An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [66]
“Why don’t we go inside and have a look?”
“Why don’t we have lunch?”
We finish shovelling the path then store the shovels inside the barn. She rounds up the dogs and we return to the house.
“What’s it like inside?”
She pokes her head inside the fridge, pulls out leftovers then lays them on the table. “Small, six sides, two stories, open concept, filled with boxes. I haven’t been in there in ages. Will didn’t include me in his projects. I explained that to you more than once already.”
I add wood to the stove then join her at the table. “What’s in the boxes?”
She fills my plate with salad and quiche then pours me a glass of white wine. “Books, more books, papers. Will’s papers.”
“Would I be able to have a visit?”
“Ask Francis.”
“You know as well as I do that’s not possible.”
“Why? He won’t bite you,” she says.
“He’s always interfering in my work.”
“I thought it was the other way round.”
“How can you say that when he’s set up an entire committee to fight my project?”
“The committee is fighting for privacy rights,” she says.
I lay down my fork and knife. “Are you agreeing with him?”
This time, she’s the one who stops eating. “What if I was?”
“Then I’d say you need to reconsider whose side you’re on.”
She pushes her plate away and stands up from the table. “I’m going for a walk in the cove before this turns into one of those arguments.”
I follow her to the porch. “Those arguments?”
She pulls on her boots and a jacket. “The ones that start with your questions about Francis. The last time we had an argument like that, we didn’t see each other for a couple of months.”
“We haven’t finished lunch and we just came inside.”
“I told you before I’m not interested in talking about Francis.”
I put on my boots and jacket. “Why?”
She opens the door. The wind rushes in. The dogs rush out. She follows them. “I’m not interested in talking about this.” She shouts to me over the noise of their barking. “It’s simple.”
I run after her. “It’s not so simple.”
She walks on ahead of me on the narrow path. “Why?” she asks.
Our conversation is being swallowed up by the howl of the wind, the barking dogs and the roar of the surf. I lay a hand on her shoulder to stop her from walking away.
“Because people have to protect themselves, that’s why. Let’s go back to the house and finish lunch.”
“Protect themselves against what?” she asks.
I draw her close to me. She rests her head on my chest. I bend my head to kiss her. “Against the cold. Come on.”
Folio jumps on me. Octavo jumps on Folio. Quarto jumps on Octavo. We fall like dominos into a fresh drift of snow. The dogs bounce up and down, trampoline style. I cover my face while they stir up a miniature blizzard. The oversized crystals of snow fall so slowly I wonder if they shouldn’t be going up rather than down. I can’t tell where the sky begins and the land ends. I lick the snowflakes off her cheeks. She holds a snowball up to my mouth. I take a bite then spit it out because it tastes bitter. She laughs.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
the honest thief
I’M GOING TO THE OFFICE to pick up student papers,” she says. “I’ll be home in a couple of hours. Don’t let the dogs inside while I’m gone, please.”
I wave goodbye from the door. On the wall, next to where my hand rests, is the rack of keys. I go back to the kitchen to browse the weekend newspaper article on online music sharing. I take the scissors from the kitchen drawer to cut it out so I can post it on the bulletin board in the lunchroom at the library. The dogs are barking outside. I open the door and call to them but they don’t come. My eyes shift to the key rack. Each key is labelled: barn, Walter, basement, CH, car spare. I put on my jacket and boots. I check my watch, look outside, then back at the keys.
The only witnesses are the dogs. The wind scatters the powdery snow over my footprints on the path behind me. I check over my shoulder before I push the key in. The click comes, I shove with my hip, the door opens. I slide the key out of the lock. It’s the filing cabinets that I see first then the tables with boxes