9. Josie

9

Josie

I wish I could sit on this bench by the fountain and read all day.I'm like a cat who's found the perfect sunspot and I never want to leave it.

But when the alarm I set for myself an hour ago starts buzzing, I know it's time to put my book away and hit the road. I rarely go home on Thursdays, and I never leave this early, but today is no ordinary day. It's the Harvest Festival at the kids' school and I'm not missing out.

Silver Creek Day School is only a twenty-minute drive from Bainbridge, so I'm pulling into a parking space in no time. The lot is full, and I know Levi's already here since he had to bring the twins their costumes. They aren't cos-playing as serial killers today, although they would have loved that. Instead, they're performing a poem with their class that requires Tillie to be dressed as a giant pumpkin. Milo will be dressed-up, too, but he didn't want me to see his costume. I'm the one who hemmed the overalls he's wearing when he plays the farmer in the skit, but I'll keep that little detail quiet.

I check my phone and sure enough, there's a text from Levi letting me know he's inside. Zane's in the upper school, so I'll see him in the audience later. I check in at the office and take the long way to the auditorium, allowing me to peek my head into the library. Back when I was a student here, I used to do the same thing. Regardless of where I was headed, I always managed to pop in here for a minute or two of solitude.

"Josie! Is that you?" Mrs. Kemp, my beloved librarian, comes out from behind the circulation desk to greet me. She's one of those ladies who looks chic in white hair and manages to wear loose, flowy clothing and look willowy and bohemian rather than frumpy. She's got a small pair of glasses on her head like a headband and another on a chain around her neck. Mrs. Kemp was always forgetting where she put her reading glasses, and it looks like not much has changed.

We embrace and I hold on for a few extra seconds because Gloria Kemp is more than a librarian or favorite teacher. When my parents died so horrifically and unexpectedly, I completed my senior year online and stayed home with the little ones to keep some sense of normalcy in their lives. Levi's rehab schedule was grueling, and Zane was a fourth grader whose world had just been turned upside down. The fact that I could be a steady presence for my remaining family gave me a sense of purpose that honestly kept me moving forward some days.

Another thing that kept me from feeling like I was drowning was my Thursday evening routine. About two weeks after the accident, Gloria Kemp showed up on our doorstep on a Thursday night with a stack of books in her arms. She gave me the books in exchange for a colicky Iris and that was that. Her weekly visits were a lifeline I didn't know I needed. She played with the twins, made cookies or did homework with Zane, and rocked a fussy baby to sleep once a week. There were times I looked forward to her visits not just for adult interaction, but so I could grab a shower.

I hadn't realized this before, of course, but I'm acutely aware of it now. Right after a tragedy, friends and family gather around to bolster you and share in your grief. Don't get me wrong, it's a necessary, helpful thing. But when all of the chaos surrounding a funeral is over, and everyone has gone back to their normal lives, there's a loneliness that seeps in. And sure, everyone said I should call if I needed them, and intellectually, I knew that I could. But Mrs. Kemp didn't wait for a call or an invitation. She just showed up. For an eighteen-year-old with social anxiety and a penchant for retreating into the comfort of fiction on the best of days, her unsolicited presence was a gift I wouldn't have known how to ask for.

I'm not a hugger by nature, but Mrs. Kemp is the exception.

"You look wonderful, dear! Are those new glasses?"

It's silly, but I have to picture the frames on my face before I can answer her. "Yes, I got them a few weeks ago. Levi keeps telling me to get LASIK, but something about surgery on my eyes? Ew. Yuck. I'll happily wear glasses for the rest of my life, thank you very much."

"As you should. They're a fabulous fashion accessory."

I follow her into the library and automatically start pitching in. It's just a reflex at this point. Gloria checks the books in, and I alphabetize them on the cart.

"I'd tell you not to help, but I know you too well for that," she says, smiling. "You're here for the Harvest Festival, I'm sure."

"Yes, but I'm a little early. I thought I might have to save seats, but Levi's got that covered."

"How is that handsome brother of yours? You know, I have a niece from Cleveland. She's visiting next month and?—"

"And I hope you have a wonderful time," I say, cutting her off.

Gloria just laughs. "Point taken. But he needs to get out and live a little, Josie. So do you, I'm guessing."

"You know that if I pair up with you and start arranging blind dates for Levi, he'll never speak to me again. Or worse, cut up my library card."

Gloria laughs and my brother is saved—at least for now—from Gloria's matchmaking attempts.

"So, are you ready to inherit the kingdom?" Gloria says, winking at me. She's wanted me to take over for her for years. The fact that I'm graduating college later this year with the necessary degrees has her more than a little bit excited.

I look around the space. Could I see myself working here? Absolutely. Have I been picturing it since I was a student here myself? Yes.

Turning toward my friend and mentor, I smile. "If you really are ready to retire, and the position opens up, you know I'll apply. But I don't think we should get our hopes up too high. Someone with much more experience could apply."

Gloria waves me off as though I'm being overly cautious, and that's definitely part of my skillset, so I can't even be mad at her. I check my phone and figure I should make my way to the auditorium just so I don't have to wander through a crowd to get to the section of seats Levi snagged.

I'm giving Gloria a quick hug goodbye when I hear my name being called. I was never the kind of student who hung out with a big crowd of friends. I'm more the type to have her teachers lining up to sign recommendation letters, so I'm unsurprised when I turn to see that the voice belongs to Mr. Charleston, my favorite history teacher. He was principal by the time I left and part of the reason I was able to transition to online coursework to finish high school.

"Are you scoping out your digs for next year?" he asks, and it takes a minute for his words to register.

"You know that Frank is the superintendent now, right?" Gloria asks, her eyes twinkling.

I'm sure I read about his promotion in one of the newsletters that fill my inbox each month, but it didn't click until just now.

They're both smiling at me as though they know something I don't.

"I've booked my cruise, Josie. I set sail three days after the school year finishes. I'm even missing my last in-service day, but what's this guy going to do? Fire me?"

"I hope you'll apply for the position, Josie," Mr. Charleston says. "We'll interview all qualified candidates, of course, but it sure would be nice to be able to offer the position to someone who cares about kids and books as much as Gloria. And the grapevine tells me you'll graduate with a library credentials, right?"

"Yes, in the spring," I say, wanting—no, needing —those words to be true.

I say my goodbyes and walk down the hall and through the auditorium doors. Levi waves to me from a spot near the front, on the far left side. I wave back and meander through the rows before taking my seat.

"How was your day?" I ask, and that's when I notice my brother's smile. And where he's sitting. He's on the end of an interior row, which means people are constantly passing by him. His seat is illuminated by the footlights, which means no part of him is in shadow. Levi always sits in the darkest corner. He's self-conscious about his scars, afraid a curious kid or nosy parent will ask about them. He hates small-talk even more than I do, so he likes to sit in a place where he won't be noticed or bothered.

"It was good, Josie. Really, really good." Without another word, he hands me his phone. There on the screen is my brother, his guitar in hand, his face half-hidden as always. I don't have to play the video to know it's the song he's been working on for weeks. I see the title in a hashtag and instantly know I'm right. Then I see what has my brother in such a good mood.

286.4k

"I posted it last night, before I went to bed," he says, unable to wipe the grin off his face. It's not the first time one of his songs has gone viral, but it's the first time it's ever happened that fast.

"You should see the people who are posting covers already. It's like looking at a list of the CD collection I had back in middle school. My idols are singing my words. It's…unreal."

I give out my third hug for the day, and I'm not sad about it. "You're amazing, Levi. The rest of the world is figuring out what I've known forever."

He blushes. "I'm just a jackass with a guitar, Josie. I started doing this to pay the bills and pass the time when I couldn't sleep at night. But now? It's taking on a life of its own."

As he finishes his words, the lights dim and the crowd gets quiet, or at least as quiet as a crowd at an elementary recital ever gets.

I watch the program and I clap proudly for Iris when she sings a song with her class. Finally, it's time for the twins' performance. The curtain goes up and I spot Tillie right away, even though there are a dozen other pumpkins on stage. Her little head peeks out from the stem-hat and I can see the glare from her glasses from my seat. I'm not sure where Milo—. Before I can finish my thought, I hear his voice. He's carrying a giant pitchfork and reciting a poem called, "Pumpkin' Huntin'" as he walks through the main aisle of the auditorium. When he approaches the stage, the pumpkins scatter in different directions, screaming as only 8-year-olds can. He's center stage now, arms outstretched as he recites his last few lines and basks in the spotlight. The lights dim as the pumpkins creep back onto the stage and cast a giant net over him. My youngest brother lets out a scream of terror as he's carted off in a wheelbarrow.

The audience isn't sure how to react, so Levi starts the applause. I'm holding back laughter and tears because I know with certainty that my brother and sister scripted that whole vignette. What I don't know is if their teacher was in on it.

I may get a phone call tonight, but for now I just enjoy the rest of the show. Everything is good. Levi's career is taking off, and it seems like mine will, too.

It all hinges, of course, on whether or not I can keep tutoring Van, but I really have no choice. And tonight has to be better, right?