Twelve Angry Librarians Page 2

  “Those are powerful inducements to taking the job.” My heart ached at the thought of my daughter and her husband moving to Virginia not long after the birth of my first grandchild. I had so looked forward to seeing little Charles Franklin Salisbury grow up here in my hometown. I realized that was selfish, though, because Frank had his family and his career to consider, and this opportunity sounded like an excellent one. “What do you think about it?”

  “Since I decided to stay at home with the baby for at least the first three years,” Laura said, “the increase in salary will help make up for the loss of income.” She frowned. “Frank hasn’t said anything, but I know he’s worried about how we’ll manage on his salary alone if we stay here.”

  “Has he discussed this with his department head here?” I asked. “From what you and Frank have said, she thinks highly of Frank. If she wants to keep him here, maybe she can come up with more money.”

  “She leans on him a lot,” Laura said. “They don’t have an extensive budget, though. They have to get grants for most of the productions as it is, and when I quit at the end of this semester, she’s not going to be allowed to rehire for my position.”

  My daughter sounded more upset the longer we discussed the situation. Diesel left me to go to her. She looked down at him and smiled briefly. She stroked his head for a moment, then focused her gaze on me again.

  “I don’t want to move, Dad. I don’t want to leave you all. I’m terrified of trying to cope with a baby and finding a new place to live and packing up and moving and . . .” She threw up her hands. “But we have to think about our future, and in the long run Frank’s taking this job and our moving to Virginia makes perfect sense. I’m simply feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

  I didn’t want to add any pressure to Laura’s already overburdened emotions. Frank’s and her needs—present and future—came before mine. She deserved honesty, too, but honesty phrased as tactfully as I could manage. I noticed Azalea standing by with her hands clasped as if in prayer, and I hoped she was praying for guidance for us all.

  “Frank is a good man.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I struggled. “I’m proud of his accomplishments and his dedication to you and the baby. If he truly thinks that taking this job in Virginia is the best course for you—and if you agree with that decision—then I will support you with all my heart.” I paused. “Of course I would love to have you all here in Athena, but what I want most of all is what’s best for the three of you.”

  “Thank you, Daddy,” Laura said, her smile tremulous. “You and Mom always told Sean and me to follow our dreams, and you allowed us to make our own decisions, even when they didn’t turn out so well. Frank and I still have a lot to discuss, but I didn’t want to go any further before I told you.”

  She pushed back from the table and stood, holding on to the table as she did so. “If you’ll excuse me, I need the bathroom.” She moved slowly out of the room and into the hall.

  Azalea and I looked at each other. I could see she was fighting back tears.

  “Oh, Mr. Charlie, I can’t hardly bear thinking about that child being all alone in Virginia with her baby and nobody there to look after them.” She dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her apron.

  I was ready to cry myself. “I can’t bear it, either, but this is their decision, hers and Frank’s. I know Frank will make sure that Laura and the baby have everything they need, no matter where they are.”

  “I’ll be praying for them,” Azalea said. “The Lord will provide.”

  I nodded, my throat too tight for me to be able to get words out. I stared down at the table through a mist of tears. Diesel meowed anxiously and put a large paw on my knee. He hated it when I was upset about anything, and this was probably the most worried or anxious I’d been in a long time.

  He continued to meow and mutter while I rubbed his head. I didn’t think my attentions convinced him that all was well. I certainly didn’t feel it myself.

  I cleared my throat and pulled my handkerchief out to wipe my eyes. “Let’s try to perk up.” I spoke for Azalea’s benefit as much as my own. “We don’t want to cause Laura any distress, and I know she’s already worried about how we’re taking this news.”

  “I’ll try.” Azalea moved to the sink to wash her hands and, I suspected, dab her face with cold water.

  By the time Laura returned a couple of minutes later, I had better control of my emotions, and Diesel had settled down by my feet. He moved over to sit beside Laura, however, when she resumed her place at the table.

  “You’d best be eating something, Mr. Charlie, before you have to go back to work.” Azalea set a plate in front of me, and then placed one before Laura. “You, too, Miss Laura. You need your strength.”

  Laura offered a wan smile of thanks. I looked down at my plate, my appetite nearly nonexistent. I knew, however, I needed to eat or Laura would see the lack of appetite as a symptom of distress on my part. The chicken and rice casserole, one of Azalea’s standards, was a favorite of mine. I had a bite, then another, at first having to force myself, but then my appetite revived, and I ended up eating the entire serving, along with two buttered rolls and some green beans almondine.

  Diesel went off to the utility room for a snack of his own. He couldn’t have any of the casserole because it had onions and garlic in it, and both of those were no-no ingredients for cats. He did occasionally get treats from the table, but I was careful about their contents.

  Azalea excused herself, after being sure we had everything we needed, and headed upstairs to clean.

  Laura and I chatted about my job as interim director at the college library. Focusing on that, rather than her possible impending departure to Virginia, made it easier to get through the meal.

  “So you really don’t want the job yourself?” Laura asked. “I have to say, Dad, you seem really engaged in it, and you’ve been, well, I suppose livelier is the word I’m looking for.”

  I frowned. “I didn’t exactly sit around like a lump all the time before I agreed to—or rather, was coerced into—taking the job.”

  “No,” Laura said. “But you were awfully quiet a lot of the time. Unless you were involved in a murder investigation, of course. With those you’re always perky.” She grinned.

  “I’ve had enough of those,” I said. “I’m not anxious to repeat the experience anytime soon.” Diesel chirped loudly, and Laura and I both laughed.

  “Seriously, though, haven’t you at least thought about the job?” Laura patted her lips with her napkin.

  “Yes, I have.” I hadn’t discussed this yet with anyone, but I had been thinking more about the job as a permanent thing. When I first agreed to do it, I really believed I didn’t want to be a full-time library director again. And that was still true, at least partly.

  One part of me, however, found the challenge interesting, not only intellectually, but emotionally as well. This was my alma mater, the college at which I had spent four wonderful, happy years and for which I maintained a strong affection. When I first went off to library school in Texas I had nourished the fantasy of returning to Athena one day and working in the college library. My wife would have been happy with that, too. Then came Sean, and not long after, Laura, and we found ourselves putting down roots in Houston. There we stayed, until my wife died and Sean and Laura had left home.

  I delayed my answer to Laura’s question a bit too long, I supposed, because she said, “I can see you’ve been considering it, Dad. What would be so terrible about going back to work full-time? I’m sure they would let Diesel go to work with you still, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I wouldn’t take the job if he couldn’t come to the office with me,” I said without thinking clearly about the implications of my words.

  “Aha.” Laura grinned.

  “All right,” I said with a rueful grin. “You got me. I am thinking seriously abou
t it. But I haven’t officially put my name in. I have to see if they would even consider me, because I have no background in academic libraries, other than as a student. My experience was all public libraries.”

  “I see what you mean,” Laura said. “I guess I was thinking that running a library is, well, running a library, but there are differences whenever academia and academic types are involved.”

  “Yes, and some academic institutions want the head of their library, or libraries in some cases, to have a doctorate and to have publications to their credit. I have neither of those.”

  “That could be a problem, then,” Laura said. “If they have any brains, they’ll ignore that and hire you anyway. I’m sure the staff would rather have you than anyone else.”

  “That I don’t know,” I said. “They’re a great group, overall, but I’m a bit of an outsider to them, in some ways.” I folded my napkin and laid it by my plate after a glance at my watch. “I have to be getting back to the office, sweetheart. I’m sorry I can’t stay and talk longer.”

  I pushed back from the table and then went to kiss her cheek. “I need to get home and take a nap,” Laura said. “Frank will probably be wondering where I am.”

  “Drive carefully.” I decided not to mention the decision about Frank’s job. I knew they would let me know once they had figured it out. I felt convinced they would move. Suddenly the food refused to settle in my stomach.

  “I will, Dad,” Laura said. “You go on back to the library and don’t worry about me. I need to ask Azalea something before I go.”

  “Okay. Come on, Diesel,” I said. “Time to go back to work.”

  The cat gave Laura a few last chirps and warbles but then followed me to the back door.

  On the walk back to the office, I couldn’t stop thinking about this move to Virginia. I felt sure that Frank wouldn’t be able to resist taking the job. He had every right to make that choice, but I wanted to be sure that Laura agreed with him.

  My lunch turned to lead in my stomach as I considered what life would be like with my grandson and his parents in Virginia. I had reached the age where I hated long driving trips, but I would have to get used to them if I wanted to see my family often. They would be too busy for trips home except for the holidays.

  If I seriously pursued the job at Athena, I realized, I would have a far from flexible schedule myself. I wouldn’t be able to take off for Virginia when I wanted.

  When Diesel and I reached the office, we found it empty. Melba must have been on her way back from lunch.

  I opened my e-mail and scanned the list of new messages while Diesel circled around several times in his chair before settling down to nap. I saw that there was one from Forrest Wyatt, and I clicked on it.

  As I read, that lump of lead in my stomach began to dance around, and I felt sick—and then furious. There was an attachment to the message—the résumé of one Gavin Fong, who had just today applied to be the director of the college library.

  THREE

  I scanned Forrest Wyatt’s e-mail message a second time to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood the import. No, I decided once I finished, I hadn’t made a mistake. According to Forrest, Gavin Fong submitted his letter of application and résumé earlier today. Forrest asked that I make a recommendation whether this candidate should receive further consideration by the entire search committee. The next meeting was set for tomorrow morning.

  My initial—but mental only—response to this request consisted of words that would have my aunt Dottie and my grandmothers rolling in their graves. I doubted Melba would be shocked. I’d heard her use the occasional earthy expression herself. I, on the other hand, rarely ever did.

  Gavin Fong deserved the profanity, at least in my mind. I decided I couldn’t respond right away to Forrest’s message. I had to let my temper cool before I tried to frame a coherent, reasoned reply.

  Diesel’s loud meowing finally penetrated my focus on the e-mail on my screen. “Everything’s okay, boy.” I scratched his head and repeated my words. After a moment, he evidently decided things were fine. He went back to the nearby chair, jumped into it, and curled up for a nap. I knew he missed the window ledge in my office upstairs, but he had found a new favorite spot in this office.

  I forced myself to open the attachment with Gavin Fong’s résumé. I couldn’t, in all fairness, write a response to the college president without having at least examined the man’s qualifications. I couldn’t simply tell Forrest I despised the man for his behavior nearly thirty years ago in graduate school.

  The résumé followed a standard format, and I read through it fairly quickly, despite the fact that it was twelve pages long. To my surprise I discovered that Fong had earned a doctorate in education five years ago. I didn’t recognize the name of the institution, but there were many online schools these days offering degrees of all kinds.

  Over the years since our graduate school days Fong had published a number of articles and three book chapters, the most recent one dated two years ago. None of the titles sounded remotely interesting to me, but they were—mostly—published in respected library science journals.

  I examined his job experience a second time. As Lisa Krause told me during our phone conversation before lunch, Fong’s career began on a high note with a position at an Ivy League university library. He stayed there for nearly five years, but I noticed when I read further down the list that those five years constituted his longest tenure of any position. He changed jobs about every three years. Again, as Lisa told me, the prestige of the institutions declined steadily from the first job, even as the level of responsibility of the position rose.

  Red flags went up for me whenever I saw such frequent job changing, especially on such a consistent schedule. I counted, and Fong had worked at ten different libraries including his present one since leaving graduate school in Texas. The fact that several of the job changes resulted in higher-level positions didn’t seem to me sufficient motive—not when the schools were all small, relatively unknown ones.

  I, on the other hand, spent twenty-five years in the city public library system in Houston. I worked at several different branches over the course of those twenty-five years, but I ended my career as a branch manager, a position I held for seventeen years.

  In my reply to Forrest Wyatt, I cited this job-hopping as a major negative. I did say that I had gone to library school with Fong but that I’d had no contact with him since. I concluded by saying that I did not consider his application worth further consideration.

  I sent the message and leaned back in my chair, eyes closed. My head ached, and I tried to relax. I hadn’t realized how tense I’d become over this one e-mail message.

  My brain wouldn’t let go of the fact that Gavin Fong applied for the position I currently held. I wasn’t sure I really wanted it myself. I had doubts whether the search committee would consider me qualified for the position permanently, but I certainly didn’t want Gavin Fong to get the job. If Forrest and the rest of the committee decided to ignore my recommendation and Fong somehow ended up in the position, I would retire. I wouldn’t work for him. I would be able to travel back and forth to Virginia when I wanted.

  I checked Fong’s references again to see if any of the names rang a bell. He listed four people, three women and one man. I didn’t recognize any of them.

  With only a vague purpose in mind, I went through the list of Fong’s publications again, more slowly this time. Most of them were coauthored, I saw, and among his coauthors I spotted two names I knew. We had all gone to library school together. Marisue Pickard and Randi Grant.

  As I recalled, Marisue Pickard was my own age, early fifties. Randi Grant was possibly a decade older. Unlike Marisue and me, she had come to library school for a second career. Randi, Marisue, and I shared many classes together, along with Gavin Fong. Among the students in the program with whom I shared classes, the only two I came
to know more than superficially were Randi Grant and Marisue Pickard. We kept touch in desultory fashion over the years, and I ought to have e-mail addresses for them. They had both migrated east in recent years, Randi from Colorado and Marisue from Kansas, and had ended up working together in Florida. I checked the conference program again and saw that I remembered correctly. They were giving a presentation on Sunday morning, and the affiliation listed was the same institution.

  I opened the browser on my computer and typed in the URL of my webmail account. Once I logged in, I checked the address book and found the two e-mail addresses I wanted.

  Then I paused. What was I doing? What was the point of e-mailing Randi and Marisue to ask for dirt on Gavin Fong? They had coauthored articles with him, one apiece, and I suspected that meant each had worked with him at the time.

  I included them both in one e-mail message.

  Dear Randi and Marisue, I’m delighted to see that you are both attending the SALA meeting this week. I look forward to catching up with both of you and hearing about life in Florida. Will you have time in your schedule for dinner with me? If not, I understand, but I’d love to spend an evening with y’all. I see another of our classmates is attending—I was surprised to see that Gavin Fong, of all people, is giving one of the keynotes. I haven’t thought about him in years. Well, safe travels, and I’ll see you later this week.

  I signed it and then hit Send. That was subtle enough, I thought. Mentioning Gavin Fong opened the door for one or both of them to respond with a comment about him. I wondered whether their opinions of him had changed since library school, enough so that they had felt comfortable coauthoring articles with him.

  Time to focus on the job the college was paying me to do. I had a stack of invoices to approve, and I might as well get on with it. I hated dealing with invoices and spreadsheets, though I had done so years ago. Staring at the stack of paper on my desk, I wondered again why I was tempted to apply to have this job on a permanent basis.