all smelled delicious, though, savory and
rich. Her stomach growled and she and Caroline laughed.
“I
didn’t realize I was so hungry,” Rosalee said.
The
women continued to chat as they pulled slices of hot pizza from the oversized
plates in front of them. The waitress refilled drinks and took orders for new
ones. Rosalee took a bite of pizza – the crust was thin and crispy, with an
almost grilled flavor that she assumed came from the wood-burning oven it had
cooked in. She and Caroline had picked simple toppings –tomatoes, proscuto,
spinach and fresh mozzarella. It was amazing.
“I
think I’ve been ruined forever,” she said after swallowing. “This is amazing!”
Donna
smiled at her from across the table. “I felt the same way after my first taste
of wood-fired pizza. They’ve been popular in California for a while. That may
have been the hardest part about moving to Missouri!”
They
all laughed and Rosalee lifted her piece for another bite. She glanced around
the table as she chewed, a slight smile on her face. She was so glad that she’d
accepted the invitation. Clearly her homebody ways were starting to lose their
appeal because she was having a lot of fun, more fun that usually had on a
Monday night. She was turning her attention to a funny story Beth was telling
when she felt someone walk behind her chair and pause.
“Rosalee?”
a deep voice asked. “Rosalee Barnes.”
Rosalee
froze, her hand halfway to her face, her mouth hanging open. No one had called
her Rosalee Barnes in a long time. And she hadn’t heard that voice in a very,
very long time.
Rosalee
set her half-eaten slice of pizza on her plate with a trembling hand, and wiped
her fingers on the napkin in her lap. She placed the napkin on the table, and
slid her chair back. She could see the other ladies glancing behind and above
her head then back at her, and she could see them wondering why she still
hadn’t responded, why she was taking so long to say anything.
Her
knees joined her trembling hands as she stood up, then turned around. She
willed her body to start cooperating, and cleared her throat before smiling.
“George
Bowen you sure do know how to surprise a person.”
The
eyes that smiled back at her were exactly the same midnight blue as they’d been
in 1964. The smile lines that crinkled in the corners were deeper and more
numerous, but Rosalee noted the same straight nose and strong chin, the same
confident grin and lopsided dimple, and the thick blonde hair that had turned a
beautiful silver. George was dressed casually in dark jeans, brown leather
loafers, and a white button-up shirt with a navy pin stripe and the sleeves
rolled up. As she reached out to meet George’s outstretched hand with her own,
Rosalee also noted that he had clearly been taking care of himself as he was as
trim and fit as he’d been 50 years ago. Men,
Rosalee thought, instinctively sucking in her 62-year-old-post-child-bearing
belly. The bastards.
“I
can’t believe it’s actually you,” he said, his hand lingering in hers, his
whole face lit up with a smile. “I heard your voice and it was like a ghost
from the past.”
“Ghost…yes,
that sounds about right,” she kept a smile on her own face, but inwardly
cringed at her response. Her brain felt like that time she and Betty’d gotten
her daddy’s car stuck in the mud down by the creek. They’d spent 20 minutes
spinning those tires.
“So,
how long have you lived here in Mapleview?” George was asking.
“Over
30 years now,” she replied. “How long have you been here?”
The
question sounded wrong, and slightly accusatory to her ears, but if George
thought so he didn’t let on. He just kept on smiling.
“Three
days. My daughter moved here a few years ago. I’ve been coming out to visit now
and then, but a few months ago I took early retirement so I decided to move
closer to her and the grandkids.”
“Early
retirement. Wow, that sounds nice.” Brilliant
Rosalee, she thought to herself. He’s
going to think you’re getting dementia.
“Well,
I’m still doing contract work for the same company,” he said with shrug, “but
being an independent contractor is a lot more flexible.”
“Mmm…,”
she said, nodding. Rosalee’s sluggish brain was suddenly aware that she was
standing in a crowded restaurant, having an unsettling and highly personal
experience. People were weaving around them, and although she could hear that
the ladies behind her had continued their conversation, it seemed muted. Like
they were talking to give her privacy, but kind of wished they were listening
in. She didn’t blame them…she’d be curious too.
“I
was going to call you next week,” George said.
Rosalee
raised an eyebrow, “Really,” she said.
Finally,
George looked less than one hundred percent at ease.
“No
really,” he said. “I called my cousin before I left Chicago. He still lives in
Carrolton, so he was able to get your number for me from Betty.” He reached
into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “See,” he held it out.
Written
in slanting print was her name and number.
“Well,”
she said, “isn’t it a small world.”
“So…can
I call you?” he asked. “I’d love to catch up and it looks like neither of us
are free at the moment.” He nodded at the table behind her.
Rosalee
hesitated. Why shouldn’t he call her? Her too-slow brain fired off a million
reasons starting with “he’s a lying liar.” But somehow, with the words “I don’t
think so” poised on her tongue, another part of her realized that particular
wound wasn’t…so much of a wound anymore. It didn’t hurt, it wasn’t tender. It
was more of a scar really. So the question really was…why not? It’d been a long
time since she’d thought about George Bowen, and she found that her
overwhelming thought was simply curiosity.
Okay,
and maybe, perhaps a slight flush of warmth because good grief, that man was
still too good looking for his own good.
“Sure,”
she replied with a hesitant smile. “Anytime.”
He
started to reach out as thought to touch her hand or shoulder, but she took a
very tiny step back. She may not have been hurt anymore, but she hadn’t seen
George in decades. She wasn’t ready for that easy familiarity. He must of read
her signals because he quickly dropped his hand and settled for another
heart-stopping smile.
“Great,”
he said. “I’m glad. I’ll call you sometime next week.”
He
seemed sincere, Rosalee thought as she watched him walk toward his table, but
then again, he always had. She turned away from the crowded restaurant and back
to her table, where the ladies were doing their best not to act like anything
interesting had just happened. Rosalee sat down, placed her napkin in her lap,
and took a bite of her pizza. She chewed, swallowed, and took pity on her
friends.
“Go
ahead,” she said with a smile. “Ask away.”
