“Mr. Butler.”

A voice jolted Travis awake from his slumped position in the green vinyl waiting room chair. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but the calming music and lavender scent that pervaded the room had dragged him under.

“I went ahead and scheduled Caitlyn’s next appointment for the same time next week. Will that work for you?”

Thankfully, the therapist that the hospital had directed them to after Caitlyn’s attempt had late afternoon and evening hours, so that he didn’t have to miss any work.

“That’s fine,” Travis nodded and stood to shake the therapist’s hand. A stone-faced Caitlyn stormed past, and he found her waiting in the car.

“I miss my friends. Why can’t I go over to Layla’s house?”

“Because, Caitlyn, I can’t keep an eye on you there. And the only reason that the hospital let you return home with me is because I assured them that I would keep you safe.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid at Layla’s.”

“I didn’t think you’d do anything stupid period, and yet look how wrong I was. Besides, I know how much Layla’s mom works. You won’t have any supervision.”

“What if we hung out somewhere safe? Like the library?”

Travis stopped himself from immediately telling her no and pondered her request on the drive home. She’d been so cut off from everyone after their mom’s accident, maybe spending time with friends, remembering what life was like before, would help her. In the library, at least, it couldn’t hurt.

“Fine.”

“She’s there right now.”

“And they close in an hour.”

“That’s an hour more than I’ve gotten to see anyone lately.”

Travis knew it was unkind, but he got so angry at sentences like that coming from his sister’s mouth. As if her isolation were his fault, and not as if, had she succeeded two weeks ago, she would have never seen anyone again.

But saying so wouldn’t help. It didn’t even help to think it, because he had no way to purge himself of the anger and resentment that threatened to bubble over every time Caitlyn acted put out by the consequences of her own actions.

Maybe, even if it was only an hour, having that hour away from her would do them both some good.

“Fine. I’ll be there right at six, to pick you up.”

After dropping off his sister and watching her walk through the front door, Travis drove across the street. He parked in his own driveway, but his destination was the park that bordered the creek behind the town hall, right across the street from their house. There was a time when he couldn’t even go a day without winding up playing in the park, running alongside the creek, or hiking along the trail that began near the playground. Now, he couldn’t remember the last time he had stopped by, just to breathe in nature.

The playground was occupied, but he continued down the stretch of bank, past a couple of kids fishing, until he found a clump of trees where he could hide. The wind in the shade gave him chills, but Travis didn’t mind. He closed his eyes and sat at the base of a fir tree, not caring that bark was probably getting in his hair or the seat of his pants would be covered in dirt. Trees didn’t judge, so Travis leaned his head back and let the tears that had threatened for the past six months flow. With each ragged inhale, the scent of pine and dirt and a little salt filled up the empty recesses of his pores, the hollows left behind by his mother and his father and a lifetime of isolation. He didn’t sob or make any noise of any kind. That would have been too humiliating. He merely let the tears fall from his eyes and didn’t bother to try to wipe them away. Any other time of year, there would have been enough drizzle to cover it up, but summer months were the few in this part of Oregon that saw only weekly rain and not daily, sometimes hourly, showers.

Travis could have used some grey sky. It would have been as appreciated as a warm blanket in winter, something he could wrap around himself and bury himself under. But no, the sun kept threatening to shine, even in his shady retreat, as if it knew that Travis needed to be kept alert and in high enough spirits not to let the sadness and the pain drag him down. The melody of the wind through the trees and the lapping of the creek at the shore eased his anxiety like a lullaby for a baby.

His hands patted the soil around him and the tree, soft and damp but not muddy, with clumps of soft grass sprouting between roots. He wondered if his ancestors ever fell prey to their emotions, to the trials and tribulations that must have befallen them like few others. He doubted it, and it made him feel weak. You didn’t have time for angst when you were focused on survival; it was a first-world luxury.

Travis snagged a flat stone from the ground and plodded to the creek’s edge. With a swift flick, the stone skipped across surface, leaving ripples in its wake. He felt marginally better, so he did it again. Soon, it was time to pick Caitlyn up, and Travis was sure the creek had risen a good inch from all the stones he’d thrown in.

He walked across the street to the library. It was still a beautiful day and there was no point when it was less than two blocks away. He arrived at five minutes to closing, so Travis went inside. To the left was the teen room, with its glass windows and door, making everything they did visible to the rest of the library and to the librarians. One of the reasons Travis had felt safe leaving Caitlyn here. Although, he had to wonder if everyone took advantage of the library and librarian like that. Was he unofficial babysitter to the town, and should Travis feel guilty about using him like that?

Caitlyn saw him through the glass and held up a finger. Travis pointed to his wrist, where no watch had ever been, and Caitlyn rolled her eyes. He decided to wander around the front while he waited.

“I’m sorry if they were a pain.” He softened his voice out of habit and a general fear of Mrs. Clemens as he spoke to the librarian whose name he still couldn’t remember, but whose eyes he couldn’t forget.

“Not at all,” the librarian said with a mellow voice and a smile. “I love that the kids in town hang out here.”

“It doesn’t make extra work for you?”

“If it instills a love of reading in them, it will have been worth it.” The way he spoke made Travis wonder if “Speaking in a Library” was a required class in library school. It seemed to come naturally to him, without lowering his volume, his voice was naturally smooth and soft.

“But they don’t even look at books. They get on the computer and play games.”

“And sometimes wander the shelves,” he said with a wry smile. “I like to think a little bit rubs off through osmosis. And some of it is just learning that libraries and books are nothing to be scared of. Some social and cultural institutions are good things.”

Travis’ lips twitched at the librarian’s passion and enthusiasm. It had been too long since he had truly smiled, but there was something endearing about the man. He was very short, Travis noticed now that less of a counter separated them, but he seemed to have the energy of a much larger person packed into that compact space. He probably wouldn’t appreciate the comparison, but he reminded Travis of a little bald leprechaun. Or maybe the love child between Mr. Clean and the Energizer bunny.

“Ugh, what did you do this whole time, Travis?” Caitlyn’s voice startled him from what he then realized was his obvious staring at the new librarian. “Run wild in the woods?” She reached up and picked a twig from Travis’ hair and brushed it aside. “Your butt is all muddy.”

Travis tried to steady his voice while keeping it low. “As a matter of fact, I went to the creek. It was peaceful. And quiet. Like a library is supposed to be.”

Caitlyn scoffed and walked out the door.

“Thank you for watching her,” Travis told the librarian before turning to follow his sister.

“She’s always welcome. As are you.”

Travis stumbled over the door stop but refused to look back.

Whitman couldn’t stop thinking about the young man, Travis. The name gave his heart a small thrill, just testing the thought of it, not even the sound of it yet. His eyes were empty, yet pleading to be filled, devastated, yet yearning for something worthy of hope. He was a tall drink of contradictions, and Whitman wanted time to study them all.

Instead, he was so busy with preparing for summer programs, putting together his ideas for community evenings, and bracing himself for Mrs. Clemens’ retirement and his subsequent promotion to head librarian, he only had time to think of Travis when his head hit the pillow. He had intended that to correspond with a little pre-sleep enjoyment, but when he woke up to his alarm with his boxers still shoved below his balls and his soft dick flopping from side to side, he realized he had fallen asleep while trying to masturbate.

“You look tired,” Mrs. Clemens said, first thing as he walked through the front door. Mrs. Leake, one of the early morning regulars, nodded in agreement.

“I’m fine. Just trying to get those plans in order for you. Do you think you’d have some time this afternoon to go over them with me?”

“We can do it right after we go over the budget one final time. Graduation is tomorrow, and then I’m off.”

Mr. Clemens had surprised his wife with a retirement cruise to Alaska, which was one of the reasons that the town had allowed two head librarians to overlap. Give Whitman time to get the lay of the land before Mrs. Clemens was gone and out of reach in case of book emergencies. He wasn’t too worried, after all, he had managed a library ten times this size, but the company had been nice.

“I heard that he couldn’t raise bail,” Mrs. Leake lowered her voice and turned to Mrs. Clemens, effectively dismissing Whitman, and he wondered if Mrs. Leake would stop coming in each morning with gossip and a need for the latest gardening magazine once Mrs. Clemens retired. He hoped not, even if her gossip was suspect, he wanted people to see that the library was still their safe harbor, even without Mrs. Clemens.

“Good gracious, I would hope not. I would hope they wouldn’t even allow the man bail.”

A glance in their direction was as good as showing interest, and Mrs. Leake felt duty-bound to fill Whitman in. “Mr. Baylor, the school librarian, was arrested for selling drugs to the kids.”

Whitman started with surprise. Really, he shouldn’t have. He was more worldly than that, but a librarian abusing the trust given to him or her for bestowing knowledge and confidence and guidance with young people – it was like a doctor breaking the Hippocratic oath. Whitman took his job seriously, and he was always saddened to hear when others didn’t do the same. He silently agreed with Mrs. Clemens, that the man didn’t deserve bail.

“It’s a good thing the school year is over today, or we’d be picking up the slack.” Mrs. Clemens said, with a shake of her head. “We’re going to be swarmed at noon as it is. School lets out early on the last day.”

Mrs. Clemens was right, and thankfully they had gotten the budget and final planning out of the way, because promptly at noon, the teen room filled up with kids playing Magic the Gathering, going online to watch videos together, and every once in a while, wandering into the library and looking at books.

One of the teens, a smaller red-haired boy who would have been otherwise unremarkable in jeans and t-shirt had it not been for his heeled boots, quietly tucked himself away in a corner.

“Seb! Seb! Where are you?” Two girls, much bigger and obvious than the boy had been, loudly whispered as they passed by the rows of books. “There’s a video that you just have to see.”

Seb emerged from his hiding spot, a fake smile plastered across his face if Whitman had ever seen one. But the girls were too overbearing to notice and dragged him back to the teen room, whispering giving way to full-blown rambling about what some stupid guy just posted, and how dare he say such things.

Some people longed for the glory days of high school. Whitman saw a lot of himself in that boy and sent a thanks up to the gods of time and wisdom that he was so much older and wiser now. He did not miss those days of insecurity and awkwardness.

Whitman barely had time before closing to show Mrs. Clemens his ideas for low-cost, fun, activities for those late-teen and twenty-somethings that would otherwise be driving into Copper Beach for kicks. He had the idea of asking local businesses or the tribe to sponsor the events. It would allow for more flexibility with budget and activities, but the evenings would still be manageable even if he couldn’t swing the sponsorships. Mrs. Clemens liked his ideas, but suggested he run them past the town council next week at their meeting. Getting them on board would spread the word faster than any flyers Whitman planned to make.

“Don’t forget the cake tomorrow,” Mrs. Clemens said as she locked the front door behind them. They both had an early start, Whitman with the drive to Copper Beach to pick up the all-important cake, and Mrs. Clemens and Roy decorating the library in orange and gold, the colors of the Slat Creek Salmon, which was probably the least scary mascot name that Whitman had ever heard.

“I won’t forget,” Whitman promised successfully without laughing about how a cake could be the most important focus of a head librarian for the past week.

It must be some cake, Whitman laughed to himself as he walked across the street and down half a block to his apartment.