Page 29 of The Summer Show

I gestured vaguely in the direction of his groin. “The trunk.”

Nick Merrick looked down to where his junk was neatly outlined in grey cotton.

Change the subject, Kathleen. You’re an adult. You’re a librarian. You’re a fount of knowledge about things other than pants elephants. Come up with something. Anything.

The keycard.

I retrieved the plastic rectangle from my pocket and laid it on the spindly and expensive table in the foyer. “This is yours. One of the women at reception is a Roussos, so she’s got it out for you. She gave me this and told me to give it to a random homeless person, along with your room number.”

He pushed it back toward me with one finger. “Hold on to it.”

Color me confused. “To give to a homeless person?”

“My family can be a handful, and so can Greeks in general. If you need somewhere to hide out, you can always come here.”

His generosity was astonishing. How was I supposed to react? A simple thank you didn’t seem adequate, and yet it was all I had.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I’ll be fine, I promise. Nera is paradise, and if I can handle book fairs I can handle anything.”

“I remember book fairs being fun.”

“Ah, that’s because you never had to organize one. Wrangling kids is one thing, but wrangling volunteers is a whole other issue. Someone always drops out at the last minute or doesn’t show up. Not to mention it’s gut-wrenching when a child wants a book but can’t afford one. While the fair is ongoing, I’m still responsible for all my normal duties. Reading groups, class checkouts, shelving books. Plus this year we were down a student teacher, so I took over the third grade accelerated reading group.”

“You enjoy it?”

“Being a school librarian?” I smiled. “Absolutely. It’s my dream job. What about you? Roofing, I mean.”

“It’s not the kind of job you enjoy, it’s the kind you endure until you break.”

“Why stay?”

“Why not?”

“Do something that makes you happy to get up in the mornings.”

“Are you happy when you get up in the morning?”

“After I’ve had my coffee, yes.”

“And before coffee?”

I didn’t have to think too hard about it. “Yes.”

“Why a librarian?”

“Why a roofer?”

“I asked first,” he said.

“I asked second.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

It took him a moment to come up with an answer. During that time he paced the length of the suite, pausing at the sliding doors to pull in a restorative lungful of air conditioned air. When he turned, his muscles were bunched tight, tense. His face was white.

I was worried. “Are you okay?”