Martha Riley Library Novels & Stories

Although my frown and low grumble screamed my own dislike of me leaving. Then as I was about to leave the room, Martha began a lamentation about forgetting that she had put something on the stove. So she called out to me, to come assist her in tending to the lady I had turned to see that Riley was now laying on her stomach with her shirt rolled all the way up, revealing the whole of her back. Martha exchanged glances with me and awkwardly gave me a knowing wink, before she rushing towards me to hand over the bottle to me, then running off to heaven knows where.

The library behind them, open, receiving its second day. Miriam looked at the building from the street. The covered approach. The bones room glass. The building in its full completed form, present in the city it had been built for. "It knows what it is," she said. He looked at the building. He thought about the library notes and the fifty-two pages and the five years and the chain from Morrow Street to the reading room. He thought about the woman in the southeast corner reading for an hour and a half on the first day. He thought about the forty-one pauses on the fourth tread.

Martha remained silent, her gaze fixed on her daughter, a hint of skepticism flickering in her eyes. Riley continued, her words tinged with annoyance. "I wish Gina and her mother would just leave the mansion. They're not even directly related to the family." Sensing her mother's reluctance to respond, Riley turned to leave, thinking she had successfully diverted the conversation. But Martha's voice stopped her in her tracks. "And what about you, Riley? What have you been up to lately?" Riley hesitated, her mind racing for a response. "Uh, nothing much," she mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

Stood up. "Where are you going?" Martha asked. "To find a library," I said. "That's allowed, right? Or do I need written permission?" Martha just smiled. "Enjoy your reading, Mrs. Romano." The library wasn't hard to find. I just walked down the second floor hallway until I found a door that was slightly different from the others. Darker wood. Fancy handle. I opened it. Holy shit. It was huge. Two stories of floor to ceiling bookshelves. A spiral staircase leading to the upper level. Big windows overlooking the ocean. Leather chairs that looked older than me. It smelled like old paper and wood polish and secrets.

, patting their backs awkwardly. “I’m… here. I’m okay.” They didn’t notice the limp. Not yet. A few yards away, Amy sauntered past with Lila and Lola flanking her like loyal shadows. Amy’s eyes slid over Riley with open contempt. “Should’ve just died,” she said loudly enough for half the yard to hear. “Weak little thing. Only survived because she got lucky.” Lila snickered. Lola echoed it with a mean little laugh. They kept walking, heads high. Riley’s jaw clenched. She didn’t respond. She’d learned long ago that words with Amy were wasted breath. She turned back to Skylar and Quinn. “Where’s Martha now? I need to talk to her.” Quinn’s face fell. She exchanged a glance with Skylar. “She… did

She remained steadfast. “Fine. I’ll take you to him,” she said, leading her through the foyer, past several living rooms, to a solid wooden door. Martha opened the door and her expression changed drastically. “Daddy, look who’s come to visit us!” she said, smiling with forced cheerfulness. Oliver Walker was in his wheelchair, in the center of a monumental library entirely paneled in hardwood. The soaring ceiling supported two rows of bookshelves that stretched over two floors. A spiral staircase, also made of wood, led to the upper level.

Riley's side neat and quiet, her desk lamp off, her bed made with the kind of precision that always makes me feel vaguely guilty about the state of my own. I sat on my bed for approximately four minutes, coat still buttoned, staring at nothing in particular. Then I picked up my bag and walked back out into the snow. Sterling Memorial Library at nine on a January night during the early stages of a storm has the specific quality of a space that has decided to belong only to the people dedicated enough to be inside it. The few students scattered through the reading room look like survivors of something, hunched over laptops, refusing to acknowledge the weather building outside.

POV: Ray Riley arrived at the library at eight-twelve. I watched her come through the door from the north window table where Naomi had her laptop open and three browser tabs running simultaneously and the particular focused stillness of someone who had found something significant and was being patient about how she delivered it. Riley sat down, dropped her bag, looked at both of us. "Talk," she said. "You first," I said. "The athletics director."

That was new. And annoyingly… respectable. I hated how much I kind of liked it. The campus was emptying fast. Overhead announcements crackled, “All faculty to the Dean’s conference room, immediate attendance required.” Maybe they were still on Hartman's case. I slipped into the library five minutes before closing. The lights were already dimmed to half power, the stacks silent except for the low hum of the air con. Almost everyone had gone. Except Martha. She was in the back corner, same carrel where I’d had Jason’s dick down my throat last time, hunched over a laptop, earbuds in, eyes red like she’d been crying or raging maybe both.

Ch 3 {Different Families ..., Different problems } Rachel walked around clapping her hands together. “It has been 5 minutes already, just walk in and collect your phone” “I will, Okay! am just trying to compose myself “Rachel said and takes a deep breath. Saying a short prayer, she knocks on miss Martha’s office door. “Come in, “Her voice said and Rachel breaths in and entered closing the door behind her. Miss Martha is arranging her books, ready to go home.