Some Lucky Woman Page 2

  The woman looked up and smiled. I glanced at her nametag that read: Volunteer and then Makeda underneath.

  I watched as her fingers flew across the keyboard. I’d taken typing in high school, but even though I remembered where all the keys were located, I was a hunt-and-pecker. Maybe I needed to find a typing class too since I was planning to type on the computer for a living. Speed typing would definitely be a plus.

  Within a few seconds, the woman presented me with a temporary library card, advising me that a permanent one would be mailed to my home address in a few days.

  I tucked the card into the side pocket of my purse. “Thank you, Makeda. I wonder … would you point me in the direction of anything you have on blogging?”

  Obviously happy with her volunteer job, Makeda smiled again. “The reference section is on the third floor. And,” she hunted through papers on her desk, “if you’re interested, we offer a ‘Blogging for Business’ class on Mondays at four o’clock.”

  Sometimes fate had a way of letting you know you were on the right path, I thought.

  “You’re kidding me! That’d be great. Thank you, Makeda.” And it was. I’d always been better at listening to lectures and taking notes than I was with self-study. Maybe Angela would accompany me, too, so we could learn together.

  Still suffering from lack of sleep and a perpetual feeling of dehydration after my month-long crying jag, I eyed the coffee shop on the first level but then remembered my budget. For years, I’d thought nothing of running into Starbucks after dropping off Eric daily and grabbing a five-dollar latte. But when I’d written out my budget, I realized that was a hundred-dollar-a-month expense that I could no longer afford.

  Since I could afford to lose a few pounds, though, I opted to ascend the open set of stairs instead of taking the elevator to the third floor. As I climbed, I stared through the three-story glass wall at the intercoastal waterway and the Clearwater Memorial Causeway. The library in downtown Clearwater was beautiful, and I quickly wondered why I’d never come inside before today.

  When I reached the top level, I strolled across the open floor, passing rows and rows of magazines, another item I’d crossed off my grocery budget. Amazing how I’d thought nothing of a few dollars here and there, but now I realized how one or two extra purchases a day added up to hundreds of dollars a month.

  I took in the different faces of the people who sat at tables, chairs, and squatted in front of shelves. Nearly every age, sex, ethnicity and, based on the different styles of clothing, social and economic statuses were represented as well. Even a few patrons who appeared to be homeless, based on their attire, were busy reading.

  For just a second, I closed my eyes and inhaled, thinking of the library I used to visit as a child. This new building didn’t have the same aromatic scent, but my mind still latched onto the faint scent of books, searching for that sweet rotting smell of old books and the gardenia scent that had emanated from the elderly librarian who’d introduced me to the Phantom Toll Booth and stories by Judy Blume.

  The scent swept me back to my first love: reading. It felt like coming home. As if the written word could seep out of the books in thin lines like long tendrils of smoke, and then intertwine with my veins, making their way through every inch of my body, enveloping every fiber of my being.

  I sighed. Angela was right. I loved to read. And just maybe … books could be my salvation once again.

  Realizing I had to get busy, I glanced at my phone for the time. Before I knew it, I’d have to get Eric.

  Instead of a card catalog, I was instructed to search in the old desktop computer for the books I wanted. I jotted down several titles, including Mom Blogging for Dummies. Then I realized I should look at the current bestselling fiction books. I had read plenty of books in my lifetime, but I hadn’t read a book with the intention of reviewing it. And truthfully, I hadn’t read very many books lately. I’d been too busy running Eric from school to drama to football practice. And when there wasn’t a school activity, I’d drive him to the movies or a friend’s house.

  In the last couple of years, I really hadn’t found the time to read more than a handful of books, usually the most popular books that had been made into movies, and I was sure those books had a plethora of reviews.

  As I entered the aisle for mystery fiction, I skidded to a stop. A man stood in front of the shelves where I’d been heading. Uneasy for no reason that I could comprehend, I held back, busying myself with the last names beginning with S, even though I’d been heading for the Ps. Although I preferred to read something with romance, I figured I’d better add some books that didn’t center around romance to my list so that my site offered readers reviews on different genres.

  I started to head to the romance section, but peeked out of the corner of my eye at the man. Not that I had any interest in a man, but he wasn’t the type of man I expected to see in the public library. The last thing I’d anticipated was to run into a good-looking businessman strolling the aisles. Not on a weekday afternoon anyway.

  Catching my gaze, the man held up the newest release by James Patterson. “Have you read this?”

  I gulped, my right hand immediately reaching for my left, and I found myself twisting an imaginary ring. My ring finger was bare. I’d removed the set my husband had given me for our fifteenth anniversary.

  The man’s eyes dropped, and I immediately stopped fidgeting. “Not yet. Actually, I was looking for it.”

  The dark-haired man stepped forward, handing me the book. “Here you go, then. Maybe you can tell me if it’s worth reading. I have to get back to work anyway. I’m on my lunch break.”

  “Oh … umm … thanks.” I accepted the book, but cocked my head. “How will I tell you?”

  He smiled. “I’m here most days on my lunch break.”

  I about choked. A man who loved to read, who spent his lunch hours at the library instead of boning Ms. Floozy?

  I returned his smile. “Okay … If I see you, I’ll let you know.”

  Mystery man smiled, then trotted off. I was grateful that he hadn’t asked me for my name or number. I definitely wasn’t ready for that. It had only been a few weeks since I’d told Dick what he could go do to himself. And only a week since I’d trashed his truck.

  One of the first things the attorney I had contacted had asked me was had I had any extramarital affairs.

  Never, I’d told him honestly. And I hadn’t. I hadn’t had a physical — or emotional — affair. I hadn’t even put hobbies above my husband. For that matter, we didn’t even have a pet. Dick had been allergic, so even though I wanted Eric to have a pet, he never could.

  I shook my head at what I’d given up in the last fifteen years.

  Other than Eric — and I wouldn’t change the mistake of getting pregnant at nineteen even if I could — Dick Embers hadn’t given me anything other than my son, and he’d taken everything else from me.

  ***

  Angela and I stared at the website we’d created. It had actually been easier than I expected. Mostly, it had just been a matter of clicking and dragging boxes for texts or images. I searched for the most recent books I’d read, which already had thousands of reviews, but … who knew, maybe someone would be interested in my point of view.

  Next I used my affiliate code to add images via HTML. Just saying the initials — which I had no idea what they stood for — made me feel important. I jotted down a note to look it up.

  I smiled as I squeezed Angela around the shoulders. “Thank you, Ang. I can’t believe we did this. Now I just have to catch up on my reading.”

  “Well, I’m sure you won’t make any money for a while, but you said you had a year. Jenny said it took her about two months until she really started to see a surge in ‘clicks,’ as she called it. She gave me a list of social sites that we need to sign up for that will push readers to the website. She assured me that it’s really just a matter of finding people who share your interests.”

  I laughed. “Why are
n’t you doing this again?”

  Angela patted her belly, which really wasn’t showing yet, but I knew the morning sickness had been taking its toll. “You have to ask? You remember what it was like. But I was thinking, I might be able to knock out a few book reviews too. That way you’ll have multiple reviewers. Maybe Aunt Heidi will write some reviews too. She likes to read the medical thrillers, so that would give you even more ideas to share.”

  For the first time in a week … my eyes watered up. I’d been doing well. I hadn’t broken down and cried, and it had been even longer since I’d cried when Eric was home. Even though I hated Dick, I didn’t want my son to hate his father. Every day after school, Eric had been politer than normal, asking if I wanted him to stay home instead of going to football practice. Just the fact that Dick’s infidelity had actually caused my son to grow up overnight had threatened to send me into full-out crying sessions several times, but I’d been strong … for Eric … for my sanity.

  The tears I couldn’t contain now were different, though. These were tears of hope.

  Angela started upright. “Are you okay? Did I say something?”

  “Yes …” I sputtered. “I mean, yes, I’m okay. You’ve said and done everything right, Angela. Thank you so much … It’s just … I’m feeling hopeful. I haven’t felt optimistic in a while. But it’s more than that. I feel … useful again. As though I have a purpose in life.”

  She squeezed my hand. “Oh, Jana. You’ve always had a purpose in life. I know Dick cheated on you, but he loved you … He knows he’s nothing without you, the reason he keeps trying to get you back. And Eric … he’s a great kid. I mean … how many fifteen-year-olds even like their parents? And he worships you.”

  I sniffed as I jumped up and threw my arms around my cousin. “Thank you, Ang. I love you.” I leaned back to look at her. “How did you get so smart for only being twenty-five?”

  “I had a great role model, Jana. You know you’re my best friend and cousin, but did you also know that when I was a child, I’d wished you were my mother? Even when you were fifteen, you took better care of me than my mom did.” Angela swiped away a few tears on her face too. “See … now you have me crying. I love you too.”

  I threw my arms around her again, and we remained that way for a few minutes in a long embrace. It was true … I’d never had a mother, and Angela had seen very little of hers. But we’d had each other.

  Catching my breath, I stood up and stared at my baby cousin who was no longer a baby. She was a mother of a two-year-old with another child on the way. And she had a great husband. I could only hope that Paul would continue to treat her well and not break her heart the way my husband had broken mine.

  I clapped my hands together to break the moment. We didn’t have time to cry. “Okay. Let’s get to work. I wrote out my thoughts on the book I read, so help me check if this makes sense. After all, you’re the one with an English Lit degree. Might as well put it to use since you decided not to take that teaching job when you found out you were pregnant again.”

  “Thanks for reminding me.” She laughed. “I was thinking … after the baby is born, maybe we can add an editing service. I can proofread the books, then you can critique them.”

  Goosebumps ran down my arms. This was going to work. I could feel it. “That’s a great idea.”

  For the first time in a while, I felt happy. I smiled as I walked toward the kitchen to make another pot of coffee, thinking, I could do this. I could live my life without Dick Embers.

  Chapter 3 – Never Judge A Book By Its Cover

  I sat in the fiction area of the library, as close to the mystery section as possible, reading a new romantic-suspense novel that Makeda, the librarian I’d met on the first day, had suggested. Or Mak as I called her, which drove Angela crazy; I had a habit of nicknaming people. At least the names weren’t usually derogatory. I just had a difficult time remembering names, and it made it easier for me to remember people when I shortened their name or nicknamed them by what I thought about them.

  Mak and I had become friends over the last few months, which was unusual for me. Other than Angela, I’d never really had friends. Not since my high school and college years anyway. When Mak saw a great book she thought I’d like, she’d set it aside, knowing I’d be in after I dropped Eric off at school. I’d pretty much been coming early and leaving early, so I had time to build my blog posts before I picked up Eric from school. To get in more reading time, I’d just been sitting in the parking lot and reading while Eric practiced. Previously, I’d drop him off and drive home, but that was an extra half an hour a day … and more gas.

  When I added up the hours and miles, I realized I was wasting almost ten hours, plus more than fifty dollars in gas monthly, which meant I could read one to two more books a month with my time savings, and feed us for a week with the gas savings.

  I’d been trying to post a review every day, but … I was running out of new books. The library had plenty of books, but not a lot of new books, and that’s what my readers wanted.

  I’d only been blogging for a month, but already I’d learned what my readers wanted and made more friends than I’d ever had. Albeit they were virtual friends, but in some ways, they were more real to me than the girls I’d known in college. Maybe it was because we were behind a computer screen. That way we could be more forthcoming. Whatever it was, I liked it.

  In fact, after chatting with one of my new online peeps this morning, I decided to set up my blog early and come to the library at lunchtime, hoping to bump into a certain dark-haired book aficionado. Not that I had any plans to suggest we hang out, but I’d reviewed the book he’d asked about. While I’d been setting up my post for tomorrow, I thought of how I’d approach him if I saw him again.

  I would smile, walk over to him as though he were just another customer I was doing business with, and then hand him the business card for my website, as though I’d been reviewing books for years. Then I’d saunter off, leaving him with something to think about.

  Dick may not have appreciated the fact that I kept myself in good shape, but I was sure some men would. After all, I was thirty-four and I could still fit into many of my clothes from college. And as Angela had said, I hadn’t even had to take drastic measures with hair color yet. My dark hair had natural bronze highlights from the Florida sun, which did a great job at hiding the few gray hairs that were starting to sprout.

  “Hey …”

  Completely lost in my thoughts, I jumped at the deep male voice, toppling backward in the chair I’d been leaning back in as I looked up at the handsome stranger who stood peering down at me. I struggled to get my chair upright, my legs flailing as I also attempted to hide the sweeping romance novel I was reading.

  “I got ya,” he said.

  I blew out a breath, my heart thrashing inside my chest, as though I would have fallen a thousand feet instead of three. I had a terrible fear of heights, so I wasn’t comfortable falling, no matter how short the distance.

  So much for being smooth and confident.

  “Thank you,” I choked out, then attempting to get back to my original plan of being aloof and nonchalant, I said, “Oh, hey … it’s you. I was hoping I’d bump into you today. I read that book you asked about.”

  He tilted his head, and I immediately felt like an idiot. Of course, he didn’t remember me. Why would he remember something so trivial as handing a book to a stranger in the library? Whereas I’d been thinking about him and his request for a month.

  Slightly irritated, but still nervous, I said, “The … new book … by James Patterson.” My voice cracked as though I were a teenage girl inviting the star quarterback to a Sadie Hawkins dance. Feeling stupid, I reached into the side pocket of my purse and pulled out my card. Regardless of how I felt, I was going to try to send more viewers to my website. “I review books for a living. You asked me to tell you if the book was worth reading.” I handed him my card.

  Angela and I had spent days designing t
he cream-colored embossed card, and yet, Mr. Forgetful had accepted it without even looking at it. But maybe that was because his eyes were on me.

  He smiled. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been wondering about that one.”

  Hmm, I thought, wondering why he was pretending not to remember. Surely this conversation had to strike some memory of our meeting. But I kept my opinion to myself.

  I shrugged as if I really didn’t care. “Well, it was pretty good. You can read the review on my website if you like. I never give spoilers.” I gathered up my purse and collection of books, then sauntered off. Okay, scampered was probably a more accurate term, but at least I held my head high instead of looking like the rejected mousy teenager that I felt like.

  “Hey,” Mr. Forgetful called from behind me, “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Jana,” I said without turning around, catching Makeda’s eye. She smiled, and I flashed her a wink as I sauntered — yes, sauntered — out the sliding glass door that led to the parking lot and then quickly jumped into my truck before I caved on my decision just to give him my card and walk off.

  Right from the beginning, I’d given my ex-husband everything. I’d been enamored with him, and I hadn’t even played a little hard-to-get. It wasn’t that I wanted to play games; I didn’t. But with all of the books I’d been reading, I decided there was something attractive about a mysterious woman, a woman who didn’t throw herself at a man. A woman who made a man work for what he wanted … so he’d appreciate his catch.

  And for the first time in my life, I felt like I was in control of my destiny. Felt like I was going to be all right.

  Well, other than nearly tipping over backward and cracking my skull, but everyone had to start somewhere.

  ***

  As much as I wanted to go back to the library at lunchtime the following day, I waited. And then the next, and the next, I made sure I was long gone before lunch.