Love Me for Me (14 page)

B
y the time
Scott arrived at Catherine’s, Libby’d had so much wine that she’d decided it best she didn’t drive home, so Scott had driven her, and a friend of his had followed in her rental. After they left, she sat in the cottage with a swimming head and the quiet buzz of the lamp beside her, feeling very alone. She knew better, but with the help of the wine, she decided to text Pete. Catherine had been lovely, but she felt as though Pete was her best friend there. Her fingers moved unsteadily across the letters:
I’ve been thinking about you. How are you? I’m bored. What are you doing right now?

She stared at the screen, her little blue text bubble the only thing on it. The minutes seemed like hours. She got up and got herself a glass of water. When she came back to the small sofa in the living room where her phone rested, she picked it up to be sure she hadn’t missed the ping. Nothing.

She sat for quite a while, drinking her water and holding the phone. As she diluted the alcohol in her body, she came to the conclusion that she shouldn’t have texted him. He knew as well as she did why they couldn’t be together, and it seemed that being friends was as hard for him as it was for her, so he was distancing himself. She knew him well enough to know that. She’d told him over and over how she wasn’t the same person anymore, so she had no right to text him as if she were still that girl who’d loved him.

After an hour of clicking through the shows on television and coming up empty, Libby decided to turn off the TV and call it a night. She picked up the remote just as she heard a knock at the door. She peeked out the window but she couldn’t see the person, so she stood there, deliberating. Another knock. She looked out again and this time she could see who it was. Pete was shifting impatiently from one foot to another. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking back and forth behind him. Libby opened the door.

“Has Pop come by here? I can’t find him,” he said. There was a tiredness in his eyes; the usual spirit that she’d seen in his face was absent tonight.

“No,” she said, suddenly worried beyond words. She glanced down the dark drive toward the street looking for him, hoping to see him wandering along.

“Damn.” He looked around again, his shoulders slumped, defeated. “I thought that if he’d forgotten again, he’d come back here, since this was his home with Nana, and if he did remember where he was, perhaps he’d come to see you on the off chance.”

Libby slipped her flats on and grabbed her keys. “I’ll help you find him.” She locked the handle and shut the door behind her. “Leave your car; we’ll look for him on foot. We can split up.”

They paced briskly down the walk and out to the street where the darkness wrapped around them like a woolen blanket. “Which way should we go?” she asked, her stomach filling with anxiousness.

“Let’s head toward town.”

As they headed down the road in silence the loose gravel of the asphalt beneath their feet, she felt more terrible with every step. There she was, telling Pete how different she was as an adult, how much had changed for her, yet she hadn’t stopped, yet again, to consider his point of view. Look how much had changed for him. He’d lost his grandmother, who was as close to him as his own mother, and now, in front of his eyes, he was losing his grandfather. Like Libby, there were remnants of who he was, but he, too, was someone else now. They continued down the street toward town, two people who used to know each other, bound by only memories, walking along in the empty space.

They arrived at the first intersection and Pete started looking in the windows of all the shops. Libby followed his lead, searching the faces of everyone she saw, willing Hugh to come out of one of the doors.
Where would he have gone?
She racked her brain for an answer. The intensity behind Pete’s movements was making her even more nervous. He knew more about Hugh’s prognosis than she, and if he was this worried, there was reason. She wanted to find him, if anything to take the concern out of Pete’s eyes, because it was killing her. He’d never looked so vulnerable, so unsure.

“How long has he been gone?” she asked, cupping her hands on her forehead and peering into the market window.

Pete looked down at his watch. “About two hours.”

Libby worried for Hugh. It was dark, the spring air was a little chilly. There was so much water and dense forest around them. If he had forgotten, would he know where he was when he became himself again? Only a few hours ago, nothing was wrong except her circumstances—which seemed so silly now that she’d been struck with the worst worry she’d ever felt, apart from the worry she’d had as a child as her daddy drove away to start his new family.

“Go down by Lucky’s and meet me back at the park,” Pete said, looking more frantic with every move. Libby nodded and headed toward Lucky’s gas station about two blocks away. She looked between buildings, on benches, around every corner she could think of. No Pop. The dark streets were so familiar that she didn’t need the store lights to know exactly where to go. She knew all the places in which to look, and still she couldn’t find him. As she raced toward the park, she glanced down the street that took her to Jeanie’s, but it was empty.

Her hands were starting to tremble from apprehension just as she caught sight of a familiar figure. When she saw the man coming out of the corner store, she blinked several times to be sure it was really the person she thought it was. “Pop!” she called out, and the figure turned around. “Pop! What are you doing?” She ran toward him, feeling as though the happiness would burst right out of her chest.

When she reached him, she threw her arms around him. “Where were you?” she asked, out of breath from the whole ordeal, a lump forming in her throat. She’d never been so glad to see anyone before.

“I sat down at Joe’s and had a cup of coffee and a chat with the folks in there. Then I picked up a loaf of bread. We were out.” As he said the words, Libby could tell by his eyes what he was probably thinking: that he couldn’t even go out for something that simple anymore without worrying everyone to death.

“Pete’s probably at the park by now. We were looking for you. We’d split up.” She linked her arm in his. “Let’s go meet him. He’ll be so happy you’re okay. And Pop,” she stopped walking and waited for him to make eye contact. “Next time, would you leave us a note?” He nodded, and she could tell the suggestion bothered him. He didn’t like his predicament any more than they did.

When they got to the park, Pete was waiting under a street light, his arms folded, his gaze up near the tops of the trees. “Pete,” she called out quietly, approaching him from behind. He turned around, and she could see the worry leave him as if it were some foreign being in his body. His shoulders fell, the tightness in his features left.

“Pop. Where have you been?”

Pop’s cheerful demeanor was replaced by one of annoyance. Libby had never seen him that way before. “I’ve already accounted for my night with Libby. Do I have to say it again just for your benefit?” he snapped. Libby looked at Pete, concerned again. Hugh hadn’t ever spoken to anyone like that before, that she’d ever heard. “Here,” he held out the loaf of bread tied in a plastic bag with a twist tie. “We were out.”

The three of them walked back to Libby’s to get Pete’s car. None of them uttered a word. Libby was too busy thinking about Pop’s behavior.
It’s the disease
, she thought. It had to be terrible not remembering basic things like where one lived. Even worse, it must be hard knowing that a time may come when Hugh wouldn’t even know the people around him. She wondered if he was irritable like that on a regular basis.

Pete must have a lot on his mind. Her presence was probably making it worse. He didn’t need her to get in the way with her insensitive texting. She thought again how selfish she’d been to send that text tonight.

By the time they got back to the cottage, the silence between them was deafening. The situation was too heavy to make small talk, yet none of them had anything to offer regarding the issue at hand. When they got onto the patch of grass, illuminated by the porch light, Libby finally said, “Pop, I’m glad you were just getting coffee and bread.” She hugged him, and she was happy he hugged her back. “Have a good night,” she said to Pete.

“You too,” Pete said and then left her on the grass. He and Hugh climbed into his Bronco. The engine growled as Pete looked one last time in her direction. Then they drove away into the darkness of the night, his red taillights shrinking in the distance. With the sound of crickets singing in the woods nearby, Libby stood, thinking.

Her worries about Pete’s shortness with her, the wine, seeing Catherine, and then the frantic search for Hugh had exhausted her. She tried to make sense of her thoughts, but her fatigue was knotting them all together, and she couldn’t even get one entire thought to process. She’d never been that tired in New York. Things had never been that hard. Even losing her job, leaving her apartment, and breaking up with Wade hadn’t exhausted her like that. She thought again how she needed to get a move on with the cottage, sell the thing and get out of town as soon as she could.

As she got inside and got settled, a text showed up on her phone. She opened the screen and read:
Still bored? Didn’t think so. :) Good night.
Libby smiled, feeling the fizz of happiness at the sight of his text. But then, as reality sank in, she realized there was a sadness to his message; she could feel it, and it made her remorseful for even sending such a flippant text in the first place. What had she been thinking? The only thing that made her smile again when she reread the text was that she’d gotten a smiley face. That was enough to make the rest of the night okay.

“
D
o
you think you can continue the hardwoods into the kitchen, or would tile look better?” Libby asked Bert from the flooring shop on Irvington Road as he snapped his measuring tape against a wall. She could hardly hear his answer above the banging of the cabinetry guys doing the kitchen remodel. She’d been busy all week, setting appointments and getting work done to ready the cottage for sale, and she was nearly finished. The kitchen wall had been repaired and painted a canary yellow, cabinets were being hung, and a new countertop would be installed by that evening. Bert was getting final measurements for a quote on the new kitchen floor, and that would be her final decision of the day.

Libby had been so busy with the house, she hadn’t seen Pete after the night he’d lost Pop to a loaf of bread, except to get him to sign his tax paperwork. When he’d come into the office, she didn’t ask him to lunch even though she’d wanted to. She kept it all business, like she should. He’d signed and they’d filed the taxes. Job complete. He hadn’t texted, and she hadn’t texted him either. Losing Pop that evening had been a wakeup call for her. She’d realized that Pete had his own life to live and she shouldn’t interfere with it, especially if she wasn’t planning on staying.

And she wasn’t staying. After work tomorrow, she was boarding a plane for New York. She couldn’t wait to see her friends at the shower, find out the latest from Trish, and maybe even go out for drinks. Her bags were packed, her tickets on her dresser, and the bridal shower gift purchased online and in transit. But there was a part of her that felt a little sad to be leaving. She’d made so many relationships stronger in her short time there, and as much as she’d tried to escape it when she’d arrived, she’d miss White Stone’s calming atmosphere and friendly people.

“Let’s go with tile in the kitchen,” she called out to Bert over the racket. “It’ll look best since you can’t match the hardwoods perfectly. Why don’t we do that white and gray tile that you showed me?” Bert nodded, scribbled a few things onto his clipboard, and then stepped over cabinetry to get to the front door.

The kitchen remodel had been going on all day while she was at work, so she’d called her mother and set up a supper date. She’d really enjoyed having Celia at Catherine’s house. It had marked a change in their relationship; it was a start to understanding her mom better. She was glad to be going over to her childhood home, and she was happy to be spending time with Celia. Their relationship had been difficult over the years, certainly, but she loved her mother and she wanted to spend time with her before going back to New York. Conversation was still a little difficult between them, but Libby was willing to give it a shot. Other than her father, who wasn’t ever near enough to her to have any kind of real relationship, Celia was Libby’s only family.

She left the cabinetry guys to finish their work, asking them to lock up as they left—one of the perks of a small town: knowing everyone enough to leave them to lock up her house. Then she went to her mother’s.

She pulled the car into the drive just as Celia stepped onto the front porch, waving like someone leaving port. It made her giggle, which felt good. She got out and shut the door. “Hi, Mom. How are you?” she called up to her.

“Great! Great. Come in and relax with something to drink.” her mother beamed, as they entered the house, Celia scuttling off to the kitchen.

Libby stood next to the curio cabinet by the front door, noticing her swimming trophies inside. She went through the small entryway that led to the living room and dropped down onto the sofa. A candle burned on the mantle, just in front of a massive oil painting of Libby at the age of five. The overwhelming display of her achievements right at the front door, the pictures of her all over the living room, it all hadn’t seemed odd until she’d seen it as an adult. It occurred to her that her mother’s sense of worth rested on her achievements, and it made getting that job in New York feel even more important. Not only was her own happiness riding on it; her mother’s was as well. The tense feeling she’d had as a child came back even with her efforts to rationalize it.

“Hope you like lemon in your sweet tea,” she said, handing Libby a glass. “It’s not homemade. I got it premade at the market. It was some new brand. Thought I’d try it.” Celia took a sip of her own and set the glass on the coffee table.

“Thanks,” Libby smiled. In adulthood, her mother seemed to want to please her, to make her happy. It occurred to Libby that Celia’s own insecurities and need to please people had probably been instrumental in her choices in raising Libby. Her mother seemed as anxious as Libby did most of the time, and Libby understood that now. “I got an interview in New York,” she said, knowing how delighted her mother would be with the news.

Celia clapped her hands together loudly. “Oh! That’s fantastic, Libby! I’m so proud of you!” Then, as quickly as her smile had emerged, it faded. “Be sure you tell Marty. Give him enough time to get organized before you leave.”

“I haven’t gotten the job yet, Mom. And Marty did tell me in our initial phone interview that it could be temporary, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble for him.”

“Well, I just know you’re going to get it! Won’t you be so happy to get out of here?” She took a sip of her tea.

“Can I ask you something?” Libby said, setting her glass down and turning toward Celia. Her mother waited, her eyebrows raised, an expectant look on her face. “If you’re so glad for me to get out of here, why did
you
stay all these years?”

Celia’s face became serious and she sat for a few silent seconds without responding. She frowned, her chest rising and falling with her breath. “Your father and I moved here for his job when we were young. I didn’t necessarily like it here, but we had to go where he could work. Then, like anywhere else, we started to make a life.” She paused for a long time, then took a sip of tea before continuing. “Your dad left
me
, Libby, and I couldn’t afford to go anywhere. I’d left my career far behind. That’s why I worked so hard to get you where you are. I didn’t want you to fall into the same trap.”

Libby had never heard her mother be that candid before, that honest, that open. She’d always said, “Chin up,” whenever Libby failed, and she’d pushed her harder. Now, Celia was showing Libby that she didn’t always have her chin up. She was letting Libby see her vulnerable side. For the first time in her life, Libby saw someone in front of her who was just like her, who understood her like only family could.

“I figured, but I’ve always wondered. Thank you for telling me.”

Celia smiled. “Now you know.” She stood up. “I’ve got chicken parmesan in the oven. Let me go check on it.”

Libby watched her leave, still thinking about her mother’s words. Now, looking at Celia Potter, Libby saw someone completely different. She saw a woman who had been heartbroken, who had spent her whole adult life trying to overcome the misery of a failed marriage. Her mother had lived so many years there, stuck where she’d never wanted to be, most likely hoping to find that happiness again, but knowing she wouldn’t get it. So she’d pinned all her hopes on Libby. She didn’t want Libby to get caught there, trapped in a relationship that may be doomed to fail. She’d made sure Libby’s life didn’t look a thing like hers. The whole time, Libby had thought she’d been protecting her mother by trying to make her happy, when really it had been Celia who had been trying with everything she had to ensure Libby’s happiness. Celia struggled with showing love—that much was clear. But Libby finally understood that by raising her the way she had, Celia was trying her best to show that love. Libby felt a warmth for her mother that she’d never felt before.

“It’s steaming hot, but dinner’s ready,” Celia called out from the next room.

Libby took her glass and headed into the kitchen.

“Grab your plate,” Celia said with a grin, “Let’s eat like we used to, just us girls.”

So many nights it had been only the two of them eating exactly like that. All of those nights, Libby had tried her best to relate to her mother but always struggled. Tonight was different. She finally got her.

During dinner, conversation was easy and enjoyable. Libby only wished she’d figured her mother out sooner than the day before her interview. If she got the job, she’d be moving back as soon as she could, putting distance between them once again. She promised herself she’d come home more often. She’d be sure to stop by Catherine’s and say hello. She may even try to get around to visit some of the people in town if she could. But most importantly, she’d come and visit her mom and Jeanie, Helen and Pop. And Pete. She’d never stay away that long again.