Trent sipped his coffee. “I believe you know that Graydon’s first performance review is coming up. Late, because so many board members went south last winter. Our bylaws allow us to have a certain amount of virtual attendance, but none of us wanted to do Graydon’s review remotely.”

Was that good or was that bad? Did it even matter? I clutched my mug tightly, because Trent hadn’t asked a question, and I was going to keep my mouth shut until he did.

“It’s come to my attention,” Trent said, “that the Friends of the Library are not complete fans of Graydon.”

“That’s because—” I bit off my words. So much for staying quiet.

“Because?” he asked, leaning forward.

How to say this without sounding snippy and snarky? “The president of the Friends,” I said carefully, “has a tendency to assume that the decisions of others are personal when they are, in fact, not personal at all.”

Trent waited. And waited. When another glacial age came and went and I didn’t say anything more, he finally nodded. “Thank you, Minnie. The board will, naturally, have to consider the comments of the Friends during Graydon’s review.”

“Oh. Um, sure. I understand. It’s just . . .” I struggled for the right thing to say. “Can you please make sure the board is listening to what all the Friends think? Not just one person?”

“We have to trust that the president speaks for the entire group,” Trent said.

Even if it’s Denise? For a second I was afraid I’d blurted that out loud, but there was no reaction from Trent, so I assumed that I’d managed to keep the thought inside.

Trent finished his coffee, thanked me for my time, and left, carrying his mug with him.

“What was that all about?” Holly stood in my doorway, frowning in Trent’s direction. “What’s he doing here on a Saturday morning? Don’t tell me he’s checking up on us.”

“He left something in the conference room,” I said, making it sound like a question, then quickly hunted for a new subject. “Say, did I tell you what Eddie did to the toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom?”

Holly laughed. “This I can’t wait to hear.”

She plopped down in the chair Trent had vacated. I told her the story of the shredding, and most of me was paying attention to what I was saying, but a small part of me—small but mighty—was worried about Graydon and his future at the library. I had to do something to help. But what?

*   *   *

I worked long past the time I’d scheduled myself to work, no doubt earning another black mark from some omniscient record-keeping librarian, the same one that metaphorically whacked my knuckles with a ruler whenever I thought my duties at the library or on the bookmobile were so important that no one else could do them.