River’s father motions us to sit on the tall stools, and he puts out three glasses, and he fills the glasses with orange juice, which I will not drink because it is raining and orange is not green, and he puts out a big bowl full of blueberry muffins, which I also will not eat because blueberries are also not green and because I am a baker’s daughter and can tell that these muffins will not taste good. I feel a howl starting to build in the back of my throat.
But before it can come out, River’s father does the most amazing thing. He walks over to the sink and fills a glass with water straight from the tap and drinks it all down!
Mab is staring at him with her mouth open. My howl is shocked into silence.
“Are you a pastor, priest, rabbi, or reverend?” I ask instead.
“Me?” River’s father says or, to be more accurate, yelps. “No one’s ever accused me of that before.”
“I am not accusing you,” I correct him. “But the only person in Bourne who drinks water from the tap is Pastor Jeff, and he has faith as a man of God.”
“Ahh. I see. Well, I don’t trade in faith, but I do believe.”
“In God?” I ask which he must have been hoping for because he smiles.
“I believe in Bourne. I believe the water and everything else here is pure and clean and safe as houses.”
“Are houses safe?”
“Very, Monday. They’re very safe. Clean. Clear. Healthy. Perfect. I believe Bourne’s going great places.”
“Where?” I ask.
He points his finger up, but when I look, all I see is they painted over the mural of rainbows and clouds which is usually on the Children’s section ceiling. Now it is just beige. “The eaves?” I guess. “The roof?”
“The sky, Monday. The sky’s the limit.”
I do not know what this means or what it has to do with the tap water, but before I can ask more questions, River interrupts his father.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll show you my room.”
I do not think Mab will want to see his room, but she gets up so I do too. I have a guess that she follows him because she does not like him less than she does not like his father who sounds kind but feels like something else.
“Thank you for coming by to welcome us, Monday and Mab,” River’s father says as we leave the Children’s section.
“That is not why we came,” I say.
“Then we were both surprised,” he says. “How wonderful.”
“Lie,” I say, but I do not think we are playing anymore.
River leads us past the New Releases section where there are three fat, puffy chairs that sit up or lie down with their feet out, past the Mysteries and Thrillers section where there is a fancy, old-fashioned dining-room table with lots of wooden curlicues and knobbly legs ending in carved feet with actual carved toes, plus three equally old, toed chairs. （You could also shelve mysteries and thrillers in General Adult Fiction, but Mrs. Watson made them a separate section because sometimes people are dead on the covers of mysteries and thrillers, and a lot of readers in Bourne feel traumatized by looking at dead people without warning like if they were just browsing for a book all the characters live through.） In the Audiovisual section are stacks of boxes and pictures in frames and lamps—I guess because the Templetons moved in only recently and have not yet unpacked—separated into three groups. It is like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. It is also like Apocalypse Now. Both of these are movies I checked out approximately four feet away from where I am currently standing. I slide my gaze over to Mab who looks like her eyes are having the same problem mine are, and I am glad to know I am not overreacting or upset by myself. I can feel my howl trying to come back.
“That’s my dad’s office.” River waves as we walk past the big study room. It is the biggest, but it is not the nicest because it is also the smelliest, but maybe his father does not know that yet, or maybe, like Mr. Beechman, he has lost his sense of smell. A more accurate name than study room would be loud room anyway since what people did in it was be loud. Bourne kids used to hang out and talk in there because you have to be quiet in all the other parts of the library. Bourne adults used it for holding organizing and task force meetings, back when there were more adults besides Mama who still wanted to organize and force tasks. The door is open, and inside I can see a giant chair and a giant desk and a giant painting of a giant.
“Who is that giant?” I ask.
“That’s Uncle Hickory.” River keeps walking and does not even look where I am pointing. He knows what “who” I mean. Maybe he really is magic. “His eyes follow you everywhere. It’s creepy.”