Thank you all so much for hanging in with this story. I really, really appreciate it. I know it's tough and pretty dark, but there will be some light moments. Ichabbie will happen. It'll just take some time. :) Some surprises will be coming soon after getting some feedback and ideas from Sing (author of Aurore and other amazing Ichabbie fic; check her out). Just prepare yourselves.
Abbie was on guard as she cleaned tables and re-shelved books. It was Monday, still snowing. Few people came in again. This was her preference, mostly empty and quiet. On busy days, New Yorkers stood in long lines at the book drop or the front desk, shuffled their work or school papers, dropped, left behind, and misplaced books, and complained about due library fines.
Teenagers crowded tables with their school work, whispering, giggling, sliding notes, and throwing balled pieces of notebook sheets. Little children squirmed in their chairs, ran down aisles as soon as their parents released their hands to reach a book, and spoke aloud with playful voices. The adults sat with their brief cases and open manila folders and their clicking pens, stooped over for hours. They checked their watches, yawned, and stretched.
Soon all the patrons packed up for home. Teens crammed their books in their bags, children tugged their parents' hands, and the other adults neatly piled their documents in their briefcases.
Then Abbie could finally breathe easier. But today just wasn't that day. She breathed quickly throughout her tasks, jumped at even a chair scrubbing the carpet. That silvery-haired man hadn't come in at all, which she was grateful for, but she knew to expect the unexpected. Any of these other people here could be like him, could grip her arm, call her a nigger. It was possible to experience it all over again. Her best bet was to remain invisible, unseen, like half the books on this shelf no one bothered to pay attention to.
She glanced through a popular play, found it thrown about on a table. She was supposed to put it back on the shelf, but here was, skimming the dialogue. Sometimes, she glimpsed through a book if no one was around or near closing. However, even if it interested her, she left it alone. Black people weren't allowed to check out books here. They had their own library, which she's been in a few times. It's nowhere near as selective as this one. They barely had a children's section.
"Such a classic, isn't it?" a man with a British accent said.
Startled, she dropped the book. "I was just returning it." She bent to retrieve it, but he got to it first.
"I apologize for startling you, ma'am," Crane said.
"I should finish what I was doing."
Before she could leave, he said, "One moment, please."
"I have work."
"Would you like to borrow it?"
She checked around her, praying as she did so. There was no telling what would happen if someone caught them like this, alone in an empty aisle. Her stomach tumbled, her breathing was fast again. She shouldn't have been so distracted. She should have put the book back and left.
Abbie shook her head, inspected around her again.
"Very little people frequent this area, except for me. It's kind of a pity really. I assume readers are over such literature like this. "Romeo and Juliet" has always been my favorite story since I could remember. My father read it to me at bedtime. Perhaps it wasn't the cheeriest tale to recite to a child, but I didn't mind. My parents acted out the characters if you can imagine such a scene."
Abbie couldn't relax despite his hint that she could. Anyone could catch them. It didn't help that he talked so damned much.
"Interesting."
"Are you a fan of Shakespeare, too?"
"My Mama was."
He was silent, like he thought to hear more.
That was all she'd say. He didn't need to know her business. She certainly didn't ask to know his.
Crane cleared his throat. "Well, I'll leave you be. It is nice to see you again, ma'am. Please, send Miss Jenny my regards."
She was about ready to run away, but she swallowed that impulse, clenched and unclenched her hands behind her back, bit her tongue. What was she supposed to say? Thank you? It's nice to see you again, too? Either he didn't care that someone could stumble upon them or he didn't understand the way of America.
"What do you want from me?"
He frowned, shook his head. "I do not wish to do you harm." He took a step back.
So he said.
"What do you want then?"
"Simply put: your friendship. We work in the same building. I would like to introduce myself and become your acquaintance, if you'll permit me to."
"I have enough friends."
He nodded. "Very well."
She hoped he got the hint and turned around to leave until he said something else.
"I'll hold this for you."
She didn't know why he was being so kind. They couldn't be friends. Corbin and Joe were enough. Even that was risky. Abbie didn't thank him, didn't say okay. She left him standing there.
As Abbie waited for the trolley, she heard a throat clear behind her. She sighed, rolled her eyes. Why couldn't he leave her alone?
"You can keep it as long as you'd like. This is my personal copy actually. Oddly, I didn't see it in the section when I first began working here. I thought I'd share my own." He held the book out for her.
She didn't accept it.
"I insist."
The trolley turned the corner. It could not come quick enough. She was in a slightly defensive position in case he was stupid enough to make any moves.
"It's alright."
The trolley stopped in front of them. It was crowded. The doors opened; the driver yelled out, "One seat left."
"I will wait for the next one. And, please." He held the book a little further toward her.
Abbie wasn't going to take it, not at all.
"Who's getting on?" the trolley man said.
"You may keep it as long as you wish."
His gentle lilt and benevolent blue eyes persuaded her. She took it and hurried on the trolley, thankful none of the riders or driver paid attention to them.
Abbie hid the book in her coat before she walked in the apartment, so Jenny wouldn't question her about it.
"Hey," her sister said as soon as entered the foyer.
"Hey. How was your day?" Abbie shut the door with her butt and locked it with the hand that wasn't holding her coat closed.
"Good. Made a cake today. Yours?"
"Nothing special. Let me take my coat off. I'll be back." Abbie kissed her sister's forehead on the way to her room.
She closed her door, stuffed the book in her drawer, and tugged off her coat and shoes. Then she went into the kitchen.
"You saw library man again?" Jenny fixed her meal as Abbie sat down.
"He works there, remember?"
"Yeah, but still. Did he talk to you?"
"Hardly."
Abbie didn't lie to her sister often, only when necessary. She didn't want Jenny to worry, to get suspicious.
"What'd he say?"
"Nothing much. Just told me to tell you hi."
"That's it?" She sat a plate in front of Abbie.
As she stuffed her mouth, she supposedly heard flipping pages, like that person in a "Tell- Tale Heart," who believed he heard the thumping, thumbing of the dead man's heart underneath his floorboard. Only she heard her guilt under her socks and bras.
"Yup."
"Stay safe, okay?" Her sister yawned.
"I will. Tell the old man hi for me."
Jenny nodded. "Speaking of Corbin, he said he may need you again this weekend. Joe is coming down with a cold."
"I'll be there. What time?"
She just hoped Crane wouldn't show up again.
"I'll let you know whenever he tells me." She yawned again. "I'd stay and chat, but I'm tired. Going to bed. Love you." Jenny kissed her sister's cheek.
"Love you, too. Night."
Abbie was left alone with her fried steak, gravy, onions, veggies, and cornbread. What was she thinking? Though a nice gesture, she'd give that book back tomorrow as soon as she could. It wasn't hers to borrow. Didn't he know the laws, what was accepted and unaccepted? Too worried to eat, she wrapped her plate up and stored it in the fridge. A shower sounded nice, yet that didn't calm her down.
She paced in her room. Paced and paced until finally she snatched the book out her drawer, threw it on her bed. In the snow seemed like a better place for it, but the book didn't belong to her. It was his favorite after all. Sighing, she sat down, picked it up, opened the cover. His initials, I.C, were scribed in cursive in the top left corner. Abbie traced it with her fingers, smiled to herself. This man was crazy. And she was crazier for letting him go this far.
Here she was though, turning dogged-eared pages with pen markings and writings. The spine was bent in half. It was quite a worn book. Mama used to read this. She was a hopeless romantic, read the book at least three times a month. One month, she read it so much that dad hid it from her. Mama was so mad at him; she didn't speak to him for a week when she couldn't find it. She remembered how Mama told her how Juliet and Romeo's love conquered.
"But they died, Mama."
"Yes, baby. Still, even in death, their love endured. That's what's important. Love doesn't leave. It stays with you, in you, covers you. It stuffs you like air in balloons. Don't let that balloon pop, don't let that string go, despite the wind that'll try to blow it into the sky or the needles that'll try to poke it. Don't let love go. You hear me?"
Abbie nodded, not really understanding at such a young age.
She understood better now. There are moments that could've ruined her and Jenny, that could've torn them apart. But they held the string, refused to let the balloon go, to let it pop.
Other than her the familial love for her sister and parents, Abbie's never really experienced romantic love. She thought she might've once, with a boy named Danny from high school. She didn't think she loved him how Romeo and Juliet loved each other. It was more like a dear friend with Danny. Anyway, she couldn't be concerned with love. There was work and her sister and her classes. That was enough for now.
She hoped Crane's behavior wasn't pretend or some kind of trap. As she traced his initials again, she decided to indulge herself for a short bit, to keep something for herself. He said she could take her time. Jenny didn't have to know. Just this once she accepted his generosity. She settled on the first act.