The Library Book

It’s been 6 months since my mother’s death, and I know I need to move on. It is just so difficult for me. My dad has his own family to take care of since the divorce, and my sisters are away at college, so the family is leaving it up to me to pack up the remainder of mom’s things. 

While compiling the final few boxes, the phone rings. A familiar voice, soft and delicate, a lot like my mom’s. My heart sinks just listening to her careful cadence and sweet sincerity. 

She said, “Hello, it this Kate?”

“Yes,” I said timidly.

“I am Nevaeh from the library,” she explained. “I am so sorry to bother you, but I heard that you were home visiting and collecting your mom’s things, so I wanted to reach out to say that I am very sorry for your loss. Your mom was a dear friend of mine and I enjoyed her company when she visited the library. She talked very highly of you.”

“I’m sorry, what is your name again?”

“Naveah, you know, rhymes with your mom’s name Leah, - Naveah.”

“Ok,” I said. Hearing my mom’s name was a small comfort, and allowed me to listen a bit more intently.

“Your mom was hopeful you would find someone soon, she said more than anyone you deserved to find someone special.”

Those words, I thought, someone special, was exactly what she would say to me. Tears cascade along my cheek without permission, and those words fill an empty space in my soul, and suddenly I feel weak. 

“That is very sweet of you to call,” I respond, my voice cracking and slowly falling apart, my chin quivering, “I really need to finish up here,” I continue. 

 I tried to rush her off the phone because speaking of my mom, I was beginning to fall apart inside. 

“Oh, just one thing then,” she said. “She had a library book she borrowed that needs to be returned. If you wouldn’t mind, could you drop it by sometime this week?”

That library book has been staring at me from the kitchen island for days now, I have been meaning to drop it by the library depository but something has been holding me back.

“Sure, I said, I would be happy to.”

“ Just please come after closing, so we could chat a bit about your mom. She told me something about a book game you used to play, and she wanted you to continue the game.”

“A book game?” I asked. 

“Yes, she said when you were younger, you would take whichever book she was reading at the time, open it up to a random page, put you finger on a word, then read the sentence, and whatever the passage said to do is what you had to do that day.”

“Yes, I remember. She told you about that?”

“Yes, She did ,and so many other things, I would really like to chat with you when you get a moment,” She insisted.

‘Ok, how about Wednesday,” I suggested.

“Sure, just after we close then around 7pm.”

“Perfect, see you then,” I said, and then the line went dead.

Moments later, at her suggestion, and just for fun, I held her library book laying on the kitchen island that she was currently reading before the accident. The Great Gatsby was one of her favorite books. She was an avid reader. While she regularly read popular books like the New York Times Best Seller of the week, or anything that Oprah recommended, She would often go back to the classics from time to time. She was a great lover of tragic romances. I believe she felt at home with that genre, since her own life was a series of tragic romances. Being a horror thriller myself, I was usually uninterested in anything she read.

Bravely, I open the book and pick a random page. Chapter six is where I land. I place my finger on a word, flower, and read the passage aloud as if my mom and I are here enjoying the game we once loved.  The passage read:

“I tried to think about Gatsy then for a moment but he was already too far away and I could remember, without resentment, that Daisy hadn’t sent a message or a flower. “

“Ok mom,” I said, as I looked up toward the ceiling, suddenly wondering why people look up, if she is sending a message, wouldn’t she be right here in the room next to me? 

Now looking toward the chair she usually sat in at the kitchen table, I said, “I’ll do that mom, I’ll pick up flowers on my way to dad’s for dinner tonight. I’ll do it for you mom.”

 I’ll go by the florist shop and pick up flowers, Daisy’s of course, for dinner as one last little game I play with mom from beyond the grave. Why not? I ask myself, and suddenly I feel invigorated, like a heavy weight of grief is somehow lifted, that somehow I can connect once again with mom. 

I dress for dinner and drop by Bud and Holly’s Floral shop. As I was looking through the refrigerator window, on display were pink carnations, which were mom’s favorite. I could see the reflection of the most handsome man behind me. As I turn my head toward him he said, “Hello, Is there something I can help you with,”

“Sure, I said. “Do you work here?”

“Why, Yes I do, do I not look like a florist?”

“No, not at all,” the words just coming out too quickly for me to rein in.

“What do I look like then?,” he asked looking intrigued by the observation.

In my head I was thinking daytime soap opera actor, or male fashion model, but I just gave in to a shy smile.

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, but you are just so handsome,” I said. Unsure of how I mustered the courage to say such a thing. It was not like me to be so blunt, and suddenly I feel embarrassed by the words that betrayed me. 

“Well, thank you for the compliment,” he said sincerely. “I am flattered, truly I am.”

“Are you looking for carnations? If so we have a few different arrangements I can show you.”

‘Yes, but also an arrangement with daisies as well, Do you have any daisies?”

“Sure, what is the occasion?

“Just dinner at my dad’s,” I said. 

“Just you or are you going with your boyfriend?”

“Um, that’s a bit forward, but just me, I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said eager to hear his response.

“Great, I mean, oh, well, you don’t need a boyfriend , women don’t need men to be accomplish anything, or to find happiness. I didn’t mean to offend you in any way. If I have, I am truly sorry.”

“Right, yes, thank you for that,” I said with a smile I could not hold back.

“I can add a few Daisies to any arrangement you choose,” he suggested.

“I’ll take the pink and yellow carnations arrangement in the silver shimmery vase,” I said.

“Great choice, I’ll add the daisies and have them ready for you just in a few moments.”

“My name is Buddy,” he offered his hand for me to shake.

“My friends call me Bud.”

“Oh hello, Bud,” I shake his hand. 

“Like Bud from the Bud and Holly florist shop, this is your store?,” I asked inquisitively 

“Yes, Holly is my mom. This is our shop,” he said. 

“Lovely, it must be so nice to work with your mom.”

“Um, most days, she is my mom after all, always nagging at me about dating and spending too much time working the business instead of socializing yotta yotta yotta.” 

His eyes transfixed on mine while he spoke, I almost lost track of where I was for a moment. 

I pause, gather my thoughts, then said, “I understand. I recently lost my mom to a car accident, so I envy your situation. Word of advice, enjoy every moment you have with her all the nagging included.”

“Thank you for that,” he said sincerely. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Hey, would you mind if I ask , well, would you like to go out for a drink sometime?”

“Sure, “ I said, too quickly.

“Great, I am not sure you are just saying that, so I am going to give you my number and if you really are interested call me sometime soon,” he said looking hopeful.

“Ok then, Maybe it’s a date,” I said with a girlish giggle, that I didn’t mean to let out.

When I get to dad’s I tell him about Bud at the florist shop. He was delighted to see joy return to my face after mom’s death. “Your mom’s death has been so hard on you, you deserve a nice night out. He is a handsome fella, isn’t he?”

“Fella?, dad, no one says fella anymore.”

The following morning, I open the book again to a random page, point to another passage, and it read:

“Follow your dreams, and they will come true.”

intrepidly, I called Bud and told him that I would love to meet him Wednesday night after I drop a book off at the library.

Wednesday at 7pm just as the library doors were getting ready to close, I asked the librarian for Ms. Naveah. 

“Who ,” she said. 

“Ms. Naveah,” I said 

“ I am sorry, but I don’t know who she is, but come on in, and you can write a note for her. I am new here and I don’t know everyone yet. Tomorrow, I can ask around, and leave the note for her.”

She handed me a note card and a pen, and I wrote Dear Ms. Naveah, and immediately after writing her name, I realized that is Naveah is heaven spelled backwards. 

“Nevermind," I said, teary eyed, 

Here is the book and thank you for your time.

I rushed out the library door and whispered into the wind.

“Thank you Mom, I love you.”