I glanced at Mary, surprised. “But don’t you want to talk to Mrs. Adams, see how it went? Yesterday she was so sad.”
“I never talk to people like her outside the library.”
“Why not?”
She smiled and shook her head at me, sitting up again. “Watch,” she said. “Meg!” She waved her hands. Mrs. Adams glanced back and then practically ran into the grocer’s that bordered the south side of the square.
My mouth dropped open. Mary shrugged, laughed at my surprise. “They’re all like that. Ashamed. What are you going to do? Take their money and let them get on with their lives.”
“Was it different in the circus?” I asked.
“Different? It was another world! One day you’ll see for yourself. You’ll go there and everyone will look at you and see the same thing I do, a gorgeous and amazing little girl. You’ll know that I wasn’t just some maniac. Now, are you going to be my official librarian’s assistant or not?”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, yes!”
“Okay, listen up: I need some paper and some more pens. Why don’t you go to the stationer’s, then meet me at the post office.”
She handed me a couple of bills, winked, and walked off. I stood for a moment looking after her. Mary seemed so bright and out of place in the midst of the Oakley town square. When she reached the street, she turned around and waved.
“Don’t just stand there like a bump on a log!” she yelled, laughing at me and all lit up by the sun, and I dashed off, my cheeks burning.
It seems ridiculous now, but I felt, for the first time, grown up as I entered the store. The bells rang as the door swung shut behind me, and I was hit with the sharp scents of ink and fresh paper. I walked nervously into the aisle, toward notepads full of creamy, lined sheets. I picked up a couple, then set them down, trying to remember what kind of paper I’d seen at the library. I thought as hard as I could. Finally, I picked the white loose paper, with shaking hands. Another ten minutes or so later and I had selected a set of shiny black pens.
When I paid at the counter, I was shocked that the old man didn’t give me a second glance but just handed me my change along with the paper and pens in a bag.
I ran to the post office, thrilled, clutching the bag in my hand.
No one was at the front counter. I stood, waiting, and then heard the sound of Mary laughing, from a back room. Sneaking behind the counter and piles of packages, I tiptoed into the hall stretching off the main office. A second later I came across a half-open door. Peering through the crack, I saw Mary, her mouth open as she kissed a tall, mustached man. His right hand was tangled in her hair, the left one cupping the side of her lower back, pulling her toward him. Her hand snaked between his legs.
My heart raged with jealousy. I ran out and sat on the sidewalk out front. I had thought Mary was my friend, and now I felt betrayed, abandoned. I should just leave now and go home, I thought. Forget about her, and everyone. Tears dripped down my face. I heard people passing by, whispering to each other, but I didn’t care.
“Tessa,” I heard then. I looked up and wiped my face. My heart skipped a beat when I saw my mother’s friend Ruth standing over me. “What are you doing? Is your mom around?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I’m just running an errand.”
“Is something wrong?”
I looked up into her pale, pinched face. “Nothing is wrong,” I said. Just then, at the worst moment possible, Mary walked out of the post office, her cheeks flushed and hair even more wild than usual.
Mary saw the tears on my face and Ruth standing over me; she took it all in, in an instant. “What the hell are you doing to her?” she said, striding up to Ruth. “What’s wrong with you?”
Ruth backed away and looked from Mary to me, and back again. “I just saw her crying,” she said. “I wanted to know if she was okay.”
“Well, why don’t you mind your own business?” Mary asked. She was fierce, like a lioness, and I couldn’t help but feel happy that she was so quick to defend me. I didn’t correct her.
“I’m sorry,” Ruth said, giving me one more look and then practically running away. I watched her, guiltily. I knew I’d have hell to pay later, at home, but when I looked up at Mary that didn’t seem to matter.
“Are you okay?” Mary asked, turning to me.
I nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me today,” she said. “I just don’t care, or something. You know what I mean, Tessa?”
I didn’t, not really. But I wanted to.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good, now let’s head back, assistant.” Mary rubbed my shoulder with her palm—a friendly, sisterly gesture that made me feel sparkly and whole. As hurt as I was, I just basked in her, her kindness to me.
That night my mother stood waiting for me at the door. “Where were you today, young lady?” she asked, staring straight down at me.
“I took a walk.”
“Oh, is that what you were doing?” she asked. “Strolling about like a little princess while the rest of us work?”
“No, ma’am,” I said, bowing my head. “I just . . . I just wanted to go into town.”
Behind my mother I could see Geraldine crouched on the top stairs, peering down at us. When she saw me looking, she opened her mouth wide and smiled.
“So I heard,” my mother said. “I heard all about you gallivanting around town today, prancing around like some fancy-pants. You think anything in town is more important than your dusting and sewing, miss? You think you can miss even one day of your stretches?”
My mother knew I could barely reach anything in that house well enough to dust it, and she never trusted me with the sewing work.
“I won’t even wait for an answer to that,” she said. “I know exactly where you were and who you were with. I don’t know what you and that tramp had to talk about, but so be it. We’ll just see what your father has to say about the whole thing.” She turned away then, toward the kitchen.
“No!” I screamed, running after her. “No, please don’t tell him! I didn’t do anything wrong!” My mind scrambled and grasped and then hit on the only thing I could think of. “I went to get a job! I did talk to that librarian, but it was to get a job!”
It was as if I had suddenly become someone new, and she stopped and looked me over, suspicious. “What kind of a job?”
“Helping out in the library. Helping with the books and with buying things. Today I bought paper and pens, for the library. So I can contribute to the good of the family.” It was a phrase I’d heard my father use: “Now maybe you’ll start contributing to the good of the family,” he’d say, usually while working one of us over.
“I see.” She kept staring at me. “And what are you getting paid for these valuable services, if I may ask?”
“A dollar a week,” I said, pulling a number out of air.
“A dollar? Every week?”
It wasn’t a lot of money, but I knew it was enough for my mother to buy cold cream at the corner store, for my father to buy drinks at a tavern in town, for them to splurge once in a while on meals of steak and fish.
Her face changed and she didn’t seem as angry anymore. She stared at me so long I started to feel woozy. “Well, then, as long as you do your sewing in the evenings, that might be all right. I don’t think your father will have too much of a problem with it, if you’re contributing.”
She