Shelf Awareness: Green Valley Library Book #4 Page 3

  Oh, hell fucking no. Tilting my head at Grant, I said, “You two had breakfast together? How interesting since you’ve been telling me for the past few months you never had time to have breakfast with me.” In an exaggerated motion, I swept my hand up to tap my finger on my chin. “I wonder why you never had time for me, but you can for Xavier?”

  Paling slightly, Grant’s nervous gaze bounced around the lobby. “Finley, please, let’s not do this here.”

  “Why? Are you afraid I’m going to make a scene?” Sweeping my hands wide, I threw my head back. “Are you afraid I’m going to tell everyone in this building how you broke our marriage vows and broke my heart by having a gay affair with my personal trainer?” I shouted.

  My words echoed through the atrium, causing those hustling in to work to screech to a stop. With wide-eyes and open mouths, they stared at us. As time slowed to a crawl, I sincerely regretted my outburst. So much for trying to lie low and become a hermit. Sure, there wasn’t an enormous crowd to witness my meltdown, but even those who hadn’t seen or heard my outburst would know about it before too long.

  From this day forward, I would be the woman who lost her shit in the lobby of Cox Media Group. Each and every time I walked in the building, I would have to field curious looks or ones of pity. My boss might even call me in for a wellness check. The kind they might do when they were worried someone might go apeshit and do something really crazy like stab or shoot someone.

  But it wasn’t just the office building. If I stayed in our condo, I’d get the same looks of curiosity and pity. Even if I moved somewhere else, Atlanta was full of memories of my life with Grant. It would be hard to turn a corner and not remember something about him.

  Slowly shaking my head, I murmured, “I can’t do this.”

  “That would have been a more productive thought five minutes ago,” Grant hissed.

  “No, I mean, I can’t do this building anymore. This job. This city.” I exhaled a ragged breath. “I’m done.”

  Grant’s brows shot up. “You’re quitting the AJC?”

  With a mirthless laugh, I replied, “Yep. But not just the paper. I’m quitting this city, and most of all, I’m quitting you.”

  “Oh, that’s fierce,” Xavier whispered under his breath.

  I drew my shoulders back before giving Grant a defiant look. “Whatever divorce papers you need me to sign, you can forward them to Green Valley. As for the condo, I’ll pack up what’s mine. I don’t give a shit about the furniture or anything that could possibly remind me of you. You can sell it or burn it. Hell, you can even cut it up like I did your clothes.”

  Grant gave me a mournful look. “I wouldn’t dream of not compensating you for the furniture and household materials. After all, you helped purchase them.” His expression then changed over to one of confusion. “Wait, what about my clothes?”

  An evil smile curved on my face as I bypassed him on to the elevator. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  And with that, the elevator doors closed, echoing the close of my marriage.

  Chapter Four

  In spite of originally feeling empowered and embolden by announcing my move, I spent my first weekend in Green Valley lurching around like a zombie. Considering I didn’t shower or change clothes, I looked and smelled like one too. The only time I left GramBea’s guest bedroom was for meals, and I only did that because I couldn’t take having the girls hovering over my bed, begging me just to try a bite of whatever delicious concoction they had baked or picked up.

  It was like I had experienced some sort of epic emotional shift when I drove over the Georgia state line into Tennessee. After I spoke to my boss to formally resign, I’d gone straight home and collected my essential personal effects. I’d then stuffed the suitcases and boxes into my convertible. I’d even put the top down to allow more space. Of course, when I finished it somehow looked like the pickup truck the Clampett’s drove to Beverly Hills.

  Once I’d gotten on the road, I alerted GramBea to the change in my plans. I wasn’t just visiting Green Valley—I was moving there. She and the other “Golden Girls” were thrilled with the news. After once again being put on speakerphone, they rattled on for twenty miles about how they were going to get me acclimated to small town life. By the time I hung up, I was certain the girls could achieve world peace if given the chance.

  Considering how pumped I’d sounded on the phone, they were a little surprised to find me somewhat sullen when I arrived. No matter how hard I tried to put on a game face for them, I couldn’t muster the strength. The welcome-home dinner was left untouched as I claimed I was too tired from the drive. I’d made a beeline for the guest room. After collapsing on the bed in my clothes, I slept consecutively for the next twelve hours and pretty much on and off the entire weekend.

  On Monday morning, the guest room door banged open. As I was trying to get my bearings, the drapes were unceremoniously flung open. Like a vampire, I cowered from the sun by burrowing under the covers.

  “All right, young lady, the time for wallowing and festering in self-pity is over,” GramBea announced.

  With a scowl, I said, “I’m in mourning for the death of my marriage. I believe Southern etiquette dictates at least nine days for that.”

  GramBea swept a hand to her hip. “Southerners haven’t had mourning etiquette since the Civil War.”

  “Fine. Then I’m converting to Catholicism to observe their epiphany period.”

  “Finley Anne Granger, you are going to get yourself out of that bed. You are going to march yourself into the bathroom and make yourself presentable. After consuming a nutritious breakfast, you and I are going to go down to the library to see about a job.”

  With a roll of my eyes, I pushed myself up into a sitting position. “You must be joking.”

  “I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

  “GramBea, while I might have an English degree, I’m a journalist and an editor, not a librarian.” In my mind, I couldn’t imagine a more depressing prospect. Nothing screams spinster like a librarian. I could literally feel my vagina shriveling at the sexless years ahead of it. Next, GramBea would be suggesting I go with her to The Beauty Mark to get my hair teased before joining her for shuffleboard.

  “This is Green Valley, Finnie, not Atlanta. We don’t have the news of a metropolis for the Green Valley Ledger staff to report on. Since they’re not hiring, I thought I would ask my friend from the poetry circle, Naomi Winters, about a job. When I told her about your minor in history, she was very excited since they’re looking to fill a position over in the new Green Valley history room.”

  At the mention of history, I perked up slightly. “There’s a new history room?”

  GramBea nodded. “Recently, the library was given an endowment in memory of Bethany Winston. You remember her, don’t you?”

  Over the years, GramBea had introduced me to a revolving door of Green Valley friends and residents when I would visit on the weekends and over the summer. Most of the time, they all started to run together, but in this case, I actually remembered Bethany. She had a true kindness about her, as well as a love of literature. Not only that, but I’d played with her sons and daughter when I was a kid. I’d had the biggest crush on Beau when I was sixteen, but like most instances in my love life, nothing had ever come to fruition.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Part of that endowment went to a new Green Valley and East Tennessee history room. From what Naomi was telling me, the staff needs somewhat of a curator to first oversee all the history books and artifacts as well as working with a digital program to preserve the documents and archive the microfilm.”

  Hmm, History Curator for Green Valley Public Library had a nice ring to it. Sure, it was outside of my usual realm of expertise, but I could adapt. After all, the move to Green Valley was about more than a change of address. It was about a change in me. At least that’s what I’d told myself along the drive. I couldn’t imagine a better way to change me than with a new career.
Especially one that held a particular interest for me.

  After bestowing a knowing look on me, GramBea said, “From what I can gather, there would potentially be some downtime on the job. Perhaps time you could focus on writing.”

  Oh man, she’d gone in for the kill with the mention of my writing. It wasn’t a secret to anyone in my family that I wanted to write a nonfiction book on the history of Tennessee Native Americans with a specific focus on the role of women. So far, life had gotten in the way of me seriously pursing it. While GramBea and my parents were encouraging and supportive, Grant had always acted pretty ambivalent about it. He hadn’t discouraged me, but at the same time, he’d never shown the type of interest a spouse should. Or that I would have liked him to.

  Tilting my head, I couldn’t help murmuring, “Mm . . .” My remark came from the realization it was the first time I’d admitted to myself how unsupportive of my writing Grant had been. Why hadn’t he been supportive? It wasn’t like I hadn’t supported him in every job endeavor or hobby he wanted to take part in. As I sat there, I couldn’t help pondering how many other things Grant really hadn’t been supportive of. I’m sure if I’d told him I wanted to be the history curator in a public library he would have questioned my sanity before trying to steer me in the direction of the job he deemed I should have. The job he wouldn’t be embarrassed to tell his friends I had.

  Jesus, how had I ever been married to such a prick? With a renewed sense of purpose, I threw back the quilt and hopped out of bed. “Okay. I’m game.”

  Instead of GramBea appearing thrilled I was willing to go for the interview, she merely jerked her chin up. “I’m glad you could see things my way.”

  I chuckled. “I think it was more about the fact you made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. If it had been your average librarian job, I’d still be under the quilt.”

  “A librarian’s work is honest work.”

  “I never said it wasn’t.”

  Wagging a finger at me, GramBea said, “I just don’t want you waltzing in there acting all high and mighty.”

  I widened my eyes at her. “When have I ever acted high and mighty?”

  “There’s been several times since you got your degree and moved to the big city.”

  “Wait, I—”

  “Maybe you didn’t realize it at the time because you were with someone who encouraged that ideal.”

  Well, well, well. It wasn’t just me who often felt Grant had a pretentious streak. I’d never voiced that thought to anyone. I never wanted to talk down about my husband. Shifting on my feet, I asked, “You think Grant was high and mighty?”

  “Sometimes. He just never seemed comfortable here in what he would consider ‘the backwoods’.”

  GramBea was right. After the first couple of times we’d stayed with her and Granddaddy, Grant always seemed to have other plans that kept him from returning with me. After it was only the girls, he still wasn’t very interested in making the trek to the mountains. Looking back, I could easily see how most of the time he gave me pretty flimsy excuses. “He wasn’t a big fan of the outdoors,” I replied absently.

  “I think it was more than the outdoors,” GramBea countered.

  After opening my mouth to protest again, I quickly closed it. Shit. GramBea was right about Grant. He did look down his nose to rural areas and their people. Once again, how was it possible I’d been so blind? Why had it taken something like discovering him cheating for me to see the other issues that had been so blatantly there? If I really thought about it, had Xavier done me a favor by taking Grant off my hands? Yeah, I was going to leave that one for my therapist.

  “Because you loved him, and love blinds us,” GramBea murmured.

  I jerked my gaze over to hers. “Was I talking out loud?”

  GramBea smiled. “No. I just could tell what you were thinking from the look on your face.”

  Groaning, I swiped my hand over my face. “God, I feel like such a mess.”

  “Of course, you do. I’m pretty sure you’re going to feel that way for a long time. Although it was a different type of loss, I felt the same way when your grandfather died. The world I knew collapsed so suddenly with his heart attack and death. Here I was starting all over at seventy-five.”

  “But it gets better, right?” I found myself holding my breath for her response.

  “Yes, it does.” She placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You are still so young, Finley. There are so many years of happiness before you.”

  “Trust me, I want to believe that.”

  “Then believe it. Mind over matter and all of that.”

  I tilted my head at her. “You sound like Estelle.”

  “What can I say? She’s rubbed off on me over the years.”

  Laughing, I replied, “I’d say so.”

  “Speaking of that new happiness, let’s get going to the interview.”

  “Right.” Leaving GramBea, I walked over to the closet. After throwing open the door, I grimaced. “Shit.”

  “Language, Finley Anne.”

  “I’m sorry, but I realize I have no idea where my career clothes are.”

  GramBea waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t need any of those.”

  “Uh, yeah, I think I do if I’m going for a job interview.”

  “Must I remind you this is Green Valley, not Atlanta, and we’re not being high and mighty?” Before I could protest I was pretty sure the women around here weren’t so backwoods that they never wore career suits, she winked. “It’s about who you know, not how you’re dressed.”

  “I would hope it’s also about how qualified I am.”

  “Of course, it is. Naomi isn’t going to hire just anybody. The endowment honoring Bethany is very special, and they’ll only consider the most exceptional people. At the same time, they’re not so interested in outsiders. They want someone who has a feel for Green Valley, not just Tennessee history. Even though you haven’t lived here, you’ve spent enough time to respect and appreciate the history.”

  I supposed that was true. When I’d decided to flee Atlanta, I could have gone anywhere. Instead, I’d decided on Green Valley. I just hoped Naomi appreciated that. Turning my attention back to the closet, I rifled through the clothes Dot had emptied from my suitcase. She was the extremely organized one of the group. Apparently, she’d also washed the navy pencil skirt and ruffled cream colored blouse I’d worn to work the day I’d run away from Atlanta.

  Pulling the outfit from the closet, I asked, “How’s this?”

  GramBea nodded appreciatively. “Oh, you’ll look just lovely.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing at GramBea’s summation. “Thanks.” Shooing her with my hands, I said, “Okay now, get on out of here so I can get ready.”

  As she started to the bedroom door, GramBea said, “Make sure you use extra soap and deodorant. I’m pretty sure if they got a whiff of you now, you’d never get the job.”

  Rolling my eyes, I replied, “Whatever.” But as soon as GramBea was out the door, I lifted my arm to sniff under my armpit. “Ugh. That’s heinous,” I muttered before making a beeline to the shower.

  Chapter Five

  “Wow, this is impressive,” I murmured as GramBea and I strolled up the walkway of the newly renovated Green Valley Public Library.

  “Isn’t it though?” After tsking sadly, GramBea said, “I just wish Bethany was here to see it. She would be over the moon.”

  “She sure would.” During previous summer visits, GramBea had taken me to the library for story-time. Even though Smyrna where I’d grown up wasn’t like Atlanta by any means, its library had made Green Valley’s appear practically primitive. The last time I’d visited I’d even seen an archaic card catalogue. I’d even stopped to snap a picture because I couldn’t believe they were still out in the wild.

  A rush of cool air met us as we pushed through the front doors. It was a welcome change from the early June heat. As we started across the tiled floor of the lobby, it suddenly hi
t me. I was thirty years old and my grandmother was accompanying me to a job interview. Small town or not, talk about unprofessional. I turned to GramBea. “While I appreciate the moral support of you coming down here with me, I hope you don’t think you’re going to stay in the interview with me.”

  Tsking, GramBea replied, “Do you really think I’m that dense?”

  I cocked my eyebrows at her. “It’s not you being dense. It’s more like you’re being overprotective.”

  “You’re my flesh and blood, so of course, I’m going to be overprotective.”

  “GramBea,” I warned.

  “For your information, I plan on making the necessary introductions between you and Naomi. After that, I will head over to the fiction section to find a new mystery to read before planting my behind in one of those comfortable chairs by the window.”

  “I hope so.”

  When we got to the circulation desk, I was somewhat surprised to see an attractive Asian woman. It made me feel a little more like being home in Atlanta. Somehow small towns like Green Valley never seemed to be big on diversity.

  The woman, whose nametag read “Thuy,” smiled at GramBea and me. “Good morning, Mrs. Adair. It’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to be seen, thank you. I hope you’re doing well.”

  “I am, thank you.”

  Before GramBea could beat me to it, I replied, “I’m Finley Granger, and I have an interview with Naomi Winters.”

  Thuy’s face lit up. “You’re the one who’s here for the history room job?”

  I smiled. “Yes, I am.”

  “Naomi is expecting you, so go right on back.”

  “Which one is her office?”

  Thuy grinned. “Actually, it’s my office.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I cut my eyes over at GramBea. “I was led to believe Naomi was in charge.”