This Same Earth

“Your loss.”

She groaned and burrowed into his warm chest. “Why did I drink the Laphroaig? It was not my friend last night. And I have to work late because Dr. Stevens asked me to help her close.”

His low voice rumbled in her ear as she pressed her cheek to his chest. “How late? You want me to come over and cook dinner?”

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “We’ve got that group visiting from USC right now and they’ve been staying as late as she’ll let them, so…I don’t know, probably not till eight-thirty or so.”

“Leaving from work? So you won’t be home till after nine.”

She cuddled closer to him and reached up to brush the long, black hair out of his eyes. “Probably not. Can you come over anyway?”

“I can tonight, but not tomorrow night. We’ve got a group leaving early for an all-day dive, so I’ll have to be at the boat by six.”

She moved to lay kisses along his stubbled chin. “You know, we should be environmentally conscious this morning. There’s a water shortage.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow. He pulled her closer and hooked her leg over his hip. “Shower together, huh? You up for being environmentally responsible after last night?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Are you?”

Mano hugged her to his chest and rolled them out of bed before he stood and walked to the bathroom, his strong arms supporting her as she clung to him. “I’m always up for you, baby.”

Beatrice giggled as he carried her to the bathroom, glancing at the bottle of scotch and the small book bound in red leather that lay on her desk in the corner. She hugged Mano closer and breathed in the scent of sun and ocean that clung to him.

She waved as he stood on her front porch, still shirtless and wearing a lazy smile, while he held a cup of coffee as she sped away on her bike. She hopped onto Interstate 5 and gunned the engine, cutting lanes on her way to the 110 Freeway.

She’d bought the new Triumph Scrambler after Carwyn convinced her a motorcycle with a British pedigree was superior to an American bike. Since the Welshman had been the one to teach her to ride, and she liked the look of the matte-black bike, she’d relented and had it customized for her short frame.

Beatrice loved the freedom of being on the back of the bike, along with the ability to cut quickly through the Southern California traffic. While some moaned about their daily commute, for Beatrice, it was one of her favorite parts of the day.

By the time she arrived in San Marino—a small, wealthy enclave in the middle of South Pasadena—she’d made up for her late start that morning. She didn’t know why she’d given in to the temptation to read Giuliana’s sonnets the night before, but going down that road never led to a happy night.

She pulled off her helmet as she walked through the alley of jacaranda trees leading to the entrance of the library.

“Mornin’, B!”

Beatrice waved at one of the guards as she climbed the white stone stairs leading to the grand entrance.

“Hey, Art. How are you today?”

The jovial man grinned and gave her a wink. “Oh, you know…just hangin’,” he laughed. “Get it? Hangin’? ‘Cause my name is ‘Art?’”

She snorted and shook her head. “Yeah, good one.”

“You closing with Dr. Stevens tonight?”

“Yup. You going to be here?”

He nodded and smiled, his brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “You betcha. I’ll see you later then.”

“See you.”

“Hey, B?”

She turned before she reached the black glass of the library doors. “Yeah?”

“This is probably out of left field, but do you know a kid around twelve or thirteen named Ben?”

“Ben?” She frowned. “I don’t think so, why?”

He shrugged. “Just a kid poking around the front of the gardens the other day. He was riding a bike and asked if I knew a librarian named Beatrice. That’s your name, right?”

Beatrice’s mouth dropped open. “Yeah, that’s my name, but I don’t know any kids that age. I don’t really know any kids, period. I mean…maybe one of the school groups? That take the tours of the public exhibits? I’ve led a few of those.”

Art nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Maybe he came last year with his class and remembered you or something.”

“Huh.” She frowned. “I guess. That’s the only thing I can figure. Did he look…I don’t know. What did he look like?”

“Just a kid. Hispanic, I think. Kinda skinny. He seemed smart, said his name was Ben, but didn’t say anything else.”

She paused, searching her memory for any hint of recognition. There wasn’t one. “Well, if you see him again, let me know, okay?”

He nodded and gave her a small salute before he turned to help a guest that was signaling for attention. “You got it.”

Walking into the cool of the library, Beatrice tucked her helmet under her arm, smoothed back her hair, and thought about what classes she might have led for that age last spring. She couldn’t remember any that stood out.

“Weird.”

The Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens was given to the city of San Marino by railroad magnate Henry Huntington when he passed away. While the gardens and house of the former estate were open to the public, the library, containing over six million rare books, manuscripts, and archived materials, was restricted and only open to special guests and Ph.D.s with recommendations. Beatrice had been more than fortunate her adviser at UCLA was willing to recommend her to Dr. Karen Stevens, a friend and colleague who happened to be the curator of the Western American archives.