Page 35 of The Library of Borrowed Hearts

How much better? No one ever gave me a guidebook. Can he at least be a shy, well-read logger? I’m partial to those.

No. Can we please go back to discussing the book now?

And that was where she was stuck. The thing shewantedto say—thatthrowing herself away was her decision and her decision alone—got jammed every time she picked up her pen. And the thing sheshouldsay—that none of it mattered because every town she’d ever lived in came with a two-year expiration date—only made her feel depressed.

“By the way, how did your date with that nice William McBride go the other night?” her mom asked in a bright, obvious voice as they continued walking down the aisle. It might have been Catherine’s imagination, but she could almost swear the scent of pine needles and leather lingered in the air where Jasper had been standing only moments before.

William McBride hadn’t smelled like pine needles and leather. He’d smelled like Aqua Velva and desperation.

“It was fine. He tried feeling me up at the drive-in.”

“Catherine Winifred Martin!”

“What? I didn’t say I let him. Just that he tried. His sort always does.”

Her mom gave up on the pretense of grocery shopping and lowered her voice to a sharp hiss. “This is neither the time nor the place for that kind of discussion, young lady.” Then, with a reluctant smile, she said, “And don’t think you shock me with your brassy tongue. I was young, too, once upon a time. I know the sort you’re talking about.”

Catherine felt an answering smile of her own take shape. One of her favorite things about her mother was how primly un-prim she was under the surface, even if she refused to admit it. “Mom! Are you trying to tell me that Dad took premarital liberties with you?”

“Of course not. Your father is and always has been a perfect gentleman. But I know how young men like William McBride can be.” She paused before adding, “That young man who just left the grocery store, too. This is a small town, Catherine. People talk, and your father listens. Be very careful to ensure you control the dialogue.”

It was advice like this that always made Catherine want to throw off the shackles of her upbringing and force her mother to step out into the sunlight with her. She didn’t want to control the dialogue. She didn’twant to eat grapefruits for breakfast and date men like William McBride. She wanted to live her life the way her father did.

That was the quiet part that no one in their family said out loud—how much richer his life was than theirs, how much fuller. Every day of his life, her father woke up knowing that his orders would be carried out to the letter. At work, because of his rank. At home, because that was simply how things were done. Yes, her mother found ways around it in tiny acts of rebellion, things like a shade of lipstick that was a little too red or the pack of cigarettes hidden behind a yellow box of SOS pads under the sink, but how was that living? How was that fair?

Catherine was allowed to have a job for the sole reason that being a librarian was one of the few feminine professions her father approved of. He didn’t know that Catherine used her position to check out every new horror book that crossed her path, or that she spent her breaks with her head bent over the gory, macabre tales of H. P. Lovecraft and Daphne Du Maurier. He had no idea about the copy of a brand-new book calledPsychoin her bag, or how she planned to stay up late reading it.

And hedefinitelydidn’t know that she was carrying on a flirtation with a local lumberjack in the margins of yet another horror novel—this one rife with ghosts and horrible visions and strange writings on the wall.

Catherine looked at her mom through suddenly clear eyes. She was such a beautiful, vibrant,extraordinarywoman—or rather, she could have been, if she didn’t have to hide her beautifully crooked smile behind her hand.

“Don’t look at me like that, Catherine,” her mother said. “I don’t make society’s rules. I only follow them.”

Even that—the sharp, intelligent mind that could interpret every twitch of Catherine’s stare—was extraordinary. And it was being used to, what? Get mustard stains out of cloth napkins? Continue in a relentless pursuit of the perfect little black dress?

“Do you think you can finish the shopping without me?” Catherine suddenly asked, shoving the basket into her mother’s hands.

Her mom accepted the basket, but not without another of those shrewd looks. “Why?” she asked sharply. “Are you going after that young man?”

Catherine drove her hand into her pocket and fingered the familiar edges ofThe Haunting of Hill House. The library copy had been fairly new when they’d gotten their hands on it, but their repeated correspondence meant that the pages were already starting to show signs of wear. They were careful not to leave anything incriminating behind, but if someone ever found these books in the library, that person would have one heck of a story to unravel.

“Yes, actually. I am. His name is Jasper Holmes, and he’s my friend.”

“Catherine…” her mother warned, her lips tightly pursed.

“I know. Control the narrative. Don’t let Dad find out.”Hide who I am for the sake of a man who’s never once tried to see me.She got up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss onto her mom’s talcum-scented cheek. “It’s all right, Mom. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to sneak around to meet up with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks.”

“Catherine!”

She waggled her fingers in a playful farewell and dashed out the door before her mom could say more. There was a good chance she’d be forced to endure a womanly heart-to-heart later, followed by a list of even more ways to lead a double life of espionage under her own roof, but that was a small price to pay for freedom.

Especially since she knew exactly which direction Jasper had gone.

“There’s no use looking. I haven’t put it back yet.”

Catherine watched with satisfaction as Jasper jumped, grunted, anddid his best to tamp down his reaction to finding her standing on the other side of the library shelf. She was a good six inches shorter than him, so she had to stand on tiptoe to peek at eye level, but she didn’t mind. He looked so scared to see her—and so happy—that she had to choke back her giggle. Never had a man shown such an endearing conflict of emotions whenever she entered his sphere. He liked her, but he didn’twantto like her—and even better, he didn’t know how to stop himself from either reaction.

Catherine had never known that kind of power before.