Aiming to Please

I sat down on the floor in the corner of Mr. H's library while the two men talked at Harold's desk. For once, I didn't care what they were saying because I was surrounded by so many books that I was practically in a trance. Harold had good taste. The books he'd selected for me from his collection were all old, but they were far from uninteresting. There were fairy tales, adventure stories about children at the turn of the century, and historical novels, even a few volumes of early science fiction. I remembered from a school project that science fiction had only become really popular in the past hundred years, and I loved the illustrations of weirdly old-fashioned contraptions and aliens I found.

I picked up a large, gorgeous book of fairy tales with pages yellowed by age and held it to my nose, smelling the intoxicating scent of old paper. I thought I might like to stay in the library forever, away from everything, including my feelings.

"Katherine, I need to you stay with Finch for a while." My dad's soft voice pulled me out of my reverie.

"Ok," I answered, glad to be able to stay in paradise a little longer. I turned back to my book, but he stood and watched me for a little bit, like he was waiting, before he finally turned around and walked away. I stared at his back and wondered what he'd been waiting for.

After a few minutes, Mr. H came and stood over me, peering down like a curious owl. "Are you comfortable?" he asked. I nodded. "If you need something, feel free to ask." He returned to his desk, and I was glad that he was the kind of adult who understood alone time.

I read for several minutes, switching between a few books before settling on Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster, a story about an orphan who liked to write. I had always liked stories about orphans because they made me feel less alone in my situation. I started to read in the usual way, but then it hit me: I wasn't an orphan any more. I had a father, a father who had done something I didn't understand.

I got up and walked to Harold's desk, stopping in front of him and waiting silently until he noticed me. After a long time, he finally looked up. "Goodness, you're very quiet," he said. "I had no idea you were there. Do you need something?"

I breathed deeply to give myself courage. "When my dad was about to leave, he stopped for a minute and looked at me. Do you know why?" I felt foolish, but Mr. H was the only person I knew who also knew my dad, and he was my only option. I didn't like the nagging uncertainty in my mind and the memory of my dad's face as he'd turned away. There had been something in his eyes that made me feel like I'd done something wrong without meaning to, and I hated that feeling.

"Your father is a complicated man," said Harold. "He buries his feelings deep, but they're there." I listened carefully, glad to learn anything I could about my dad, but somewhat confused about the way Harold's statements connected to my question.

"I can see I'm being overly obscure," he continued after a pause. "I haven't developed the power of mindreading, more's the pity, but I would guess your father was hoping for some sort of goodbye."

"Oh," I said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he answered, and I went back to my corner. I felt guilty. My dad had tried so hard to be nice to me, and I couldn't even manage to do something as easy as saying goodbye.

I went back to reading after a while, but I couldn't feel excited any more. I always tried hard to be the kind of person people really wanted, the way Aunt Judy and Uncle Robert had never wanted me, and I hated it when I failed. Now that I had someone to please who really mattered, failure hurt even more than usual. It didn't matter to me that I had only missed one goodbye or that my dad was a grown man and I was a little girl. I had missed an opportunity to do something he wanted, and I had trouble letting that go.

I heard Harold talking on the phone after a while, but he seemed to be repeating addresses in the city and people's names, and I didn't understand what he was talking about. Finally, I managed to get back into the story of Judy Abbott and the unknown guardian she called Daddy-Long-Legs, and afternoon turned to dusk while I read about her life at women's college.

My dad didn't get back until the sun had nearly disappeared and the library was illuminated by low lamps. He came to my corner first, and I stood up, determined to make up for before. "Hi, Dad!" My voice was a little bit too unnaturally upbeat.

"Are you ok?" he asked, looking confused.

"I'm fine," I said, but he hugged me anyway, a half-hug that pulled me against his side. He didn't seem upset or disappointed in me, and I was relieved enough to shut my eyes and enjoy his closeness.

He let me go and walked over to Harold's desk. "I have Elias's location," he said abruptly. "He's in Chinatown now, but he'll be moved to this address in the morning." He handed Mr. H a scrap of paper.

Harold raised his eyebrows. "Excellent work, Mr. Reese."