Jeff Abbott: Only Good Yankee

Wrong.*** You don’t want former lovers to come calling. It’s as awkward and messy as trying to change your oil with two left thumbs.

And you especially don’t want an old lover showing up at work. Not when your current paramour is there to make the scene complete. I was in my office, planning the attack to weed rarely used books off our stacks. We have to go through this agony at least once each year, determining from our records which volumes have gathered the most dust and sparked the least interest. We sell them to dealers, hoping to make a little money back so we can buy more books. Lord knows our regular book-buying budget isn’t growing much. I heard giggles out on the floor from my two newest staffers, Itasca Huebler and Florence Pettus. I didn’t doubt that some interesting town gossip was being told; I believe Itasca has a satellite dish implanted in her beehive.

Itasca’s in her forties, a funny, big-boned lady with a kind, rosy face and a barbed tongue to rival my own. Florence is closer to my age, a mother of two, who somehow finds it hard to believe ill of anyone. She’d grown up poor and black in Mirabeau, odds that didn’t favor success. She ended up married to Joe Pettus, owner of a big carpet store over in Bavary. Florence worked at the library because she liked the people, the children, the smell of the books; Itasca was a tad more practical, having already outlived and outspent two husbands. I was grateful to them both; there’d been no full-time staff when I took over as chief librarian and both women had learned quickly and worked hard. I listened to the laughter crescendo then abruptly cut off. No doubt Itasca was flinging the latest mud and Florence, too embarrassed to tell her to stop, had just murmured her standard line about getting back to work. Florence appeared at my door, apparently barely able to keep the laughter in. “Oh, Jordy, you have a visitor.

Out at the checkout counter.” “Who?” I asked. “She didn’t say.”

Florence murmured. Great. Another book salesperson, no doubt, ready to pitch the latest best-seller that no small rural library could do without. I put on a smile and sauntered out-and saw Lorna Wiercinski perched on the checkout counter. The shock value of seeing Lorna was roughly akin to seeing Jesus sitting there with a HI, I’M BACK button.

I confess that my jaw moved up and down without any sound emerging.

I’m sure Lorna appreciated that up-close view of my molars. “I’ve got something that’s overdue, Tex,” Lorna rumbled in her thick Boston accent. And yes, rumbled is the right word. Lorna’s a big girl, nearly six foot, with long alabaster legs, a broad Slavic face, deep-set gray eyes, an admirable bosom (if size matters to you), and a stunning mane of jet-black hair. Dressed in a miniskirted business suit with black pumps that made her as tall as me, she would have gathered a crowd, not merely stuck out in one. She leaned back on the counter and fluttered her eyelashes. “I do declare,” she intoned in an awful pseudo-Southern accent. “That boy’s got the vapors.” After a long, arduous search, I found my voice. “Lorna? Oh, my God-” I was always one for witty banter. She smiled, a rich, luxurious smile I’d seen many times before. It was her patented cat-who-ate-the-canary-and-the-fish grin, full of self-satisfaction at her own cleverness. “It’s good to see you, too, Jordan.” She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “Still breathing, Tex? Keep those involuntary responses going, babe. And what the hell happened to your arm?” I told myself: Okay, she’s here. Just deal with it. I stepped up and hugged her awkwardly, keeping my slinged arm close by me. I don’t believe in just shaking hands with someone you’ve slept with (albeit in the past) for three years. She hugged back, a little too warmly for my taste. When I pulled my head back, she planted a kiss right on my mouth. A friendly peck I could have dealt with; Lorna’s hello kiss melted toenails. My eyes popped wide and I saw a grinning Itasca and a frowning Florence. Which of course, following today’s theme of “Keep Jordy in Trouble,” was when Candace returned from reshelving the stacks. To her credit, she didn’t scream or rage or faint. Oh, no.

What she did was far worse. She was icy calm and polite. I broke the embrace and tried to think of a well-mannered way to wipe the kiss off my mouth and not insult Lorna. I instead sucked my offending lips into my mouth, thinking that hiding them from view might lessen my culpability. I looked instead like an old man who’d had his dentures yanked right from his gums. “Candace, hi!” I said brightly. She smiled her chilliest smile, the one reserved for people who made a snotty comment about someone she liked. I stumbled onward, feeling totally uncool: “This is an old friend from Boston, Lorna Wiercinski. Lorna, this is Candace Tully-um, my girlfriend.” I gestured feebly toward Candace. No one could have ever deduced my taste in women from looking at these two. Lorna was tall, where Candace was petite. Lorna was dressed like a businesswoman in heat, a la the heroine of some Jackie Collins miniseries. Candace looked like she’d tiptoed out of Laura Ashley University with a bachelor’s in Prim. Lorna was smiling, Candace was not. If I’d had one ounce of sense I would have kept talking, but I was a little too rattled by Lorna’s unexpected appearance. “Candy. How nice to meet you.” Lorna offered a hand.

Candace smiled and took Lorna’s hand. She looked ready to keep it in a jar. “It’s Candace, Ms. Weird-chintzy. And how nice to meet you.”

Lorna ignored the mispronunciation jab. After all, Candace had nearly gotten her name right. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve taken Jordan quite by surprise. He certainly wasn’t expecting to see me. I’ve just arrived from Boston.” “Since he’s never mentioned you”-a glare went Jordyward-“I’m not surprised. How nice of you to visit. And what brings you here?” Candace asked. I was awful interested in that question myself. So were Itasca and Florence, who edged closer. “I stopped by to donate some books,” Lorna said innocently, handing me a plastic bag. I regarded it with suspicion. She’d always been one for yanking my chain. Peering inside, I saw that Lorna felt that the Mirabeau Public Library was missing some key volumes: The Collected Stories of Eudora Welty (one of my personal favorites), The Tourist’s Guide to New England, and-oh, boy!-the Kama Sutra. Now, would that go under sports or biology? “Two of those might be for you, Jordan. Can you guess which ones?” Lorna smiled. Since I already owned a well-worn copy of the Welty, it wasn’t a hard guess. Itasca made a snatch at the bag. “Shall I catalog those for you?” I yanked them back, somehow keeping my smile in place. “I’ll do that later, thanks, Itasca.”

Candace crossed her arms and one eyebrow went up questioningly. “I have a proposition for you, Jordan.” Lorna beamed and the air temperature continued its downward slide. I’d never thought of Candace as possessive before, but I knew her well enough to sense the seething under her calm exterior. Like I said before, Candace is plenty smart.

For an old girlfriend to show up, all the way from New England-I took a deep breath. “Do you now?” Candace asked. I drew closer to Candace to show my allegiance. She leaned (unthinkingly, I’m sure) against my hurt arm. I winced, but let her stay. Lorna pulled herself down from the counter. “Yes, Candy, a business proposition.” She blinked as though shocked at the thought that she could have any other suggestions for me. “I’d like to discuss it this evening with you, Jordan-say, over dinner. Nothing wrong with mixing business with pleasure.” “Gosh, Lorna, you’ve kind of popped up from nowhere and taken me by surprise.” I wanted to convince Candace that I hadn’t been expecting Lorna. “Can’t you tell me what this is about?” Lorna smiled at Candace. “I’d prefer to discuss this privately with you, and not during your working hours.” She glanced around the modest library.