The next few days passed quickly, her library responsibilities well in hand, she was able to relax and settle in not only to ‘home’ and work but the community at large. Blanche was learning to love the area and the people, so gentle, kind hearted and the pace of life in general was just so easy going. It didn’t seem that anyone was ever in much of a hurry unless it was the ‘Clueless Wonder’ sharing the bathroom with her on the second floor. Without fail, every morning just as it was her turn for the facility, he would charge down the hall, shaving kit, towel and magazine in hand, rushing into the loo and setting up camp for the next 45 minutes. Blanche had taken to showering at night and wearing her hair up to work so she didn’t have to worry about the time it would take in the morning.
Standing in front of the mirror, Blanche ran her fingers through her strawberry-blonde mane, gently working out the snarls. In no time, the brush slid easily from root to tip. Winding a red, silk scarf among the threads of her hair she quickly manipulated her locks into an impressive updo. Satisfied with her handiwork, she inspected her five and a half foot frame in the long mirror. Freckles, lightly sprinkled across her nose, highlighted her beautiful face and soft complexion. Tan lines strategically marked her most delicate features. Miles across the desert floor were visible in every line, sinew and muscle insertion from her ankles to lower back. She held her shoulders square, trying always to follow the advice of her mother, “Don’t slouch dear, no need to hide what God gave you.” Over the years Blanche had taken special precautions to keep her back muscles in top form. Images of her breasts hanging to her waist had been the source of great motivation and she daily stretched, lifted weights and did push-ups in an attempt to deny gravity the win.
No doubt Blanche was a remarkably beautiful woman but her most striking feature was her eyes. They were absolutely crystal blue, like glacier water reflecting sunlight, changing color relative to her surroundings. An overly large iris diameter and wide lid fissure presented these sapphire gems for the world to behold. It was not unusual for complete strangers to stop Blanche and ask where she got her contacts, commenting on how beautiful they were.
“No way!” was often the response when Blanche indicated that they were all natural, and that went for all of her as questioning eyes were often drawn to her bustline as well.
With so much going for Blanche she still found it difficult to believe that men found her attractive. There was always something lacking perfection that drew her self-confidence and assurance askew. She was happy with who she was and what she looked like but had no intention of flaunting herself for anyone's benefit.
Satisfied that all was in order for another day of work she put on her most conservative, bust reducing bra, beige slacks and modest cotton blouse and headed down the stairs for breakfast with her host and other guests.
“Good morning dear, did you sleep well?” Ms. Carmichael greeted her as she moved between the kitchen and dining area as if on roller skates. “I trust you are finding the accommodations to your liking.”
“The room is fine, Ms. Carmichael, the bed is actually really cozy and the pillows must be down. Is that right?” Blanche questioned, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Why yes they are. Not many guests mention that, so nice of you to notice. I’ve always tried to provide only the very best you know. What would you like this morning? Got some grits a cookin’ if you like or there’s fresh fruit and yogurt on the table.”
“I’ll be fine with the fruit, thank you.”
A handful of guests were huddled around the table each with a newspaper in hand and talking back and forth, apparently about a particular article that had caught their attention.
“Can you imagine waking up like that?” Mrs. Muir said, sipping her coffee and pointing to a picture and article on the front page of the Valdosta Daily Times.
”She must have crapped herself,” ‘Mr. Wonder’ eloquently pronounced. “Really must have been an eye opener for sure,” he continued.
“What’s going on?” Blanche questioned.
“You haven’t heard?” Mrs. Muir inquired.
“No, what’s up?”
“Well, you won’t believe this but the headline this morning is about some nut job that snuck into this ladies house,” pointing at the cover picture, “put on her undergarments while she was asleep then took a picture of himself and left it on the pillow next to her. Is that creepy or what? Just gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Now Mrs. Muir, don’t go scaring Ms. Delaney, after all she’s single as well,” cautioned Caroline.
“Guy must have balls of steel,” concluded ‘Clueless’, “He’s just asking to get caught leaving behind a picture and all. Bet the police have him by the end of the day.”
“You certainly have more confidence in the constabulary than most of the locals,” Caroline asserted.
Blanche took a seat and pulled a copy of the Times within range for her inspection. Sure enough, there on the cover was a picture of Mrs. Thelma Riddle of Valdosta, GA holding a picture of some guy with his face obscured, wearing a pair of her panties and bra, standing in a bedroom with a sleeping Thelma in the background. He’d obviously not used a flash in an attempt not to awaken the slumbering woman but the quality was good enough to make out what was going on. Between bites of fruit and gulps of juice Blanche read the police report describing the scene upon their arrival in the early morning hours.
They had been called, responding to a hysterical woman’s 911 report of a home invasion on Cat Creek Road. Two squad cars had arrived at approximately 5:30 a.m. to find Mrs. Riddle on the front step, shotgun lying loosely across her lap, head in her hands apparently sobbing. The officers led Mrs. Riddle to one of their units, assured her of her safety, and then entered the premises. They found nothing out of the ordinary, no indication of a break and enter. Locks all appeared to be intact, windows all closed with no breakage and no sign of forced entry.
Once the scene was secure they interviewed Thelma who reported, “I always have to get up about four or five o’clock to go pee but this morning when I went back to bed there was this picture on my pillow.”
The officers reported that she was still shaking from the ordeal and would be staying with friends for the next few days. The paper went on to detail that nothing in the home appeared to be tampered with other than a few of her drawers and clothing. How the perpetrator managed to gain entrance to the home was still under investigation but they believed a door may have been left unlocked. No further information was available at the time the paper was published.
The small talk continued another 15 minutes before the guests got up to begin their day.
Caroline hurried into the room. “Listen ya’ll,” she said, in her best Southern accent. “We’ll be welcoming a young couple later today celebrating their wedding and spending a few days of their honeymoon with us. I’d sure appreciate it if ya’ll would be extra nice to them while they’re here.”
Blanche tossed in a cheerful, “Sure,” as she sidestepped ‘Clueless’, controlling the urge to plant an elbow in his ribs; then skipped up the stairs to brush her teeth, grab her umbrella and head to the bus stop.
Tonight would be her first late shift and she wanted to get a few things done before having to check in at the library by noon.
Over the past couple days she’d spent her spare time looking through the paper and online at condo listings hoping to find something small, affordable and now more than ever, safe! Blanche was quite pleased with the modest nest egg resting in her Georgia Trust Bank Account. Not enough for anything extravagant by any means but nonetheless would hold her over in an emergency or make a nice little down payment on a small home or condo. The idea of a condo was appealing, no maintenance, no yard to mow and neighbors close by. From prior experience Blanche had learned that having neighbors nearby could be a double-edged sword. There’s always the jerk with the music too loud, the parties too often, the shirts unbuttoned to the navel with the gold chains and beer gut.
Blanche had often thought to herself when confronted with these brutes, “Are there really women out there that find you attractive, and if there are then God help us.”
Her last residence in Arizona had been a condo unlike any other she’d lived in before. The people were respectful, hard working, quiet and for the most part stayed to themselves, but were always pleasant when opportunities for interaction arose. On the other hand, she had lived in units where everyone knew or wanted to know everyone else’s business with a peeping tom thrown in for good measure. The last thing she wanted to do here in Valdosta was buy something before knowing all the facts. Like she’d heard a hundred times, location, location, location and being new to town she needed some help.
On this particular morning she had made an appointment with Beverly Davis of Southern States Realty. Her ad had been prominently displayed along with many others in the local paper but there was something about her smile that prompted Blanche to phone her. A five-minute conversation left Blanche with the following observations; Beverly was Southern, through and through, with a thick accent and an immediate distrust of Yankees. She was quite pleased to see that her latest client was from the West and not a Northerner. The realtor was anything but soft spoken, their conversation could have been heard at least one county over and Ms. Davis’ laugh began at her toes and worked up volume as it traveled upward. Blanche was pleased to discover that Beverly was a seasoned professional, appeared to know the area well and had the time to show her the town.
The meeting was scheduled at 10:00 a.m. with the office located not far from the library. Blanche arrived a few minutes early to make a positive impression and sat in the waiting room while the receptionist called Ms. Davis.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if Harvey says that property line is wrong or not, we had a surveyor out there last week to confirm that he’s squatin’ on my client’s property and he better get his act together or we’ll move our litigation forward!” A woman’s voice echoed down the narrow hallway promptly followed by a phone being slammed down on a cradle.
“What is it?” again from the back room as the receptionist made contact with the unmistakable Beverly in the rear office.
“Your ten o'clock is here.”
Then a more subdued voice, “I’ll be right out."
A moment later a woman who appeared to be in her late forties, short and thick, came walking briskly down the hallway, black curly locks swaying from side to side and the distinct sound of nylon on nylon with each advancing step.
“Well I’ll be, lookie here, you must be Ms. Delaney all the way from Arizona,” she said, extending her warm little hand, taking Blanche’s in a wrestler’s grip and pumping it up and down. “If you aren’t the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in some time. Men back home must be havin’ fits, losin’ one of the good en’s.”
It didn’t take Blanche long to recognize that the picture from the paper must have been at least 15 years and 50 lbs ago but she couldn’t help but like Beverly.
Ms. Beverly Davis, formerly Mrs. Beverly Davis Newton Marshall, had married her high school sweetheart, then 18, resulting in two children now grown and on their own, both living in Atlanta or “Hotlanta” as they liked to tell her. A few years back, in an effort to reduce and simplify her life, she had dropped the Newton and Marshall from her name and went back to her maiden name, Davis. Beverly had never been much of the motherly type, and really not much of the ‘loving wife type’ either. Thus her first marriage ended in a mutual parting of the way with no money, assets or property to dispute. Both sides were quite sure they didn’t want exclusive custody so joint custody was easily negotiated and the next 13 years were spent bouncing the kids back and forth a few weeks at a time.
Beverly had tried her hand at marriage a second time a few years back. Married a wealthy landowner from Charleston, with a love of bacon and all things deep-fried, that suffered a massive heart attack two years into the marriage resulting in his death. The past eight years had been spent fighting his estranged son over the estate, and just recently had signed the final documents entitling her to 50 % of the assets after the complete liquidation of the estate. Her lawyer estimated this would come to a cool 36 million once the legal firm got their cut.
She had started this journey an attractive businesswoman, eager to advance her position and anxious to help the buyers who trusted her expertise. Her journey, now ten years after her second marriage, much heavier, cynical and untrusting of people in general but still eager to please and she put on a good show. It didn’t take long for Blanche to learn all this and more about Ms. Davis as they cruised the streets of Valdosta looking over the neighborhoods and condo complexes.
By the end of the two hours Blanche was no closer to being a homeowner than she was prior to their meeting, but she had forged almost an instant bond with a woman who was funny, insightful and as her dad would have said, “full of piss and vinegar.” Beverly pulled her BMW coupe in front of the library, dug through her purse for a business card, extracted one and handed it to her client.
“I’ll do some searching and let you know what I find. I think I have a pretty good idea of what you want and need. I have to tell you though, I had the best time today and I’m not just saying that. Didn’t know the gals from the Wild West were so fun.”
“I’ll take that as a complement,” Blanche said, offering her hand in a warm embrace while exiting the car.
“So should I just wait to hear from you or what?”
“I think we should get together again in the next few days, if not to look at condo’s, I’d like to trash talk men again for a few hours,” Beverly said, with a laugh that made her jiggle all over.
“Sounds good Beverly, I’ll wait for your call.”
Beverly didn’t pull away from the curb until she saw Blanche enter the building. “Now that woman has got a nice can,” she said, as she thumbed through her Day-Timer looking for what she might do to fill the balance of her day. “Nothing for a couple hours, Dunkin Donuts here we come,” she thought, cranking up the tunes and engaging the autopilot in her head that knew exactly how to get to the closest donut shop.
Working in a library requires a certain skill set that only few possess and even fewer excel at, Blanche was one of the latter. There were hours of mind numbing boredom followed by intermittent periods of hustle requiring organizational skills and the ability to compartmentalize the tasks at hand. The trick was being able to juggle the two components without losing your mind. Keeping your mind active and alert was the secret and Blanche was a professional at this game. She knew that when it got boring the tendency was to become complacent, lazy and unsatisfied with the work and the job.
She had a theory, ‘that’s why librarians are supposed to be bitter, sour faced old-maids with nothing better to do than hush patrons and shelve books.’ Blanche on the other hand was determined to break out of the stereotype and avoid being cast in that lot. On days that were busy she sorted the work that needed to be done into various slots in her mind then in baskets that she fashioned out of shoeboxes she’d scrounged from the B amp;B.
It kind of worked like a triage center in a hospital, at times even picturing herself on the front lines of a M*A*S*H unit whisking patients from the choppers to the waiting area, surgical tent or morgue as the circumstances dictated. Books, video tapes and CD’s were certainly no match for blood and guts but in her mind's eye to maintain her sanity she played out these little comparisons throughout the day. Items that required her immediate attention were put into a basket labeled ‘Now’, those that could wait until later in the day were in ‘Night’, and those that were saved for the mind-numbing days were in ‘Never’.
Mrs. Anderson didn’t wholly appreciate the system and did not sign on to participate but she could see that it worked for Blanche so she let her do her own thing as long as the work was getting done and the library ran efficiently. Ester was impressed with the devotion that her new helper brought to the job and enjoyed the time she could now dedicate to the regional museum.
Arriving at noon the library had already been open for a few hours and there were people scattered about the library, some reading, some dozing and others having quiet conversations over tables or with chairs pulled close together in out of the way places. Blanche generally liked to take a look around to see who was where and what was going on before she set herself to completing the desk related items that demanded her attention. She could tell this was going to be a ‘pull out the Never box’ kind of day so she quickly took care of the few items that were pressing and reached for the ‘Never’ box.
“Nope,” she thought, “don’t have the stamina to even look at this stuff right now.” Blanche pushed the box back into its place, hopped down from her chair and made one more swing through the library looking for rule breakers, which weren't unusual. After all, she’d worked in some pretty big libraries in very large urban centers and just when she thought she had seen it all someone or something else would surprise her. Finding ‘things’ in books were commonplace and they ranged anywhere from graffiti in the margins to porn pictures put into children’s books, to marijuana cigarettes crushed between the pages of a literary masterpiece. Every book that came into the library now had to be thumbed through to find such nuisances.
It hadn’t always been this way but she could see the respect for things she held so dear being devalued and diminished. In the bigger centers the libraries had to install security cameras in an attempt to discourage some of the behavior that was becoming all too common. With the advent and rise in the use of the Internet, libraries had been forced to install computers for research purposes and as a service to the public. Most used them with decency and respect but there will always be some that want to ruin a good thing for everyone. Keeping pornography and viruses cleaned from the systems was almost a full time job, however, in Valdosta Blanche had not run into such a problem, at least not yet.
In her last position on the campus of a university known for its hard partying, Blanche had been more than a little shocked to see students engaged in sexual acts right in the library or on the internet with their webcams rolling. She was happy to put such behavior behind her and her experience in this Southern library had proven to be a piece of cake in comparison. That was not to say that she was any less determined to remain vigilant. The final thing, which she found to be perhaps the most disgusting, was the inability for some to make it to the washrooms to relieve their bodily functions. She wasn’t sure if it was lack of control or just the odds that there are opportunistic weirdoes out there that will try at every turn to get their jollies in one way or the other.
Satisfied that there was nothing going on but a little handy-holdy throughout the library she negotiated the large, heavily laden shelves and arrived at the bathrooms for a quick inspection. Stepping into the ladies room she was greeted with the appearance of a man in coveralls kneeling on the floor looking under one of the stall doors. He didn’t appear to be doing anything other than cranking his neck to get a better view.
“Hmmm,” pretending to clear her throat, “Can I help you?”
“Yeah, could you? Would you hand me a flashlight?” the little character said, without moving from his position on the floor.
“I most certainly will not!” she said, with a rising tone in her voice.
“Why not, it’s right over there in my box by the wall.”
“Excuse me, is there anyone in that stall?” she inquired.
“Heavens no, I’m just here all by my lonesome but I could sure use that flashlight,” he indicated again pointing to the box.
“Do you mind telling me just what the hell it is you’re doing in here? This is the ladies restroom after all.” She could feel her cheeks turning redder by the minute.
“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he snickered and paused before saying, “Just joking you. I’m Marcus the custodian round here, and you are?”
“I’m Blanche, that is, Blanche Delaney, I’m the new librarian.”
“Oh, I heard we was getting someone new, pleased to meet you. Would love to see you face to face and shake your hand but I got to take care of this before I get up.”
“Just what is it you’re doing in here?” she questioned.
“Well, you see, there was a report of an increase in water bugs and roaches in this here bathroom and I think I found the nest but I can’t quite be sure, too dark.”
Blanche was already moving to the toolbox in search of the flashlight as soon as she heard the word ‘roaches’.
“Here it is," handing it over his shoulder and placing it into his hand.
“Thanks, yup sure enough, there it is, little buggers been going in and out right there,” he exclaimed, clicking the flashlight off and getting to his feet.
Mr. Marcus was a tiny little guy. He must not have been much bigger than 5’ 4” and certainly no more than 120 lbs soaking wet. She searched for a word to describe him in her mind and all she could come up with was ‘cute’. Yes, he was probably 50 years old with a receding hairline, a face that was deeply tanned and grooved, his nose and ears were showing those middle aged signs of continued growth. Blanche made a mental note: ‘find out if only a man’s cartilage continues to grow until death or if women are equally affected,’ and she filed it in her mental ‘Night’ box. He was wearing a pair of coveralls that covered him from neck to ankles and then a bit more, with a patch above the pocket on his right side that said, ‘Marcus’.
She knew instantly without the least bit of hesitation that Marcus was a man who could be trusted. He met her inquisitive gaze with his own and saw within her blue eyes a spark of recognition and acceptance.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, um, ah, I’m sorry, was it Barbara?” he stammered.
“No, it’s my pleasure and it’s Blanche,” she said, with a broad smile on her face, not really understanding what it was about him that made her feel so good.
His smile was liberating and she felt like they’d been friends for years.
“Most round here call me Mr. Marcus, but I’ll answer to just about anything. You need to use the facility? I can wait a few minutes and guard the door fer ya,” he said, moving toward the entrance.
“Oh, no, not at all. I was just looking to make sure things were in order and I can see that you have this totally under control. So you just do whatever you do and I’ll leave you to it,” she said, once again unable to explain why it was that being in his presence almost made her feel euphoric.
“I shouldn’t be too long; maybe I should put a sign out or something ‘til I’m done.”
“I think that would be appropriate.” She backed to the door, gave a quick wave and headed to the Sciences — Anatomy book section of the library.
Six o’clock came quickly with the triage boxes empty including the ‘Never’ stuff, leaving Blanche to do what she loved most about working in a library, the ability to read. While at work she avoided her true favorite genre, the adventure romance, but she loved to learn new things so she explored a different section at every opportunity. Today Blanche had picked up a couple of books on real estate in hopes of learning some tricks before making a purchase. Before settling in for the last few hours of her shift, which she expected to be quieter than during the day, she said goodnight to the balance of the staff as they exited the building.
The teenagers were always happy when their volunteer hours were completed and Ester and Marcus departed at the same time, stopping at the desk to exchange pleasantries before leaving for the night.
“Well, I guess it’s just me and you tonight,” she said, looking at the books she had rounded up and placed on the desk. Flipping to page one she began to read.
Outside, Jared, one of the teen volunteers, was unchaining his bike from the rack when he saw Seymour running down the street toward the library.
“Yo Seymour, what’s up man?” the cheerful Jared shouted.
“Hey Jared, I’m late for work, Ester’s gonna be pissed,” Seymour managed to get out, taking in big gulps of air.
“Don’t sweat it, Mrs. Anderson’s gone for the night already. The new librarian is calling the shots tonight. You haven’t met her yet?”
“No, guess this is my first shift with her,” Seymour responded.
“You really ain’t seen Ms. Blanche Double D, dude?”
“Show some respect man, she’s my boss,” he said, tilting his head and raising a brow.
“No, dude, those are really her initials. We’ve been calling her that all week, at least the guys in the back and not to her face. She is built, but tries to hide it with her ‘librarian’ clothes,” the younger man excitedly declared.
“Ok, ok, I get the picture. Is she nice and all that?” Seymour further inquired.
“Yeah, she’s great, eats lunch with us and is real anxious to make a good impression. Maybe you could score a few brownie points with her, if you know what I mean,” Jared said.
“Not if I’m late on my first day, I’m not,” and with the exchange over he bounded up the steps and through the front door of the library.
Sitting on a chair that lifted her torso above the height of the desk was the most beautiful woman Seymour had ever seen. She was obviously engrossed in what she was looking at and didn’t even bother to acknowledge his entrance through the doors. Her head was tipped down, both hands on either side of her head covering her ears only moving one periodically to turn the page, returning her hand to her head. He dared not interrupt her as she seemed so picturesque and was so pleasing to look at. He moved closer in an effort to get a better view. With her head down, the angle provided a bird’s eye view down her blouse. He couldn’t help but blush getting such a view without her even knowing it, at least until she lifted her eyes and noted him taking in the sights.
“Like what you see?” she said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t want to disturb you. Looked like you were deep in thought.”
“Uh huh,” she replied straightening herself up and pulling the top of her blouse together. “Can I help you with something?”
“No, I mean yeah, I think you’re my new boss.”
“You must be Seymour then,” she surmised, reaching her hand across the desk to take his in a firm shake.
In doing so the scent of her perfume wafted across the distance between them and filled Seymour’s nostrils with the aroma of what he could not identify, other than to note that it must have been heaven sent. Her hand was soft, smooth, petite, but with strength he had not expected. He stood mesmerized, holding her hand and staring directly into her hypnotic blue eyes.
“Well, ok then, I think that will do for introductions," she said, having to wrench her hand from his. "I’m Ms. Delaney but you can call me Blanche, as long as we don’t have patrons around.”
She had to admit inwardly that she loved it when she had this effect on men, mostly seemed to be the young ones, as the older men always tried to play it cool, like they really knew the score, even though most were clueless.
“So, what’s on the agenda for the evening. Should I just do the normal stuff?” Seymour asked.
“Well, Seymour, I guess that depends on what the ‘normal stuff’ is?” she said, smiling at the young man and trying to make him feel at ease.
“Mrs. Anderson usually has me tidy the place up, you know, take the books off the tables and shelve them. Put the newspapers away and throw away any garbage that might be left behind from the day and stuff like that. Then before we close I need to run the vacuum around to make sure the carpets look good for tomorrow morning,” he said, pointing to the areas that were carpeted.
“That sounds like a good start. Yeah, go ahead and do your thing and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. There are still a few visitors over there (pointing), so try not to disturb them,” Blanche said.
“All right, I’ll get started, was really nice to meet you and I’m looking forward to having you,” he said, tripping over his tongue. “Having you to look at. Oh crap! That’s not what I meant either. What I’m trying to say is, I’m really looking forward to getting to know you and working with you. Thanks for being so understanding about me being a few minutes late,” he finally managed to get out.
“Late, were you late? Hadn’t noticed, please try to be prompt if you want to stay in my good books. Got that young man?” she jokingly said, pointing a delicate finger at him.
“Yes ma’am, I mean no ma’am you won’t see me coming in late again, thanks,” Seymour said, turning and tripping on the edge of the carpet propelling him into a bookshelf almost toppling it over. “Whew, that was a close call,” he said, looking back over his shoulder to see the blonde beauty back at her book studying intently.
“Well, I’m sure that little episode left quite an impression with her,” he thought, making himself busy with the evenings chores. He did note that she kept a close eye on him throughout the evening. “Must be one of those micro manager types,” he said to himself, each time he passed the desk and she looked up to see what he was up to. Always had a smile on her face though as if not seeing him but seeing through him, seemed kind of weird.
For Blanche, the day had been nicer than expected. She had made some new friends in Beverly and Marcus, and this new guy, Seymour, kind of intrigued her. He was too young to amount to anything romantic, but what a polite, pleasant young man. Couldn’t be any cuter; strong hands, and she’d paid special attention to his forearms when he’d clutched her hand in his.
“Must work out or do a lot of lifting to have forearms so built,” she’d thought. "Might not be so bad to have some ‘eye candy’ to help pass the hours on the quiet night shifts."
“Ten o’clock already?” Seymour asked, as he saw Blanche rounding up her things and getting her umbrella from the back room.
“Have you done a walk through to make sure everyone is out of the library?” Blanche asked.
“Yup, last ones left about 30 minutes ago, couple a kids that were making out behind the mystery section. So we should be good to lock ‘er up.”
“Great, let’s get the lights and go home,” she said.
Seymour walked Blanche to the bus stop, his heart in his throat the whole time and his feet gliding a foot above the ground. Blanche’s bus arrived before his, so they exchanged goodbyes and then their eyes met again, not unusually long but long enough to know that there was more to the look than just the usual farewell. Then she was gone.