each other.
This morning, as they’d cleaned up the breakfast dishes, Violet had said she believed teenagers were more likely to be honest about their problems with kids their own age. Plus, she believed that some teens branded as troublemakers would be motivated to turn themselves around when given responsibility as a peer counselor. That part of the conversation had him choking on his own guilt. Should he confess to his aunt the teenage crimes he’d gotten away with or leave the past alone? She’d worked so hard to shape him into a good person. It would devastate her to learn what a mess he’d been. At the time, he’d convinced himself he was in the right. His rebellions had felt like justice.
After Grayson’s mom left, his father had blamed the town, saying Rachel had hated it here, that Cupid’s Bow hadn’t been good enough for her. Looking back, Grayson could see through his father’s excuses, his inability to accept that perhaps he’d failed somewhere as a husband. But as a child, Grayson had bought in to his dad’s finger-pointing. At least when he listened to his father’s bitter diatribes, Bryant was paying attention to him. So Grayson had been a rapt audience as his dad ranted about everything from the town ruining his marriage to the former business partners who’d screwed him over.
By the time of his father’s crash, Grayson harbored a simmering resentment toward most of the people around him, made worse by the pitying gossip about the “orphaned Cox boy.” He’d sought anonymous revenge in stereotypical misdemeanors, from graffiti and shoplifting to stealing a high-school mascot. He’d smashed the mailbox of the loan officer who’d rejected his dad’s application, a financial setback that resulted in the eventual loss of the store where Bryant met Grayson’s mom. Grayson had reasoned that if his dad still had the store, he wouldn’t have doubled down on his drinking. If Bryant Cox got that loan, he would have still been alive.
That’s not how alcoholism works. Grayson knew that now. But, as a grief-stricken high-school freshman, he’d followed his dad’s example—making excuses, lashing out, blaming others. As amazing as Violet had been, no one person could single-handedly undo the emotional damage that came from years of secondhand rage. Only with time, perspective and friends like Blaine had Grayson regained his balance.
He wasn’t proud of his teenage self, but he didn’t have to be that person anymore. I’m mature now. And well-adjusted. More or less.
To prove it, he climbed out of the truck with a friendly smile on his face, reminding the boys about using their “library voices” as they unbuckled their booster seats.
Just inside the front door of the library, a glass display case caught the twins’ attention. It was full of trains—or, at least, artistic representations of trains. There were paintings and drawings of varying quality, clay sculptures and a colorful model assembled from cardboard. Above the display was a sign announcing that next month’s theme was horses, inviting all the kids of Cupid’s Bow to participate.
He remembered the homemade Christmas cards Miranda used to send him and a framed sketch she’d done of the boys sleeping when they were just babies. “You guys like art projects?”
Tyler nodded enthusiastically. “I like to finger-paint. It’s messy. Red is my favorite color.”
“One time, Mama helped us do an art with sand,” Sam added. “It was real messy.”
“And we played with shaving cream on our art table. It’s squishy. And—”
“Let me guess,” Grayson said. “Messy?”
The boys chorused “yes” amid chuckles. He wasn’t convinced they’d inherited their mother’s artistic sensibility, but they were decidedly pro-mess. He made a mental note to get tarps before attempting any big projects at Aunt Vi’s.
They walked into the library, cool from the humming air conditioner and quiet after the sounds of Main Street. A sense of calm washed over him—until he turned and found himself eye-to-eye with Hadley Lanier.
“Grayson!” She appeared startled, clutching a stack of books against her to keep from dropping them. But then she smiled, her dark eyes as sweet as hot chocolate. “Nice to see you.”
It was a warmer welcome than he deserved, and he grinned back at her. “You, too. Can I, uh, help you with those?” Did he sound like an awkward seventh grader, offering to carry a pretty girl’s books to her locker?
“Sure. I was going to display these on top of the shelves for National Poetry Month.” Passing all but a few of the books over to him, she smiled down at the boys. “Hello, again. I’m Miss Hadley. What kinds of books do you two like to read?”
“Do you have anything with dinosaurs?” Tyler asked. Sam didn’t answer, too busy studying his surroundings.
“We have an entire shelf on dinosaurs. That’s our children’s section.” She pointed to a smaller room, walled in glass and decorated with lots of bright colors. “If you two want to go in there and start looking around, I’ll help you find some dinosaur books in just a moment. Does that sound okay?”
Pausing only long enough to give her a brief nod, Tyler scampered off. Sam hesitated, looking nervously at Grayson.
“I’m going to help Miss Hadley move some books,” Grayson said. “You can stay with me if you want. Or, if you want to go with your brother, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me through the glass. Your choice, buddy.”
The boy swallowed. “You won’t go far?”
“Promise.”
Reassured, Sam turned and followed after his twin.
Grayson felt a tug of pride. The tiny display of independence might not seem like much to someone who didn’t know Sam, but the boy had been understandably clingy in the past few weeks and this was progress.
“You’re good with him,” Hadley said. When he turned to her meet her gaze, her smile became mischievous. “Much better than I would have guessed after the cereal-aisle debacle.”
“Not one of my finer moments. But I hope I’m getting better. They deserve that. This has been so hard for them—their parents, the move. Starting school in the next week or so. I hope they have an easier time at Cupid’s Bow Elementary than—” Was he really about to whine to a beautiful woman about his childhood? Lame. “So, where did you need these books?”
She raised an eyebrow at his abrupt change of subject but didn’t call him on it. “Right over here.”
The shelves in the library weren’t all the same height. Units taller than Hadley lined the walls, but the center was dominated by shorter bookshelves topped with various objects—spotlight collections, winning science-fair projects from the local schools and potted flowers that brought a touch of spring inside.
She led him to a shelf with available space on top, and took a moment to position the books she held before turning to him for a few more.
He passed over the first few without paying much attention, but then a red book cover made him do a double take. “Erotic poems?”
Hadley’s head jerked up. “Shh. This is a library, remember.”
“Sorry. I was caught off guard.”
“By a book? In a library? Yes, what are the odds?” She laughed.
She had a great laugh, he noticed. It trilled out like music, her own personal jingle or theme song.
“These are poems from the 1930s, a part of our literary history, pieces that found beauty and sensuality to celebrate despite difficult times. It’s not like they’re internet porn.”
“So, you’ve read them?”
“I’ve read almost everything in the library,” she said matter-of-factly. “Most of these books were here long before I became head librarian.”
“Now you can read about the Great Wall of China whenever you want.”
She cocked her head, her expression puzzled.