The Library

Emily left the lawyer's office mildly perplexed. When she needed something to clear her thoughts, coffee was usually in order. She crunched across the snow-covered parking lot toward the café on the other side. At the Will reading months ago, Mr. Hunt, her grandmother’s solicitor, had explained that she had given Emily the house, and everything in it. There had been a stack of papers to sign, and a small pale pink envelope holding a notecard made of incredibly soft, heavy paper. “I love you so much. You already have everything you need inside the house,” it read in her grandmother’s thin swirly writing. The house. Most of her best memories had been in her Nonna’s house. Either in the kitchen baking one of her delicious floral pastries, in the library looking at her books and maps, or daydreaming about the strange art and masks from far-away places.

Emily was supposed to meet her mother today to help clean up Nonna’s house before her afternoon shift. She would pick up coffee for both of them on the way. The plan was to move into the house eventually, but the place needed a good cleaning and a few repairs that they couldn’t quite afford. Emily worked at the big chain bookstore across the street from the lawyer’s office, but she daydreamed of opening a cozy little bookstore in Old Town. it would have mix-matched comfy chairs for people who got sucked into a book they pulled off the shelf, and a little coffee stand at the front so people could get a drink and stay to read their purchases or meet for book clubs. She would specialize in travel books, and adventure books like the ones her Nonna used to read to her.

Her memories of the books in Nonna’s house were magical. She remembered walking into the room and having books nearly jump out at her, or open to just the right page. They were always just the ones she needed. She would walk into the kitchen to bake something special, and the cookbook on the counter would flutter open to just the right page, or she would be working on a school paper in the den and have an old magazine with the perfect article slide nonchalantly off the coffee table.

Once, after her dad died, she had been miserable and had let herself into the house using the key in the flowerpot. She had curled up in the chair in the corner of the library and fallen asleep. When she woke, she had stood up, and nearly tripped over the small pile of books that had apparently fallen off of their shelves at her feet. As she picked them, she saw they were all books about handling loss, or change, or silver linings. There was even one called a “Father’s message to his daughter.”

She had gathered them up and sat down to read. She was feeling better than she expected by the time Nonna returned from her errands.

As Emily reached into her pocket to pay for the coffee, her fingertips brushed the smooth warm leather of the little black book the lawyer had given her today. She picked up the coffees and took a seat near the window for a moment. She had not opened the book at the office. She had been unexpectedly overwhelmed with emotion, and the lawyer had been in a hurry.

“The darnedest thing, my dear,” the older gentleman had said with a genuinely bewildered air, “We run a tight ship here, and things like this don’t happen. You see, this envelope was found on my desk a couple of days ago. It seems we received just before her death and never filed it with the will. It came with a letter instructing me to give it to you as soon as it was found. As soon as it was found. Not received. Very strange. So of course, I called right away.” He had been rushed away after that by a very harassed-looking clerk, so she had pocketed it and headed to the door.

Now she pulled the book from her pocket to take a look. It was just bigger than her palm and had a smooth, black cover. It looked new, but the leather had that soft comforting feeling like something well used. She opened it to the first page and found an intricate ink sketch of an old-fashioned key. She smiled and flipped to the next page. This page held another sketch. It was of a keyhole this time, with swirly designed around it. She flipped quickly through the rest of the book but found only one other page that had been written on.

Near the end of the book, there was a message in her Nonna’s swirly stylized handwriting…

“I had hoped the books would take care of things themselves, but in case they give you trouble, remember, always look for the best in people, situations, and things, and when you have a problem, Books hold the Key. I love you so much, Nonna.”

It was an odd message but sounded just like her Nonna. She was not sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. Even so, it was a nice memento from her grandmother that she could carry around with her. She put it back in her pocket, pulled out her keys, and headed to the house.

Her mother was already there when she arrived, so she set the two coffee cups on the table next to the door, called up to her mom who had started in the bedroom, and headed into the library. It was always her first stop.

She walked into the room and closed the double doors behind her. Taking a few steps into the room, she stood on the worn oriental rug and closed her eyes. Emily inhaled the smell of old books, dust, and the lingering rose perfume that her Nonna always wore. Her hand slipped into her pocket and held the little book, imaging holding her Nonna’s hand again. She opened her eyes and took another step into the room and noticed that there were several books sticking out from the shelves.

She walked along the wall straitening and pulling the straggling books from their spots. “Home Maintenance for Dummies,” “How to start a business,” “One Day at a Time,” she couldn’t help but smile. Halfway along the shelf she was pulling out “Motivational Quotes,” which was hanging nearly off the shelf when she heard a clunk behind her. It was the distinctive sound of a book falling off the shelf onto the floor. She knew it well.

She laid the books in her arms on the corner of Nonna’s desk and walked toward the fallen book.

It was another, larger black leather-bound book. She picked it up and turned it over. There was no title on spine, but the cover bore a pattern of swirls around a small keyhole. A memory stirred. Emily walked back to the chair where she had thrown her coat and reached into the pocket. She flipped to the drawing in the little black book from the lawyer. The keyhole was the same as the book cover. Emily sat down abruptly in the chair, and slowly opened the book. The first few pages were blank, but then, as she flipped the book to the middle, she discovered that there was a section of the book that had been cut away, hollowed out. In it was a small envelope with an intricate key drawn on the outside.

There was no writing on the envelope, but it was sealed shut. She opened it slowly so she wouldn’t rip it, but it opened easily at her touch like the glue had dried and crumbled away. As she opened it, a small key fell out onto the floor. She missed catching it, as she looked at the other contents of the envelope. There was a small stack of money—bills so large she had never seen them, much less held one in her hand. She wasn’t sure they were real. There were thousands of dollars in her hand. She bent absentmindedly and retrieved the key. There was a small tag with an address and box number on it. Flipping the tag over, she read in her Nonna’s stylized writing… “the rest is here. Take care of yourselves and the books, and they will take care of you.”

She couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Emily took a deep calming breath as butterflies threatened to burst out of her stomach. “Mom, come down quick. I have something you have to see.”