The Weird Sisters - Eleanor Brown [80]
“You do?” Bean asked. “Who said that?”
“Rose. She was in the other day and she mentioned that you were having a spot of trouble finding something. Not surprising, really. Wrong time of year, even if Barnwell were a booming economy.”
“Rose told you I needed a job?” Bean asked, still stumped. “My sister Rose?”
“What are you acting so surprised for? She is your sister. She’s worried about you.”
“Worried about me,” Bean said. “Right.”
“In any case, it’s not exactly a big secret. Maura at the bookstore mentioned you’d been in to see her, and you’ve been in the 650s all day.” She nodded in the direction of the books Bean had just replaced. Mrs. Landrige knew the Barnwell library without looking. You could ask her anything, and she’d spit out the Dewey decimal number and point a taut hand in the direction of the shelf. Puberty rites? 390, by the study carrels. Charlotte’s Web? Juvenile literature, by the windows. Soccer? 796, to the left of the drinking fountains. When we were little, we sometimes tried to stump her, thinking of the most arcane topics we could, but we never won. Mrs. Landrige was the champion of the Dewey decimal system.
“I suppose,” Bean said. “It looks like I’ll be here for a while.”
“I’m taking a leave of absence. Hip replacement surgery.” She looked up at Bean. The neck of her dress—it was always a dress, she was Of That Age—framed her neck, which looked so delicate against the fabric, the taut cords and loose skin standing out against each other. Bean stroked her own skin unconsciously, sure she could already feel the loosening of her jowls, the emergence of her clavicle.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Mrs. Landrige smiled. “It’s the problem with living so long, Bianca. Everything gets worn out. Makes me wonder if all these medical advances are really worth anything. But it’s apparently relatively common, so I’m sure I’ll be fine, albeit out of commission for a while. So I’m wondering if you would be interested in taking over for me in my absence.”
“As the librarian?”
“Certainly.”
“But I don’t know anything about it. I mean, I don’t have the right degree.”
Mrs. Landrige, had she worn glasses, would have looked over the rims at Bean. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the Barnwell Public Library, not the Library of Congress. You’ve been coming here since before you could walk, and I trust you implicitly.”
Bean nearly laughed out loud. The last people who had trusted her could have had her arrested. “I don’t know, Mrs. Landrige. I don’t know if I’d be any good.”
“It’s hardly rocket science, dear. Be sensible. You need a job, and I need someone here. You can stay until we both get back on our feet.” She smiled at her little joke.
“Well, okay.”
“Then you’ll come in tomorrow bright and early and we’ll get started on a little training?” She pressed the book into Bean’s hands, and Bean looked dumbly at the cover. She couldn’t remember why on earth she’d chosen a book about a half-naked warrior woman with the thigh muscles of a Tour de France winner. And she couldn’t figure out how she’d suddenly been anointed the successor to a Barnwell institution.
“I’ll get paid, right?” she asked.
“Of course. We’ll talk about all that tomorrow.” Mrs. Landrige looked at Bean for a moment as though she were going to speak, and then closed her mouth. Bean turned to go. “Bianca?”
“Yeeeees.” Bean turned. She knew that scolding tone. It was the same one Rose had used on her that morning.
But Mrs. Landrige’s voice was softer, almost maternal. “Get some sleep.”
Bean flipped her sunglasses down again and headed toward the door. She walked quickly down the front steps outside, feeling the muscles in her inner thighs twinge, and she tried to shake off the memory of last night. How had she found herself in that house again? Wasn’t she supposed to be making a fresh start? Confessing everything to us so she could be