by Shirley Jump
Knew her well enough. Wasn’t that what Katie had said? That she had tried to think like Libby, and couldn’t, because she didn’t know her well enough? Sam pulled the car to the side of the road and let out a deep breath. He could feel time ticking away, time where something terrible could happen, but he closed his eyes and centered himself, and tried to think.
What would Libby do? Where would she go? Where did she feel most safe and happy...
An idea sparked in Sam’s brain. He took a left on Maple, then a right on Birch, and finally, came to a stop at the end of the road.
An old park, hardly used since Stone Gap had built a prettier, newer one closer to downtown, sat at the end of Birch Street. Once upon a time, there’d been an elementary school behind the park, but as Stone Gap’s population grew, the one-story school hadn’t been enough and the town had built a new one on land donated by a farmer who had died. The park fell into disuse, leaving only a couple swings standing and one play structure, built thirty years ago by men who believed in building things to last.
The castle-shaped building was probably going to be here long after Sam was gone. He’d played on it when he was a kid, and Wendy had taken Libby here when she was little. Once Henry was born, Wendy hadn’t wanted to make the drive, preferring the newer playground with its baby swings and oversize tic-tac-toe board. Sam couldn’t remember the last time Libby had been to this park, although she mentioned it with longing from time to time. Some of her best memories with her mom were here, and for a little girl who felt lost and alone, Sam was pretty sure this was where she’d go.
Sam got out of the car, and whispered a quick prayer before he crossed the grassy park and headed for the castle. Why hadn’t he paid closer attention? Been there for his daughter all these months? He’d been so locked in his own grief that he’d missed the signs that Libby was still hurting.
His heart filled his chest, and he prayed he wasn’t too late, that he’d come to the right place. Then he saw a familiar pink bicycle leaning against a tree, and hope leaped within him. He ducked his head to get inside, then climbed a small ladder up to the top of the turret.
And there, in the center of the circular space, he found his daughter, her knees hugged to her chest, her shoes scuffed with dirt, tears puddling on her arms. Relief flooded Sam, and his knees buckled for a second. Libby. Thank God.
He climbed the rest of the way up, then folded himself into the small space beside Libby. She flicked a quick glance at him, then went back to staring at the picture in her hands. It was worn and creased, but Sam knew it well.
Wendy holding five-year-old Libby, their faces smushed together in the little round window of the turret. It was one of the last times they’d come to this park, before Henry was born and Wendy’s time with Libby became limited. Libby had carried that picture with her ever since the funeral. Sam’s heart broke a little as he saw the wrinkled edges, the faded images. “Hey, Libby Bear, you had us all worried.”
She sniffled. “Sorry.”
“You want to talk about it?”
She shook her head.
Sam sat there for a while, feeling helpless. This was where Wendy would have stepped in, with a soothing word or a fresh-baked cookie. His late wife had a way of getting the kids to open up, of easing their fears and worries. He lacked that ability, and worried every day that he was going to lose touch with his kids before those difficult teen years.
He could feel Libby’s pain radiating off her tiny frame. He didn’t know what to do with pain like that, the kind of pain that went bone-deep. Didn’t know how to ease the sorrow in her heart. He’d been trying to find that answer ever since Wendy died.
But there was no Wendy here now, and there wasn’t going to be. Either Sam figured this out or he was going to lose what relationship he had with his daughter.
“When I was a kid, I had a tree house,” Sam said, starting with just talking. He didn’t know where he was going with the story or if it would help, but it was filling the silence. He thought of his childhood, of the days when he had wanted to escape. Maybe that was part of what had driven Libby to this space, a need to escape the empty spot in the house, in her life. “Did I ever tell you that?”
Libby nodded. Sniffled some more.
“I used to play up there all the time because my little brother, your uncle Dylan, couldn’t get up there. Then he got older and could climb the ladder. I didn’t want to share so I told him I was too old for the tree house and stopped going up there.” Sam thought of that old rickety house his father had built a long time ago. It hadn’t been much, just a box with a couple holes for windows and a rope with a bucket for bringing snacks up to the fort. “But then my parents got divorced and my dad moved out. It was really hard on me, because I was the oldest. Dylan was only four, but I was nine, just a little older than you.”
Libby sniffled some more, but she had shifted her head in his direction to listen. Sam took that as a good sign and kept talking.
“I had a really hard time when my dad moved out, and that tree house, well, that became the place where I would go. I’d sneak up there when Dylan wasn’t around and pretend nothing was changing. I’d convince myself that when I climbed down, my dad would still be there and everything would be better than it was before.” That his dad would be home, involved. During those hours in the tree house, Sam used to think his life was perfect. Then he’d go in for dinner and see the empty place at the table, or see the empty hook on the wall that used to hold his dad’s keys.
The commonality wasn’t lost on Sam. The very thing he had hated about his childhood—his father’s absence—was part of what was hurting his own kids. Their mother was gone, forever, and their father was buried in work. Again.
Was that why Libby was here? Was she trying to pretend her life was the way it had been before? Exactly what he had done when he was her age...
“Like when Mommy used to bring me here,” Libby said, her voice nearly a whisper. “That was the best. I miss that. I miss...her.”
“Me, too, kiddo.” He could still see Wendy pushing Libby on the swings, or darting from tree to tree, laughing, playing tag. Libby’s hair a riot of curls, spreading behind her like wings as she ran. He fingered the picture in Libby’s hands. “Your mom used to love bringing you here. You know why?”
Libby shook her head.
“Because she said she loved to pretend you were both princesses. She always called you that when you were little, remember? Her princess.”
Libby’s eyes misted. “I remember.”
He brushed a tendril of hair off Libby’s forehead. “I know she misses you as much as you miss her, Libby, and if Mommy could be here, she would be.”
Libby shifted closer to Sam, until her thigh brushed his. “Katie said Mommy is up in the clouds. I thought maybe if I came here, I could see her better, ’cuz I’d be up high. I wanted to talk to her and...” Libby’s voice caught on a sob, and tears started rolling down her cheeks. “But I can’t see her and I can’t talk to her. Forever.”
“You can talk to me,” Sam said, his voice gentle. “I’d love it if you would, Libby. Because sometimes I need someone to talk to about Mommy, too.”
She turned to him then. Her eyes were wide and round, and her lower lip trembled. “You do?”
All this time, he’d thought he was making it easier on his kids by not talking about their late mother, by keeping his emotions in check, and concentrating on moving forward. But what if all they had really needed was to know they weren’t alone? That he missed Wendy, too, and that there were days when he struggled to draw that next breath, take that next step. That he saw the echo of their mother in the places they’d been, the pictures they’d taken, the memories that filled every corner of their lives. “I miss her a lot, too. I miss the way she made pancakes that looked like Mickey Mouse and how she used to pile all those pillows on the cou
ch—”
“And Henry and I would pretend to hide under them, and make a fort with the blankets.”
He remembered coming home dozens of times to blanket forts. Why had he never thought to do that with the kids, too? How did he let the busyness of life replace all those things that mattered? The pancakes and the blankets and the memories? That was what his kids had needed, what Katie had been trying to tell him, all along. “And how she would make dinner into a picnic on the living room floor. Your mommy was really great, wasn’t she?”
Libby nodded, and then her chin wobbled and the tears started again. She traced the outline of Wendy’s face with her finger. A tear slid off her cheek and puddled on the image. “I wish Mommy was coming back.”
He heard the acceptance and the loss tied up in Libby’s words. It damn near broke his heart. “I know, sweetie, I know.”
“Today, at school, my teacher said...to d-draw your f-family...” Libby’s words came in fits and starts, mixed with tears. “And I didn’t know if I should d-draw my mommy or not ’cuz...’cuz I...I don’t have one anymore.”
Sam would have given anything to have Wendy climb into this castle right now and ease the loss in his daughter’s heart, erase the hurt in her voice. He could feel Libby’s pain as if it were his own. It wasn’t fair that his precious daughter was going to grow up without her mother, that she was going to miss the proms and wedding day and graduations. He couldn’t change that, couldn’t turn back time, but he could open his heart, and hope that was enough.
“You should draw your mom in that picture,” he said, “because she’s always going to be part of our family, because she’s part of you and Henry. You guys are the best part of her. The part that will forever remind everyone how amazing she was.”
Libby cocked her head. “How do we do that?”
“By being exactly who you are. She was always so proud of you, Libby. And I am, too.” He opened his arms. “Come here, Libby Bear.”
A breeze rustled through the trees, sent leaves dancing against the walls of the fort. A soft rain began to fall, pattering on the ground below, and misting through the turret window.
Libby hesitated for a second, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling. Then she climbed into Sam’s lap and slid her arms around him. Her grip tightened, bit by bit, until she leaned her head into the valley beneath his chin. Her tears fell, dampening his shirt, blurring into the cotton stripes.
“I love you, Libby,” Sam whispered. He stroked her hair and held her tight, and whispered the words over and over. “I love you.”
They sat there for a long time, while the world went on outside the castle. Birds called, rain fell and the sun marched toward the horizon.
“Can you promise me something?” Libby whispered against his chest.
If she wanted him to capture the sun right now, he’d find a way to give it to her. “Anything, baby girl.”
Libby raised her gaze to his. Her eyes were puddles of shimmering tears and her breath caught on a hitch. “You’re never...never gonna leave me, Daddy.”
Daddy.
Sam’s heart swelled. Libby may have her mother’s smile, but right now, she had her father’s eyes—wide, scared, yet still holding a sparkle of hope. That was what Sam held on to, what he would always hold on to.
Daddy.
How he had missed that word. He folded Libby into his embrace again, and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the soft strawberry scent of her shampoo and, he swore, traces of that innocent scent of a baby. “I’m not going anywhere, Libby. I promise.” He kissed her again, and felt his own tears drop onto her curls. “I promise.”
Chapter Fourteen
She damned near paced a hole in the carpet, waiting on Sam to call or text. Every car that went by made Katie jump, every buzz from an email or Facebook notification on her phone made her heart skip a beat. And then finally, just when she was about to call the police herself...
Found Libby. On our way home. Order pizza.
Katie let out a whoop, then scooped Henry up from where he was sitting on the couch. She’d imagined all the worst scenarios, and every minute had dragged by like a century. But Libby was safe, and everything was going to be okay. “Libby’s on her way home, Henry. Your dad says we should order pizza. Do you like pizza?”
Henry nodded. “Pizza!”
“Pizza it is!” Katie found the pizza place menu tacked to the fridge, ordered a couple pepperoni pizzas, then sat down with Henry to make a house out of his toy bricks, to keep him occupied and keep herself from looking out the window every five seconds.
The guilt that she had been the whole reason Sam was out looking for Libby hadn’t abated. Katie had been beating herself up for the past hour. She had no business being a nanny, or staying here and pretending she could ever be what Sam wanted.
She heard the front door open, then Sam’s voice. Thank God.
“Go on up and wash your face, Libby,” Sam said from the hall. “Pizza should be here any minute.”
There was the sound of light footsteps heading up the stairs, then Sam’s heavier footfalls coming down the hall and into the living room. Katie scrambled to her feet. “She’s okay?”
Sam nodded. “She’s fine. She was upset because her teacher had everyone in the class draw a picture of their family. That made her miss her mom a lot, so she went to this playground Wendy used to bring Libby to when she was little. She was sitting at the top of the castle they have there, and holding a picture of her mom, because she thought maybe she’d get closer to heaven that way.” He let out a long sigh and dropped into a chair. Exhaustion lined his face. “God, I was so worried.”
“I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to lose track of her. She was gone so fast—”
Sam put up a hand, cutting off her words. “I’m the one who should apologize for being so harsh with you earlier. I was worried, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
“I completely understand.”
He gave her a soft smile. “If you don’t have to go anywhere right away, would you stay for pizza? I think we’ve all had a busy day and I know the kids would love to have you here a little longer.”
Katie hesitated. She was the whole reason they were here right now. If she hadn’t argued with Libby, then maybe the little girl wouldn’t have run away. Maybe it was better that she just left for Atlanta tomorrow. “Even Libby?”
“You’re half the reason she went where she did.” He shook his head and put up a hand. “Sorry. That came out wrong. What I meant is, she said you told her that her mom was watching from up above. So when she got upset, she went to the highest place she knew to try to talk to her mom.”
Katie sank onto the arm of the sofa. Sam might not realize that she was at fault for tonight, but Katie knew it. She wasn’t good for this family, or this man. “I’m glad Libby went somewhere safe. I was so worried.”
“Me, too.” Sam’s phone began buzzing. He gave it a glance, then turned it off. “Tonight, all of that can wait.” He crossed the living room and sank onto the carpet. “Instead, I’m going to sit on the floor and build with Henry. What are we making, buddy?”
“A house.” Henry gave a little nod of decision.
“A house, huh? Who’s going to live in it?”
“Me and George.” Henry stacked a couple blocks, then waited while his father added some more. “And Libby and Daddy and Katie.”
Whoa. Had Katie just heard Henry right? She glanced over at Sam, who was looking up at her with a bemused expression on his face.
“Seems you can’t go back to a certain city in Georgia,” Sam said, “because Henry here is building you a mighty nice place to live in, right here in Stone Gap.”
“I, uh, think I hear the pizza guy outside.” She didn’t, but she left the room anyway, to wait by the front door. Easier to do that t
han to answer the questions hanging in the air.
She wasn’t staying here. She wasn’t going to live in a house with Sam and Libby and Henry. If she’d learned anything today, it was that she definitely wasn’t cut out to be a mother or a stepmother or, heck, even a nanny. She’d had one job—one solitary job—and she’d failed at it. Sam might forgive her now in the rush of relief that Libby was okay, but down the road, he’d realize that Katie was better off being in charge of tax returns instead of children.
There was a sound on the stairs behind her, and Katie pivoted, to see Libby standing on the third step from the bottom. “Hi, Katie.”
“Libby. Honey, I’m so glad you’re home and okay.”
Libby’s eyes were red from crying, but she was wearing a clean T-shirt and a smile, and that was good to see. She dropped onto the bottom step. “I’m sorry for running away.”
Katie sat down beside Libby, and gave her a little shoulder-to-shoulder nudge. The whole day had felt like looking into a mirror. Katie had seen herself—that scared, lonely little girl who had gathered up her toys and headed for the street—in Libby’s eyes. She understood this girl, maybe more than Libby even realized. “It’s okay. I did it, too, when I was your age.”
“You did?”
“Yup. I was eight years old, just like you. My mom wasn’t a nice mommy like yours was, and sometimes she yelled at me and scared me,” Katie said, trying to find the right words to describe a childhood that was the complete opposite of Libby’s. “So I packed up my favorite stuffed animals and I ran away.”
“What happened? Did your daddy find you?”
“My brother did. You met him—Colton, the firefighter. Even back then he was rescuing people.” Katie smiled. She didn’t want to think about what her childhood would have been like if she hadn’t had Colton. “He carried me home and made me supper, and told me everything would get better. He was right. It did.”