Fall from Grace by L. R. Wright

refrigerator probably needed cleaning, and certainly the drip coffeepot sitting on the counter did.
    There were no windows in the staff room, only skylights, and on summer days like this one the heat was merciless.
    Cassandra slumped into the green plastic armchair; there was a tear in the seat, and the back of it was coming off. The Sally Ann wouldn’t take this chair, she thought, fingering its bilious arms, as a gift. If she wanted to get rid of it she’d have to pay somebody to cart it away. Which was probably exactly what had gone through the mind of Betty Trimble before she had graciously donated the damn thing—on condition, of course, that Cassandra arrange for its transportation to the library.
    Cassandra no longer uttered automatic bleats of gratitude when people offered her things. Now she spoke a cautious thank-you and said she’d be by to look it over, whatever it was. She resisted telling potential donors to take a hike, or call the junk man, because after all, the library had come by its coffeepot and its fridge, as well as the hideous green chair, through people like Betty Trimble.
    I really must get this place cleaned up, she thought, surveying the room. She pulled a tissue from the pocket of her dress and dabbed at the sweat on her face. But not today.
    One of the volunteers appeared in the doorway. “There’s somebody out there wants to see you.”
    It was Diana Alberg. “Do you have information here about animal rights?” she said.

    Fifteen minutes later Diana was seated at a table in the reading area, surrounded by books and pamphlets and magazines. Cassandra, cataloging books behind the counter, glanced up once in a while. She was thinking about the framed photograph that she’d seen on the mantelpiece in Karl’s living room. It was a picture of his two daughters with their arms around his smiling ex-wife. Maura was tall and slim. She couldn’t be called beautiful, exactly—but she was striking; dramatic-looking. Janey, the older daughter, resembled her. Cassandra had felt awkward, looking at the picture, and then depressed, and then royally pissed off. She hadn’t said anything, but the next time she’d found herself in Karl’s living room the photograph had been gone.
    Diana was taking notes, absorbed in the material Cassandra had helped her find. Cassandra thought she looked very young, even though she’d graduated from university several months earlier.
    They didn’t know each other well, yet. Cassandra had found Diana to be intelligent; opinionated; impatient. She had a sense of humor. And a healthy curiosity about the world.
    And what, I wonder, thought Cassandra, gazing at Karl Alberg’s younger daughter, does Diana think of me?
    After a while Diana closed the books, piled the magazines and pamphlets on top of them, picked them up, and went back into the stacks.
    Cassandra followed her. “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “Here, give them to me, I’ll put them away.”
    â€œThank you very much,” said Diana politely. “You’ve been a great help.”
    Cassandra took the material from her. “Are you doing research for an article?”
    â€œSort of,” said Diana. She glanced quickly at Cassandra. “Have you any opinion,” she said, “about animal rights?”
    Cassandra looked thoughtfully at the three Ficus benjamina , each seven or eight feet tall, that stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I believe that they have some,” she said carefully.
    â€œDo you wear fur?” said Diana.
    Cassandra shook her head. “I eat meat, though,” she admitted.
    â€œYeah,” said Diana.
    Cassandra thought for a while. “I wear leather, too, I’m afraid.”
    â€œYeah,” said Diana. “How depressing. So do I.”
    Cassandra thought some more. “I only buy cosmetics from The Body Shop,” she said. “You know. No