I know that talking to Nathan Templeton is my best shot at finding out something my mother could use, but I have exactly no desire to do so. I feel many things, but one of them, embarrassingly, undeniably, is frightened.
River rolls his eyes. Then he reaches into his back pocket and retrieves his wand, waves it over us, makes his voice deep and cavernous. “The Raging River commands you to come inside.”
“The raging river?” says Monday.
“You know”—his voice back to normal—“like the Great Houdini. Or the Powerful Oz. Get it? Because a powerful river is raging, but raging also means—”
“Thanks for the offer but…” I interrupt then trail off with a tone and facial expression which I hope finish the sentence for me. Thanks, but you can’t command me to do anything, and I would rather drink actual tap water than spend my Saturday morning with your family.
But Monday is bouncing on the balls of her feet and doing a little dance with her fingers because, be it from the devil incarnate, or at least his grandson, an invitation to get back into her beloved library is not one she is going to refuse.
Two
It has been two years and three months and some number of days since the last time I was in this building. I study Mab’s pulled-together eyebrows and pulled-down lips and conclude she does not want to enter River’s house, but I want to enter my library so I accept, even though those two places are the same place at the moment. River Templeton taps the wheelchair square with his wand, and the door glides open. If this were my first time here, I might think this is magic, but it is not my first time here, and the door opens with the same little puff and ding as it always did, whether you use a wand or not.
As far as my nose can tell, it is exactly the same: the dusty odor of the books, the musty odor of the carpet, the hot-wood smell from bookcases heated by years of sun streaming through windows. This is the most beautiful, perfect building in our town or probably in anyone’s town.
At the bottom of the staircase up to Reference and Research, River’s father has an expression on his face which I do not know what it means. It is not sad or mad or worried or embarrassed. It is also not happy or excited or surprised. If you do not know the answer to what a facial expression on a facial-expression card means, Mrs. Radcliffe says to first decide is it a happy expression or an unhappy expression, but I look at River’s father’s face and cannot tell. What River’s father looks to me is smooth, but smooth is not an emotion. His face is smooth and smiley, and that smile is smooth and white, and his hair is smooth and shiny and puffy, and his clothes are smooth and neat. He reaches a hand right at me while he is also walking right at me, and that hand is also smooth, but it also wants to touch me, so when he says, “Nathan Templeton. Very pleased to meet you,” I hide behind Mab who does not mind when smooth hands or any hands touch her.
Mab shakes the smooth hand, but she does not say anything, I think because you are supposed to say you are pleased to meet him too and she is not.
Then he says, “Welcome to our home,” very big and loud and smooth.
So I say, “Ha!”
So Mab says, “Monday,” in a tone which means warning.
“River’s father is making a joke,” I inform Mab, “because this is not his home.”
“Please, please”—River’s father holds his arms out and I panic that he is going to hug me, but he just stands there like that—“call me Nathan.”
“Nathan!” I call.
“A teenager who takes direction.” River’s father laughs. “You’re a wonder…”
He trails off, so Mab says, “Monday.”
“Monday? Oh! I didn’t realize when you said just now … well, uh, delightful! What a great name. Let me guess, Monday. Your parents are artist types.”
“Wrong,” I say because he is, and I am about to explain, but Mab says, “Monday,” again in her warning voice.
“Best two out of three,” says River’s father, which is when I realize he plays Truth or Dare and a Lie as well. “You grew up in this library.”
“Lie,” I say. “No one grows up in a library.”
“Not so!” He claps his hands and lowers his voice but not his smile, like he is going to tell me a secret and he is very happy about it. “Some of my best friends grew up in libraries. But I can see that you like things literal. I like that too. What I meant was I bet you spent many happy hours here as a child reading beloved titles.”