She stood with her hands on her hips.
“What?” Her father looked playfully blank.
“He’s not my boyfriend!”
“He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
She faltered. “Well, yes, but —”
“And he’s a boy, isn’t he? Those are the two criteria for the term, aren’t they?”
Rosemary scowled at the floor. “You know what I mean.”
Her father nudged her chin. “Yes, dearest. I do.”
“How can you be silly at a time like this?”
“It’s how I cope.”
Rosemary softened. “What do you think happened to Theo?”
Mr. Watson sighed. “I don’t know. But we’ll find out, dearest. I promise.”
Rosemary snuggled beneath the covers, smelling bacon. She could hear the clatter of plates downstairs and the sizzle of the frying pan and she remembered that it was Saturday: pancakes and bacon day. Smiling, she tossed aside the covers and jumped out of bed. She was halfway to the closet when she stopped.
She picked up a grey sweatshirt tossed carelessly over the back of her desk chair. It had a faded group photo on the front of a cast of actors in costume. “Clarksbury High” read the black bold text beneath the photo, and beneath that was a date and “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Theo was in front, dressed as Puck, mugging for the camera. She smiled at his grin, then frowned as she remembered how different he had been last night.
She crept to the door and peered out into the hallway. Theo’s door was open and his room was empty. She felt a little hope rise inside her. Was Theo better?
She listened to the voices downstairs. Trisha shouted something across the table. Her father cut her off, calling for quiet and courtesy. Her parents’ voices returned to their measured, nervous tones.
Theo’s voice didn’t come.
Not better.
She sighed and returned to her room. Dressing quickly, she shrugged the sweatshirt on over her clothes and slouched downstairs to breakfast.
Her mother set a plate of pancakes and bacon before Rosemary as she sat down. She cut off a piece with her fork and started chewing. She looked around the breakfast table.
Her mother sat down, poured herself a glass of orange juice, and looked towards the foot of the table. Trisha kicked her chair rails and looked towards the foot of the table. Her father sipped his coffee and looked towards the foot of the table. Theo sat at the foot of the table and read his book.
Her mother’s glass of orange juice overflowed, bringing her attention back. Muttering under her breath, she mopped up the spill with her napkin.
The family ate in silence for a moment. Finally, her mother said, “I talked to Doctor Abrams. I’m taking Theo to see him at eleven this morning. It’s outside his office hours and he assures me his gossipy receptionist won’t be there.”
“Why does he keep that kid?” Rosemary’s father asked.
“That kid is the only person in this town who can type,” her mother replied. “But with him at hockey practice, Theo stands a better chance of privacy. If only that McAllister child hadn’t been here to see.”
Rosemary bristled. “Peter wouldn’t tell!”
“Are you sure?”
Rosemary fought back the flush of anger. It was true that she hardly knew Peter. She should have been as uncertain as her mother.
“Theo had a difficult enough time in high school, thanks to his breakdown.” Rosemary’s mother ran her hand through Theo’s hair. “He doesn’t deserve what people will say about this.”
“Daddy?” said Trisha. “Is Theo going to be okay?”
He hoisted Trisha onto his knee. “’Course he is. Just as soon as he sees a doctor.”
“But Mommy’s a doctor,” said Trisha.
“Mommy’s a doctor of the body,” said Mr. Watson. “Dr. Abrams is a doctor of the mind. But don’t worry about that. You and I are going out. How would you like to see a movie?”
Trisha smiled. Rosemary could tell that it was for her father’s benefit.
In the front room after breakfast, Mr. Watson touched Rosemary’s shoulder. “Rose, tell Mrs. McDougall that she’s in charge of the library for the day, and help out behind the front desk. Probably won’t see another living soul, but hours of operation are hours of operation.”
“Sure, Dad,” said Rosemary, with a smile that matched Trisha’s.
Rosemary refused her father’s offer of a lift into town. She pulled her skis from their hooks by the back door and strapped them on. She was on the shoulder of the road before her father and then her mother passed in separate cars. She gave them each a wave and carried on.
The town was a ten-minute trip by ski, much of it downhill. She’d get her exercise coming back, but that was okay. She liked the sound of the skis as they slid over the crusty snow. The bitter wind whistled past her ears. Her cheeks tingled. At the edge of town, she took off her skis and trudged the rest of the way on the sidewalk.
The main library was downtown, one block off of the highway, on the bay side. Mrs. McDougall frowned when Rosemary walked up to the front door and kicked the snow off her boots. “Where’s your father?”
“Um, he couldn’t come in today.” She leaned her skis against the wall. “He told me to tell you you’re in charge. I’m supposed to help.”
“Hmph. Fine, then. You’ll handle the front desk. I’ll catalogue the new orders.” She bustled off into the back, leaving Rosemary standing by the overnight bin.
The library had few visitors that day. Rosemary set the books aside and twiddled her thumbs at the front desk. She sighed, and frowned to hear it so loud. She was used to the hush of a library, but not to total silence. Perhaps her father should have called it a day off and closed the building; then she thought of Theo. She pulled over an almanac and buried herself in it.
It was early in the afternoon, and Rosemary was pushing the bookcart when she smelled dust again. She stopped, looking up and down the aisle. No one was with her. She was sure that the library was empty, but still she shivered.
The sky outside the front windows was darkening. Another snow squall was coming. She might have to call home to get a lift after all.
Enough was enough. Nobody else was coming. She’d shelve the remaining books and call it a day.
She slid four books into their places on the lower shelves of H–K. The remaining books belonged to the top shelf of L–N. Rosemary looked at the top shelf and sighed. “Growth spurt any day now, Mother says.”
Pulling over
