SWNOVELS The Fake Out: Chapter 61
Hey, baby. Are you tired?
’Cause you’ve been running through my mind all day.
—SAM
In May, I returned to my old shift at Chicky’s. Shane even seemed happy to see me. Which didn’t last long. By the end of the evening, I’d had two complaints about my attitude and one drunk guy who was sure I’d purposely spilled a beer on him.
It sure wasn’t an accident, buddy.
On my second night back, Amanda found me and told me my presence was requested. “Don’t worry. No handsome football players.”
No, it was worse.
“Oh, the gods have smiled down on me today,” Iris crowed and held up her phone. “Smile, Mae.”
“Honey, don’t you look cute in that uniform,” Mama said. “But that shirt’s a little revealing, isn’t it?”
“Eh, leave her alone,” Sue said. “She can pull it off.”
“I could talk to your boss about letting you wear something more appropriate,” Mama offered.
“Please don’t.”
Iris held up the phone. “Damn, this picture is amazing. I’m going to get it blown up to poster size.”
“Iris, watch your mouth,” Mama said. “And put your phone away.”
I sighed. “Oh, boy, you came to Chicky’s.”
“Of course, honey. We wanted to see where you worked.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll leave you a good tip,” Sue said.
“Ha,” Iris said. “My tip is that this place needs better servers.”
“Thanks for the support.” I smiled. “Now figure out what you want to eat so you can get out of here.”
The next week, I found out that every single one of my mother’s medical bills had been paid in full. Every. Single. One.
That jerk. That beautiful, sweet jerk.
That week, I worked up the courage to text him:
Me: I do not want your money.
Me: I just mailed the check back for the FOURTH time. Stop sending it.
Me: Seriously. Don’t send it back.
Me: Or else.
Me: And I’ll find a way to pay you back for Mama’s medical bills.
Then, much later, in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep:
Me: I miss you.
He did not reply.
The city council held all their meetings on Tuesdays at 6 p.m. sharp in the auditorium of the high school, which seated two hundred people comfortably. I arrived at 5:30, anxious and jittery. I didn’t relish throwing myself on the mercy of the council but this was my last shot to pound some sense into them.
Except for a handful of people setting up the stage, I was the only person in the auditorium. I sat in the very front row, stuck in my earbuds, and pulled up some music while I reviewed my notecards. Over the last week, I’d spent hours going over the points I wanted to make.
The plan to arrive early had seemed like a good one two hours ago. But now, the longer I sat there, the more nervous I became. I rechecked the order of my notecards, smoothed out my hair, adjusted the volume of the music, and slapped on a little more lip gloss.
Eventually, the council members trickled in. Mr. Jersey looked like he was half asleep. Stephen O’Donnell was fiddling with his phone. Sabrina Olsen sat nearest to Peter, smiling at something he’d said with her scary toothy smile. These people held the fate of the library in their hands, and it was a terrifying thought.
Maybe I’d been stupid not to take Chris’s donation. I could have avoided all this, but this wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t even mine. I could go elsewhere and find a job. The library had been here longer than most of them and would be here long after. The people of Two Harts needed the library and they needed to fight for it.
Because when something is important to you, you fight for it.
My heart lurched in my chest at that thought. I tucked it away for later.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up to find Mrs. Katz, Horace behind her. The two of them had become a matched set of late, showing up for lunch at Ollie’s or stopping by the library together. Much like a bonded pair of cats, they seemed just as inclined to get their claws out or cuddle up for a nap. It was fascinating to watch.
“Well, move over so we can sit with you,” Mrs. Katz said.
I popped out one of the earbuds. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
She frowned. “Of course I came. I’m on the agenda to speak against the library budget cut.”
“Me too.” Horace whipped out what looked to be a small novel’s worth of paper. “Typed out all my notes, too. Didn’t want to forget anything.”
“Horace, can you sit down, please? I can’t see,” a voice behind us said. It was Sarah Ellis, white hair neatly curled, pearls in place, smiling her grandmotherly smile. “I’m going to be speaking too. I plan on telling that bastard Peter Stone how I really feel.”
“Me, too,” someone else said.
“Same here,” another voice said.
It took me several seconds to realize what I was seeing. I stood and faced the back of the auditorium. Almost every seat was taken. So many of the faces I recognized. People I’d grown up with, who came to the library for books or to use a computer or to ask me how to get the Facebook app on their phone. A few of them waved at me.
“Where did they all come from?” I whispered.
“What does that mean?” Mrs. Katz asked. “Goodness sakes, they came from Two Harts. They know how important the library is to this town and they know how important you are. You needed help. You have help. They’re here for you,”
“For me?” My voice squeaked. “I—I don’t know what to say.”
Mrs. Katz shook her head. “You young people have no manners. You say thank you.”
I couldn’t help myself. Later that night, I texted Chris:
Me: The city council voted down the budget cuts.
Me: It was amazing. So many people came to support the library.
Me: The council caved under the pressure.
Me: Anyway, I wanted you to know.