Page 15 of Thea's Hero

“What’s wrong with falling for him? Ben is a great guy.” Ari sounded confused.

“Because.” I paused, trying to put words to my feelings. “What if it all goes wrong? And he breaks my heart? What if I have to walk around town feeling crushed, and everyone knows what happened? You know how Sleepy Hollow is, Ari. Everyone knows everything.”

“Thea.” Her voice went soft. “It’s not the same. You know that.”

I do. It’s fifteen years later and lots of things have changed, but my brain still has trouble accepting it. But I’m going to follow Ari’s advice and do my best to keep the past where it belongs and focus on the present.

Like tackling my massive to-do list. First up, going through the boxes of new books so Penny and Danielle can start processing them—stamping each book, attaching the color-coded stickers, and getting them organized on carts so they’re ready to shelve.

By the time I finish unpacking the boxes and get them set out on the long table in our workroom, an hour has gone by. I could have gone quicker, but looking at new books is one of my favorite parts of the job. There’s just something about brand new books that makes me feel all happy inside.

I mentioned that on a date once, and the guy looked at me like I was crazy. “They’re just books,” he said disdainfully. “And they aren’t even yours. How can that make you happy?”

That date didn’t work out for obvious reasons.

As I’m heading back to my office so I can start working on item number two on my list—prepare for my afternoon story time—Penny comes rushing over to me, looking completely frazzled. Her hair is falling out of her braid, she has a smear of ink on the side of her nose, and her voice goes shrill as she blurts, “Thea! I’m so glad I found you.”

Penny is lovely, and she’s a great assistant, but she tends to get overwhelmed easily. So this could be a serious problem or something as minor as running out of crayons in the children’s craft area. Since we’re currently in the middle of the children’s section with half a dozen moms watching us, I quickly lead Penny over to the checkout desk in the corner before asking, “What’s wrong?”

She takes a deep breath and continues in a slightly calmer tone. “Sorry, Thea. I know you just got back, and I didn’t want to bother you, but Mrs. Plimpton is getting all worked up again.”

Mrs. Plimpton. Of all the people I didn’t want to see on my first day back, she’s right at the top of the list. Not only a board member but the wife of the mayor, and very interested in the history of Sleepy Hollow. Which is great, and I’m all for researching, but when she decides she wants to know something, God help anyone who can’t help her find it.

Out of the corner of my eye I see two moms watching us with interest, no doubt hoping for some kind of gossip. So I lean closer to Penny and ask quietly, “What does Mrs. Plimpton want?”

“She wants a photo of the opening of the elementary school from 1954. Apparently her mother went there.” Penny shrugs. “I don’t know. I told her I didn’t think we had it, but she’s very insistent.”

“It’s possible. I’ll have to check the archives room, though.” Which I don’t really have time for, but Mrs. Plimpton isn’t a person you say no to. Especially if I want to get those lights installed out in the parking lot.

Penny shudders. “I hate the archives room. It’s so creepy down there. Like the Headless Horseman could be waiting in the basement to chop your head off.” She pauses, flushing as she realizes what she just said. “Um. Do you want me to go downstairs with you?”

“It’s fine.” I give her a reassuring smile. “I’ll just run down there. I’m pretty sure I know where it would be, if we have it. So I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Or it would be a few minutes if I didn’t get stopped by half a dozen people on my way to the basement.

First there’s Eleanor and her little boy, Axel, who is desperate to find a picture book about cars.

Then I run into Mr. Quinton, who’s pacing by the computers, insisting that they’re all broken.

They’re not; he was trying to log in with the caps lock on. But I very kindly reminded him to check for the little red light on the keyboard next time.

I’m nearly to the basement when I’m stopped by another one of our regulars. This time it’s Alec calling out, “Thea, wait.” He jogs over to me, his brown eyes filled with concern. “I heard you were in an accident. Are you okay?”

Most of our daytime regulars are either stay-at-home mothers with young children or retirees. But a few of them—like Alec—work remotely and come to the library for a change of scenery. He’s not the first person to ask me about my accident, and I’m sure he won’t be the last, so I paste on a smile and say, “I’m good, Alec. Glad to be back at work. But thanks for asking.”

There are good things about living in a small town, but when there’s something you don’t want people to talk to you about? It’s pretty much a guarantee that they will. When I was putting my groceries in the trunk of my rental car on Saturday, two different people walked by and asked if my old car was totaled and if the greedy insurance company was going to pay for all of it.

By the time I get to the library basement, it’s almost a relief. I wasn’t lying to Alec; I’m feeling a lot better, but the constant conversations are a little tiring. So I’m actually looking forward to a few silent minutes in the archive room, even if Penny’s right—it is a bit creepy.

The upper levels of the library have been updated, but the basement is still original. Which means lots of dark corners and creaky spots and a furnace that works well but looks like it belongs in a horror movie. But the archive room is clean and well-lit, thanks to hours of work down here with Reagan and Iris, the other two librarians who work with me.

It was a special project we did a year ago, after the board approved the purchase of all new shelves and cabinets. We closed the library for the weekend and the three of us spent two full days here sorting and cataloging. And we ordered lots of takeout and brought wine and blasted music and it was actually pretty fun.

I smile at the memory of Reagan bellowing the lyrics to Don’t Stop Me Now as she danced around the archive room, Iris and I howling in laughter. And after we finished working in the archive room, we went upstairs and got drunk and played hide-and-seek in the non-fiction section.

I’m just turning to the file cabinet when a small sound interrupts the stillness.

Almost too soft to hear, just the slightest whisper of something different.

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