Conjured

He scooped a book off the shelf next to her and sniffed it. “This one smells like bacon.” He picked up another. “Cigarettes.” A third. “Just book. I like the smell of fresh books best, especially just-processed books with the slick plastic covers.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Zach, library page, at your service.” After a second’s hesitation, she shook his hand. It was warm and soft. “I think it’s a shame that it’s customary to shake hands upon greeting when what I really want to do is kiss your lips and see if you taste like strawberries.”

She released his hand. “I’m Eve. I’ve never eaten a strawberry.”

“Allergies? I’m allergic to cats. Not cats themselves, per se. Hairless cats are fine. It’s the cat dandruff, caught in the fur. Need serious anti-cat-dandruff shampoo.” His hair had slid over his eyes as he talked; he shook it back and smiled at her. “Glad you didn’t freak when I said I want to kiss you. I’ll wait for an invitation, of course, but I believe in being up front about these kinds of things. Prevents misunderstandings later. I don’t want you thinking that we can ever be just friends. Unless it’s friends with benefits.”

Eve stared at him. “Are you a friend of Malcolm’s?”

“Don’t know a Malcolm,” Zach said. “Not a common name. Never met an Eve, either, come to think of it. I will resist the obvious apple jokes, promise.”

So he wasn’t sent by Malcolm to watch her. “Apples?”

“Little-known facts about apples: apples are members of the rose family, it takes energy from fifty leaves to produce one fruit, and humans have been eating apples since at least sixty-five hundred BC. Bet you’re asking yourself how a handsome guy like me who can’t seem to stop talking ended up working in a library where the talking thing is not so condoned.”

She continued to stare at him, blinking once.

“Or perhaps you’re wondering about hairless cats. They’re less cuddly than you’d think. Also prone to sunburn. And oddly prone to more earwax, due to less ear hair. But I’m boring you. Cardinal sin when talking with a beautiful girl. Not to be confused with the original sin … And I promised no obvious jokes. Sorry. Don’t hate me.”

“I’ll try not to,” she said gravely.

“Now you’re just being polite.” He heaved a sigh.

Eve’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I’m not good at polite. I’m told I need to practice more.”

“You could decide to embrace a policy of total honesty, like I have. I don’t lie.”

She’d thought that was what people did. Malcolm and Aunt Nicki lied all the time. Right now, Malcolm was in Patti Langley’s office, undoubtedly lying to her. “That’s wonderful.”

“My parents think it’s annoying.”

“Do they lie?”

“It’s the only language they speak.” His voice was cheerful, but his eyes were sad. She wondered if that contradiction counted as a lie. “Hyperbole and sarcasm totally don’t qualify as lies,” he said. “There is truth in my pain.”

“Everything about me is a lie,” Eve said. She thought for a second and added, “Except my eyes.”

“You have pretty eyes,” Zach said.

“So I’ve been told.”

* * *

Sitting in a cracked leather chair in the library lobby, Eve flipped through the books that Zach had picked for her: a history of bread, a biography of a nature photographer, a book on bird migration, another on skyscrapers. Malcolm had taught her to read. She remembered him patiently showing her a few words. After that, the lessons were a blank, but they must have happened and they must have stuck. Or maybe she’d learned to read long ago, and he’d merely reminded her. Regardless, if she could remember the words, she should remember learning them. If she knew what a skyscraper was, she must have seen one. She thought of the flock of sparrows, black against the brilliant blue.

Stop, she told herself.

She couldn’t think like that. Worrying about what she did and didn’t know would only eat her up inside. She knew things but couldn’t remember how she knew them—the doctors said that was common with memory loss like hers. They said she had long-term memory loss, punctuated by bouts of short-term memory loss. But knowing it was common didn’t help. Eve stroked the book covers, their slick plastic wrapping sliding under her fingertips. She wondered how much truth was in these books, and if any of them featured girls who could change their eyes or cause birds to fly off wallpaper without knowing why.

Malcolm and the librarian, Patti, emerged from her office. “… very well, and I appreciate your frankness, Mr. Harrington.”

“And I appreciate your flexibility.”

Crossing the lobby, Patti beamed at Eve. “Congratulations, and welcome. You’ll start tomorrow.” She asked Malcolm, “Is nine to three acceptable for her schedule?”

“Perfect,” Malcolm said.

Eve stacked Zach’s books beside her and stood. “I like your library.”