Love Me for Me

by Jenny Hale

  “It’s not that I don’t like him. I just want to be sure you don’t waste your life because of silly emotions you had as a girl.”

  She wanted to tell her mother not to worry about her anymore, that she didn’t have to worry about anything anymore; Libby would be there for her and she could finally relax. “Believe me, Mom, no matter what I choose in life, it won’t be wasted. You have to trust me to make the best choices for myself. Plus, I’ve got a new job! And I found an apartment for the time being. It’s all going to be fine.” She was trying very hard to make Celia happy again, but then she realized she didn’t need to do that anymore. “But no matter what I choose, Mom, it’ll be what’s right for me. You’ve done a good job showing me how to make choices for myself. Don’t worry. I’ll make the right ones.”

  Celia looked thoughtful for a moment and then, with a smile, she said, “I’m your mother. I will always worry about you. But I know that I no longer have to worry about your choices. You’ve shown me time and time again that you know what you’re doing.” Watching Celia’s reaction, Libby was excited for what was to come with their relationship.

  Once Celia had made her way down the drive, Libby went inside to freshen up for the bonfire. It was a yearly tradition in the area, marking the beginning of summer. All the businesses contributed, the public beach exploded with vendors in brightly colored booths selling their wares, and the sidewalks were overrun by townspeople and tourists alike as they balanced locally made gifts, area produce, and cotton candy in their arms.

  She’d had just enough time to freshen up when she heard the grumble of Pete’s Bronco outside. She opened the door. “Hey there!” he said with a grin that told her he’d left all of his worries at home tonight.

  “Hi,” she smiled back, genuinely happy to see him. “Do you mind coming inside for a second?” she asked. “I just need to put on my jewelry.”

  He followed her into the cottage. It took a minute before she realized that she was still walking toward her room but he wasn’t. He was stopped in the entryway, looking around. His head turned toward the kitchen door, and he was still for longer than he should have been. His face showed no emotion, but she could see something in his eyes. He was definitely processing something. He’d seen Wade’s roses. She was ready to discuss it, to explain them. She wanted to tell him how they didn’t mean anything, how they weren’t from anyone special. She wanted to let him know that phone-order red roses from someone who didn’t care about her enough to stick by her weren’t her thing. She wanted something better than that, something meaningful. But Pete didn’t ask, he didn’t say a word. He just turned and met her in the short hallway leading to her room.

  It seemed like such a long time since he’d helped her move her boxes to the house. The old memories had been painted over, remodeled, made into something different. She took a hoop earring off the bedside table and put it on.

  Pete stepped toward her dresser and flashed that crooked grin of his. He slid her memory box toward him. “You still have this?”

  “Yes.” His question had made her feel a little sad. Why wouldn’t I? she wanted to say. Would he expect her to just leave her memories behind once she’d gone to New York? As she gave the question more thought, she realized that it probably was what he thought. She’d left everything else behind, why not her memories too?

  He opened the lid and peered inside. It didn’t bother her. Her memory box wasn’t like a top-secret diary that needed a lock to keep her most inner thoughts hidden. They were already hidden because no one but her knew the true meaning of the items inside. It didn’t matter if he saw a piece of paper or a pebble or a twig. The significance of them was lost on him.

  He unfolded the pink flier and read the words. Then he creased the paper and put it back. He picked up the white shell she’d gotten on their walk and traced it in his hand. He sat there for what seemed like ages, staring at it, and she could feel the heat under her skin as she thought of that day. She knew he recognized it, and it worried her. In truth, she’d kept the shell because it reminded her of who she was, but it had come from the day of Helen’s party, the day he’d jumped and she hadn’t. Why did he think she’d saved it? Did he think that she wanted a reminder of how she had refused to be the kind of person he was? She didn’t want the shell to ruin his mood. Before she could say anything, he put it back.

  “I think I recognize some of the things in this box,” he said closing the lid. “Is it still full of your memories?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have a few new ones in there. Anything interesting?” he smiled.

  “If there is, I’m not telling. They’re my memories.”

  “You’re just as tight-lipped about them as ever.”

  “Yep,” she grinned back at him.

  “Well.” He walked over to the door of the bedroom. “Ready?”

  She followed him out, walking toward his truck and hopping in on her side. “Where’s Pop?” She didn’t really want to bring it up, afraid she’d bring him back down to reality, but she was genuinely curious and wondered how Pete had been able to slip away without him.

  “He’s with Mom. She thought I needed a night out.”

  “Smart woman,” she smiled.

  “If he feels like coming, she said she’d bring him.”

  Pete pulled down the drive toward the road, a gust of warm wind blowing in on them from the open windows. The feeling of summer was in the air: the marshy grasses along the road bending with the breeze of the passing cars, the large, orange sun hanging low on the horizon, and the crescendo of festive clatter filling her ears as they neared the town. The streets were full of people walking toward the beach for the bonfire—all in their shorts and T-shirts with straw bags to carry the treasures they’d found at the open-air market and craft stalls.

  Libby looked across Pete to see who had set up closer toward the beach, but she was also taking in Pete out of the corner of her eye. He, too, had a T-shirt on, the soft-looking cotton of it reminding her of how it felt lying on his chest, his warmth radiating from underneath, the quiet thumping of his heart and the rising and falling under her from his breathing. She turned and looked out her own window.

  “Looks like a good crowd,” he said, pulling up and parking the car.

  “Yeah,” she said, but her head was swimming. As she looked out at all those people, she realized that she knew so many of them. She remembered them from when she was young, and some of them she even knew now. She could see Sophia in the distance, looking at the wooden crafts made by a man she swore had been her mailman. She saw Jason! How he’d changed. He wasn’t quite as thin anymore—same face, though. Marty was walking toward the beach with his family, and Leanne was parking her car. Thomas and Matthew went running toward them, flying kites with the other kids on the stretch of grass beside the tents. Nostalgia crashed over her like a stormy wave, pitting in her stomach, and she suddenly felt very sad that she wouldn’t see them anymore after she went back to New York.

  “You okay?” Pete asked, suddenly on her side of the car, concern flooding his face. She hadn’t even noticed him get out.

  “I’m fine,” she said, coming out of her thoughts. She opened the door to join him.

  Pete swung a bag over his shoulder and took her hand. “Let’s have a lot of fun tonight. Don’t think too much, and I won’t either.” Together, holding hands, they started to walk toward the beach.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Well look at you two!” Jeanie called out as they walked toward her. Live music from down the street nearly overtook her voice. “Y’all look so sweet walkin’ up, holdin’ hands.” Holding Pete’s hand felt as normal as breathing, as if the last twelve years hadn’t even happened. Knowing it could be the last time she’d be able hold his hand, she didn’t let go.

  “Hey, Jeanie,” Pete greeted her, and then looked down at Libby, a thoughtful look in his eyes. He seemed so much like the same boy she’d known all those years ago. The smell of caramel apples an
d burning embers, the sound of the band in the background among the chatter of the crowd, the sea air, it all took her right back to the years she’d been to the bonfire as a girl with Pete.

  She’d loved that night every year. It had been one of the few times she could escape and enjoy herself. As she looked around at all the happy faces, all the children playing, she wondered if her mother realized what she had there. She’d been so bitter about her life; had she ever taken a moment to see what was in front of her? There was no monotony there tonight. There was laughter and celebration, family and friends. It was enough to make her question whether her mother might have been wrong about White Stone after all.

  “Your mama’s comin’. I talked to her this afternoon after she left your house,” Jeanie said.

  “She said she was coming,” Libby affirmed. Maybe tonight she’d see her mother relax a little more. Celia had been doing so much better. Perhaps Celia just needed time before she could see that she could be content without relying on Libby’s achievements for her own happiness.

  “Well, I’ll wait up here for her. Y’all go on down to the bonfire and enjoy yourselves,” Jeanie said.

  On the way, they passed the stalls of games. She couldn’t even count how many stuffed animals Pete had won her over the years. Pete stopped, and Libby followed suit. Each game booth had teddy bears the size of toddlers nestled along the shelves at the back. The stall closest to them had a line of baskets. The gist was to throw a baseball into the basket to win a prize. It seemed simple enough, but it must have been rigged in some way as not one person had been successful. Pete was bending sideways to peer down the aisle at the various games. Then, without warning, he started pulling her down the walk.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, shuffling along beside him.

  “I see a game I want to play,” he said over his shoulder.

  They came to a halt in front of a child’s game with yellow ducks floating in a tiny stream of water on the table in front of them. The goal was to choose a duck and match the number on the bottom with a corresponding prize number. Pete pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, separated two dollars, and handed them to the attendant.

  “Which duck do you want?” he asked Libby.

  With a deep breath, Libby looked down at all of the smiling yellow ducks jiggling past her. There were so many—all the same. She looked at each one, trying to find some sort of significance, some marker on it that would give something away, but their treasures were hidden. Even though they looked like nothing special, each one completely ordinary, there was something different waiting under every one. She just had to pick. Would she get something big and shiny or something smaller? Carefully, she plucked one out of the water.

  “Twenty-two,” she read aloud.

  “Twenty-two!” the man behind the ducks repeated with too much enthusiasm. She followed his finger to the board of prizes. Twenty-two was a child’s pretend fashion ring with a stone the same blue as the ocean. The attendant pulled one from a box containing a couple hundred more rings inside and handed it to Libby. She giggled, slipping it on her finger.

  “Thank you,” she said to Pete, still giggling, as they turned back down the aisle leading to the beach.

  “Well, you leave tomorrow. I wanted you to have something for your memory box and I didn’t think any of those…” he pointed to the giant bears, “would fit.”

  “Thank you,” she said again, peering down at the toy ring.

  The water sparkled like golden butterflies, the gentle waves fizzing at the shore. An enormous orange blaze popped and crackled on the sand in front of the water, the crowd lounging in chairs and on beach towels. The band music had picked up and was louder on that part of the beach. Pete reached into his bag and pulled out two foldable camping chairs. He shook them until they had their chair-like shape and set them in the sand.

  “Hey!” Catherine came running ahead of Scott. “How are you?”

  “Great,” Libby stood up and gave her a quick hug. “How about you?”

  Scott caught up with them and waved at Libby. “We’re really well! I have a little news!”

  “You do?” she said. Pete sat down beside her in his chair, the roar of the fire sending an intense heat through the bay breeze.

  “Looks like you and I shouldn’t have had that wine the other night.” Her face was pinched into a colossal smile, eyebrows raised, eyes darting from side to side. Libby could only guess what her news was with a face like that. “We’re expecting!” she squealed.

  “Oh, Catherine, congratulations!” Libby hugged her again. This time it was a long hug, the type of hug that says, this is how happy I am for you. Libby was thrilled for her. Truly. But it sent a quiver of sadness through her at the same time. She wouldn’t be there to see Catherine’s baby, to go crabbing, to enjoy the summer air outside. There would be a lot she would miss once she was back in New York.

  “We found you!” a familiar voice soared over the crowd. Ryan and Emily came trudging through the sand with their chairs hanging on their shoulders from straps. Charlotte bounded ahead of them, stopping abruptly to examine a shell that had revealed itself in the sand.

  “I didn’t know you were coming!” Libby walked over and offered another hug.

  “I haven’t missed a single one!” Ryan said, setting up their chairs near Pete’s.

  Before they could even get settled, Helen and Pop were coming toward them. “Pop!” Libby nearly squealed with excitement. It was so nice to see him out. His eyes were bright and shiny, and she could tell he was himself. “Hi, Helen!” she said, so happy to see her.

  Pop handed his chair to Pete, who set it up for him, and they all sat down together like a big family. “I didn’t want to miss this with everyone here. I don’t know how many more of these I’ll have, so best I make sure to attend.”

  Libby hated it when elderly people spoke frankly about their ending years. She didn’t want to think about how fleeting life was or life without Pop. The thought took her by surprise, and she didn’t want to ever leave him, knowing his condition. What if it worsened when she was so far away? What would she do?

  “You look so serious,” Pete said quietly against her shoulder. For a moment, he looked out at the fire, the thumping of the music in her ears as she watched him. Then, without warning, he looked right at her and stood up. He pulled her off her chair by her hands and spun her around to the music. She kicked off her shoes as Pete whirled her out and in, their arms moving together like the waves in the sea. She couldn’t help but smile when he did that. He had always danced with her, ever since they were young. They’d danced together so many times that moving with him was as easy and graceful as her long-practiced strokes in the water.

  Thomas and a few other kids went running past as Pete pulled her into an embrace, their feet kicking up sand with each movement. Libby got a glimpse of Helen, and her eyes seemed to be saying she missed this—the laughter, the dancing, the feeling in that moment that nothing could go wrong.

  “I want to dance, Uncle Pete,” a tinkling voice sailed over the music from behind them, and Pete let go of Libby so they could turn around to face Charlotte.

  “You do?” he kneeled down and took her hands, her fingers lost in his giant grip. Then, a squeal of laughter escaped her lips as he stood up and spun her around, her entire body lifting off the sand. Her striped sundress puffed out as the wind caught it, the gold of her hair catching the light from the bonfire, her ringlets trailing behind her. He set her back down onto her bare feet. Then Pete got on his knees again and started dancing with her, dipping her and spinning her, her giggles like bubbles in champagne.

  “I love you, Uncle Pete,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Love you too,” he smiled. “Do you mind if I dance with Libby now?”

  “Okay,” she said, dropping down onto a towel that Emily had filled with toys.

  Pete grabbed Libby’s waist, but he didn’t dance. He leaned in toward her. “Want to walk a
round a little?” he asked in her ear.

  “You’re not going to make me jump into anything are you?” Libby grinned.

  “Ha ha.” He took her hand, fingering her duck-game ring. “We’re going to take a walk,” he told the others. “We’ll be back.” Libby noticed Ryan’s grin and the darting glance he gave Emily. She wondered again what Emily had meant by her comment about having heard a lot about her.

  “You’re holding my hand a lot tonight,” Libby noted.

  “Well, you’re leaving tomorrow. I need to get all my hand-holding in before then,” he kidded. There was so much familiarity in his face. When he looked at her, it was as if they could talk without saying anything. His gaze was so pensive every time he looked at her tonight, and she wondered if he felt as sad about her leaving as she did about leaving him.

  Walking along the beach with him, with the sounds of the crowd and the band and the waves, Libby went right back to the smell of chlorine in her hair after a swim meet so long ago, the feel of the wind against her face in his Bronco, the taste of the strawberry wine they’d smuggled onto the beach, the laughter of friends, and the feel of his warm, salty skin as they sat, his arms around her, the moon shining off the bay, the pines towering behind them.

  “Pete. I…” She knew that when the night was over, when the sun brought new perspective, she’d have a clearer head, and she would go to New York, but it wouldn’t change what she felt for him. “I’ll miss you, that’s all.”

  “I know.” He looked out at the crowd of people walking through the stalls. He turned back to her, his eyes searching hers. The breeze blew her hair back away from her face as she waited for a response. After a long silence, he said, “I’ll miss you too. I just enjoy being with you. So tonight, can we do that—just be together and not think about tomorrow?”

  Her chest ached with uncertainty and fear and longing all at once. “Yeah,” she said in nearly a whisper.