The Fake Out by Sharon M. Peterson
FORTY-SIX
Giiirrrlll, you be breaking Old Testament laws!
Look at you workin’ it on the Sabbath.
—PEARCIA B.
Next day, I left two more angry messages for my father. He didn’t return either of them. Which made me angrier.
In fact, the whole day ended up being a craptastic crapfest of epic proportions. First, my favorite t-shirt, the one that read FEAR THE LIBRARIAN, had a giant hole in it. Second, Iris used up all the hot water before I could get a shower in. Third, my mother spent twenty-five minutes going over wedding ideas. Fourth, Kevin got something stuck in his craw and decided to shred one of my curtains for fun. Fifth, I hadn’t slept all night.
What I did do was lay awake, wondering what the hell was happening to me. Mostly, I thought about Chris. I thought about how he could get under my skin in less than three seconds. How he still managed to take care of me even when I tried to keep my distance. How I pushed and pushed but he remained unflappable, solid as a rock. How he had become my friend.
I thought about that stupid kiss many, many times. Friends didn’t kiss friends like that. They didn’t. I could say otherwise but I knew it hadn’t felt that way.
What was I supposed to do with all of these feelings? I didn’t have time for feelings. Feelings led to irrational things. And the worst part about these feelings? The questions. Was Chris feeling feelings too? Where the feelings mutual? What if they weren’t? What if they were?
And threaded through all that was fear. Honest-to-goodness fear at even the thought of opening my heart to someone, of giving anyone the ability to hurt me again.
I missed my Before Chris life. It was rough but uncomplicated. I worked and worked some more and survived and that was enough.
At some point, I drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours, but even after I got up and dragged myself to work, the thoughts didn’t stop. That afternoon, Chris texted and then called and then texted again. I couldn’t bring myself to reply or answer.
In short, I was a coward.
By the time Peter Stone moseyed on into the library fifteen minutes before closing, I was not in the mood for his pettiness.
“What do you want?” I asked. See? Not in the mood.
Peter leaned an elbow on the circulation desk and gave me a cat-in-cream smile. “I thought you’d be a whole lot happier, seeing as how you found a way to get what you wanted.”
“Look,” I said, my voice hard, “I’m tired, I’m irritated, and yours is the last face I want to see. So tell me what you want. Did you come on a quest to start banning books? Are you hoping for a good old-fashioned book burning and barbecue?”
Peter (wisely) took a step back, hands raised. “I didn’t mean anything except I thought you’d be happy. Wanted to let you know the check came and it’s already deposited.”
I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What check?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “The donation from Chris Sterns to the library. Surely you knew about it.”
I went still. No, I had not known about it. In fact, I remembered sitting in this very library and making him promise he would not donate. There’d been witnesses and everything.
“How much?” I asked.
“That’s kind of funny, actually. I called him twice to make sure it was right—a hundred thousand dollars and a cent.”
Of course it was. I was going to kill Chris. “I don’t want that money.”
Peter looked nothing short of dumbfounded. “Of course you want that money. You’ve worked hard for it.”
I froze, my blood beginning to heat. “What?”
“You found a man with money. Wasn’t that the plan? I almost feel responsible seeing as how I introduced the two of you.” Then. He. Winked. At. Me.
Alright. Chris may survive. Because I was going to kill Peter instead.
“Are you accusing me of using my relationship with Chris to save the library?” I stalked around the counter until I was only a couple feet away from him. “Is that the kind of person you think I am?”
It was at this point Peter figured out he may have said the wrong thing. He pulled at his collar and took a step back. “That’s not what I meant. You misunderstood me.”
I moved closer and Peter backed up again. He might be a couple of inches taller, but we weighed about the same and frankly, I was scrappier. I might have been able to take him. Especially with the mood I was in.
“Get out.”
“You did the same thing to me. Made me like you, got what you wanted, and then broke my heart.”
“What I wanted?” I whispered.
“Well, this job at the library.”
I never thought seeing red was a thing. Turns out, it was. “I got this job at the library because I am highly qualified. The only thing I did wrong was thinking for even one moment you were worth any time I ever gave you.”
His expression mulish, he crossed his arms. “You’re just mad because you had a good thing and couldn’t keep it.”
I cursed; Iris would have been proud. “Are you kidding me? You had girlfriends in four other towns, you idiot. You know, we have a support group now for all the women who were stupid enough to date you. I’m the treasurer this year. We’re saving up for matching tattoos. They’ll say something like, ‘Peter Stone is a giant cucumber.’”
As far as insults, it hit the mark. I would have to thank Ali for her creativity.
Peter’s face went through a wide range of emotions—fear, anger, embarrassment, fear again, and back to anger. For a split second, he even tried to get a backbone. “You can’t talk to me that way. I’m the mayor.”
“Out!” I yelled.
My hand itched to throw a book at him. I stalked toward him, and he walked backward, tripping over the return cart but saving himself before he met the floor.
His back hit the door. With as much pride as he could scrimp up, he pulled it open. “I can’t wait for the council meeting. I’m going to crush you.”
The door slammed shut behind him and I locked it even if it were a few minutes early. I leaned my forehead on the cool wood and tried to pull in deep, calming breaths. It didn’t work. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Peter was a lost cause, and I was a little embarrassed I’d used any emotion on him.
But Chris was another story.