One Degree Of Separation Part 6

"I'm not mounting up," Marian muttered.

"This is the most politically incorrect thing I've done in ages,"

Carrie said. She shook a wrinkle out of her long cotton dress. "Gaia works in mysterious ways, however."

"It's okay," Marian said. "Everything will be okay now." She smiled, feeling serene for the first time in days. Then she recalled that she was wearing her new white cargo shorts. Typical, just typical. "See y'all Friday night."

Wednesday evening, June 4 Feel better. Very settled now that I've made up my mind on the M.L.S.

It helps not to be hormonal. I wish that the whole bleeding thing had an opt-out choice.

School is going to upset my routine in the fall, but I hope not Thursday night dinner. It's the one thing I know I can look forward to every week.

Trombone chose the mocs today and Hill burped up more cotton. I should just pick up new underwear every time I go to the store. Maybe if I tell 36 Trombone that my old boots are my absolute favorite shoes she'll choose them for her hairball gifts. Ellie has the short odds to land the new woman. Best of luck to her.

Looking forward to telling HER and Amy tomorrow night about the M.L.S. HER will be pleased I've taken this step.

"First, click the aReset to New User' b.u.t.ton," Marian said, trying hard not to sound as if she'd already said it a hundred times so far today. She had really wanted to call in sick except Eric would have skinned her alive for leaving him with Bill and new software to show every user. "After you log on, the timer will start over. It's designed to help remind people that others might be waiting to use the Internet. And this b.u.t.ton here will turn off the Internet filters."

At least this patron appeared to have the basic skills to navigate the new software. The older woman peered up at Marian over her gla.s.ses. "I don't disagree that it is useful to have a way to make access to the computers more fair, but I'm not comfortable with anyone being able to know what I've been looking up while I'm here."

Marian agreed with the patron's concern. "If you log out properly, the system will purge your user history for this session."

The patron two computers down asked, "But what if I want to come back to a site again? I don't have anything to hide."

The woman bristled. "Neither do I, but that doesn't mean I don't want to preserve my privacy. I'm planning a trip to Cairo and somebody could decide I'm a terrorist!"

Marian said soothingly, "As a system, our library has decided that the patron's privacy is more important than the convenience of bookmarks and even being able to look up books you've checked out in the past. Amazon.com knows more about your reading preferences than we ever will." Marian did not want to get into a debate about the USA Patriot Act, at least not right now. She doubted either patron cared that significant federal funds would be withheld if the Internet filters weren't defaulted to On at every workstation.

"What we don't know we can't be compelled to tell."

37.

Neither patron seemed particularly mollified, but they went back to their browsing and Marian returned to her shared stint at reshelving. It was such a b.i.t.c.h when the circulation clerks were collectively unreliable. The usually steady Toni had been out sick a lot lately, too, and with students gone for the summer it was difficult to find substi-tutes.

Eric emerged from smallest of the three study rooms, smiling pleasantly at the latest job applicant. Even from across the floor, Marian could see he wasn't impressed. Mary Jane, the library manager, likewise had that stiff what-a-waste-of-time look that had taken Marian two years to learn to read.

After the applicant had left, Marian joined them. "Let me guess.

She wants to be a librarian because of the serene quiet and getting to read books all day."

"And she thinks working with the public will be fun." Eric sighed heavily.

"She obviously hasn't before," Marian muttered. "Sorry. I just hate to see another wide-eyed librarian hopeful crushed by reality."

Mary Jane pushed her gla.s.ses into position. "It's not a career for the weak-at-heart. Thank you, Eric. Marian, you sit in on the next one at two."

Marian trailed after Mary Jane into her office. "I've made up my mind. I'm going to do it."

"Have you?" Mary Jane beamed. "I think it's an excellent decision. Make some capital off that master's in history you went to such trouble to get."

Marian basked in Mary Jane's approval. She was both friend and mentor. "I'll have that recommendation letter for you to sign some time next week. The application isn't due for the fall semester until then."

"So I'll have another Master of Library and Information Science working for me who'll want a promotion." Mary Jane arched an eyebrow. "Might even be after my job."

"I would never do that-oh. You are such a tease."

38.

Mary Jane's neutral expression didn't alter. "So I've been told."

"By whom?"

"Don't be impertinent."

Marian went back to the book carts with a giggle in her throat.

Mary Jane could give off that reserved, cool, as.e.xual vibe all she wanted, but Marian had seen her in her leathers.

A voice rose from the direction of the reference desk. "You must be kidding!"

Marian peered through the shelving to see what the problem was.

Oh, now that was poetic justice. Bill, the lazy lizard, was the recipi-ent of Seventh Dimension b.i.t.c.h's current frustration. They deserved each other. Let Bill show her how to use the new software.

She was shelving a volume on medical politics when she remembered the book Fresh Meat-really, she scolded herself, you can't call her that-had needed yesterday. She'd probably like this one as well. Libby Peel, she recalled, from her hurried glance at the woman's license. If Peel came in again, Marian would point the book out. Reader advisories in nonfiction were her specialty. She didn't want to be a library manager like Mary Jane-too many stressful administrative details, not to mention having to always be poised, cool and more dressed up. Library managers did not get to gad about in shorts and tank tops when it was ninety. A collection manager, now that had appeal. She could debate collection development policy all day and go back after dinner for more.

Getting her M.L.S. was the right thing to do. Besides, she had the time to do it. She ought to have done it when Robyn left. If she had, she'd be done now.

The bridge has seen that water, as Gran always said. She would start this fall and in two years be done.

There, she told herself. You've taken control of your life.

Remember to stop at Hy-Vee on the way home for cream and everything will be fine.

39.

Marian lifted the saucepan off the burner just as the sugar and water turned golden. She drizzled the syrup into her favorite baking dish for custard and coated the inside carefully. Hemma loved Marian's flan, and the key was in the caramel.

Marian always brought dessert because Hemma loved sweets. She said she could avoid most other temptations, knowing every week she'd get to sample one of Marian's delicacies.

That first dinner, the first time they'd invited her over after she'd moved in next door . . . the very first dinner had set the pattern of the last seven years. Hemma loved sweets, and Marian loved Hemma's smile. She'd do anything for it.

Cracking eggs into her favorite mixing bowl made her briefly wonder how many eggs she'd broken over the years for Hemma's sweet tooth. However many it was, it was worth it.

She beat the eggs absent-mindedly. When making dessert for their dinners together she always relived the day six years ago she had realized she was in love with Hemma. It was a cherished memory, one that comforted her while she worked alone in her kitchen.

They'd been to an estate sale out near the Amana Colonies, spending hours sorting through boxes looking for treasure. Amy had no patience for it, so she'd stayed home and was warming up the grill for their return.

"Here," Hemma had said. "This is you."

Marian looked down at the slender book with the slightly stained cover. "Francie to the Rescue?"

Hemma had her head back under a table, sorting through boxes.

"For your collection."

"I have a collection?"

Hemma sat back on her haunches to laugh at Marian. "You don't realize you have a collection of girl books?"

"I hadn't thought about it. I just like them. I don't know this series."

"Hey-look at this! There's a whole box!" Hemma hauled the container out from under the table. "Those girls who fly their air-40 planes about the country looking for adventures? Those books are here."

It was treasure of the first order. Marian dropped to the floor next to Hemma. "Wow. I wonder if I can afford them?"

Hemma put her hand briefly on top of Marian's. "How can you not afford them? This is you."

She blinked into Hemma's eyes, those startling black eyes. She knows me, Marian thought. She looks at me, and knows me.

She studied the contents of the box, aware that she was blus.h.i.+ng as she always did over the slightest thing. Hemma was chattering about the quality of the books, which was fair for 1920 editions. All Marian could think about was how much she wanted to kiss Hemma.

In something of a daze, she bought the lot for less than she thought. At home, Hemma excitedly helped her arrange them in order of publication. Her dining room table was covered.

"This is a collection. You can't deny it. The Nancy Drews are going to fill up what's left of the shelf in your study. You're going to need a new bookcase."

Coming out of the kitchen, Marian paused with the two gla.s.ses of iced tea. She actually felt something tremble between her legs, a sensation so unexpected and sharp she had to set the gla.s.ses down on the side bar. Hemma stood with her back to Marian, hands on her jean-clad hips, and all Marian wanted to do was put her arms around Hemma from behind.

Put her arms around her and touch. Soft, womanly stomach, lush b.r.e.a.s.t.s, angular shoulders . . . she wanted to bury her face in the dark twist of hair at the nape of Hemma's neck, and kiss her shoulders, turn her around and kiss her mouth. Fall to the floor and be kissed.

She knew her face was flaming red.

Hormones, she thought. Too long since Carrie. Carrie and she had been only one night, too, shortly after Marian had moved to Iowa City from Chicago. Before that . . . too long. These waves of feeling for Hemma are just l.u.s.t, she told herself vehemently, and you need to get over it or you'll lose her as a friend.

41.

She watched Hemma skip across her backyard to be folded into Amy's arms. All through their outdoor dinner under the arbor they'd all built together earlier in the summer, Marian wondered if she had a chance, but the truth was undeniable. Everything Hemma was became more whenever she looked at Amy. Hemma without Amy would not be the Hemma she was falling in love with. Separately, they were complete women and distinct in their personalities. When they sat side-by-side it was as if they blurred around their edges.

Falling in love-she didn't know the feeling until it washed over her like the scent of Hemma's beloved climbing jasmine, heady and inescapable. She wanted somehow to be what Amy was to Hemma, to be the one who made her glow with joy. But she had to face facts.

Amy was everything Hemma loved. Hemma had a Ph.D., and so did Amy, and they both taught at the university. Her own master's in history had prepared her for a career as a data entry clerk.

"That's really what you ought to do." Hemma pa.s.sed her the platter of ribs.

"Sorry, I was thinking about the books and where I'll put them,"

Marian lied. Would she ever stop blus.h.i.+ng?

"You could put a bookcase at the top of the stairs," Amy suggested. "I know a couple of women who build them, if you wanted something custom-sized."

"Thanks, I'll think about it." Though Marian had no idea how a professor of rhetoric got around so much, Amy always knew somebody who could build, fix, create, drywall, plan, plumb or hammer whatever needed it. Her best friend Ellie was kept pretty busy moonlighting with plumbing jobs just from Amy's word-of-mouth refer-rals.

"Anyway," Hemma continued, "you're wasted doing data entry for the med center. I know it pays decent enough."

"It's not like I can do anything with my history master's. I really don't want a Ph.D. Teaching's not my thing, anyway. I don't have the patience."

"Librarian-you should be a librarian. You'd get to read books all day."

42.

Amy chortled. "I don't think it works that way, my love. Have you ever seen a librarian actually reading?"

Marian said slowly, "I've rarely seen librarians with an open book." The table seemed to s.h.i.+mmer in the afternoon sunlight.

Something is happening, she thought, as if the world just took a left turn. Common sense cautioned that the career path for a librarian was surely a dead end professionally and monetarily. But data entry wasn't?

"You should look into it." Hemma relieved Marian of the basket of cornbread they'd picked up at their favorite Amana Colony bakery. "Though it occurs to me that you'd be Marian the Librarian from River City."