Claws For Concern

We had barely reached the end of the long driveway at Riverhill before Helen Louise brought up the subject that had been exercising my mind most of the afternoon.

“You’ve been having second thoughts about being a part of this book,” she said.

“Second, third, fourth, and so on,” I said. “I thought that talking to Miss Carpenter and hearing more about the writer would help me make up my mind to go ahead with it, but I keep shying away from it.”

“Because of the way you were raised,” Helen Louise said. “I understand that, believe me. My parents were the same way.”

“So what should I do?”

“I think you should go ahead and talk to the writer,” she replied. “If you don’t, you’ll always wonder. Besides, he could go ahead with the project without your permission. If he really wants to, he can find away around it.”

“And then I would find myself in the invidious position of being damned if I do or don’t,” I said. “Take legal action to stop him, thereby bringing the attention upon myself that I didn’t want in the first place.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Helen Louise’s tone expressed her sympathy for my position.

I sighed. “I guess I’ll e-mail him and tell him I’m willing to meet with him, then.”

“It will all work out okay,” Helen Louise said. “Ernie Carpenter seems to think a lot of him, and Miss An’gel and Miss Dickce obviously have great affection and respect for Ernie. We both have tremendous respect for the Ducote sisters and their intelligence. So, if you follow my chain of reasoning, Jack Pemberton ought to be a stand-up kind of guy.”

“I don’t think that reasoning would hold up in court,” I said. “But for now I guess I’m going to have to believe that you’re right.”

My parents would have understood that reasoning, and for the most part I did, too. I had to hope that Jack Pemberton, via Ernie, via the Ducote sisters, didn’t put the lie to it.

EIGHT

I e-mailed Jack Pemberton before I went to bed that night, and the next morning I had a response. He explained that he was teaching summer school at the community college and that it would be difficult for him to come to Athena during most of the week. He was free on Friday, if that suited me. I e-mailed back to say that Friday was fine. He could come to the public library, and we could talk during the time I usually took my lunch hour. That worked for him, and so our meeting was set.

During the week I had plenty to occupy my time and thoughts besides the upcoming meeting with Jack Pemberton. I worked my three days in the archives at Athena College. There were two graduate students in the history department using materials from the archives for their dissertations, and they took up some of my time because I had to supervise their use of documents. Diesel, when he wasn’t sleeping in the window behind my desk, visited them to check their progress and to offer encouraging chirps and trills. Luckily they were both amenable to that, and I didn’t have to leave Diesel at home while they worked or try to keep him away from them. He had learned as a younger kitty not to jump on the tables where they were working, and I was thankful to have a well-behaved feline.

The college library’s new director, Andrea Thomas, had a warm and ebullient personality. She had been on the job since the first of June, and thus far all the staff seemed to have taken to her well. I liked her, not least because she made no fuss about Diesel’s continuing to accompany me to work. She quickly earned the official seal of approval from my friend, Melba Gilley, who had been the Athena director’s administrative assistant for more than a decade.

“She’s smart,” Melba told me after Andrea’s first week. “Plus she’s even better organized than I am.” That was saying a lot, because Melba had always been the best organized person I ever knew.

With Andrea at the helm the library had now settled back into a happy, efficient rhythm after seven months of uncertainty and turmoil. I had no regrets at turning down the offer to be the director. Now with baby Charlie on the scene and another grandchild soon to appear, I had other ways to spend my time. I would keep working at the archive as long as I continued to enjoy what I was doing, and then I would happily retire. One of these days.

By Thursday evening, with my workweek at the college library complete, I began once more to let my thoughts focus on tomorrow’s meeting with the writer. I had not made a final decision, but I was leaning toward declining to participate.

When Diesel and I left home the next morning for our day at the public library, Laura and baby Charlie were in the kitchen with Azalea. I hated to leave the house while my grandson was there, but I would see him over the weekend. Diesel stayed by Charlie’s side until it was time to go.