by Tracy Brogan
Nana went on, but Libby stopped listening. And, she hoped, so had Tom.
The hot Indian summer had finally given way to a wet, messy autumn evening, and it started to rain in earnest just as Tom pulled into the driveway and took his keys from the ignition.
“Give me your keys, Libby. I’ll unlock the door so Nana doesn’t get all wet.”
“I don’t have my keys, but you can go in through the garage. There’s a keypad.”
Tom nodded. “What’s the code?”
“Seventeen-seventy-six.”
He started to get out of the truck, then looked back at her, a smile curving up his mouth. “Seventeen-seventy-six. Seriously?”
She shrugged. “You know my dad.”
He laughed then, and the sound of it warmed her through. He’d been so quiet and guarded at the hospital and on this drive. Just a few nights ago they’d been halfway to naked in his truck, but then Ginny went into labor. Then her father broke his leg, and something between her and Tom had broken, too. She didn’t know if it had to do with Rachel or Connie or both. But she’d seen a glimpse of how he could be, and she wanted that back.
The garage door rolled open. Libby hopped from the truck. She reached up to help Nana, but Tom was right there, doing it for her.
They made their way through the garage and into the Hamilton kitchen. Tom paused to wipe his feet on the rug and brush rain from his jacket.
“Thank you for the escort, young man,” Nana said. “My son is very lucky to have you around. I guess we all are. Libby, make that boy a sandwich. I’m going to my room. Where I’m sure I won’t hear anything, no matter what you two decide to do.”
“Nana,” Libby gasped, but her grandmother just flicked her hand in Libby’s direction and walked out of the kitchen.
Libby turned to Tom, feeling suddenly awkward and uncertain. “Do you want some coffee or a sandwich or something? We never had dinner.”
Tom’s posture seemed stiff, and he stood on the rug as if it edged up to a cliff, like he wanted to turn around and bolt right back to his truck now that the cushion of Nana between them was gone.
Her heart paused as if it was about to be launched from a slingshot. She wanted him to sit down. She wanted him to stay and talk to her. She wanted him to kiss her, too.
He shook his head and gave her half a smile. “I had about fourteen gallons of coffee at the hospital.”
“A sandwich then? I’m sure we’ve got something here to eat. Maybe some pasta or leftovers?”
He brushed a droplet of rain from his face, and he sighed. “I probably should go. It’s been a very long day. For both of us.”
The slingshot went slack, and her heart tumbled down to the ground. “It’s been a long couple of days for both of us. I’m sorry you’ve gotten sucked into all this family drama. I never meant to be your quicksand.”
His head dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck before he looked her way.
“I didn’t mean for you to hear that. And I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”
He finally left the rug and walked over to stand close, so close she could see the flecks of bronze in his brown eyes. She saw the uncertainty in them, too. He stared, as if willing her to understand something that made no sense to him. Her heart jumped back into the slingshot as he cupped her face with both hands and kissed her, firm and fast.
Relief chased surprise along her nerves. His lips felt every bit as good as she’d remembered.
She slid her arms around him and leaned in. He wrapped her in a loose embrace and pressed another kiss along the curve of her neck. He was solid and safe and strong, a haven of warmth. They stood like that a moment, fending off doubt and worry, if only for the moment.
“I’m trying, Libby,” he whispered against her skin. “These last few days have been a lot to take in. And I just don’t know quite what to do with you.”
“It seemed like you knew what to do with me the other night.”
He shook his head without lifting it. “You know it’s not that simple.”
“It could be.”
But it couldn’t be, really. Not for Tom. There were aspects of his life she couldn’t begin to comprehend. She knew that intellectually, but she still wanted him. Selfishly and completely.
She also wanted him to feel the same way.
He moved his hands to her shoulders and took a step back, his emotions pulling away just as physically as he did. “I’m tapped out right now. Can we talk about this later, please? I can’t think straight when I’m this close to you, and I have to figure some things out before this gets any more complicated, okay?”
She saw it in his eyes then, a flickering sense of possibility.
She just needed to wait.
CHAPTER fourteen
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Brandt.” Tom settled into the leather chair of the counselor’s office and sipped his coffee. He’d made it double-strong this morning. It tasted like hot mud, but he needed that extra jolt of caffeine.
Dreaming about Libby had become a bad enough habit, but the last few nights all he’d had to do was lie down in bed and visions of her started dancing through his mind. Libby in the moonlight, laughing at the pub, pressed against him in her parents’ kitchen. He hadn’t slept in days.
“I don’t mind, Tom,” said Dr. Brandt, putting on her glasses. “It sounds like you’ve had a rough couple of days. How is your friend?”
“I don’t know much more now than I did when I called you from the waiting room at the hospital, but he should be okay, eventually. Broken ankle. Concussion.”
“Fortunately, bones heal. It’s often those other injuries that can be harder to treat.”
He took a gulp of coffee sludge. “Oh, are we talking about me, now?”
Dr. Brandt smiled. They’d developed a nice rapport over the last few weeks. He’d be sarcastic. She’d patiently lead him around with questions until he figured out what he was supposed to understand.
“We can talk about whatever you’d like to talk about, Tom.”
“Let’s talk about Libby.”
He blurted that out rather unceremoniously, but he paid this counselor by the hour. Today he was going to get his money’s worth.
Her brows lifted, and she took her glasses back off. “Libby would be the woman with the cupcakes on her shirt, yes?”
“Yep. That friend who fell down the stairs? That was her dad.”
“Oh, goodness.” Glasses back on. “So, tell me more.”
“I kissed her.” There. He’d said it. That made it true.
Her face remained impassive as ever, as if he’d said I’m wearing brown loafers today. She didn’t even blink. “Did you? And how did Libby respond to that?”
Yes, that was the Dr. Brandt he’d grown to appreciate. Always clinical.
Still, heat stole over his face as if he were a sixteen-year-old at confession, because just as a sixteen-year-old might have, he’d kissed Libby in the cab of his truck. They’d been no more cautious or wise than a couple of hormonal kids steaming up the windows in a parent’s car and throwing caution to the roadside. Just as he and Connie had. He hadn’t learned one damn thing in all these years.
Once he and Libby had gotten to Ginny’s house and he saw her in labor, the similarities had slapped him. Hard. They’d even been sitting in the same high school parking lot where he’d first kissed Connie. The sense of betrayal to his wife was like a cleaver to the chest. But it was the look on Libby’s face in that pink and blue waiting room at the hospital that haunted him now, even more than Connie’s memory. He’d hurt her feelings with his dismissal, but it had to be done. He’d been letting himself think this flirtation with her was harmless. Victimless. But it wasn’t.
“How did she respond?” he replied to Dr. Brandt. “Um, enthusiastically.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
It made him feel like his blood had turned to gasoline and he was holding a lit match. “I’m not sure I understand
the question.”
“If Libby is receptive to starting a relationship with you, I’m wondering how that makes you feel.”
“I’m not receptive to starting a relationship. I shouldn’t have made her think I was. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. That’s why I’m here.”
She rested her chin in her hand. He recognized the gesture. It meant pay attention to the point I’m about to make.
“First of all, there is no supposed to. And second, I suspect you do know how you feel, but you’re here looking for validation. And absolution.”
Is that what he was doing?
All he really knew for sure was that from the first moment he’d set eyes on Liberty Belle Hamilton peeking over the top of that Dumpster, it had been one thing after another pulling him into her life, and the harder he fought, the more impossible it became to get free. But maybe it wasn’t Libby he was struggling against at all. Maybe it was memories. Or maybe it was just him.
Kissing Libby had been a wake-up call, a blinding reminder of what life could feel like. The rush and the fever and the full speed ahead.
And it scared the shit out of him.
He would have explained that to Libby at the ice-cream parlor if Peter hadn’t taken a swan dive down the staircase.
“I’m not ready for a relationship. Rachel is my only priority.” Even to his own ears it sounded like he was reading from a cue card.
Dr. Brandt folded her hands in her lap. “Of course Rachel should be a high priority, but I advise against pursuing that at the expense of any other relationship. You have to live your own life, too, Tom. At what point do you feel it would be appropriate for you to start dating? Two years? Five? Ten?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s because there is no clear-cut answer. If you are as attracted to someone as you seem to be to Libby, maybe you are ready for a relationship.”
He thought of Libby in the kitchen last night, the smell of her skin at the curve of her neck when he’d pulled her close. The feel of her body and her mouth. He shifted in his chair.
“All right, then let me put that another way,” Tom said. “Let’s say, hypothetically, I do know how I feel, and maybe I am ready for a relationship. How am I supposed to explain that to Rachel? She and I have made some progress lately, and I don’t want to rock that boat.”
Dr. Brandt nodded at this. “I understand that concern. It’s difficult for most parents to balance their own personal needs with those of their children, and even more so with single parents. But this could be a real opportunity for you to demonstrate to Rachel that life does move on, that you’re looking toward the future. Have you two talked any more about her moving back in with you?”
“Not really. It just starts a fight, so I don’t bring it up. She had a talent show, and she didn’t even tell me about it.”
“So you missed it?”
“No, I went anyway, and actually Rachel seemed okay with it. Although I haven’t had a chance to talk to her since then.” He’d been a little busy running members of the Hamilton family around town.
“When is the last time you spoke with her grandparents?”
When was the last time? It was during the summer. He remembered that. Maybe he should have tried harder, but Anne and George had made it pretty clear they had nothing to say to him. “About three months, give or take.”
“So Rachel is the only link of communication between the three of you?”
Tom sensed a gentle scolding coming on. “Do you think that’s a problem?”
“I think it puts a burden on Rachel. Similar to a divorce situation, the child sometimes gets stuck being an intermediary when the adults aren’t communicating. This will often encourage them, subconsciously, to choose a side so they have at least one safe place to be.”
A roll of unease swelled inside Tom. He hadn’t been a safe place for Rachel in a very long time.
“See, that’s just the thing. I want to be that for her. But if my attention gets divided between her and Libby, Rachel’s going to feel like I’ve abandoned her again. It’s just too soon for me to get involved with someone, no matter how I feel.”
“You have a right to privacy, too, Tom. Don’t forget that.”
His coffee was cold now, but he drank some anyway. “Privacy?”
“Yes. You should always be honest with Rachel, but that doesn’t mean you have to tell her all the details of your adult life. If you chose to date someone, it’s really none of her business. Use your best judgment about when to tell her and what to share. I’m sure you and Connie had a romantic life that you kept separate from Rachel. This is no different.”
He hadn’t thought about it in that way. Of course he and Connie had kept parts of their life separate from Rachel. It hadn’t been deceitful. It was a case of protecting her from grown-up concepts she wasn’t ready for. If that were true, then nothing that happened with Libby had to impact Rachel at all. These two areas of his life simply didn’t intersect. At least, not for now.
He set his coffee cup on the table. “So, you’re not just going to tell me what to do?” He was being facetious, and she’d know that.
Dr. Brandt smiled. “I’m a counselor, Tom. I counsel. I don’t make decisions for you.”
“Okay, but if you were me, what would you do?”
She laughed at that. “You know it doesn’t work that way. But I will say this. You can’t be the father you want to be for Rachel as long as you are still wounded yourself. Guilt is a destructive force, and it’s not productive. Take what you know now and move forward. I know your main goal is to do what’s best for Rachel, and that’s commendable. But it starts with your own peace of mind. So in an ironic way, you owe it to Rachel to take care of yourself first.”
Tom took the long way home, the way that took him past the curve in the road where Connie had died. He’d driven by that awful spot at least a hundred times since the night of the accident. The scars on the tree had weathered, so much so they couldn’t really be seen unless one knew where to look. Lots of scars were like that, it seemed.
He pulled into his driveway a few minutes later and went inside. He turned on all the lights and looked around his little farmhouse like he’d never seen it before. It was full of tiny, impractical rooms he’d once had big plans for, but now he couldn’t really remember what any of those plans were. He stood in his kitchen and let his thoughts rove over the past, through old hopes and faded dreams. There were some good ones in the mix, memories of their old house and Connie and Rachel putting on makeup together, or the three of them having pancakes on a Saturday morning and watching cartoons. Those moments he’d cherish, always, but just as Dr. Brandt had told Rachel, he could keep them, but he couldn’t hide in them. Not anymore.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and another memory flooded his senses. A recent and delicious vision of Libby on his lap. The sound of her breath and her laughter. That was where he wanted to live now—but there were things he needed to do first.
He picked up his phone and dialed Connie’s sister.
“Hello?”
“Kristy, it’s Tom. I was hoping to ask for a favor.” He could hear the television and her kids playing in the background.
“Of course. What do you need?”
“I was wondering if you could come over tomorrow and help me sort through all of Connie’s stuff. Rachel doesn’t want to, and, well, I can’t really blame her. But I could sure use the help.”
The long pause on the other end left his palms sweaty.
“I will absolutely help you do that. You could’ve asked me sooner, you know.”
A pressure that had taken root and wound around all the muscles in his shoulders a lifetime ago began to unwind. This was the right thing. “I know. I wasn’t ready. I am now.”
“Can I ask you something?” Kristy said.
“Um, sure.”
“Does this have anything to do with the pretty blond from the talent show?” Her voice was light and teasing.
“If I said no, would you believe me? Because it really doesn’t. It’s just time. It’s past time.”
Kristy chuckled into the phone. “It is past time. I’ll be over first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you. This means a lot to me, Kristy.” He exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.
“I know. And Tom?”
“What?”
“Connie would be glad to see you finally clear all that stuff out of your house. Donate it to charity or something so someone can benefit from it.”
“You think?” He looked at a stack of cardboard boxes that had been lined up behind the sofa for more than a year.
“Of course. And for what it’s worth, I think she’d like the blond, too, even though this has nothing to do with her.”
Tom caught himself chuckling back. “You met her for two minutes, and you think you can make that assessment?”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “Rachel likes her. She told me so. That’s all I need to know. See you around nine.”
Tom hung up the phone. Rachel likes her. He hoped that was true.
CHAPTER fifteen
“Daddy, are you going to eat your pudding?” Marti asked as she leaned over her father’s hospital bed. She bumped against some random button, setting off a high-pitched beep.
Their father was not a model patient, and Libby and Marti had been tasked with entertaining him while their mother visited with Ginny and sweet baby Teddy.
“You may have my pudding if you go find me a pot roast and some real mashed potatoes,” her father answered. “I’ve had three days of nothing but cardboard meat and gritty mashed potatoes. No wonder the Pilgrims thought potatoes were poisonous. They must have been using this same recipe. Honestly, how do they expect me to recover?”
“You’re coming home tomorrow, and Nana is going to make you the biggest and best meal you’ve ever had,” Libby told him. “If Mom doesn’t stuff her into the oven first. Now stop being so grumpy, because I have some pictures to show you.”