Free Come Destroy Me by Vin Packer Page A

deep for anyone to understand,” Charlie said.
    “Yes.”
    “Plain too deep. That’s all.”
    “Deep are the roots,” Miss Jill Latham said, “deep are the roots.”
    “So you’re going to take inventory,” Charlie said after a short silence. There were always pauses, intervals when no one said anything, and they made Charlie itch inside, get tense and squirmy. They were not such long quiet periods, but they seemed very long. They screamed with silence.
    Miss Jill Latham was standing beside him now, her hands clasped in front of her, her narrow lips smiling slightly. She only nodded.
    “The library’s practically empty these nights,” Charlie told her. “Practically deserted.”
    “Yes, I am certainly going to take inventory.”
    “How long will that last?”
    “I am going to hire someone,” she said. “Someone to help. Some young lady who can help. Most of the young ladies are mar-ried, of course, and busy with their children.”
    Charlie said, “Except for a few kids like Evie.”
    “Who?”
    “My sister, Evie.”
    “Oh, yes. My, yes. Your sister.” Miss Latham paused and touched the books beside her with her fingers. “Yes,” she said, “you must not forget to relay that message. The one Mr. James Prince would like you to de-liver.”
    “I’ve got a good memory,” Charlie answered.
    “Your sister will undoubtedly be thrilled to hear from Mr. James Prince.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Oh, my, yes. Undoubtedly.”
    Charlie said, “Maybe.” That was a silly g.d. conversation. Aw, it was his own fault. His own fault. What could he say to a lady like Miss Jill? What could
he
say that would be in the remotest way enlightening?
    Charlie boy, leave the letter and get out.
    Give me time, Charlie thought. Just give me some time and don’t push me around.
    “I came in to buy a copy of the Oxford Book of English Verse,” Charlie said.
    “Oh, yes.”
    “I’ll probably need it in Harvard.”
    “Harvard,” she said. “Yes … probably.” She walked down to the end of the room and Charlie watched her go. Gee, she looked little and young and blithe. Blithe, she looked. Gee, she was pretty and — and —
    Blithe! That’s what you meant, Charlie.
    Well, not exactly. But what the hell! What kind of a stinky mind was he developing? Charlie felt again in his rear pocket for the letter. It was funny. It was funny now. He didn’t want to drop it. He wanted to go home and burn it and flush the burned parts down the toilet and forget that kid stunt as quick as he could. God, what a kid stunt! What a creepy kid stunt, anyway.
    One thing he knew. He was plain off his stick. All of a sudden he knew it. Of all the silly fool’s tricks, writing letters to himself took the old proverbial cake.
    Simpleton!
    I know it, Charlie thought. I know I am. It’s better to know it, I suppose, but God, what do you do with it?
    “I have a copy right here, yes.” Miss Latham said. She reached up and pulled down the gray-jacketed book and blew dust from the cover and said, “Whew, dust!” As she walked back toward him, Charlie caught himself staring at her legs, and when he looked up at her eyes, he saw that she saw. He blushed and felt his face get hot, and she said, “Yes,” in that offhand way that signified everything, nothing, was merely what she always said. Yes.
    Charlie pulled his wallet out and handed her a ten-dollar bill, money that he had saved for two weeks. What the hell, he needed the book, didn’t he? Sure he did. He needed the Oxford Book of English Verse.
    “I want to thank you,” he said as she handed him his change, “for inviting me in last week.”
    “You are most welcome. You are indeed most welcome. A po-lite boy like yourself.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You are always most welcome.”
    “Well, gee, thanks.”
    “There are some young men I would not invite into my home.”
    “I know. I mean, I imagine.”
    “Many young men I would not.”
    “Well, I’m awfully glad you invited