Made His Toes Curl

"I don't understand. Where did the money come from?" the children's librarian said. 

     The reference librarian leaned back and nodded to the circulation librarian out working the curbside table. "Her."

     "She's barely been here two weeks. Has she even met with the director?"

     "Well, not her exactly. Seems our previous circulation staff budget was embellished by the tenure of our old coworker."

     "She costs less so we get a new page."

     "Bingo," the reference librarian said.

     The children's librarian pushed back a lock of golden hair from her forehead. "Has anyone told Freddy?"

     Before the reference librarian could respond, the circulation librarian called out to them. They rose and went outside.

     "I'm so glad to meet you both," a woman said from across the curbside table. Older with a yellow baseball cap and a matching mask. "My daddy loved you both so much. Talked about you all the time. He passed away yesterday in his sleep."

     The librarians introduced themselves. The children's librarian took the lead, saying, "I'm so sorry, but who was your father?"

     "You must think me silly. Sheila Anchor. My daddy was Ansel Anchor."

     "I'm sorry to hear about your loss," the children's librarian said. "Seems so sudden. He was just here this weekend."

     "That art class made his toes curl. He talked about framing that picture he drew. We couldn't find it, though. Is it still here?" Sheila said.

     The reference librarian said, "It could be in the meeting room. The art teacher left her supplies and things."

     A severe looking man with gray hairs and no mask on his face said, "Excuse me. Don't mean to break up the memorial service, but I need some damn books."

     The circulation librarian waved to him. They began talking at the other end of the table.

     The children's librarian said, "We can go check."

     The reference librarian hesitated, but she took his arm. They went inside. As they crossed to the meeting room, he said, "Shouldn't someone stay out there with Julie?"

     "You wanna see what they painted in there?"

     "Fair enough."

     "Seems odd him dying like that."

     "Old man dies in his sleep. Not that odd. Pleasant, really," the reference librarian said unlocking the meeting room door.

     She said, "How will we know which is his?"

    "Check for the signature 'Old Cranky Bastard' down at the bottom."

    Except the meeting room was empty. No art supplies. No canvases. No paints. No easels. Nothing in the small kitchen either.

     The reference librarian said, "Maybe she took it out the fire door?"

     "Without a key? We would have heard the alarm," the children's librarian said.

     Back at the table, they explained the art teacher must have the paintings and again offered their condolences. Sheila Anchor left, thanking them for treating her father so well during his last days. They promised to talk to the art teacher and put them in touch.

     At the other end of the table, the maskless man said, "I don't have to. I been vaccinated so just give me my damn books."

     "I still need your card number, sir. Or your name," the circulation librarian said.

     The man stuck his finger in the librarian's face. "I'm gonna get you." His finger drifted to each of them. "All of you. I been vaccinated."

     Then he left. The librarians were speechless.

Don't Lock the Meeting Room

The reference librarian let the art teacher into the library at ten on saturday. Old Man Anchor was dead twenty-four hours later.

     "My Christopher, you look good enough to eat," the art teacher told the reference librarian.

     The reference librarian said, "Well, thank you. I might give you indigestion, though."

     The children's librarian felt her blood run cold. She said, "I thought your class started at noon?"

     They stood by the table for curbside pickup. A light morning rain pitter pattered down. Breaks in the clouds showed signs of sunshine coming later in the day.

     The art teacher flashed her teeth. "I thought I would prepare. Some of my students are known to come early."

     The reference librarian let her into the library. The children's librarian watched them walk into the dark building. Her arm was linked to his, and they laughed like old friends.

     Around eleven, a couple came to the curbside table. The children's librarian greeted them and thanked them for wearing the black masks over their noses and mouths. They had the same dark hair and color-catching gray eyes of the art teacher. The man had on a brown hoodie that gave his eyes tan flecks while the woman's blue wrap over a white dress lit her face up. They walked past her. The reference librarian led them to the meeting room.

     At eleven forty-five, Old Man Anchor came to the library. The sun had come out, just a few dark clouds in the sky dropping heavy rain drops. He said, "Damn old devil is beating his wife today."

     "Excuse me?" the children's librarian said.

     "The devil beating his wife."

     "I guess I don't know the devil was married."

     The old man grimaced. "I'm here for the art class."

     "Us, too," said a young woman. Two of them, each holding big sketch pads under their arms with sorority ribbons in their hair.

     "Well, then I guess we should let you in," the children's librarian said with an uneasy smile.

     The reference librarian went to lead them back, but the children's librarian waved him off. When they got to the meeting room, the door was locked. Before she could get her key, the door opened.

     "Well, Mr. Anchor. Look at you. Little rain on you, I see," the art teacher said from the dark meeting room. She stepped into the light. She wore a dark red robe that draped around her shoulders.

     "Miss Karryn," the old man said, wiping at the water on his shoulders. "Devil's beating his wife out there."

     The art teacher took him by the arm. "My daddy used to say that about sunshowers. 'Karryn, baby, when a day is so pretty the devil just has to take it out on someone and make it rain.'"

     Old Man Anchor smiled and let himself be led into the meeting room. The college girls followed. The children's librarian started to follow, but the art teacher came back and blocked her way.

     "Sorry, but I'm always a bit shy when I model for students. Do you mind if we have privacy?" the art teacher said. She pulled her robe up on her shoulder.

     "Model?" the children's librarian said.

     "The human form. Once you understand that, you can make art from just about anything."

     "Nude modeling?"

     "Well, modest."

     "Nude modeling in the library?"

      The art teacher gave a smile. Then she closed the door.

     The children's librarian told the door, "Please don't lock the door. Fire codes."

     Back at curbside, the children's librarian told the reference librarian, "She's doing nude modeling back there. Told her not to lock the door."

     "Because of the fire codes," the reference librarian said.

     "Yeah."

     "The director did approve the program."

     "He did," the children's librarian said.

     After lunch until about two, with the sun out and the puddles evaporating in lazy mist, people came to get their holds. Young and old, singles and families. The librarians were busy. So busy they did not hear the sudden screams die down to moans in the meeting room.

     Around three, the clouds came back. The two college girls and the old man left first. They walked slow and silent from the building, pale and dazed. The couple came next, smiling and hugging one another. They waved and told the reference librarian they would love to have him at the next meeting.

     The art teacher left last. She nodded to the children's librarian and whispered something to the reference librarian.

     "What did she say?" the children's librarian said.

     "The reference librarian said, "That she looked forward to next month. Thanks for letting her use the library."

     The children's librarian believed he was lying.

Forgot How to be Tender

"So you can have a damn art class while I can't come in and check on the Wall Street Journal?" Old man Anchor said. 

     The children's librarian held a hand over her eyes to block the rays of the sunset behind the old man. "The art class is a special program from outside the library."

     "Where's the Journal come from? Huh? Y'all print it out back?"

     "As we told you last week, we put a hold on all print subscriptions when we closed."

     "Closed." Anchor spat a thick glob in the bushes by the curbside table. "I pay your salary with my taxes. You ain't serving shit. Just standing behind this table with your books."

     "Would you like to check out a book? Or I can tell you how to access the Wall Street Journal online?" the children's librarian said.

     "Ain't got no online. You think I can pay for a computer after they take out all those taxes and pay for nothing you give me?"

     The children's librarian summoned visions of children. Squeals of books at curbside. Little faces staring out from a computer screen. Small masks on little faces over bright eyes while being read to on the library lawn over the summer. As the sun dipped below the horizon, she could see the old man more clear.

     "Where is your mask, Mr. Anchor?" The children's librarian said.

     He spat again. "I got that shot. Been vaccinated."

     "I still need you to wear a mask for us at the table. Sorry, sir."

     "Oh, sure. Useless. I hope they close this whole place down. Never did nothing for me," the old man said.

     "You have been vaccinated?" a woman said.

     The old man and the children's librarian turned to find a woman standing near the table. The art teacher stood in dark maroon. She wore a shawl over her black hair and a mask over her nose and mouth. She had wrapped her body in deep red folds. The children's librarian found herself staring at the grey of the woman's eyes, how they picked up the red and turned them a warm purple.

     "Who're you?" the old man said.

     "Mr. Anchor, this is the art teacher. Karryn…" The children's librarian paused, not knowing the art teacher's last name.

     The art teacher did not give it. She only reached out a hand with long manicured nails. "Charmed, Mr. Anchor."

     The old man's face screwed up. But he took her hand in a light grip. The children's librarian thought he would bend down to kiss it. His shoulders slumped and his face relaxed into a gentle smile. The librarian wondered how long it had been that someone had touched him.

     "Nice to meet you," he said in a low tone. Face to face, the world seemed to melt away. The children's librarian wanted to leave feeling like something intimate was going on.

     "So you have been vaccinated?" the art teacher said.

    "Second shot later today," he said.

     "So healthy and strong. Smart, too, reading the Wall Street Journal," she said.

     The old man shook his head. "No, no. Just keeping an eye on my stocks."

     "Preparing for the future. Clever, too. There's a few like you in my art class. Maybe you would like to join us?"

     "Ain't good at drawing. No supplies either, miss."

     The art teacher put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure I have some to spare. I promise you, it will be rejuvenating."

     "Okay," the old man said. He nodded like a child while smiling.

     "Remember to wear a mask because we shall be inside, Mr. Anchor," the art teacher said.

     "Yes, ma'am."

     "See you Saturday, then."

     The old man backed away from the table. Smiling and nodding. "See you then, ma'am." He paid no attention to the children's librarian as he left.

     The art teacher took a small bottle of hand sanitizer from the table and rubbed her hands together slowly. The children's librarian felt the woman's gaze, those purple eyes, on her. An alarm went off in the back of her mind.

     "Thanks," the children's librarian said, looking away.

     The art teacher said, "Men are just boys who forgot how to be tender. I have no doubt I'll see him again. Now, I have some supplies I would like to drop off. Do you mind if I bring them in?"

     "Of course," the children's librarian said and moved the table aside.