Page 16 of Hannah and the Hitman
I was at work, in the back room behind the circulation desk. It was a small room with a large work area beneath a glass window so I could see if anyone came to the counter. The remainder of the space was shelving and storage for the most used supplies. I’d just made myself a late afternoon cup of coffee in my favorite mug. It saidLove the smell of books in the morning.
“We’re having hamburgers.”
“For what?” I asked her, going to the basket beneath the book drop off door. The exterior wall paralleled the alley so patrons could make drive-thru returns. There were a few items–books, and two DVDs–so I reached in and grabbed them with my free hand.
“Dinner.”
Holding the items to my chest, I frowned. “What dinner?”
She sighed. I was all too familiar with that sound. It was a mixture of disappointment, annoyance and the audible version of eye rolling. “The dinner I told you about last weekend.”
“I didn’t talk to you last weekend.” Or this one either, although I didn’t remind her of that. “I was at the book signing.”
“Right, that silly event in Las Vegas.”
She didn’t admit to not calling me, only spinning it around so I was at fault for doing something she didn’t like.
“It wasn’t asillyevent,” I countered. “There were over a thousand readers there, plus authors and–”
“Not this again.” She sighed heavily, as ifIwas the burden among her children. “Your brother has that many every Sunday and he doesn’t have to lure them in with sex.”
I hated when she did this. She didn’t like my job as a librarian–too quaint and dull which was ironic since she accused me of hanging out with a bunch of sex fiends. She didn’t like my plan for opening a romance bookstore–too embarrassing for her and a poor business decision. She didn’t seem to like… me in comparison to Perry and Briana.
Silently angry, I clenched my mug and the handle snapped. Shit! Bobbling it, I set it on the nearest desk without making too much of a mess. Grabbing tissues, I sopped up the small spill and tossed them in the trash. How had that broken? Too many times in the microwave?
My mother was a CPA–talk about dull job. She wasn’t forgetful. No one wanted someone doing their taxes who didn’t remember things, like adding, subtracting, and taxcodes. But she pretty much forgot about me. Not only the dinner she didn’t remember to tell me about, but oh, me in general. She left me at the grocery store once when she asked me to pick out a jar of peanut butter, checking out and driving home without her middle child or the crunchy spread.
I was used to her behavior, because I was the quiet one with my head perpetually stuck in a book, but that didn’t mean I liked it. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Dinner was in two hours, always at six.
Tipping my head back, I stared at the ceiling, looking for patience. All I found were three pencils wedged, tip first, into the tiles. When had they gotten up there? I was the only full-time employee. Mrs. Metcalf, who was seventy-four, worked part-time and was currently somewhere reshelving. Then there were the variety of high school volunteers who helped out as part of their community service requirement for graduation. I assumed it was one of them, not Mrs. Metcalf, who’d been fooling around.
“What’s this about dinner?” I went to one of the tall cabinets and pulled out a broom, getting a zap of static electricity at the contact. I wondered what the deal was with all the static lately as I raised it in the air to swipe at the nearest stuck pencil. Maybe I needed to use more conditioner in my hair.
“Perry is in from the Springs.”
Perry was my older brother. He was a mega church pastor with over-the-top ideas and didn’t leave his devoted flock too often, but it was a Tuesday. We never saw him on Sunday. We weren’t a religious family so how he became so devoted to a divine power, I had no idea. My parents,however, were thrilled. Their first born, a leader of his own church. Looking back, it made sense since he used to stand on an empty milk crate by the mailbox and tell everyone who came down the sidewalk his latest thoughts.
It still amazed me he had followers who actually listened to his sermons. I was skeptical of anything that came out of his mouth because, well… he was my brother. I lived through his stinky adolescent phase. Knew about his stash ofPlayboysunder his bed from when he was twelve. Heard from his prom date–my friend Sandy McClure–how he’d been a one pump chump. All of it? Gross. It was a hard leap for me to see him as anyone’s spiritual leader instead of an annoying sibling.
My family was weird. Crazy, even. Brittany thought they were nuts and has consistently believed I was adopted. Whether they were my bio-family or not didn’t matter. I hadn’t figured out how to escape them yet. Leaving Coal Springs wasn’t something I wanted to do. I loved my hometown and wanted to stay. Wanted to open my bookstore on Main Street. There was no way I could avoid them even if I skipped dinners and blocked their calls. I worked at the library. I shopped at the same grocery store. My apartment was a mile away.
If I told my mom I was busy and had to miss a family dinner I hadn’t been told of, she’d only add on more passive aggressiveness to the conversation and extend it into future ones…ifshe remembered me.
The thing about being born between two loud, needy siblings was that I was invisible. I’d been content to read. I’d been quiet and fairly self-sufficient. I didn’t take upspace, and strangely enough, they didn’t like when someone wasn’t loud or needy.
Because that meant my parents weren’t needed.
I sighed, batted at the pencil and stepped back when it dropped to the carpeted floor.
“I’ll be there, but no potato salad since I’m at work for another hour.” The one thing she did remember was that I made a good batch of potato salad with a hint of pickle relish.
“Pick some up at the store on your way.”
Squatting down, I grabbed the pencil. Another zap of static. I wiggled my fingers as I stood. Blinked, then freaked.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, staring through the glass window.
“What was that?” My mom didn’t like hearing me swear, my soul in danger of being further tarnished. By further I meant by reading and wanting to sellthosebooks and not atoning by attending Perry’s services.