by Jenny Hale
Libby shook her head. She didn’t blame him. She knew what she’d done. She had to feel that guilt over and over. “I thought you weren’t coming back here, anyway,” she said.
“What?”
“To my cottage. You said you weren’t coming back.”
“I never said that.”
“But you said ‘maybe.’”
He took his sunglasses off and looked down at Libby for an oddly long time as if searching her face for something, a little smirk twitching at the edges of his lips. Was he having the same memory of ‘maybe’ that she’d had? “You do remember that?”
“Oh. Did you really mean maybe and not ‘maybe?’”
His face was too close, his eyes not leaving hers. A strand of hair relentlessly blew across her cheek as she tried unsuccessfully to hold it back with her hand. Pete reached out and tucked it behind her ear. It was almost too much, and she felt her limbs start to tremble. He was making her nervous. She worried by his change in expression that he could sense it. He took a step away from her. “I’d better go hang that swing,” he said.
Libby nodded.
After he disappeared around the corner of the beach, Libby sat in the sand, hugging her knees, the wind blowing her designer linen trousers around her ankles. What am I doing getting nervous around him? she thought. He wasn’t right for her, and she wasn’t right for him, no matter what their past had been. They’d moved on. The situation was maddening.
The more she thought about it all, the more frustrated she became. She didn’t want him showing up anymore, running into her in town. She had to refocus, work on getting out of there. She needed to set things straight with him and make him understand that she wasn’t a different person; she was the same driven person she’d always been, she just hadn’t made any moves until the one that had taken her to New York. And she needed him to stop… whatever that was he was doing.
With resolve, she got up, brushed the sand off her bottom, and made her way through the woods and down the beach toward Pete. He was at the top of the ladder knotting the rope when she reached him.
“I’d like to make this better, but I can’t. Nothing can make it better,” she called up to him, her hands balled into fists by her sides from the aggravation she felt with the situation. She felt a catch in her chest as a sob rose from within. “I’ve always been this person you see before you. Always. I just hadn’t grown up yet, that’s all. I can’t change who I am,” she said as the tears returned.
Pete climbed down the ladder two rungs at a time until he was standing in front of her. He looked exasperated, the skin between his eyes puckered, his lips in a tight line. He was quiet for a long while, staring above her head as she tried unsuccessfully to stop crying. When he finally looked at her, he said, “I don’t like it when you cry. It makes me crazy, to be honest. But you’ve done this to yourself. Life doesn’t have to be as hard as you’re making it. You’ve made your choices, and now you have to live with them.”
“I didn’t choose this! I didn’t choose to come back here! None of this was by choice!” She was shouting at him, but she didn’t care at that moment because she had to get it all off her chest. After her outburst, Libby stood, silent, her hands now on her hips to hide the trembling in her fingers. She had nothing to show for her choices, and the reality of it stung her to the point of speechlessness.
“I’m quite aware that you didn’t choose to come back.”
Libby sat down on the beach, the new tire swing suspended beside her. “Even though I didn’t choose to come back,” she swallowed, her gaze fixed on the sand by her feet, the tears clouding her eyes, “I’m glad I got to see you.” She looked up at him, her lips quivering. “I never meant that you were insignificant. You were anything but insignificant. I’m so sorry. I miss you and your mom and Pop and Nana. I miss everyone so much.”
Pete sat down beside her, his expression unreadable. He let out a huff of frustration as he looked out over the bay. The sound of wind was the only sound between them for a long while. Pete was clearly thinking. Then he looked over at her, the corners of his mouth turned up just enough to send her heart pattering. “What are you doing today?” he asked finally. “In that outfit, I’m guessing you aren’t working on the house.”
Libby huffed out a little chuckle through her tears.
“Want to take a boat ride? I need to go home and check on Pop.”
She wanted to take a boat ride, and she wanted to see Pop, but she knew that she probably shouldn’t. She needed to get out of the rut she was in and move herself forward. She could rattle off a list of things to do instead: the cottage, Trish’s wedding plans, job applications… Plus, there was no reason to get any closer to Pete. It was a ridiculous situation to put herself in.
“Okay,” she said anyway.
Chapter Eleven
There was something indescribable about being out on the water, the sun in her eyes, warm air pushing against her, the only noises being the growl of the engine and the sound of the waves against the boat. After a while, the engine slowed and Pete steered toward the shore in front of a secluded cottage, nestled among the pine trees in a clearing of emerald green grass. The cottage was a colonial with bright white clapboard siding, and black shutters. A pair of brick chimneys anchored each side, and the entire front of the house facing the water was screened in, a row of paddle fans whirling around inside. “How long have you lived here?” Libby asked.
Pete reached out and grabbed the dock, tugging the boat over and tying it up. “About eight years.” He hoisted himself out and extended a hand to Libby. “Pop’ll be happy to see you. He hasn’t stopped talking about you since we ran into you the other day. He keeps asking me to have you over.”
Libby took Pete’s hand and he pulled her up onto the dock. She didn’t want to let go, but she did. He led the way up the walk toward the porch steps, opening the door for Libby and gesturing for her to enter. “Pop?” he called from behind her.
She stepped into the house. The rustic interior made her smile; it was every bit Pete’s personality. The oak furniture, the mustard-colored walls, oversized windows that filled the room with natural light, the wood-burning fireplace—it all seemed so right for him. She imagined what it felt like to be curled up on the sofa under the plaid blanket that was thrown neatly across the arm of it.
“Pop?” he walked around her and headed into the next room. She followed. They entered the kitchen, a large, open space with maple cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. Pete dropped his boat keys onto the counter and headed down the hall.
“I’m in here,” she heard Pop’s voice.
A few steps away was a small room with a desk, a computer, a chair, and now—thanks to Pop—a bookcase. Hugh was busy piling books onto its shelves when he caught sight of Libby and stood up. “Libby! I’m so glad you dropped by! Pete,” he waggled a shaky finger in his direction, “get my girl something to drink. Show her you know your manners!”
Pete nodded, a smirk twitching at the edges of his lips. “What would you like to drink, Libby? I have the usual.”
“I’d love a water, thank you,” she said, and Pete left the room.
Hugh set a handful of books onto a shelf and turned toward Libby. He looked so different compared to how she’d seen him years ago, yet his eyes, the curve of his jaw line, the way he smiled at her—those were all reminders of the man he’d been then. “Tell me, dear, what do you think of our Pete all grown up?”
She had all kinds of feelings about Pete all grown up. But she couldn’t get herself organized enough to formulate a cohesive thought. It would be easy to say how much she loved the way he studied her face when she was talking or how sweet it was to see that little bit of humor behind his eyes just before he was about to say something or how she could tell by his gestures that he’d still take care of her. But the reality of the situation got in the way.
“Do you want an old man’s advice?” Pop asked, his hand on her shoulder. She smiled and waited for his ans
wer. “There aren’t a lot of people in this world who fit together perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle, so when you find someone who does, don’t overlook it just because you think life has something else in mind for you. Life is what you make of it. I surely made mine with Anne.” He took in a slow breath. “I miss her so much.”
She could see in his face how much Pop missed Nana, and his loss made her chest ache. Involuntarily, she thought again about the letter. Perhaps things weren’t as perfect as Pop had thought they were. Maybe Nana had been unhappy with her choice… But whatever had been going through Nana’s head, she was perfect in Pop’s eyes.
Seeing Pop and hearing him say how he missed her made Libby feel ashamed. She felt guilty for not going to Nana’s funeral. Pop had a lot of loving family and friends who supported him on that day, she was sure, but she hadn’t been there to support him and that made her feel terrible. She should have been there for Nana, and she should have been there for Pop.
“I understand that at my age, I’m not up on all the new things, and I may seem a bit old-fashioned,” he smiled. “But when it comes to family, I know,” he nodded. “There are two things that don’t change over generations: faith and love. And I know both quite well. So at least consider my advice.”
Libby nodded and smiled warmly at him. Pop had a simpler way of looking at relationships. He knew he had his one person, and that was all. Libby’s life was so different from that. She had so much interfering with her relationships; it was hard to sift out her feelings for anyone because they were clouded by her need to be something in life. But Pop knew—she could tell—that she still felt something for Pete, and it made her self-conscious. Were her feelings for him that obvious? She wondered about Pop’s idea of two people fitting like puzzle pieces. Was it really true? She’d never known two people to be that perfect for each other before. No couple she’d known had ended up with a happy ending—not her parents, not Pete’s parents, not her and Wade. Even Pop, who thought he had a perfect relationship with Nana, may not have. That letter still raised questions in her mind.
She and Pete didn’t fit together like Pop’s puzzle. If they did, they could be happy together no matter what life offered them. But she knew that Pete loved the small-town life he’d chosen, and Libby needed to be somewhere bigger, livelier, where she could be herself and pursue her goals, free from people’s judgment.
She hated the way everyone in White Stone knew all about her. Her mother had told her many times how she’d settled by moving there with Libby’s dad. She’d moved there for love, and then the love was gone, and she was stuck in a place where she didn’t belong. Libby didn’t want that for herself. She wanted to be around people who knew what her day of work was like because they lived it too. She wanted to get back to her real home, where she could live her own life and control her own destiny.
“Here you go,” Pete materialized with a glass of water, his eyes darting between her and Pop. Had he heard their conversation? “I also put out some snacks in case you’re hungry.” Libby took the glass. Looking at him, she could understand how, if her mother had felt for her father the way Libby felt for Pete, she could’ve dropped everything in Las Vegas and moved to the middle of nowhere. But she knew she mustn’t do what her mother had done. She had learned her lesson through Celia Potter’s bitterness and dissatisfaction.
“Good boy,” Hugh said, nodding toward Libby, picking up another few books and placing them on the shelf.
“Do you like it here?” Libby asked Pete out of the blue, looking straight at him without blinking. She knew the answer, but just in case, she wanted to hear his answer. Her heart was beating wildly, her hands clammy. She wanted him to shrug and say it was okay, but she knew he wouldn’t. She knew deep down that he loved where he was.
“Of course,” he said, studying her face. It was as though he were trying to find answers there.
“You wouldn’t ever want to live in a city like New York?”
Pete was quiet for a moment as if he were considering. “Pop, do you mind if I take Libby into the living room so that we can be more comfortable?” Pop shook his head.
Pete led Libby into the living room, offering her a seat on the sofa by one of the large windows. The blue water of the bay filled the bottom two panes of glass. She set her cup of water on a side table and swiveled toward Pete who had sat down closer to her than she’d expected. That wasn’t what took her by surprise, however. What startled her most was the way that he was looking at her. It was as if he were waiting, almost willing her to make sense of her question. He looked slightly irritated, almost angry.
“So,” she said, wavering slightly, “would you live in New York?”
Pete’s face was serious, his eyes appraising. “Maybe,” he said without even the hint of a smile, and she knew exactly what that “maybe” meant.
Realizing the disappointment that had most likely made its way to her face, she quickly recovered, straightening out her features to a more cordial expression. She nodded, her hopes dashed. She’d known the answer; it was silly of her to even ask. “I figured,” she said.
“Why are you even asking that, Libby? With that one question, you’re telling me that you don’t know me at all.” She’d never seen him look at her like that before, even when she’d told him about Columbia. He wasn’t stung, or hurt; he seemed angry and frustrated. “First, I hate New York. I would never want to live there. Second, I wouldn’t leave the state when Pop was healthy,” he hissed in a whisper. “How could you even think that I would leave him now? Don’t you care at all? What should I do, Libby? Put Pop in a home, sell it all, and go run off with you somewhere away from everyone I love?”
Humiliation sheeted over her. What would she tell him? How could she ever explain to him why she’d asked about New York? She wouldn’t dare admit to him that she was crazy about him, and she had wanted to know if he’d leave everything to be with her. It sounded awful hearing it from his lips. It had been outrageous even to ask. What was she thinking?
Chapter Twelve
While Marty was digging head first into the copier machine, pulling out wads of sooty paper, Libby looked out the window at the late afternoon sky, still thinking about her question to Pete. Their conversation had been mortifying and it had kept her up all night. The conversation went round and round in her head: her motive for asking and what she’d actually implied when she’d asked. She hadn’t meant to sound like she had; she had just needed to know if there was any chance they could be together. And there wasn’t.
She reached into her newly organized file cabinet and pulled out his file, looking around as if someone would scold her for even having it. The idea of rifling through Pete’s finances made her extremely self-conscious. Noting his contact information, she pulled out her cell and sent him a text: Hi. Just wanted to inform you that I’ve been assigned as your accountant. Let me know if this is a problem and you’d prefer someone else to look over your finances. If not, I’ll have you sign a consent form. Libby.
Her phone lit up: You can do my taxes. It’s fine.
She texted back: Are you sure?
Her phone pinged again. I should feel lucky, right? Not everyone in this town gets a fancy New York accountant with a degree from Columbia.
She stared down at the plant by the window, its leaves drooping and looking a lot like she felt at that moment. She texted back: I’ll send you the form. She was too tired to text anything more.
She looked around again, still self-conscious about viewing Pete’s documents. With a flourish, she opened it up and peered down at the contents. At a quick glance, it looked like Pete had a few separate IT jobs and his own web design company. She turned the page. He’d also invested some money in the winery down the road. Impressive, she thought.
She checked her phone but Pete hadn’t said anything more, so she turned the sound off and dropped it into her bag before she typed anything else. She didn’t want to have to think about him any more than she already had.
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sp; * * *
Libby woke to a stream of sunlight piercing her vision. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept that well. She’d spent most of the evening planning Trish’s bridal shower, and found herself in bed before nine o’clock. Blinking to clear her vision, she pulled her phone over to see what time it was when she noticed a text waiting for her. She sat up in bed to escape the blinding light and opened the message. The number was Jeanie’s. It read, Good morning! I’m picking you up at ten o’clock for a party. This is a two-man mission. I need someone to help me carry food. Wear something a little dressy.
Libby kicked the blankets off her legs and put her feet on the sun-warmed floor. What if she didn’t want to go to a party? Walking back and forth across the hardwoods, she mulled it over. The thought of hanging out with Jeanie did sound very appealing—she needed a friendly face—but she should really focus on the things she had to do at the cottage. Then she wondered, Will Pete be at this party of Jeanie’s? The idea of seeing him caused Libby’s hands to get tingly and her mouth to feel like it was full of cotton. Her phone faded to black and she set it on the dresser.
Throwing her head back and taking in a breath to steady herself, she shook her head. She wanted to tell someone about her predicament, but there wasn’t anyone to tell. Her mother certainly wouldn’t approve of her feelings for Pete, and Trish was so caught up in her wedding that she probably wouldn’t have time to hear her out. Jeanie would just tell her to stay and go for it. She was on her own. She had better get organized and find herself a job before things got any messier. It was only eight o’clock so she resolved to send in a few more job applications over breakfast before she took her shower.