The Good Luck of Right Now(48)

I sat down on the couch.

Max went into the next room, which I guessed was a kitchen, because I could see the side of an avocado-green refrigerator that looked like it belonged in a museum of time-forgotten kitchen appliances.

“Elizabeth, what the f*ck, hey? We have company!”

I heard whispering.

“He’s not a f*cking man in black. He doesn’t even f*cking wear the f*cking color black f*cking ever. I’ve had f*cking beers with him f*cking twice already! I saved him from Arnie, and if Arnie is an alien, and f*cking Arnie wanted to capture Bartholomew, well then, do the math! It’s pretty f*cking safe to assume that Bartholomew is human. When the f*ck did you ever hear of a f*cking alien coming to f*cking Earth to f*cking capture another f*cking alien? That’s non-f*cking-sensical!”

There was more whispering before Max said, “Fuck this!” and then dragged Elizabeth into the living room by her wrist. He sat her on the couch and said, “Bartholomew, my friend—f*cking meet Elizabeth, my sister. Elizabeth, my sister—f*cking meet Bartholomew, my friend.”

Elizabeth rested her palms on her thighs and stared down at them, hiding her face behind her long brown hair. She was wearing tight red pants, a baggy brown sweater, and black military boots.

“You know Bartholomew from the f*cking library,” Max said. “He calls you The Girl-f*cking-brarian.”

“Just The Girlbrarian, actually,” I said, using newfound Richard Gere confidence. Pretending.

Movie-star suave.

You’d think I’d be about to have a heart attack, but given all of the wild coincidences that had led to this exact moment in time, everything seemed fated, making my deficiencies irrelevant.

“Why?” she said. “What does that mean? The Girlbrarian?”

“It’s just a nickname I made up,” I said.

“I’m not a girl; I’m a woman. And I’m not a real librarian either. I’m just a volunteer.”

“Jesus, Elizabeth. Be f*cking nice, okay? This here is my friend. He wants to f*cking meet you. When was the last time any-f*cking-one wanted to f*cking meet you?”

“Why do you want to meet me?” she said. “And please do call me Elizabeth.”

“I—” I said, but I couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t make me sound like a pervert.

“He’s wanted to f*cking meet you for f*cking years! What the f*ck, hey?”

“Why?” she repeated.

I felt myself beginning to sweat. My temples felt moist, my underarms hot. And then it was like you, Richard Gere, possessed me and began to speak. “Well. I’ve noticed you. You seem special.”

“I’m not special.”

“But you are.”

“How am I special, then?” Elizabeth asked. She had turned her back on me and was now looking at the wall with her shoulders slumped.

“Well, for starters, I like the way you put away the books so carefully—returning them to their proper places on the shelves. You’re always gentle. You give each a little tap with your forefinger, like you’re rewarding each book for providing a good reading experience to the library patron who had checked it out, encouraging the book to keep on being a great resource for everyone. And also how you don’t just throw away old books, but inspect them to make absolutely sure that they aren’t salvageable. You don’t give up on them unnecessarily, and I think that’s a beautiful and rare quality in a woman—in a person, I mean. Little things like that, I really admire. Most people don’t take the time to do the little things, let alone savor them. My mother used to savor the little things, but she’s dead now.”

“You watch me do those things,” she said, peeking back over her shoulder at me, through a straight curtain of brown hair.

“I do,” I said. “It’s the best part of my day, actually, whenever you’re at the library. You’re definitely the best librarian they have there.”

“I told you already that I’m just a volunteer. They don’t even pay me.”

“It doesn’t matter to me.”

She stood up and darted into the kitchen.

“What the f*ck, hey?” Max said and then followed her.

I heard them whispering in the kitchen.

When they returned, Elizabeth said, “Tell him about our troubles, Max.”

“That’s f*cking personal, hey!”

“We’re getting evicted,” Elizabeth said. “Isn’t that just grand?”

“What the f*ck, hey? That’s family business.”

“What does it matter who knows?” Elizabeth said to Max. To me, she said, “We’re broke.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said.

Max shook his head at me.

“What will you do?” I asked Elizabeth.

“We have just enough money to go to Ottawa,” Elizabeth said. “So we’ll go to Ottawa. As crazy as that sounds. We have no plan after that.”

“We don’t have to f*cking go,” Max said.

“I promised you,” Elizabeth said. “And I never break a promise.”

“What’s in Ottawa?” I asked.

“Cat Fucking Parliament,” Max said.

“What?” I said.