by Jenny Hale
“Hi, honey,” Celia said, coming forward and kissing Libby’s cheek. “Marty called, and I helped him plan this. They’re all really sad to see you go, so they wanted to do something special for you.”
“Thank you,” Libby said. Then, she turned to the crowd and said in a loud voice, “Thank you to everyone for coming. This is too much!” She waved her hands in the air. “Please, have a seat!” A short time ago, she’d have been mortified at being the center of attention like that, having people coming to see her, but now, she saw friends. She saw Sophia laughing at something Jeanie was saying, Mabel wiggling herself comfortable in her chair, pushing her glasses up onto her nose and looking around to see who else was at her table. Helen was talking to Scott and Catherine, Catherine nodding vigorously, Esther and Leanne beside her. She did wonder about Pete and Pop—they weren’t there—but she tried not to let it bother her. Everyone else was there to say goodbye; she needed to focus on that.
After the waiter took their orders, Helen came over and leaned on the back of Libby’s chair. “Pete wanted to come,” she said near her ear, “but Pop wasn’t himself today.”
It was easy to say—Pop wasn’t himself—but those three words had new meaning to Libby. She knew the severity of them, and it concerned her. While she was enjoying a nice meal, Pop was struggling with keeping himself together, and Pete was having to deal with it all. It made her want to cry right there at the table. She wanted to be there, to help in some way, but she had to stay to say goodbye. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Libby said. Helen put her hand on Libby’s shoulder and rubbed back and forth.
They were interrupted for a moment as the waiter made an announcement. “Everyone gets one drink from the bar compliments of Marty,” the waiter called out over the chatting. “You can all go out to the deck and sit by the water while you’re waiting for your food to come.”
“I’ll see him tonight,” Libby said, resuming their discussion. “I’m taking Jeanie’s supper over to them.”
“Pete’s having a tough time,” Helen said, her expression indecipherable. “This is all so hard for him.”
* * *
Their lunch had lasted most of the afternoon, but Marty let Libby go right at five, which made her happy because she could meet Jeanie in town to pick up the casserole for Pop and Pete. It had been a few days since she’d been to Pete’s, and she felt apprehensive on many levels: she worried about Pop, of course, but she also wasn’t sure how to act with Pete. She wanted to comfort him, protect him, make him happy, but she knew she couldn’t achieve any of those things. She decided that the best she could do was to help out.
Jeanie rounded the corner, carrying a warmer that resembled an enormous rectangular oven mitt. “Hope it’s still warm. I just took it out of the oven about fifteen minutes ago,” she said, handing it over to Libby. “Hugh doin’ all right?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I’m sure he’ll be glad to have this though. It smells divine.”
“Dish yourself some before you leave there then. I made enough to feed an army.”
“Okay,” she smiled. “Thanks, Jeanie.”
“Have a good night,” she said.
Libby set the dish gingerly in the front seat of the car and headed down the quiet road that led to Pete’s cottage. She wondered what she would encounter at Pete’s. It had to be so frustrating to never know if the day would be good or bad, hard or easy. Guilt washed over her as she pondered the life she was about to have for herself: the apartment overlooking the busy city streets, the busy social life, the new job. She wished Pete could be in that life. She had nothing pressing there, nothing consuming her time other than work. She wished she were closer so that she could lend a hand with Pop.
She parked the car and carried the dish up to the door. With her elbow, she knocked. The sun was staying out later these days and the sky was still bright. Libby noticed freshly chopped logs at the end of the porch and smiled to herself as she thought of Pete’s stone fireplace in winter, when the logs would be used. How warm it would probably be. It was odd to think that by then she’d have her regular life again, and everything would be back to normal. She knocked a second time.
After a few more knocks, she tried the knob, and it was unlocked. “Pete?” she called inside, holding the dish against her side with one arm. “Pete? Pop? Anyone home?” She’d told them she was going to stop by. Where had they gone? She felt the trepidation start to filter through her as she wondered if perhaps Pop had gone on one of his walks.
She let herself in, shut the door and went over to the kitchen where she slid the dish onto the counter. The house was completely silent. She looked out the window at the backyard but saw no one, anxiety now flooding her. Was Pete out running the streets looking for him? She walked through the kitchen and into the hallway. She’d never been past the office before, but she kept going, looking in rooms, concern creeping in on her by the second. Her heart was beating so hard, it felt like her whole chest was moving, and her hands were trembling. Please, please be okay, she chanted to herself.
She passed a bedroom. Empty. Then the next… She stopped, and her shoulders fell in relief. The room looked like it must be Pop’s. He was sprawled across the bed, asleep. Pete was on the floor, his head on the bed, resting on his forearms; he’d dozed off as well. Gently and carefully, so as not to startle him, she caressed Pete’s arm until he came to. He blinked a few times and then looked around.
Libby raised her hand in hello.
Once he’d gotten oriented, Pete stood up, put his hands on his back and bent backwards in a stretch. Then he followed Libby to the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” she asked quietly so as not to disturb Pop.
“Yeah.” Pete rolled his head around on his shoulders. “He couldn’t remember anything from today at all. It terrified him so much that he didn’t want me to leave. I sat with him until he fell asleep. What’s this?” he peeked into the giant oven mitt.
“Jeanie’s sausage and potato casserole.”
Pete raised his eyebrows in excitement. “Want some?” he asked, sliding it out and retrieving a serving spoon from a drawer.
“Absolutely!” she smiled, an attempt to change focus from Pop’s dementia to something positive. It worked because Pete’s face broke out into a smile. It was good to see, although his eyes were dark from lack of sleep.
Once the food had been dished out, Pete poured the two of them a glass of sweet tea, and they sat down across from each other at the small, circular kitchen table near a window with a view of the bay. She wondered how much worse Pop’s condition could get, how much more Pete would need in terms of help. Her time there seemed to be shrinking right in front of her eyes.
“Thank you for coming, Libby. And I’ll have to thank Jeanie for this fantastic food,” he said, smiling again. The sight of it sent happiness zinging through her like an electric charge. It was so good to see him smile.
“You’re welcome. I had to come. I couldn’t imagine not helping, even if it is only dinner.” She wanted to grab him, bury her head in his chest and stay there all night. Even in his weakest moment there was something so protective about him, so strong. It was going to be hard to leave him. She took in a deep breath to try and clear her head, and focused on his smile. It’s funny how when they were kids, smiles were so frequent that they took them for granted. Now, when she could see Pete’s face brighten, it had significance, because she knew that waiting just behind it was a whole lot of pain and anguish.
“That’s the girl I remember. The caring, sweet girl. You haven’t changed as much as you think you have,” he said, still grinning. “What do you have planned tonight?”
“Nothing really. The cottage is done, and it’s too late to pack anything. Why?”
“Pop sometimes gets back up—usually around nine or so. Would you mind staying? …just in case I need you.”
“Of course I’ll stay.”
* * *
By ten o’clock, Libby found herself wrapped
in the throw that had been draped on the sofa, watching a movie with Pete. Pop had yet to wake. The movie was funny and she was glad for that, because it made Pete laugh. Once, he’d laughed and it had come out like an explosion—one giant “Ha!” that had sent her nearly falling off the sofa. He probably thought she was laughing at the movie, but she had laughed in response to him. Hearing him happy was the best sound—more calming than anything else, even better than the sound of the sea.
She watched the film wrap up, knowing that in any minute the credits would roll. She hoped for some unexpected second plot to emerge to keep her there, but, as expected, the credits did roll and she found herself looking at a black screen. Pete turned off the television.
“That was good,” he said, his face still showing amusement.
“Pop’s been sleeping like a baby.”
“Only because you’re here,” he teased. “Ever since Nana passed, he hasn’t slept an entire night. Maybe today just took it out of him. It was a tough day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not tired at all after my catnap on Pop’s bed,” he said, wriggling to a straighter position. “Want to have a drink?”
“Yeah.” For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t had to think about that answer. There was nothing to ponder, nothing to decide. She knew without a doubt she wanted to have a drink with Pete Bennett. It wasn’t just because she felt bad for him or because he’d asked her; it was because all she wanted to do tonight was stay with him. She started to unwind herself from the blanket.
“No, don’t move. Stay right where you are. I’ll bring it in to you.”
After Pete left the room, Libby looked around. She’d been there long enough that a feeling of normalcy had fallen over her. It wasn’t strange anymore to be back, or to be there with Pete. It was… like home. What a strange feeling: two places that were totally juxtaposed both felt perfectly comfortable to her.
What would it be like when she got back to New York? Work would certainly consume her hours, and she expected to fall right back into the swing of things. But that one niggling feeling kept coming back: she’d miss Pete. She’d miss a whole lot of other people too, but most of all, she’d miss him. And there was nothing she could do about that.
“Here you go.” He handed her a glass of beer.
“Thank you.”
He sat down right next to her, draping his arm along the back of the sofa, and making her feel as if he had his arm around her. “Remember how we used to watch movies at Pop and Nana’s,” Pete said, “and she would bring us soda, telling us we were the only ones she allowed to drink in her living room?”
“Yeah,” Libby chuckled. So many memories…
“And she acted like soda was part of some sort of prohibition, getting skittish when Mom picked us up and asked what we’d been up to. She was always uneasy about giving us too many treats.”
“Nana was a funny lady.” She could feel the tips of his fingers on her shoulder. She didn’t want to look, but it felt almost like a caress. Please don’t put me in this situation, she thought. I don’t have the strength to push you away anymore. She began to rationalize: Pete was someone she’d known a very long time—like family; that’s why they could be snuggled up under a blanket drinking beers together into the night, right? Whatever chemistry she was feeling was because of their long history together, nothing more—right? She kept repeating it, attempting to convince herself.
Trying to stop thinking of Pete, she let her mind wander to Anne and the letter from Mitchell. Was there really such a thing as a perfect relationship? She welcomed the doubt that was sneaking in because it helped her validate moving away from Pete. She only had a matter of days, and she’d need all the help she could get because there wasn’t a bone in her body that wanted to leave him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The first thing Libby felt was soft cotton on her face. Whatever she was sleeping on was moving almost in time with her own breath. Suddenly she became aware of her limbs, tangled up, a hand on her side, the all-too-familiar scent at her nose. She opened her eyes. The sun coming off the bay was nearly blinding through the window as she blinked, trying to register where she was. Pete stirred on the sofa under her.
The night had been so enjoyable, he’d said last night, that he wanted her to stay a little longer. She remembered talking and Pete putting on another movie, but then she had no memory, so she must have fallen asleep.
For a while he didn’t open his eyes, but she wondered if he was awake. His arms were wrapped around her, his head above hers just slightly. With one tiny movement, she could twist her body and be face to face with him. At that moment, though, she just shifted her eyes to see his face from her resting spot on his shoulder.
Pete touched her face, his finger trailing down her cheek, so she turned over and faced him, propping herself up on his chest. “Good morning,” she said. He smiled but didn’t say anything. “Do you remember falling asleep?” Her hair fell forward into her face and he tenderly tucked it behind her ear. She knew that look he had in his eyes. She knew what he was thinking. No matter how old they were, that look was exactly the same. It was the same look he’d given her when she’d told him, back in high school, that she didn’t want to date anyone else; it was the same look he’d had whenever she’d told him she loved him.
Right away, her mind went to the new job, the apartment waiting for her. She couldn’t make leaving harder than it was. Seeing him like that was killing her. There was no way to leave nicely once they’d gone to that place. She didn’t want to leave on bad terms; she didn’t want to hurt him again. “Pete… I need… I have to go.” She pushed herself up, the blanket falling to the floor. “I’m sorry I fell asleep last night,” was all she could get out. Her thoughts, once again, were racing through her mind, making it difficult to pinpoint the words for what she wanted to say. She wished she hadn’t stayed and they hadn’t woken like they had. It was too intimate, too much like it had been so many years ago.
She had everything she’d worked for her entire life right in the palm of her hand. She couldn’t give up everything she’d accomplished for a gut feeling. Her mother’s life kept flashing before her like a neon sign. She saw her mother’s red eyes, her fake smile. She knew what would happen if things didn’t go as planned, and one thing Libby knew about herself was that she was a planner. She couldn’t afford anything to go awry. She had to follow her mind, not her heart. It was the only way. She couldn’t stay. It didn’t make any sense.
“Morning!” Pop came in and sat down between them on the sofa, smiling as he looked back and forth between the two of them. “I feel great today!” It made both Libby and Pete laugh despite the heaviness of their thoughts.
“Libby was just apologizing for sleeping,” Pete said, tilting his head around Pop to make eye contact with her.
Pop stood back up. “Oh, dear,” he said. “I can tell by the look of you two that I shouldn’t get involved in this conversation. Continue… whatever this is.” As he left the room, he called over his shoulder, “The bonfire’s tonight. Perhaps you can go together if you can get along with each other long enough.”
After Pop left the room, Libby said, “I really need to go. I planned to see Mom today.”
He took in a breath and let it out. “You need to go?” he repeated, a slightly irritated look on his face. “You don’t need to do anything. You want to go.”
“I’m sorry.” She combed her hair with her fingers and straightened her clothes as best she could. She stood up and folded the blanket, setting it back onto the arm of the sofa. She wasn’t just saying the words. She truly was sorry.
“Look, I only have a few days and I’d like to spend them with friends. Can we do that? Can we put this…” she wagged a finger between them, “behind us for now?”
Pete stood up, sighed and looked down at her. “I’m going to the bonfire tonight. Want to go?”
“What time?” she asked.
“I’ll pick you up
at seven.”
* * *
“I still don’t know why they advertise the bonfire every year. It’s busy enough without all the summer visitors finding out about it,” Celia said as she leaned out the window of her car. Libby had spent the entire Sunday afternoon with her mother at the cottage. Celia hadn’t boasted or gossiped or anything. They’d just talked. She enjoyed it so much.
She wanted her mother to relax, to enjoy the festivities without worrying about showing off or making sure everyone thought she had a successful life. She wanted her mother to see that she could be happy and that people would like her whether or not Libby went to New York or her mother had gotten dressed up in a showy outfit. The one thing Libby had seen in town was that people there genuinely liked one another. They looked out for each other. If her mother stopped worrying about appearances so much, she may see it as well.
“Are you going to go?” Libby asked.
“Absolutely!” she said, and they laughed because they both knew that whenever there was a social event in this town, Celia would certainly be in attendance.
“Silly question.”
“Parking’s going to be a bear. Are you riding with someone?”
“Pete’s picking me up.”
It was fleeting. The look didn’t stay on her mother’s face very long and she straightened it out. Probably not to cast any shadow on a perfect day. But it was there—the slight disapproval or annoyance, she couldn’t tell. The flutter of her eyes told Libby that Celia knew she’d seen the look.
“Why don’t you like Pete?” It felt good to have the courage to ask her mother about it directly. She was family after all—she should be able to do that—but for so many years she hadn’t. It made her feel stronger, like she’d finally grown up.