That night I dreamed dreams of falling into vats of beer—a beverage of which I wasn’t overly fond—and being reminded by a swimming police officer not to forget to register before I moved. “It was just weird,” I told Holly and Josh, as I poured myself a third cup of coffee the next morning.
“Sounds more stupid than weird.” Josh shook four sugar packets, dumped them into his mug, and looked at Holly, who was rummaging through the utensil drawer. “Please don’t tell me you think her dream means something.”
“Of course it means something,” she said. “Hah!” She brandished what we all referred to as the Good Knife, and started using it to cut the pan of brownies she’d brought into squares.
“Yeah?” Josh pulled out a chair, making its feet screech against the hard floor, and sat. “What?”
“It means she was having stupid dreams about beer.” Holly levered brownies onto the three paper towels she’d already set out. “Although that’s redundant, since all dreams about beer are stupid because beer is stupid.”
Josh took a brownie. “You’re wrong, but as long as you keep bringing us food, I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Silence of the Josh,” I said, accepting my Holly-made confection. “Who knew it was even possible?”
“Anything’s possible.” Holly smiled broadly. “Even your husband coming home for a month.”
“Hey, that’s great!” Her husband, Brian, had a fantastic job working for a mining company fifteen hundred miles away. It was their hope that Brian would eventually find employment in Michigan, but for now they made due with occasional trips, video visits, and frequent packages sent to their two small children.
Though I’d long feared that Holly might get tired of the long-distance relationship and pack up and move West, she’d recently confessed to me that the idea of moving Out There, as she called it, was something she’d considered and rejected. “My family is here,” she’d said. “His family is here. I don’t want to take the kids away from those relationships.”
Around a mouthful of brownie, Josh said, “If he’s going to be here over hunting season, tell him to give me a call.”
As the two of them talked about Brian’s vacation, I started thinking ahead in the calendar. Soon I’d be moving up to the boardinghouse. Then there’d be Thanksgiving, Christmas, and skiing season. There would be an excellent new crop of books to read and—
“I forgot,” I said out loud.
“Forgot what?” Josh asked. “No, let me guess. About twenty years ago, you forgot to keep growing.”
“No,” Holly said, “she forgot to get married. One of these days she’s going to remember and we’ll get invitations in the mail. I’m already planning what to wear.”
“Wrong and wrong again.” I got up. “I need to talk to Jennifer.”
I heard the groans, but didn’t see any facial expressions since I’d already started to walk out of the room. Temporarily working on the theory that what I didn’t see I didn’t have to deal with, I headed up to Jennifer’s office and knocked on the doorjamb.
“Good morning,” I said. “Do you have a minute?”
My boss, who had rotated her chair to face the window, turned around. “I have an appointment in a few minutes, but until then I’m available.”
An appointment with another library board member, no doubt. “Great,” I said, perching myself on the front edge of one of her abstract guest chairs. “I have an idea to run past you.”
Jennifer’s perfectly plucked eyebrows went up. “Oh? Please don’t tell me you need another bookmobile.”
“Need?” I asked, smiling to hide the sudden burst of annoyance exploding inside my head. “Sure, we could use another bookmobile. Just think of all the people we could reach that we’re missing now.” In truth, buying another bookmobile had never occurred to me. I was having a hard enough time operating one.
Jennifer shook her head. “Not possible,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re even bringing it up. You should know that the library’s budget can’t possibly absorb the cost of another bookmobile.”
I hadn’t brought it up; she had. But instead of wasting my time and energy by pointing that out, I said, “My idea is to set up a lecture series that focuses on the needs of senior citizens. Finances, questions of law, health, nutrition. This morning I talked to the local senior center and they’re not doing anything similar. They thought it was a great idea.”
“More outreach,” Jennifer murmured. “How does this align with the library’s mission?”
This was a question I’d been prepared to hear and I quoted the mission statement’s second sentence. “‘The library serves as a learning center for all residents of the community,’” I said.
“A little vague.” Jennifer turned back toward the window.
Undaunted, I said, “This applies to the first part of the statement, too. This would be a service that helps residents obtain information that meets their needs.”
“One small segment of the population.” Jennifer’s tone was vague and I could tell she’d already lost interest. “I don’t see this as a good use of the library’s resources.”
“It won’t cost anything.” I persisted, since I was determined to make a good case. “All it will take is a little bit of my time to arrange for speakers and the use of the conference room, which is empty most of the time anyway.”
“Your time is valuable.” Jennifer stood and went to the window. “You’re already stretched thin and I don’t want you taking on any new projects.”
She’d said no, but had left a way open. “Would you be opposed to the plan if someone else was in charge of lining up speakers? I’d approve each speaker, but someone else would make all the arrangements.” I leaned forward, waiting for her answer.
“Where are all the people?” Jennifer asked, nodding toward Chilson’s downtown streets.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The people.” She reached through the venetian blind and tapped the windowpane. “There aren’t any. When I arrived here, there were a lot more cars on the streets. The restaurants were full, the stores were full, there were concerts in the park, and some sort of event every weekend.”
“This is a tourist town,” I said, trying not to overstate the obvious.
“Yes, but that doesn’t explain the emptiness.”
Of course it did. What on earth was she talking about? “There won’t be big crowds again until June.”
Jennifer, never one for unnecessary movement, froze solid. “June?” she asked.
“Well, sure.” When she didn’t say anything, I expanded. “A few of the seasonal folks will hang on until Thanksgiving, then even they will head south for the winter. Some people come back for Christmas, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and Presidents’ weekend.”
I smiled, feeling slightly evil and enjoying myself immensely. Bad Minnie. “March and April are the really quiet months. You could roll a bowling ball down the middle of Main Street at high noon and not hit anything except curb.” It was an exaggeration, but not by much.
“But . . .” Jennifer wrapped her arms around her middle. “But there’s skiing around here. Won’t the skiers be coming soon? I was told Chilson was the Michigan version of Vail.”
Not by anyone who’d ever been to both Chilson and Vail. “The ski resorts in this area are nice enough,” I said, “but the best skiing in Michigan isn’t close to the quality of skiing out West. We have hills. They have mountains.”
“I’m not a skier,” she murmured.
“Well, maybe you’ll turn into one,” I said cheerfully. “Finding something you like to do in the snow is the best way to deal with winter.” And since she hadn’t said I couldn’t hand over my new senior talk idea to someone else, I made my exit before she realized she hadn’t said no.
• • •
During lunch, I spent a few minutes looking up information about Gail and Ray Boggs, the other party involved in lawsuits that Dale Lacombe had recently won. The county website’s property information database told me the Boggses had purchased a piece of property five years ago. I clicked on a “Find location on map” link. The aerial photography showed a house sited near a creek and neighbors close enough to be good friends, but far enough to feel private.