Goodnight Forever George Clooney
By Loretta Morris
Chapter 1
Maggie Lawson cringed at the sound of the squeaking wheels as she pushed the rusty book cart towards the biography shelf. She made a mental note to add ‘oil wheels’ to the endless To-Do list she kept on a clipboard at the circulation desk. No need to ask the library’s part-time handyman, Mac, to take care of it. She was perfectly capable of handling the little things herself.
Thursday’s late-morning Fairy Tale & Rhyme Time was over, and the parents and caregivers had taken their tiny charges home for lunches and naps. The library was now quiet, except for the occasional grunts from a few old geezers who were reading their newspapers or doing important “research,” usually political, on the computers set up for patron use. They, too, would be going home soon for lunches and naps, and then it would be Maggie’s chance to catch up on some of her paperwork and wolf down her own sandwich. Soon after that, school would be getting out, which brought in a handful of teens and tweens pretending to do their homework, but more likely conjuring up ways to attract the opposite sex. The library stayed open late on Thursdays, until 8:00, so she still had a long day ahead of her. Thankfully, Gladys would be in soon to help her out.
It wasn’t easy running the Perkins Public Library mostly by herself. Her one and only employee, Gladys O’Brien, age 73, came in 20 hours a week, give or take, and manned the front desk while Maggie tackled the budget, purchase orders, community outreach, among other things in her tiny office/break room in the back. Gladys had worked at the Perkins Library for decades, originally full time, and the previous library director begged Maggie to keep her on. “Gladys wouldn’t know what to do with herself if she didn’t work here, it’s such a huge part of her life,” she implored. So Maggie agreed to keep her on the payroll. Aside from desk work, Gladys ran Wednesday afternoon Story Time and took great pride in designing the front window display at the turn of each season. But she couldn’t bend down to the lower shelves because of her bad knees, couldn’t reach the highest shelves because of her bad shoulder, had difficulty reshelving nonfiction with its intricate Dewey Decimal numbering system because of her failing eyesight, and required frequent breaks because of her failing bladder. So Maggie took on the bulk of the work.
Gladys was invaluable, though, because she knew every patron who walked through the door as well as every volume on the shelves. And everyone, including Maggie, loved her. The tots called her Grandma Gladys and the geezers wanted to take her out for a steak dinner, especially Joon Miller, who was in love with her. Gladys wasn’t fazed by obnoxious middle schoolers, and she had no tolerance for the know-it-alls who spewed nonsense about what people should or should not be reading. She was a Perkins treasure.
Besides all that, Gladys was a hoot. Always the life of the party, ready for new adventures, and always there with good advice.
She and Maggie had become very close over the four years they had worked together, and three months ago Gladys had told Maggie she was adding her to her Will as a beneficiary. “Don’t get too excited,” Gladys had joked, “It’s nothing much, just a few dollars to keep you in trouble.” Gladys was always worrying about Maggie not having enough fun in her life.
Gladys definitely had fun in her life, and was busy most nights of the week with senior get-togethers, Bingo, or girls nights out with her best friends, the Wild Cat Girls. The Wild Cat Girls were down to just three members since Velma Vandenberg moved to Florida full time, and poor Sarah Nelson died of cancer three years ago. The remaining members of the club, named after their high school football team, was down to just three: Gladys, Ruth Quigley, and Edna Hanson, who was an honorary member, having joined the group decades ago after marrying Ed, a part of Gladys’s high school friend group.
Maggie envied Gladys for her wide circle of friends and all the fun she had in her life. Maggie had a few librarian friends from nearby towns, but no one really close in Perkins. After work, on evenings when she didn’t see her boyfriend Hank, she usually just watched a little television and did a few chores around her tiny apartment above The Perkin’s Pie House & Bakery.
Gladys was due to come in at 2:00, fresh from her standing appointment at Bea’s Beauty Barn for a wash and set. Ed Hansen, who also worked for the Nebraska Library Commission, delivered the interlibrary loan shipment for the week on Thursdays and would be there soon. He arrived every Thursday, rain or shine, at 3:00 sharp. Gladys had the task of gathering the books to send off with Ed as well as checking in what he brought to them in the blue plastic book tote from the other libraries in the area. Gladys and Ed were once sweethearts back high school, but that was decades and decades ago. Everyone was old friends in this town. Old being the operative word.
As Maggie robotically straightened the shelves, all spines flush with the edge of the shelf just how she liked them, she reflected on her previous night’s date with Hank. She preferred Henry to Hank, but he just laughed at that suggestion, thinking she had lost her mind, and then called her MAAAR-gret. Maggie didn’t see how that was funny, but Hank thought it was hilarious. Same old Wednesday night with Hank: Pizza and a few beers and two Stranger Things (their latest mini-series catch-up) and sex and sleep. They had been dating for almost a year and a half, and Maggie feared that the next year and a half of Wednesdays would be exactly the same, except for their streaming series. How did I end up like this? I’m only twenty-nine and I act like I’m forty-nine. What’s happened to me? Do I even want him to pop the question anymore? No, I don’t think so. Not anymore.
She headed back to the circulation desk, wheels squeaking.
“Get some oil on that damn thing!”
“It’s on my list, Mr. Miller, and please watch your language while you’re using the library.”
“I’ll watch my language when you get some oil on that damn thing. Can’t concentrate with that racket. And, the kids are all gone. No one to hear me anyway.”
“I can hear you.”
“That doesn’t matter, you’re a government employee and my …”
“… taxes pay my salary, yes I know, Mr. Miller, you’re technically my boss.” Maggie pushed on and sighed. A slightly different version of the same tired conversation.
Every. Single. Day.
After straightening up the children’s corner, weeding out the old magazines from the bins, thumbing through the catalogs for new book releases and checking in a stack of returned books, Maggie finally took a moment to look out the one large display window.
The building that housed the library was an old shoe store that went out of business shortly after the new outlet mall was built at the edge of town about seven years ago. People flocked to the shopping Mecca for cheap shoes, furniture, and appliances, and just about everything else, which ultimately led to the demise of Best Foot Forward Shoes in the heart of downtown Perkins. Other Main Street merchants had met the same fate.
But it was lucky for the library, because the vacant building was adequate in size and in fairly good repair, except for the eternally out of order elevator. It was just what the Library Commission of Nebraska was looking for to replace their rented space in the dark basement of the Perkins Community center, and before that the double-wide trailer that had served as a temporary library space for more than a decade. And barring an emergency like last year’s furnace failure, Mac’s services as maintenance man were only needed about once a week, if that. Perkins, Nebraska, population 8,348, had finally gotten its very own permanent library building.
In an effort to stretch her meager paycheck, Maggie herself was a frequent customer of the outlet mall. She bought her cardigans, one in every color they made, at the Ann Taylor Loft Outlet, her socks at the Socks, Socks, & More Socks Outlet, and her timeless weejuns at the Bass Outlet. Once in a while she splurged on a new book bag or lunch tote at the Vera Bradley Outlet. The vivid floral patterns of Vera’s creations never clashed with her interchangeable plain sweaters, plain blouses, plain dress pants, and plain skirts. Maggie used to feel that was a plus, but lately she just felt drab in her practical clothes.
At the window she watched the light snow fall onto the sidewalk and sighed. Already? It was only early fall and it was snowing. The Halloween decorations had just been put out and it felt like a long, cold Nebraska winter was on its way much too soon. Just a dusting was predicted today, but apparently Mother Nature had her own plans. Maggie made a mental note to get her boots, scarf, hat, and car scraper, and other winter necessities out at home so she’d be prepared for the early Nebraska winter.
She looked up and saw a jet, far up in the sky, flying over. Flyover. Probably not one person on that plane looking down and wondering what was going on in this sleepy little town. Nothing. That’s what was going on. Nothing. Every day the same old thing.
She made another mental note to add “change window” to the To-Do list. The Back to School display was getting dated, now that it was mid October. The ample window space which used to advertise shoe and boot sales, now displayed seasonal scenes highlighting new library acquisitions, children’ s art work, and upcoming library and town events. This was Gladys’s specialty. She loved planning the window. It was Maggie, however, who crawled into the window space and actually implemented the plan, because of Gladys’s knees, shoulder, eyesight, and bladder issues. Funny how those ailments didn’t hold her back in her social life. Maggie just smiled at the thought.
The buzz of the back door sounded, and Maggie could hear the thud thud thud of Gladys stomping her booted feet.
Gladys had a wardrobe that no one could ever call plain or interchangeable And definitely not drab. She had the market cornered when it came to sequins, spangles, and shine. Today’s get-up was a bright blue sweatshirt with a bejeweled snowman holding a glittered sign that read ‘Let it Snow’ in a happy, sparkly font. She had donned wildly patterned pink and blue tie-dyed leggings that Maggie would never even think of owning, let alone wearing to work. Her hair, freshly dyed in her brilliant signature color, Copper Sunset, had been washed, set, teased, teased, teased, and sprayed – a work of engineering and art. Silver dangle earrings, as big as ping-pong balls, completed the look.
“Good afternoon, George,” Gladys said to the autographed poster of George Clooney, reading a book of course, that hung on the wall behind the circulation desk. “Goodness, it’s getting bad out there,” she said as she removed her protective rain bonnet.
Maggie smiled at Gladys’s daily ritual of greeting the poster. I wonder if George ever answers her? “This is nothing, Gladys. It’s just starting to stick now. And it looks like you want it to snow.” Maggie pointed to Gladys’s sweatshirt.
“Nonsense. No one wants it to snow. And don’t smudge that window.”
“Yes ma’am,” Maggie saluted, knowing that she herself cleaned the windows, not Gladys.
“Well, I better get cracking on those books.” She hung up her coat, adjusted her bejeweled reading glasses, and skimmed the interlibrary loan list. “Hmmm…someone wants The Heat of the Afternoon. That’ll chase the winter-is-coming blues away, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh Gladys!” Maggie laughed. “Really! Act your age.”
“Why? I’m not dead yet.” She raised her eyebrows. “And neither are you…or are you?”
“Very funny. I don’t need a book. I’ve got a man.”
“And when is that man going to put a ring on it?”
Maggie sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “Any day now, I hope.” Do I? Do I really?
“I’m not holding my breath.”
“I’ll be in my office.”
Maggie walked to the back, sat down heavily in her wobbly chair, and sighed. She realized she’d been doing a lot of sighing lately. She rubbed her eyes, not worrying about smearing her mascara, because she wore no makeup, and laid her forehead on her tidy desk. “Something’s got to change,” she said to no one.
After a half hour or so Maggie heard Ed’s familiar and cheerful voice, so she walked out to the circulation desk to say hello.
Ed Hansen was the longest tenured employee of the Nebraska Library System. His very first part-time job at age thirteen was as a shelver and then youth assistant in tiny Rosedale, Nebraska’s, library, a job which he kept all through his summer vacations through college. After he graduated from the University of Nebraska, he went to work full time at the main library in Lincoln and gradually worked his way up to head of the reference department. There he met his future wife Edna Lewis, who worked in the nonfiction department, and the two worked together until they both retired ten years ago. Ed didn’t take to retirement very well, and when Edna learned that the interlibrary loan division needed a driver, she quickly pulled some strings with her former colleagues to get him the job. She was tired of him being constantly underfoot at home while she pursued her many hobbies.
“Hi Ed.”
“Good afternoon, Maggie. I brought you a big shipment today. Going to keep this one busy for a while.” He winked and nodded in Gladys’s direction as he piled books on the desk. “Hope she can handle it.”
“I hope you can handle a trip to the ER when I throw these books at your head,” Gladys answered without looking up.
“You’re in a feisty mood today, Gladdy.” Ed smiled. He and Gladys bantered like a cranky old comedy team.
“I’ll show you feisty, you old coot.”
“Anyway, Edna sent you each a container of her world famous homemade chicken soup.” He pulled two paper bags from his tote, one marked with a “G” and the other with an “M” and set them on the circulation desk. “This weather always puts her in a soup-making mood. I’ll collect the Tupperware next week. She’ll kill me if I lose track of her precious Tupperware. I think she loves it more than she loves me. In fact I know she does.”
“That was nice of her. I’ll bring it over to Hank’s,” said Maggie.
“Oops, we keep forgetting you’re one of those vegetarians. Tell him to enjoy.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“How is Hank anyway? Selling a lot of light bulbs?”
“Light fixtures, Ed.” Maggie looked out the window at the snow. And desperately wanting to change the subject, “How are the roads? Getting slippery? There’s way more snow than they predicted.”
“Seems I always plan to put those snow tires on a week too late. Anyway, it’s nothing I can’t handle, but it’s starting to pile up a little. I’ve got a shovel and a bag of salt in Edwina II. I’ll take care of that sidewalk for you before I leave for the Farmington branch.”
Ed and Edna lived outside of Perkins, about 5 miles to the south in a little house they shared with their chihuahua, Eduardo. Ed christened Edwina II, his cherished library van, after the long, slow rusting out of the original ancient Edwina the year before that the library commission had owned for over twenty years.
“Thanks, Ed. Be careful.”
“Careful’s my middle name.” He packed up the pile of books Gladys had prepared and rebuttoned his coat. “Ladies, I bid you good day,” he nodded and touched the brim of his hat, “See you next week, Maggie, and Gladdy, are you still planning on going to Bingo tonight?”
“I’ll be there,” Gladys answered, “and I plan on taking home the pot.”
“We’ll see about that. Edna suggested that we swing by and pick you up. We’d rather you weren’t driving in this snow.” He loaded the ILL tote with the new batch of books onto his handcart and turned towards the door. “Pick you up around 6:30.”
“Thanks Ed, I’ll take you up on that,” said Gladys, “but come a little early. I made an apple pie with the last of the Braeburn’s from Casey’s Orchard. Come on in for dessert.”
“We’ll do that,” said Ed. “See you later.”
“Bye,” Maggie added, “And thanks again for the soup.”
An hour and a half later the phone rang.
“Perkins Library, this is Maggie speaking.”
“Maggie? Hi! It’s Libby. Did Ed pick up your ILLs today? He’s never late, but I haven’t seen or heard from him today.”
“He was here, right on time. He might have been a little delayed with the snow. He shoveled and salted our sidewalk, and if I know Ed he did every other shop on Main Street as well. I wouldn’t worry.”
“Ok, if you say so. I’ll give a call in a little while if I haven’t heard from him, but I’m closing up in a few minutes. You’re open late tonight, right?”
“Right. Don’t worry, just leave the books on the circ desk. Ed has a key, he’ll get them when he gets there.”
“Ok, I guess, but I’m going to worry until I see him. Bye now. Be careful.”
Gladys finished up her work, said good night to Maggie and blew a kiss to George Clooney, and left for the day at 5:00. Maggie was alone for the moment. The snow had kept most patrons away, so she took the opportunity to go through a few literary catalogs for books and other materials to put on her never ending wish list.
The Perkins Page Turners book club was due to arrive at 6:30. Maggie prepared a fresh pot of coffee and made sure there were enough chairs in the meeting room as one by one the ladies of the club trickled in. Each member came in stomping off their boots and commenting on the surprising amount of snow that had fallen so early in the year.
The last to arrive, Lucille, from the neighboring town of Bennett, was full of apologies. “I’m so sorry I’m late. There was an accident on route 12. Big tie up. I never thought I’d get here.”
The women all chattered. “Oh, what happened?”
“Did anyone get hurt?”
“Did you see the cars?”
“Sorry, ladies, I don’t have any details. I finally got through after the ambulance and tow truck cleared out. I didn’t see anything except tire tracks that went into the ditch. Oh, and a dead deer, poor thing.”
The book club wrapped up a little early due to the weather, and a weary Maggie politely urged the last of the patrons to check out their materials. She went through her usual closing routine and was just about to turn out the lights when the phone rang.
“Perkins Library, this is Maggie.” She listened for a moment, then gasped and dropped into her chair. “Oh God, no.”
Suddenly, the fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed, and the library, along with all of Perkins, was in complete darkness.