by Laura Abbot
As if watching herself from a distance, she moved toward the door. Okay, she assured herself, you can do this.
But it wasn’t the magazine reporter. It was Trent.
She was thrown off guard. “Trent?”
He grinned lazily. “You don’t sound very glad to see me. Let’s try this again.” He closed the door and rang the bell again. She loved his playfulness, but his timing was awful.
She opened the door. “Trent…darling?”
“That’s better,” he said, crossing the threshold and giving her a hug. “I left work early and I’m headed for the hospital, but I wanted to see my best girl.”
“You just surprised me, that’s all.”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“As a matter of fact—” The bell pealed yet again.
Trent threw her a quizzical look, but remained where he was as she went to answer the door. Standing on the porch was an intense, dark-haired young man with longish hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “Mr. Kantor?”
“You must be Libby Cameron.”
“Yes.” She stood aside. “Please come in.”
Libby introduced Trent, then added for his benefit, “Mr. Kantor is a reporter, here to get information for an article on Senator Belton.”
Trent’s mouth thinned. “I see.”
“Please sit down.” Libby gestured to the living room. “Both of you.” She took her place in the sanctuary of her rocker. Mona crawled out from under the sofa and sniffed suspiciously at Jeremy Kantor’s tasseled loafers. Reaching down, Libby scooped the cat into her lap, relieved to have something to occupy her hands.
“I appreciate your agreeing to see me. I have a few questions that shouldn’t take too much of your time.” The reporter pulled out a small tape recorder and set it on the table. “Do you mind if I record our interview?”
“Now, just a minute,” Trent said.
Libby overrode him. “It’s all right.” And it was, because in that moment she knew what had to happen, knew with certainty that this moment had been a long time in coming. But now it was here, and she would say what had to be said. She turned to Trent and smiled. “It’ll be fine.”
“Well, let’s get started then.” Kantor flicked on the recorder. “Can you tell me about your mother’s marriage to Senator Belton and something about your childhood in Muskogee?”
Libby obliged him without going into too many of the details of her miserable loneliness after her mother died.
“How would you characterize your relationship back then with your stepfather?”
This time Libby couched her words carefully. “I had no physical needs that went unaddressed. He was generous in that regard. However, Vernon Belton was, and is, first and foremost a political animal, not a family man. I don’t imagine being left with the responsibility of fathering a stepdaughter was part of his plan.”
“So you weren’t close?”
She sidestepped the question. “He was very busy.”
“Did you ever feel neglected?”
“Not purposefully.”
The reporter’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. “But emotionally? You must’ve had lonely times. Am I correct it was only you, the senator and a housekeeper in the home?”
She answered his last question first. “Yes. But as for being lonely? I don’t assign any blame for that.” And, she realized, she didn’t. “That was simply the way it was.” Why hadn’t she seen any of this before? That maybe Vernon Belton had simply done the best he could, given who he was.
“But is it fair to say you were never close?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Trent edging forward. “That would be fair.”
Kantor pulled a notepad from his jacket pocket and thumbed through it, studied a page, then looked up. “According to one of my informants, once you left Muskogee after high school, you seldom returned. Is that accurate?”
“Yes.”
“And you have never visited the senator in Washington?”
“Correct.”
Trent glanced nervously at Libby, then turned to the reporter. “What are you driving at?”
Ignoring Trent, Kantor looked directly at Libby. “Miss Cameron, I notice you don’t use the senator’s name.”
She stared right back at him. “I chose not to.”
“But he’d adopted you, so you must’ve made that decision after you left home?”
“Yes.”
“Why not? Did something happen to cause an estrangement?”
What did she owe the Honorable Vernon G. Belton? Libby wondered. What did she owe herself?
“Yes.”
Trent leaped up and took a step toward her, as if to protect her.
“No, Trent.” She waved him back to his seat. “I know what I’m doing.”
Kantor’s eyes had taken on an almost feral gleam. “Once you moved west, it was as if you turned your back on your past.”
“I did. You want the story? Here it is.” To her amazement, once the words flowed, she grew increasingly calm. “Not all people are cut out to be parents. Vernon Belton was such a man. I have the utmost respect for his record of dedicated public service. The fact he couldn’t be the father I needed or wanted, while regrettable, wasn’t something either of us could do anything about.
“When I was a teenager, some of the things I lacked emotionally weren’t his to provide, like acceptance by my peer group, boyfriends, that sort of thing.” She paused to consider her next words, the crux of the matter. “I assume you’d like to know more about our estrangement. In fact, that’s probably why you’re here.”
She sent a silent plea to Trent. Don’t stop me now. She appreciated his need to protect her; in fact, it made her feel loved. But this was something she had to do.
“When I graduated from high school, my stepfather wanted to continue directing my life.” She smiled ironically. “After all, he was used to doing that for his constituents, and he was good at it.”
“And you rebelled?”
Libby could have kissed the reporter for putting the words into her mouth—and for believing them.
“Could you blame me?” She laughed softly. “I needed to get away. Far away.” That wasn’t even a white lie. It was the truth. “We agreed that was best. He would provide funds for my education, I would follow my dreams. He would be free of responsibility for me. I could be myself, without the pressure of being a politician’s daughter.”
“But surely you harbor resentment about a childhood that sounds far from ideal?”
“Ideal? Mr. Kantor, surely you’re not so naive as to believe there’s such a thing as an ideal family?” She could hardly refrain from applauding her own epiphany. “My childhood was what it was, and it has shaped who I am. We don’t get to choose our families—” amazingly she found herself echoing Georgia’s wisdom “—but we have the opportunity to make our own. Unfortunately, the senator and I failed in that endeavor. I hope he can forgive me, because I have only very recently come to realize, I can forgive him.”
“So are you saying you hope to heal the rift between you?”
Libby picked up Mona and snuggled her against her cheek. “I plan to try. But that’s between him and me and not for public consumption.”
Kantor reached out to turn off the recorder, but Libby stopped him. “I have one more thing to say.”
“Shoot.”
“The senator has been a conscientious public servant, responsible for some important legislation. Politics requires a person’s lifeblood. Perhaps he was simply giving where he could. I hope from what I’ve said that you’ll be left with a favorable opinion of both of us. Beyond that, I have no comment.”
Kantor rose, followed by Trent. “Thank you, Miss Cameron. You’ve been most forthcoming.”
“I’ll see you to the door.”
When she returned to the living room, Trent was standing by the fireplace, looking so at home it made her heart soar. “Did you really mean all of that?” he asked, his tone incredulous.
She walked closer. “I meant every word. Life is too short to carry around bitterness and resentment, particularly about things you can’t change.”
“Come here, woman.” He held out his arms, and when she walked into his embrace, she felt freer than she could ever remember.
She snuggled against his chest, wanting nothing more than to purr with contentment. “Have you spoken with Georgia?”
He chuckled. “That’s one reason I’m here. That woman told me if I didn’t give you a ring pronto, she’d change her mind about me.”
Libby felt him reach in his pocket and he withdrew a small box, the velvet finish worn and faded.
“This ring is not like the first one I gave you, and it will need a new setting.” He studied the box, then looked up. “Libby, I promise. This time we’ll be a family.”
She couldn’t stop smiling.
“Open it,” he said, thrusting the box at her.
Inside, nestled in the cream-colored satin, was an exquisite emerald-cut diamond ring in an old-fashioned silver setting. She looked up, puzzled. “Where? How?”
“Georgia gave it to me. It belonged to her mother. She had a neighbor send it overnight. She wants you to have it. So do I.”
“Trent?” The question hung on her lips, but the proof of her answer lay in her hands. Tears of joy coursed down her cheeks, and she put her arms around him, pulling him close. “I’m so happy. We are a family at last, aren’t we?”
WEEZER HAD ARRIVED EARLY and taken a seat near the front of the church. She looked around, soothed by the muted sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. Above her soared an overarching wooden ceiling, and around her, rows of empty pews amplified the silence. The sanctuary smelled faintly of furniture polish, flowers and candle wax.
Soon the family would gather. Another rite of passage, this one long overdue. She closed her eyes in a prayer of thanksgiving that the winter of their souls would soon be past, replaced by healing. When Trent had told her about the miscarriage and his immature reaction all those years ago, his pain had caused her heart to constrict. Bless him. And bless Libby, who had carried that sorrow—and another—for so long.
She heard a rustle in the back and, turning around, spotted Lila, who had paused to accustom her eyes to the dim light. Weezer signaled to her. Lila had taken a vacation from the casino to come to Whitefish to care for Kylie after the Chisholms left. Weezer was grateful Lila had made this second trip to be here for Trent and Libby today.
The minister entered from the side and lighted the candles on the altar, then quietly withdrew. From the organ loft came the soft, poignant strains of Brahms’s “Lullaby.” Lila clawed in her handbag for a tissue, then gripped Weezer’s hand.
A door opened at the back of the church and the Chisholms entered, followed by Trent, walking between Kylie and Libby, who clutched a book under one arm. Halfway down the aisle, Libby reached for his hand, and he smiled down at her with such tenderness that Weezer, who rarely cried, blinked rapidly. When the group reached the first pew, they moved in and sat down.
The only other person in the congregation was Libby’s friend Lois, who slid into the row across from Weezer and Lila.
When they all were settled, Reverend Jeter, a liturgical stole around his neck, entered from the sacristy. For a brief time he stood silent, his head bowed. When he looked up, he focused on Trent and Libby.
“We come together today to remember and honor the hope with which you received the news, Libby, that you were to bear new life into the world, and to grieve with you the untimely loss of those lives. We cannot know the full answer to the question ‘Why?’ But we can be assured of God’s everlasting care and love. We can be certain that he understands your sorrow and shares your tears, just as he promises comfort and healing.”
Weezer could see Libby’s throat working. Trent sat with his head bowed.
Reverend Jeter glanced down at the folder he held in his hands. “A message from Isaiah. ‘The Lord will tend the flock like a shepherd, embracing the lambs together and nursing them.’” He paused, then said, “Let us pray.”
“Heavenly Father, your son took little children into his arms and blessed them. Grant to us now the knowledge that these unborn children are also encircled by those arms of love. Libby and Trent have come here today to commend…” He hesitated.
“Scooter,” Trent said in a strangled voice. Libby slipped her arm around Trent and pulled him close.
The minister smiled encouragingly, then continued. “…to commend Scooter to your never-failing love and care along with…”
Libby glanced at the minister, the tears now evident on her lashes, and shook her head sadly.
“…her unnamed baby who died stillborn. Into your loving care and compassion we commend these tiny beings, knowing you have been rocking and tending them all along.”
Weezer had never been so proud of Trent. He’d confessed to her his past insensitivity. Looking at him now, she had no concerns for the future.
“Libby?” The minister beckoned her forward. “Trent?”
The couple rose and stood before him. “Libby, in your hands you hold the record of those first few months of your pregnancy. What have you chosen to do with it?”
Libby looked at Trent, who moved closer and encircled her waist, then back at Reverend Jeter. “I entrust it to you as a symbol of my continued healing and of my desire to embrace my future.”
Weezer was just able to make out the words on the cover of the book Libby handed the minister. My Baby Book.
“Trent, what else do you and Libby bring today as an offering?”
Trent reached into his pocket and pulled out a check. “In memory of these unborn children, we want to present the church with funds to redecorate the nursery.”
The minister took the check, then holding it aloft, faced the altar. “Gracious God, we offer you this gift to the nurture and enrichment of small children. May their lives be blessed by this expression of love.”
When Libby returned to the pew, she put her arm around Kylie and kissed her on the forehead. Georgia was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and Gus kept clearing his throat.
“To the friends and family gathered here, we ask for your support of Libby, Trent and Kylie. As they face the mysteries of life and death, strengthen the bonds of this family, we pray.”
Lost in her memories of the little boy dive-bombing off curbs on his bicycle, hurdling fences with the abandon of a mighty elk and laughing gleefully after his first ski jump, Weezer didn’t hear much of what followed. No. Instead, she sent up her own prayer: “Let them bring forth new life.”
EPILOGUE
May
“DADDY, no! You can’t come in here.” Kylie, dressed in a bouffant pink taffeta dress, leaned against the door of the church robing room.
“Please?” Trent teased his daughter from outside in the hallway.
Georgia and Libby exchanged amused smiles.
“It’s against the law,” Kylie said with exasperation. “You can’t see the bride before the wedding.”
“Could you give her a message then?”
Kylie stood back, hands on her hips. “Okay.”
“Tell her I love her and can’t wait.”
Libby winked at Kylie. “Tell him ditto.”
Kylie put her mouth to the door. “Ditto! Now, go away.”
As she studied herself in the mirror, Libby acknowledged that no matter how long a woman had to wait, seeing herself as a bride was like looking at a strangely beautiful new person. The satin gown, understated yet elegant, flowed from a long-sleeved lace bodice. She hardly recognized herself.
“You look lovely, dear,” Georgia said, approaching with a fingertip veil. Holding it up, she asked, “Would you let me?”
“I’d be honored.” She bent her head so the shorter woman could affix the combs. When she’d finished, Libby studied her reflection again. Their first wedding all those years ago had been a spur-of-the-moment trip to Las
Vegas, a few mumbled words by a production-line minister, followed by a hasty dismissal. In the mirror now, staring back, was a genuine bride, lucky enough to be marrying Trent Baker for the second time.
“How much longer?” Kylie bounced on her toes, eagerness lighting her blue eyes.
“Soon,” Georgia said, slipping her arm around her granddaughter. Then they both stood silent, admiring Libby.
“You look like a Barbie bride,” Kylie breathed in awe.
Smiling, Libby turned to face them. “Thank you both so much for everything. For accepting me. Loving me.”
“It’s easy,” Kylie said.
“Ditto,” Georgia said with a just-between-us-girls smile.
“Thank you, too, for understanding why I needed to choose this day for my wedding.”
“Mother’s Day,” Kylie said proudly.
“All my life until now, Mother’s Day has been painful for me. Lonely.”
“I can imagine,” Georgia murmured.
And Libby knew she could. After all, she had lost a daughter. “I so much wanted reasons to celebrate this occasion, and after today, Kylie and I will both have mothers, and you, dear Georgia, will have me as a daughter.” She couldn’t hold back her grin. “All that and a wedding anniversary, too.”
Georgia held out her arms. “I hope I don’t muss you, but I want to hug you and tell you how much I love you.”
Libby stepped forward. “You’re more important than any dress.” Happy tears threatened, but she blinked them back. “And I love you.”
“Me, too,” Kylie said, stepping into the group hug.
And then it was time. Libby couldn’t resist peeking into the church, which was full, four whole pews occupied by her second-graders and their parents. She put her hand over her mouth in delight when, next to Mary, she spotted Doug, and beside him, sitting quite close, the new kindergarten teacher. Then Georgia took her seat, and Kylie, serving as Libby’s honor attendant, waited breathlessly for the organ to strike up the wedding march. One minute before the ceremony was to begin, Libby glanced outside, astonished to see a limousine pull up to the curb. The driver hopped out and hastened to the back, opened the door, then stood aside. Libby gasped. The senator.