I had met Janey at the Hyannis Public Library, where she worked. She was not, however, she insisted, a librarian.

“A librarian has a degree,” she said.

“What does a librarian do?” I said.

“I work with them all day,” she said, “and I couldn’t tell you.”

Her job, or what little of it I troubled to notice, seemed to entail putting books back on shelves. One day when I was done looking at a book, I came near her as I found the gap on the shelf where the book belonged. She surprised me by helping me put the book back. She did this by taking my hand in her own and guiding both hand and book to the proper place on the shelf, then gently sliding the book home. I think I was supposed to let go of the book at that point, but I was so amazed at what she was doing that I kept holding on to it, even as she kept holding my hand. We stood there for a moment, my hand on the book, her hand on mine. Then she invited me to her house.