Page 42 of Overdue

“Fucking fabulous.”

fifteen

AUSTEN

“Seriously?” The voice of my sister brings me out of the most delicious dream I’ve ever had. In the dream, Reed and I had finally put aside our differences to make passionate love. He made my body sing until exhausted, and we both fell asleep cocooned in each other's arms.

“Go away, Eliot.” Wait, that wasn’t a dream? The deep tenor growling behind me is certainly no dream.

“Okay, but your gran is about to roll into the library.”

“Shit.” Reed climbs over me on the couch. Have you ever been twenty-six but acted like you’re fifteen? That’s what’s happening.

Reed grabs his pants. Hopping on one foot, he manages to get them on. I wiggle into yesterday’s skirt, still laying prone. He tosses me my blouse before pulling his T-shirt over his head. Eliot is leaning against the doorjamb, shaking her head.

“Idiots,” she says. She leaves to greet the voices I hear from the other room.

Reed is crouching to lace up his work boots. My high heels are ridiculous under the circumstances, but they’re all I have, so I slide them on. He stands and rushes from the office. Okay. What happened to the lazy morning in bed, sipping coffee and snuggling? So far both times someone has run. First me, now him.

Is it a walk of shame if you don’t go home? Throwing my unruly hair into a high ponytail, I walk out of the office. Somewhere around twenty people are standing next to what was the circulation desk.

“Austen,” Mom exclaims. She rushes to me, pulling me into a hug. “We were so worried. We kept thinking you would walk through the door any minute all night. I couldn’t imagine what was so urgent it had to keep you here?”

“Or who?” Eliot mumbles. Reed snorts. I take the mature road and flip her off over Mom’s shoulder.

“I can see now what kept you up all night,” Mom adds, looking around the room.

“Well, he is right there.” Reed smacks Eliot on the arm for me. “Ouch. Mom, Reed hit me.” She smirks.

“I’m sure you deserved it. Now, what can we help with?” Mom asks.

I take a good look around. Last night, I was operating in emergency mode. Then I spiraled directly into “oh my god, I’m going to have sex with Reed” mode. This is the first time I’ve taken a good, hard look at the destruction.

There is sawdust and leaves from where the tree was removed. The windows were quickly boarded up with plywood. The tables in the back are completely filled with books, where I carried them from the shelves in the front.

“Mom, can you take a group to sift through the books? Set any that will need professional repair in the meeting room.” She nods and gathers a group to help. “Dad, if you can get someone to help you with the sawdust and leaves.”

“Done,” he says, before heading, with several helpers on his tail, to the front.

“How about if I get some coffee going and order some pastries for everyone from Batter-Y-Operated? People need to be fed.” Jennie and Mel head back out the door.

“I’m going to check the tarp on the roof and then secure the windows a little better. I heard Mrs. Philips say she’s going to call the insurance company. Maybe they’ll get here soon, so the repairs can start,” Reed says. We stand awkwardly, staring at each other. Finally, he smiles and leaves.

“Well, that felt awkward,” Eliot points out. I give her my best side-eye. “I’m just teasing.” She bumps into me in sisterly jest. Whatever.

I turn on my heel and return to my office. I need to start finding someone to repair any damaged books, set up a temporary place for storytime, and see when they think the electricity will be back on. I’m sure Mr. Daily will want his generator back eventually. Eliot follows me.

“So, did you take my advice?” she asks, flopping onto the couch.

“Maybe.” I look at her slyly from where I’m bent over my desk.

“And?”

Do I tell her what happened? Of course, she’s my best friend. If I can’t tell my sister, who can I tell? “And, he has a really talented tongue.”

“Whooo!” she answers and does some weird cowgirl rodeo thing.

“Brain worm?” Reed asks from the doorway. He motions at Eliot with his head.

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