Лори Касс: Lending А Paw

She sniffed and gave me a weak smile. “You’ll manage?”

“Sure. Will you?”

“I’ll be okay.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I may look a mess, but I have a long drive to pull myself together.”

I watched as she sped away and hoped she’d be all right. Another volunteer was scheduled to start next week, but still . . .

“Mrr!”

I whipped around. Eddie was poking his face out from where I’d opened the window. No, not just his face. A white foot was sneaking out, then the elbow. . . .

“Eddie!” I marched over to the window and stood on my tiptoes to push—in a nice way, of course—his various parts back inside. “Now stay there.”

By the time I got in the bookmobile, he was half out the window again. I grabbed him by the midsection, pulled him inside, and shut the window. “What’s with you, anyway?” I rubbed his fuzzy head and sat down with him on my lap. “I thought you were going to be a good cat today. And no purring. You know how that makes me forgive you anything.”

He purred and snuggled his head into my armpit. I rubbed his ears. “You truly are a horrible cat.” I picked him up, feet dangling, and deposited him onto the passenger seat. “If you stay at this level of horrible, we’ll be fine. But if you—”

My phone rang. I looked at the screen. “It’s Stephen,” I told Eddie. “Think I should answer?”

Eddie had no opinion, so I took the call.

“Good morning, Minnie. How is it going so far?”

“Oh, not bad.” Certainly things could be worse. I could have run out of gas. Or hit a deer. Or made a wrong turn that ended two miles later in a dead end with no way to turn around the thirty-one-foot bookmobile.

“I would have hoped that by now you’d be on the way to your first stop, but since you’re answering the phone, I know the bookmobile is stationary.”

“Just ready to leave this minute.”

“And you have a volunteer with you?”

“Volunteer? Well, about that . . .”

“Minnie, you can’t be out there by yourself,” he said. “The library board was quite insistent that you not be alone on the bookmobile.”

“I know.” I knew all about the board’s concerns, issues ranging from insurance costs to liability to maintenance responsibilities. I’d done the research on running a bookmobile; I’d found grant money to pay for the first year of operations; I’d even convinced one of the richest men in town to contribute money for the purchase of this grand vehicle.

Through it all, Stephen had been looking over my shoulder, quick to point out the smallest flaw in my plans. And through it all, I’d known perfectly well that a sizable minority of the library board supported each of his criticisms. If this maiden voyage went wrong in any way, the minority could become a majority and that didn’t bear thinking about.

“Tell me you aren’t alone on the bookmobile,” Stephen said.

I looked at Eddie. “I’m not.”

“Then why . . . ? Never mind. You’ll tell me when you come in.” He hung up and I turned off the phone. There wouldn’t be decent coverage in most of the places I was going, anyway.

“Mrr.” Eddie had draped himself over my backpack, his two front legs spread wide.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I said. “I would have figured a way out of the two-on-the-vehicle thing if you hadn’t been here.”

“Mrr.”

“Would too.”

“Mrr.”

Cats. They always had to have the last word.

• • •

The morning sun sent shafts of sunlight between the maple leaves and onto the two-lane road. Driving through the dappled light, I kept my eyes moving, looking for wildlife, checking the mirrors to make sure I was staying in the middle of the lane, eyeing the dashboard gauges, trying to remember everything I’d been taught about driving the bookmobile.

Twenty minutes later I saw a cluster of homes around a small school. The school’s library budget had been slashed to the bone a few years ago. For a while they’d borrowed new books from a nearby branch of the Chilson District Library, but budget cuts had closed that down tight. It was the closing of that much-loved library that had spurred me to assemble an ad hoc committee, its purpose a feasibility study of a Chilson bookmobile. Which had ended up to be a committee of me, but everything had turned out just fine.

Mostly.

I flicked the turn signal and looked at Eddie. Though I couldn’t tell for certain over the road noise, I was pretty sure he was snoring again. “First stop, coming up,” I said loudly.

Slightly left we went, Eddie, the bookmobile, and me. Then a slow, wide sweeping right turn into the weed-infested gravel parking lot, a gentle braking to a soft stop, and we were there. The inaugural stop of the Chilson District Library Bookmobile had begun.

I slid open the side windows, then rotated the driver’s seat to face the computer desk, and stood. I pushed the one-step stool from its home behind the passenger seat and stood on it to reach the fan installed into the ceiling. I’d turn on the air-conditioning if I had to, but that would mean turning on the generator and that was a dull roar I’d just as soon do without.

“And now what do I do with you?” I asked my cat. After this stop we’d take a short break at a county park just down the road. I’d get him some water and a nice out-of-the-way, sandy spot for him to do anything he needed to do, but for now . . .

“Mrr.” Eddie half closed his eyes and settled into a comfortable slouch.

For now, what was I going to do with him? In the time between leaving Chilson and arriving here, I’d come up with zero ideas. There was no cat carrier for him, I wasn’t wearing a belt that might be turned into a leash, and I was not about to take off my bra and fashion it into an Eddie restraint.

Knock knock.

No time to think, no time for anything but action. “Just a minute!” I opened the cabinet door that held a tidy arrangement of filing and cleaning supplies, gathered them up, dropped them onto the floor in front of the passenger’s seat, grabbed Eddie, shoved him in the cabinet, and shut the door. “Sorry, pal,” I whispered. “I’ll let you out as soon as they’re gone.”

I hurried down the length of the bookmobile, almost tripped in my rush to maneuver the steps, and pushed open the door.

A small group of children stood outside. “Hi, come on in. Welcome to the bookmobile!”

The six kids ranged from age five-ish to ten-ish, three boys and three girls. They stood there, glancing at one another, shifting from foot to foot. None of them made a move.

I grinned, made waving come-on-in motions, and did my best carnival barker imitation. “We have books, all sorts of books. We have Curious George, we have Hardy Boys, we have Amelia Bedelia, we have Indians in the cupboard, we have books about horses, we have books about baseball, we have books about cats and kittens. We have books with stories about far-off lands and castles and dragons and princesses and kings and queens and—”

“Princesses?” a girl asked, her eyes big and round. “You have princess books?”

I smiled at her. “We sure do. Come aboard and I’ll show you.”

She ran up the two outside steps, jumped onto the first stair on the bookmobile and turned around. “I’m going to get princess books,” she told her compatriots. “I’m going to be first to get a bookmobile book.” She whirled back around and bounced up to my side, her face bright and shiny. “Can I see them now? Where are they?”

“They’re right over—”

My words were lost in the pandemonium of five children trying to get up into the bookmobile simultaneously. In no time at all, I’d guided the smallest to the picture books, and shown others the locations of biographies, nature books, and, of course, princess books. While I was guiding one of the girls to the Boxcar Children, a deep male voice boomed up into the bookmobile. “Hey, you kids! You were supposed to wait for me!”