by Julia London
“Don’t say that,” Libby whispered, her voice breaking.
“But it’s true, Libby. I let Tony down, I let myself down. I know what I need. I need an even keel. I can’t rush to everyone’s rescue anymore. I can’t save every soldier who wrestles with demons. The only thing I can do is save myself, one day at a time.”
“You didn’t have to save me,” Libby said. “You don’t ever have to save me. You could have let me take the fall for once instead of coming to my rescue.”
“What, and let you be arrested? Let that man talk you into going home and doing God knows what?” he asked skeptically.
“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “Actions have consequences, but you didn’t allow me to have them.”
Sam laughed with surprise. “Next time, I’ll be sure and let you have them.”
“You’re missing the point,” she said. “Sometimes, people need to fall on their faces so that they can get back up. They need to lie on the floor of Mountain View and try to peel their shoulders up. It’s not your fault that Tony tried to take his own life. It’s not your fault that I took Alice to get her costume or tried to talk to Ryan.”
“I know that, Libby,” he said patiently. “But this is a matter of trust between us. Of stability. Do you understand that?”
A tear slipped from her eye, and Sam couldn’t help himself; he stepped forward, cupped her face in his hands. “Look, I’m not asking you to change or to be something you’re not. But I can’t be with someone who is impetuous, because I can’t survive it. I know that about me.”
She grabbed his wrist and wrapped her fingers tightly around it. “Maybe I am impetuous from time to time, but I’m just me, living my life as best as I know how. Sometimes I make mistakes. Sometimes I fall. It’s called life, Sam.”
But it wasn’t his life.
“I love you, I do, I love you,” she said earnestly. “I was numb before I met you, Sam. I wasn’t really breathing until I met you. You helped me find my way, to feel as if I was living again, really living. I still love you, I miss you every moment, and I want to be with you.”
Sam kissed her forehead, then freed himself from her hold. “I can’t, Libby. I’ve worked too hard and struggled too long to risk it.”
He stepped back, turned to his Japanese pagoda. He waited for her tearful promises, or at least the sound of her retreat.
But Libby said, “So this is the old It’s not you, it’s me speech, huh?” she said, her voice low and shaking. “You know what, Sam? These last two weeks, I’ve been so worried about how disappointed you must be. But I suddenly get it—you’re just a coward.”
Sam’s pulse leapt. He slowly turned around. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” she said angrily. “You’re a coward. You’re so afraid of disappointment, of being hurt, of living that you hide up here with your birdhouses and pretend that you’re doing some noble thing!”
Her outburst stunned Sam. “Are you really going to stand there and lecture me?”
“Yes! At least I own my weaknesses. At least I try and face them. But you don’t even do that! Yes, you’re sober. Yes, you’ve fought a long, hard battle, and you have to keep fighting for the rest of your life. I get that, I admire that. But you know what, Sam? You hide behind it!” She lurched forward, her gaze piercing his. “Because you are a coward,” she said, poking him hard in the chest with each word.
He caught her finger in his fist. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”
“Yes I do,” she said, jerking her hand free. “We’ve both made mistakes. We’ve both paid huge prices for them. But I’m not afraid to try again, Sam. What I’m afraid of is not trying, of ending up in some tiny little shed making birdhouses for the rest of my life instead of finding love and happiness and discovering what it is I’ve been stumbling around and looking for. But you? You will hide in here and occasionally go out to check on people who are far more damaged than you, so that you can keep patting yourself on the back, telling yourself you’re doing the right thing by hiding! Well guess what, you’re in luck!” she cried, casting her arms wide. “You don’t have to check on me ever again, because I don’t have any use for cowards.” She fled then, running across his deck.
Sam stood where she’d left him, trying to find his breath. He felt as if she’d just rammed a fist into his gut, had knocked his feet out from beneath him. He slowly turned back to his pagoda. He took a deep breath. And then another. And then he picked up the hammer and smashed his pagoda to pieces.
THIRTY-ONE
Libby drove in a blind rage back to Homecoming Ranch, going much too fast on the gravel road up to the house, so that her car bounced and landed sideways a couple of times.
As she barreled into the drive, Tony limped out onto the lawn, his eyes wide, and watched her car slide to a stop before the house. “Hey, hey!” he shouted, waving his hand at her. “What are you doing? I’ve worked hard on that car, and you’re going to ruin it driving like that!”
“Sorry,” Libby said, and waved at Jason, who had wandered out of the garage to see what the commotion was about. Inside the garage, Libby could see Ernest’s old work truck, up on blocks.
“What’s going on?” Jason asked.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on!” Libby shouted. “It’s a new day at Homecoming Ranch. Stay tuned, guys!”
She ignored their looks of surprise and jogged up the steps, bursting into the house. She stood in the entry a moment, her fists curled, her breath coming in furious, angry gulps. She hated Sam, hated him for being so damn afraid of life.
“What is going on?” Madeline called out, appearing at the top of the stairs. “Has something happened?”
“I need to talk to you and Emma,” Libby said, and stalked into the living room, starting a bit when she saw that Emma was already there, lounging on the couch in a long sweater and a pair of thick tights. She looked amused as Libby passed through to the dining room, gathered her papers, and returned to the living room.
Madeline came in behind her. “What the hell has happened?”
“You sound like you think she’s had another nervous breakdown,” Emma said casually.
Madeline sighed and rolled her eyes. “Emma, you don’t know what all has gone on here—”
“Yeah, but I don’t think she’s had another breakdown—”
“Hey. Please,” Libby said, holding up her hands. “I need to talk to you both. I’ve been doing some thinking. And some study and research and talking to people. I think I have a great idea for what to do with Homecoming Ranch.”
Both of her sisters groaned and fell back against the couch, as if they’d had this conversation dozens of times before. Which, perhaps they had. But Libby wasn’t going to stop now. Sam’s rejection was a huge blow. She’d always believed herself to be stable and trustworthy—at least she used to be. But he was right, in the last months, her irrational anger had clouded everything. Everything! She was guilty of the same thing she’d accused Sam of: hiding. Only Libby had hid behind her anger. She had refused to face reality or deal with it until it bubbled out in angry outbursts.
“Do we really have to have this conversation?” Emma sighed, her eyes closed now.
“What’s wrong, Emma?” Madeline said. “One time too many for you? Try a dozen times. Try living out here trying to make sense of this place,” Madeline said.
“Jesus, Madeline, are you going to hold a grudge forever?” Emma asked.
Things were going to change in Libby’s life. This morning’s conversation with Sam had been a turning point. He was always talking about turning the page, and she was doing it. Libby could feel it in her, could feel the sludge turning over to new, clean waters. “Seriously, can you guys snipe at each other later? Listen—did either of you ever see The Bachelor episode where the guy chose one girl, but then spent some time with her, and later, chose the runner-up?”
“What?” said Madeline and Emma in unison.
“Never mind,” Libby said
with a wave her hand. “What I am trying to say is that we can’t turn Homecoming Ranch into a destination-event place, agreed? We tried, but we all know they’re laughing at us in Pine River for Austin and Gary’s wedding—”
“What?” Madeline said, sitting up. “Who’s laughing?”
“It doesn’t matter, Madeline. I’ve been doing some investigating, and I’ve put together a business plan for something that is worthy of our time and attention.”
“Do tell,” Emma drawled.
“Tony is doing pretty good out here, right? And now he’s got his friends, Jason and Doug. We have the bunkhouse, and we have three cabins.”
“So?” Emma said.
“So . . . what would you think of making Homecoming Ranch a rehabilitation center for war vets?”
Neither Emma nor Madeline spoke. They stared at her as if they thought she was truly crazy.
“Think about it,” Libby rushed ahead. “There is always work to be done, and these guys really respond to having something to do. I talked to my therapist—”
“You have a therapist?” Emma interjected.
“Yes, I have a therapist,” Libby said impatiently. “I talked to her about the sort of things we could do, from cognitive therapies, to desensitization training, to even equine or dog therapy. She also said there are a lot people around here who would volunteer their time to help.”
Madeline, always practical, shook her head. “But how do we pay for something like that?”
“We solicit funds. We apply to the federal agency for grants that exist for his very thing. But to start? I have a business plan written up. And I am not taking no for an answer from Michelle again.”
Emma slowly sat up. “Who’s Michelle? Whoever she is, I don’t care. This idea sounds much better to me than a bunch of weddings. I like it. I like it a lot.”
Libby looked at Madeline. “What do you think?”
Madeline looked at Emma, then at Libby. “I don’t know,” she said. “For me, it would depend on the funding. If we can’t get funding, there is no point in talking about it, because we are surviving on fumes as it is.”
“We just raised fifteen thousand dollars for Leo Kendrick’s van in one silent auction,” Libby said. “And that was without any real campaign. It was people asking people to donate something we could bid on. Imagine what we’d be able to raise if we had a plan. And you know what? I am going to prove it with the 5k race we are doing at the end of this month.”
“I’m in,” Emma said.
Madeline looked at her with surprise. “Geez, Emma—do you mind at least telling us why, after months of silence, you’re suddenly on board? And here? And do you plan on sticking around this time, or disappearing again?”
“Who knows?” Emma said. She stood and stretched her arms high overhead. “For the moment, I’m in.” She walked out of the living room into the kitchen.
Madeline stared at Emma’s departing back.
“Madeline, let’s try it,” Libby said. “We have nothing to lose by trying.”
Madeline sighed. She rubbed her temples a moment. “Okay,” she said, and looked up. “But prove that we can do it, Libby. Prove to me that we can raise funds to support this . . . camp, or whatever we’re going to call it. And I want to see that business plan. I want to know what we’re in for.”
The sound Libby imagined was her page being turned. “We’re going to call it Homecoming Ranch, because that’s what it is—a homecoming.” She handed Madeline her papers. “It’s all there.”
The first thing Libby did was call and arrange a meeting with Michelle. She was prepared for resistance, for disdain, for a flat-out no. Nevertheless, she dressed in her best outfit, stuffed her presentation into a briefcase she’d borrowed from Madeline, and marched into the bank as if she took out loans all the time.
Much to her surprise, Michelle loved the idea. “It’s a great use of the ranch,” she said as she pored over Libby’s presentation again. “Personally, I think this is something our community would get behind. But in order to lend you money, I am going to need to see some sort of plan for how much you anticipate in fundraising and federal grants in one-year, two-year, and three-year outlooks. Come back with more details, and we’ll see what we can work out.”
Libby walked out of the bank feeling as if she were walking on air. She stopped on the sidewalk and pulled out her phone to call Madeline and give her the good news when she saw Gwen Spangler walk out of a dress shop. Gwen saw Libby at the same moment, and she instantly turned the other way.
“Gwen!” Libby shouted.
Gwen walked faster.
Libby ran to catch up. “Gwen, please,” she said. “Just give me a moment. One moment.”
Gwen’s shoulders sagged with a heavy sigh, but she turned around. “What, Libby?”
Libby hadn’t really thought through exactly what she’d say when she saw Gwen again, so she said the simplest thing that came to mind. “I’m sorry. I am so very sorry for scaring you. I should never have taken Alice to get her costume. But, Gwen, you know me. I would never in a million years harm one hair on either of their heads.”
“Okay, you’re sorry,” Gwen said, and turned to go.
“Can I just . . . Gwen, wait. Please.”
Gwen sighed and turned partially toward her. “What?”
“Here’s the thing, Gwen,” Libby said, taking a cautious step forward. “You have two exceptional children. Beautiful, exceptional children. And I . . . I love them so much,” she said, alarmed that her eyes would water so quickly. “There is a huge gaping hole in my heart where they were, but I want you to know that you don’t have to worry about me anymore.” A tear slid down Libby’s cheek, and it appalled her. She swiped at it. “Ignore the tears, will you? Anyway, I know I should have let go the minute you were back in the picture, and I didn’t. I have no excuse but that I was bruised and I loved the kids so much, and they were suddenly ripped from my life, and I . . . I couldn’t deal with that. It didn’t help that Ryan wasn’t exactly straight about what was going on, or that I never saw it coming, or that I was apparently the only one in Pine River who didn’t see what was happening between you and him . . .”
God, she was mangling this. She sighed.
“Look, I made some horrible decisions. I’m not offering an excuse. I only wanted to tell you that I am sorry. And that I love your children.”
Gwen folded her arms. Her eyes narrowed. Libby expected her to say she was going to call the cops. But she said, “Are you being real with me now?”
“Yes,” Libby said, nodding. “Completely.”
“Well then this is the first sane thing you’ve said since I came back to town,” Gwen said.
“It is?”
“My kids have missed you, too, Libby. Honestly? I think part of me didn’t want them around you because of that. Do you know how many times I hear Libby this or Libby that? Do you know how guilty I have felt that I had to leave them to go and get my license? I thought Ryan would take care of them. I thought he would live up to the promises he made, but I should have known he wouldn’t or couldn’t do it by himself.”
Libby’s heart began to swell with relief. She couldn’t suppress a small smile.
“And you’re right, Ryan isn’t the most truthful guy in town. I wondered what bullshit he fed you.”
“He knew how to play me, no doubt of that,” Libby agreed.
Gwen smiled a little. She glanced down at the ground a moment. “I thought you had some real hutzpah showing up on my committee.”
“I’ve known Leo since we were little, Gwen. I really—”
“No, Libby, I mean that I kind of admired you for it. Made me mad as hell, but I admired you for having the courage.”
“I wish you hadn’t been afraid of me,” Libby said. “I would never hurt Alice or Max.”
“Oh, I know,” Gwen said with a flick of her wrist. “I was just so pissed off.” She looked curiously at Libby. “Thanks for being honest,” she said.
&nbs
p; Libby nodded. “I just wish I’d said this weeks ago.”
Gwen looked down the street and said, “I hope you and Sam work it out. He’s a great guy.”
That surprised Libby. “How . . . ?”
“God, Libby, everyone knows,” Gwen said. “This is Pine River. You tie your shoelace wrong or pick up a golf club and everyone knows.” She smiled a little at her joke and glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to run. The Methodist’s Women’s Group is meeting this afternoon. We’re still looking for ways to raise money. Are you still doing the race?”
“It’s going to be a Thanksgiving Day turkey trot,” Libby said proudly. “We’ll be putting posters around town later this week.”
“Well . . . good luck. See you around town.” Gwen turned and walked away.
Libby smiled heavenward. “Finally,” she whispered. Finally, a few things were going her way.
THIRTY-TWO
I’m never one to complain, no matter what Marisol says, but this has not been my month. First, the Methodists worked hard and raised about eighteen thousand dollars, all told. I know that sounds like a lot of money to you, but it’s not van money. I hate to say it, but my last shot at getting my van before the big game is Libby Tyler’s race on Thanksgiving Day.
At first, I didn’t have much hope of that working out, either, not after what happened the night of the silent auction, and I don’t mind saying that all those police officers really detracted from my spotlight. Don’t judge me—it’s not like I get the spotlight very often.
It’s not that I think Libby can’t pull it off, because I don’t think that. I know Libby, and once she gets her head on straight, she’s a tenacious little bundle of energy. But people have been kind of skittish around her, and I thought they might not come out to run if they thought she’d be chasing after them with a baseball bat or lurking in the shadows to steal their kids. You know what I mean.
I was all depressed about it, but then, who should show up but Emma Tyler! She’s really pretty, just ask any guy in town, and she’s been hanging around here a lot. A lot. I told Marisol she is totally into me, and Marisol was all, “You are a pig, Leo. You think every woman in a skirt wants you.”