An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [73]
Her private road is ploughed better than the main. The dogs bark when I pull in near the barn. They run to the car. “No, Folio! Get down, Folio!” Norah’s not as enthusiastic with her welcome. She doesn’t bother to stop shovelling the walkway to greet me. She doesn’t stroke my head or draw me closer. We don’t lie together hugging in the snow. There’s no talk of missing each other, no smell of her hair.
I follow her into the porch. There are muffins bottom-up on a rack on the kitchen counter. There’s the usual faint whiff of wood burning in the stove. The kitchen light is a quiet copper glow from the orange and red glass in the tiffany lamp over the table. Straight ahead, in the living room, there’s the natural light of day, the kind Mercedes claims is best for cleaning and dusting. Back in the kitchen, Norah finds ways to be busy.
I lay my jacket over the arm of the chair then glance at the spiral bound manual: Faculty Association Grievance Procedures. She clears off the table.
“How have you been?”
She places a mug in front of me. “OK.”
I take hold of her hand but she pulls it away. “Elsa and I are not what you think. I never talked about it because it didn’t matter because you know how I feel about you.”
She goes to the counter and starts washing muffin pans. “Why were you watching me in the Reading Room?”
I was prepared for a question about Elsa. “I can’t help it if my office looks down into that space.”
“You’ll only make this conversation more painful by denying it,” she says.
The coffee pot gurgles.
“I’m not denying anything. It’s not what you think. Henry had a plan to save my project and–”
“I asked why you were watching me, not why your friend Henry was watching.”
“I told him I didn’t want to use binoculars–”
“Oh my God. I don’t believe you.” She picks up the cloth to wash the counter.
“It didn’t last for long. I didn’t want to do it but he–”
“You also asked a clerk in the Reading Room if you could see my request slip. Are you going to blame that on Henry as well?”
“I just wanted to check in the databases to see who you were because–”
She lays down the cloth, opens a drawer then takes out an envelope. “Binoculars? Database? Plus snooping in Francis’ office, telling the Chief Librarian that Francis was linked with my father in some scheme to rob the library, talking–”
“That’s not true! Francis is feeding you lies. You can’t believe anything he says.”
She reaches her hand into the envelope then throws five photos onto the table. I wonder if they cost her as much as I paid for them. No wonder the cook said business was booming. “Why should my relationship with Francis concern you? I don’t interfere with your life.”
I shove the photos away from me. “The cook was Henry’s idea. Besides, you can interfere as much as you want. At least then I’d have some reassurance you care about me.”
She pushes them back towards me. “Is that how you show you care? And this too?” She throws another photo on the table. It’s a slightly unfocused shot of a man in the entrance to the Crimson Hexagon, wide-eyed like an animal caught in headlights. I feel like I’m in a hole so deep, I’d need an elevator to get out of it.
“Francis gave me the photos while you were in hospital. I didn’t mention them at the time because you weren’t well.”
“Francis is the one who’s unwell.”
“What’s wrong with you? What have you got against him? He’s a good man.”
“He’s a good liar and a good manipulator. I can see he’s manipulated you.”
“Your liar gave up a scholarship to Princeton because Will needed him here to work on his collection of Newfoundland materials. Your manipulator was more caring to me than my own father.”
“If he’s such a knight in shining armour, why aren’t you with him now?”
“Why aren’t you with your wife?”
“Because I don’t love her.”
“I couldn’t force Francis to love me.”
“You’d have to be an idiot to love him.”
“Are you calling me an idiot?”
“That’s