Everything We Didn't Say(3)
Cora was dying.
The reality was, Juniper’s dear friend and only remaining confidante in her childhood hometown had decided not to undergo further cancer treatment, and Juniper had agreed to come back to keep the small country library afloat. Simple. But in the light of day, her reasons for coming were as labyrinthine as the contents of her box on the Murphy murders, which was now, she realized, strewn all over the kitchen table and on the floor beside the couch. She quickly gathered up the mess and restocked the cardboard box.
Then Juniper palmed her phone and tapped out a quick text message before she could change her mind.
I made it. See you tonight?
The text box turned blue when she hit send. Such a casual greeting when her fingers were tingling with proximity. Her child was in this place, only blocks away if she had already been dropped off at Jericho Elementary, the town’s K–8 school. Lithe, lovely Willa Baker, all arms and legs and thirteen-year-old bravado and grace. Who loved winter and pink lemonade and ballet. Juniper had watched the videos over and over again, her girl in a black leotard flowing from position to position, each move so liquid, her chest ached with pride.
I can’t wait to see you, she added, shocked by her own vulnerability and afraid of how Willa would receive it. Their relationship was light and happy, filled with funny gifs and a shared appreciation for cat videos. They didn’t often tread into more serious waters. Too nervous to wait for a reply, Juniper slid her phone into her purse and stepped out into the frigid morning.
* * *
The Jericho Public Library was housed in the old mayor’s mansion, a rectangular redbrick colonial with a wide front porch and two pillars that framed a double-wide black door. It was the most charming building in town, and the library board had fought hard to preserve it.
Inside, the floors were narrow plank and the color of clover honey, and the different book sections were collected in rooms on the main floor. Walls had been removed and columns erected to give the library better flow, but there was no way to completely erase the original layout of the home. There were two stone fireplaces and a profusion of floor-to-ceiling windows that filled the library with light, and scattered between the stacks were plush chairs in blue velvet paired with mismatched tables painted turquoise and canary yellow and apricot.
A little noise escaped her lips. Everything was so familiar it was like she had taken a step back in time. But then Cora came out of the small cluster of offices, and Juniper was jolted to the present reality.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Cora demanded, glancing at her watch with brows drawn together. In spite of her sixty-eight years and grim diagnosis, Cora’s gaze was clear and blue. Still, she reached for a pair of reading glasses dangling from a beaded chain and perched them on the very end of her nose. She studied Juniper as if she were a puzzle to fix.
“Hello to you too.” Juniper smiled around the sudden lump in her throat, taking in her friend’s newly diminished form and the purple smudges beneath her eyes. They matched the lavender tips of her silver hair.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping in,” Cora chided. “I didn’t expect you until ten, at least.”
“I did sleep in. Come here.” Juniper put out her arms and waved Cora into them. How long had it been since she had hugged someone like this? Someone who knew almost everything about her and chose to love her in spite of it all? She found herself blinking back tears, but didn’t know who they were for.
It took her a moment to realize that something else was different.
“Double mastectomy,” Cora said, as if she could read Juniper’s mind. She pulled away and held Juniper at arm’s length, giving her an unobstructed view of the flat plane of her chest. “Even if I was going to continue treatment I wouldn’t bother with a reconstruction. And don’t get me started on those padded bras. Are you crying, Juniper Baker?”
“No,” she lied, and turned away to unzip her coat.
Cora led her behind the desk and leaned against it while she watched her old friend get settled. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, her tough-as-tacks facade wavering a bit.
“Stop it.” Juniper couldn’t handle gratitude. Not now. Not when her motives for coming back were so complicated she could hardly begin to unravel them all herself. She tossed her coat over the back of a folding chair and tucked her backpack in one of the square cubicles.
“You’re a godsend. Truly.”
“Enough. Or I’m leaving you with Barry.”
“Oh, you’re terrible.” Cora coughed out a short laugh. “He has seniority, you know. He’s the Assistant Library Director, you technically answer to him.”
“He knows this is all temporary, right?”
“Of course. And since you’re ‘just the temp’?”—Cora curled her fingers into air quotes—“I’ve given you our Mom and Tot Hour. It’s a barbaric group.”
Juniper stifled a moan. “That’s just plain mean. I’m home less than twelve hours and you’ve already saddled me with the worst event of the week.”
Cora ignored her. “It’ll be nice to have someone younger around. Barry’s an old soul and I’m just plain old. Things have changed around here, June. The library isn’t just books and a handful of DVDs anymore. I’m also fluent in Minecraft, Fortnite, and Orange Is the New Black. I’m trying to keep up.”