Mad, Bad and Blonde by Cathie Linz Page A

boss, Maria Sanchez.
    Maria wasn’t someone easily startled. As the branch manager of the River North branch of the Chicago Public Library, she couldn’t afford to get rattled. When the library’s women’s bathroom toilet backed up last month, Maria was Ms. Calm. When eighty-nine-year-old geezer Oscar O’Hara flashed Maria in the nonfiction section of the library, she merely said, “Put that away.”
    And so Maria was currently bestowing the same look of tranquillity upon Faith. You’d think that having five kids would make Maria a little more stressed-out, but no . . . quite the opposite. Nothing surprised her. “I realize you’ve been through a rough patch,” Maria said in that soothing voice of hers. “This is no time to be making major life changes.”
    “It’s the perfect time to make major life changes.”
    Maria frowned. She wasn’t accustomed to being contradicted. Her composed exterior showed the first tiny signs of cracking as a flush rose beneath her flawless olive skin and the feathery lines around her eyes deepened. “But you’re so good at your job. You’re a great children’s librarian.”
    “No, I’m not. I don’t even like Charlotte’s Web .”
    Now Maria did look surprised. “You don’t?”
    Faith shook her head. “I’ve always hated it. I’m not a fan of spiders.”
    “Even so, that’s no reason to quit. Give yourself some time to think things over. Don’t make the decision now. You’re still jet-lagged.”
    “No, I need to move on. I’m sorry it’s such short notice, but I can’t stay. It’s a new day, and I need to make a new start.”
    “If this is about your salary—”
    “It’s not. Trust me, it’s not.”
    “Then I don’t understand.”
    Now Faith was the calm one. “I don’t expect you to.”
    “I thought you enjoyed working here.”
    “I did. But it’s time for me to move on. Today. Right now. I’m sorry.” She placed her official letter of resignation on Maria’s desk before turning and heading down the hallway for her own cubicle. She grabbed an empty cardboard box along the way and started quickly packing up her things—her Jane Austen action figure and her What Would Jane Do? coffee mug. Her Fancy Nancy tiara and glitter sunglasses. Her personal collection of favorite children’s books including Scaredy Squirrel and the classic Harold and the Purple Crayon . Her poster of the cover of Little Polar Bear by Hans de Beer. The READ poster of Jeffrey Dean Morgan she bought at the ALA store. Her props for story time. So much jumbled together. She was thinking in fragmented sentences, but her decision remained firm. She had to leave.
    Faith walked out of the library without looking back, clutching the box to her chest while two tote bags filled with the rest of her stuff hung from her arms. This condition made flagging a cab more of a challenge than usual during lunch rush, but she managed.
    During the ride from the library to her Streeterville condo, she turned to her iPod and played Madonna’s “Jump” repeatedly. Faith was ready to jump—to jump from the life she’d known before to a new one. She was ready, willing and able.
    Able . . . which got her thinking of Cain and Abel. Caine . . .
    No, that thought pattern had to stop immediately. To help herself along with that goal, Faith touched the screen of her iPod, skipping ahead to “I Hate Everything About You” by Three Days Grace, her most recent musical download.
    She didn’t realize she was mouthing the lyrics “I hate, you hate” until she caught the nervous look the cabbie gave her in the rearview mirror.
    She felt the need to apologize. “Sorry. I was just singing along with a song . . . never mind.” Removing the buds from her ears, she safely stowed her iPod away. If only she could stow away her thoughts of Caine as efficiently.

    “I quit my job at the library today,” Faith told her father as she sat in his corner office with a great view of the Picasso statue in Daley