Софи Келли: Final Catcall

Andrew walked over to me. He propped one arm on my right shoulder. “Very nice, but you can’t get rid of me that easily,” he whispered.

I smiled sweetly and gave a noncommittal shrug, which also managed to dislodge his arm.

“Found them,” Mary said. She beckoned to Andrew. “Since you like old buildings, I think the place to start is the Stratton Theater.”

I picked up my briefcase. “Enjoy your tour,” I said to Andrew.

“I will,” he said. Then he raised his voice a little. “And don’t worry, I’ll be back in plenty of time for us to go to the food tasting. You said one o’clock, right?”

His gaze met mine and I could see the challenge in his green eyes, daring me to say no.

“One thirty,” I said tightly, narrowing my own gaze back at him.

“The food tasting is going to be splendid,” Mary said. She patted Andrew’s arm. “I think you got here at just the perfect time.”

His eyes slid away from me and he grinned at her, giving her the full-on charming-boy-next-door smile. “You know,” he said, “I think you’re right.”

3

Everett Henderson called at exactly one minute after nine. Susan had arrived and was working the circulation desk. “I’ll take it in my office,” I told her.

“What did you do with that tasty treat you had breakfast with?” she asked after she’d told Everett I’d be right with him and put him on hold.

“That what?” I said, staring at her.

“The guy you had breakfast with. That’s what Claire called him, and from her description I’m guessing it wasn’t your dad or your brother.” She propped an elbow on the desktop and leaned her chin on her hand. “So who was it? A husband you never told us you had? Your Internet love from Mismatch.com? The guy who had a crush on you in first grade and never forgot you so he hired a private detective to track you down?”

My sling meant I couldn’t cross my arms and give her my best stern-librarian look, so I settled for folding my free arm over my chest and wrinkling my nose at her. “No more old-movie marathons for you,” I said. “They make your imagination go into overdrive.” I started for the stairs. “I’m going to take Everett’s call.”

“I’m not letting this go,” Susan called after me.

“I didn’t think you would,” I said, waving over my shoulder in case she hadn’t heard me. Upstairs I unlocked my office door and immediately reached for the phone. I didn’t want to keep Everett waiting.

“Good morning, Everett,” I said, pulling the phone closer and sinking down onto the corner of the desk. “I was just about to call you.”

“I take it you’ve talked to Abigail.” He had a deep, strong voice and a clipped way of speaking that made him sound younger than his seventy-odd years.

“I have.”

“Good. Then I don’t have to give you all the details.” I could hear papers being moved and I guessed that he was in his office just up the hill from Maggie’s studio in the River Arts Center. “I’ve talked to everyone and the library board is fully behind using the building and the grounds to help make this festival a success. Wouldn’t hurt to bring some tourist dollars to town this time of year.”

“I’ll help in any way I can,” I said, picking gray cat hair off my gray trousers, proof that Owen had been sitting in the bedroom chair on top of the pants while I’d been brushing my teeth.

“I knew I could count on you, Kathleen. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Abigail’s already talking about using the new gazebo as a stage.”

He laughed. “That idea came from Rebecca.”

I really wasn’t surprised. Rebecca, my backyard neighbor and Everett’s soon-to-be wife, was a very creative person and she was usually involved in whatever was happening around town in one way or the other.

“How are the wedding plans coming?” I asked.

“I think we have a date . . . maybe.”

“You could always run off to Las Vegas and get married by an Elvis impersonator.”

Everett laughed. “You’ve been talking to Rebecca. She’s the only woman I’ve ever come across who’s getting married but doesn’t care about the details.”

“All Rebecca wants is to be married to you.” The edge of my desk wasn’t made for sitting on in any kind of comfort so I stood up and turned to look out the window. The clouds were clearing away. It was going to be a nice afternoon.

“I want that, too,” he said. “I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

“I’ll see if I can put in a good word for you,” I said.

“I appreciate that.” His tone turned serious. “Kathleen, with Abigail working on the theater festival for the next couple of weeks, you’re going to be stretched a little thin. Why don’t we put off our conversation about your future here until it’s over?”

“That’s fine with me, Everett,” I said. He reminded me, as he always did, to call Lita if I needed anything and we said good-bye. I hung up the phone and went to sit in my desk chair.

Having a couple of extra weeks to decide whether I was going to stay in Mayville Heights was just what I needed. It gave me time to figure things out with Marcus.

I reached for the photo that Lise had taken when I’d been back in Boston over the summer, the day that Andrew had seen us in the park. My mother was laughing, leaning back against Dad’s shoulder. When they were working on a play together they tended to get a little too caught up in their characters, which meant things could get decidedly odd around the house, but they were crazy about each other, even when they drove each other crazy. Always had been, which was why they’d been married twice—to each other.

Marcus made me crazy sometimes. I liked him—a lot more than I’d been willing to admit to anyone, especially myself. Well, Owen and Hercules appeared to have figured it out. But we always seemed to bang heads over his cases. Being a police officer was more than Marcus’s job; it was part of who he was. Just the way wanting to help the people I cared about was part of who I was. Were we crazy enough about each other to work through the things that made us crazy? I wasn’t sure.

I rubbed the space between my eyebrows with the heel of my hand. What had Maggie said to me? What’s meant to be always finds a way to be . Maybe what I needed to do was take a step back and let whatever was meant to be just happen. I just wasn’t very good at that.

It was late morning and I had my head in the book drop—literally—trying to figure out why it kept jamming when it was half full of books, when I heard a group of people come into the library. I straightened up to find a tall man dressed all in black—leather jacket, jeans and tee—smiling at me.

“Kathleen Paulson, what on earth are you doing here?” he said.

“I work here,” I said, beaming back at him. “Are you part of the theater festival?”

He nodded. “I’m the artistic director. When Abigail Pierce said the librarian’s name was Kathleen, I had no idea it was going to be you.”

I hadn’t seen Ben Saroyan in years. He’d directed my parents in several productions and he’d given my mother her first directing job. He looked exactly the same, very tall and thin with a lined, craggy face, dark eyes and short, iron gray hair that seemed to grow straight up from his head.

“How are Thea and John?” he asked. Ben had a deep, booming voice that seemed a bit at odds with his long, lanky frame.

“Dad is in rehearsals for Noises Off and Mom’s in Los Angeles working on Wild and Wonderful .” The soap happened to be one of Maggie’s favorite shows.

He slid his round wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and laughed. “I seem to remember Thea saying she was never doing a soap again after the last time. How did they change her mind?”