*
“HELLO, DADDY.” LIBBY’S FATHER, Winston, Seattle’s former mayor who now ran his own law firm, sat at the head of the dining room table looking every bit as imposing as he had back when he’d ruled the city.
“Libertina...” Though he’d never been an overly demonstrative man, he rose, circling the table to hold her, lightly rocking her back and forth.
Relief and love for this man whom she’d alternately hated and adored flowed through her like a healing balm. The years and harsh words that had spanned between them faded, leaving only love.
“I’m sorry.” He gripped the back of one of the ornately carved chairs. “I—I made a lot of mistakes. Namely, putting my need for reelection ahead of you—your feelings. Forgive me?”
“Of course.” Could it truly be this easy? Erasing years of confusion and pain? She had a hard time believing it would. A long time ago, she’d stopped trusting her father. He’d turned on her at a time when she’d never needed his guidance more.
Now here she was again, needing his emotional support, which he oddly enough seemed willing to give. But at what cost?
*
BY OCTOBER, HEATH and his team had performed a pair of in-and-out covert ops in Syria and a two-week stint in Afghanistan. His body was rock hard and once again accustomed to constant abuse. His mind was sharp and senses honed.
As for his heart—it ached.
Now he hurt almost as badly as he had when Patricia died. But he hadn’t lost Libby. Instead he’d been too cowardly to even try for something deeper. He couldn’t stop wondering what would happen to him if he did go all-in, and then something happened to her, too. Or, God forbid, something happened to Heather? He wasn’t sure he was capable of surviving another loss on that scale.
A little past seven on Halloween, he pulled his truck up to the curb at Mason and Hattie’s new place. The two-story brick colonial sat in a quiet Norfolk neighborhood that was all decked out for the holiday with orange lights strung on white picket fences and hay bales, scarecrows and mums decorating every front porch.
Ghosts, witches, vampires and fairies roamed the streets in all directions, making him wish he’d stayed back at the apartment, nursing a few beers and playing “Call of Duty.”
He didn’t have to ring the bell as he damn near got run down by a gang of Power Rangers on sugar highs.
“Glad you could make it,” Mason said. “Especially since you’re my excuse for turning this gig over to Hat Trick and Pandora.”
“Good call.” The last thing Heath needed was to be reminded of a holiday that was predominantly for kids. Had Libby bought Heather one of those little baby costumes he’d seen the infant crowd wearing? If so, she had to be the cutest kid in the history of the holiday. The fact that he was missing out on sharing it with Libby and her, taking dozens of pics he could brag about Monday morning made him sick inside. But that longing still wasn’t enough to override the fear.
*
“NICE MEETING YOU,” Libby said in the entry hall on Halloween night to Drew Corbett—a junior partner at her father’s firm. She’d wanted to get Heather one of the cute costumes she’d seen at the mall, but her mother had thought it would be déclassé. Instead, she’d opted for a taffeta dress in burnt orange with chocolate-toned tights and matching patent-leather Mary Janes. The only holiday concession her mother had sanctioned was a candy corn and silk flower headband. “My father’s told me a lot about you.”
“Likewise.” He handed her a bouquet of yellow, orange and white mums. “Happy Halloween.”
“Thank you.” She repositioned the baby to her other arm. “Come on in. The party’s this way....” Party being a relative term. This was hardly the kind of lively, the-more-the-merrier affair Gretta would’ve thrown. With aperitifs, champagne, a full bar and five-man jazz band, the night was by invitation only. Libby had quarreled with her mom about Heather even making an appearance, but surprisingly, her father served as her champion, explaining that Drew should see what he’s getting into. The comment hadn’t set well then, and still didn’t now, but as was the case more and more, she swallowed her feelings to please her parents and keep the peace. “Hope you’re hungry. Mom’s caterer made enough to feed a small country.”
“I’m always hungry,” Drew said, following after her. “I run marathons.”
“That’s great.”
“I think so. Running gives you quite a natural high. Do you? Run?”
She laughed. “I change diapers.”
“Oh. Sure.” The night only got worse from there.
By the time her “date” left, Libby had long since put Heather to bed and was headed that way herself when her parents called her into her father’s mahogany-paneled office.
“You sure did shine tonight,” her father said from behind his desk once she’d sat next to her mother in one of the leather chairs facing him. “I’ve never been more proud.”
“I feel the same,” her mother echoed.
Libby wished she found more joy in her parents’ statements, but all she really felt was flat. A nanny had been hired for Heather, and Rose kept Libby so busy with hair and nail appointments, shopping and club lunches that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worked with her pottery wheel—not that it would’ve even been allowed in the house. She’d touched base with Zoe the previous week, and the gallery owner had all but begged her for more merchandise.
“You’re probably wondering why I’ve got you in here so late.” Winston sat taller in his leather desk chair.
“Yes.” She hid a yawn behind a tight laugh.
Rose patted her knee. “Your father and I have wonderful news. You’re going to be so pleased.”
Had they refurbished the boathouse to serve as her art studio as she’d requested? For the first time since her arrival, they’d actually piqued her interest in what they had to say.
“You and Drew seemed to hit it off.”
She shrugged. “He’s okay.”
“Well, since he’s my sharpest junior partner, I’d hoped—of course in due time—you’d find him more than just okay.”
While Libby sat shell-shocked, her mother prattled on.
“I’ve always had my heart set on a June garden wedding for you, but if that’s too soon, maybe September? Or even Christmas. Your bouquet could be poinsettias mixed with white orchids.”
Mortified didn’t come close to describing the thick disappointment making her limbs and heart heavy. “You guys can’t be serious?”
“Honey,” her father said, “Drew’s a wonderful man. Your mom and I have noticed how lonely you’ve seemed, and thought maybe a handsome new fella in your life might make you smile.”
“Whoa.” Libby stood and forced deep breaths to keep from saying something she’d later regret. For Heather’s sake she wouldn’t burn bridges, but enough was enough. “While I appreciate you both caring how I feel, please slow down. Ever since I came back, I’ve let you two dictate my every move. What I wear, eat. How I style my hair. Do you have any idea how long it took for me to grow it that long? It made me feel pretty.
“Now...” She touched her trembling hand to her shorn locks. She might have a sophisticated bob, but she didn’t feel like herself. “I feel like a robot, constantly following your commands.”
“Sweetheart...” When Rose reached for her hand, Libby stepped just out of reach.
“I love you two. I hoped coming back would change things, but everything’s the same. You don’t want me to grow into a self-sufficient adult, but keep me under a glass dome. Like a doll that’s for looking, not touching. But that’s not who I am. I hate these uptight clothes—” she tugged the jacket of her Chanel suit “—and I miss my work. Did you know my pottery now sells out of a gallery? No, you don’t, because you never asked and I knew it’d only upset you if I told you. But how sick is that? That I knew you wouldn’t be happy learning that I’m actually a working artist.”
“Libertina, honey—” her mother went to her, tucking Libb
y’s hair neatly behind her ears “—calm down. Of course we’re proud of you. We just thought that with the baby, you’d be too tired to work. I was exhausted after having you. And if you don’t care for Drew, your father has lots of other men whose company you might enjoy.”
On the heels of a near-hysterical laugh, she said, “My name’s Libby. And the last thing I want is another man. Especially when there’s someone I already care deeply for.”
“The baby’s father?” Eyebrows raised, Rose cautiously smiled. “You haven’t told us much about him. What’s he like? By all means, invite him up for a weekend so we can get to know him. Please, Libby, all we want is to see you smile. We know we’re not exactly part of the hip crowd, but maybe we could be—if you’d meet us halfway?”
“Mom...” Libby was touched by her mother’s speech, but she wasn’t sure what else to say. “This isn’t about you being hip, but letting me be me.” Sighing, she cradled her forehead in her hands. “Maybe it’d be best for everyone if Heather and I just leave.”
“And go where?” her father asked. “I promise I mean no disrespect by this, but, Libertina—Libby...” He smiled through silent tears that made Libby’s heart ache. “The time you were gone was easily the darkest of my life. I may sound melodramatic with this next admission, but I honestly don’t think I could survive if you left again—especially not taking my granddaughter with you. In light of that fact—” Fresh tears shined in his eyes as he looked to Libby’s mom and then her. “If you promise to stay, and give your mother and I pointers on the proper etiquette of proud parents of an artist, I promise to never play matchmaker again—unless you want me to.”
Her mother added, “And not only will I promise not to meddle in your love life, but leave you alone when it comes to your choice in hair and clothes. I’m sorry.” Now, her mom was crying, too. “I thought I could make things the way they used to be, but what I never stopped to consider was that when you left, we weren’t exactly functioning as a family, but more like a campaign machine.”
“Mom...” Libby swiped tears of her own.
“Your mother’s right.” Her dad passed around a silver-plated tissue box, then took two for himself. “The way I treated you was deplorable. I can never apologize enough—to both of you. I put pride before family. Having you back, holding Heather...” He blew his nose. “With the benefit of hindsight, I realize you three ladies are my world. I love you.”
Her parents weren’t the demonstrative type, so when her dad stepped around his desk to give Libby a hug, then kiss her mom full on her lips, she couldn’t be entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming.
Gazing back to her daughter, taking Libby’s hands in hers, her mother said, “If you stay, assuming you’re okay with it, how would you feel about all of us transforming the boathouse into your ideal workspace? Whatever you need, sweetheart. Name it, and it’s yours—even a second nursery so Heather can be with you while you work.”
Libby crushed her mother and father in hugs. “I’d love that. I love you both so much.” Through more tears, she added, “Daddy, I really am sorry for harming your campaign all those years ago. All I ever wanted was for you to love me for who I am—not who you want me to be.”
“Done. Only...” Once she released him, he reached for his archaic Rolodex. “I do have contacts in the art world. I’ll make some calls and then—”
“Winston!” her mother admonished. “Before you do anything regarding Libby’s art career, don’t you think it would be wise to first ask her?”
He reddened, but in a soft, uncharacteristically lovable way that prompted Libby to dive in for another hug.
Without Heath, Libby feared her life may never feel totally complete, but with her parents’ emotional support, she’d just taken a giant step closer to finding happiness and that elusive sense of belonging she’d been looking for.
*
“THANKS FOR HAVING ME,” Heath said to Hattie the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. His team had just finished debriefing from another run to Syria and he badly craved home cooking instead of the jar of mayo and pickles that were pretty much all he had in his fridge.
Mason was in the playroom reacquainting himself with his kids.
“Of course,” Hattie said. “You know you’re welcome anytime.” After giving him the first decent hug he’d had in a long time, she asked, “How are your mom and uncle?”
“Good. Mom’s relieved I’ll be home for the holiday.” While Hattie sprinkled crushed Corn Flakes atop her famous chicken casserole, he sat on a kitchen bar stool. “Truthfully, I’m shocked the CO gave me the time off. As long as I was gone, I was sure he’d keep me on lockdown.”
She waved off his concern. “That’s what the baby SEALs are for. You’ve earned your break.”
“I guess. Got any beer?”
On her way to the fridge, she said, “That’s a dumb question. Here.”
“Bless you.” He downed half the bottle.
After grabbing one for herself, she said, “I know this is no doubt the last thing you want to hear, but I got an email from Libby. She’s doing well.”
“Good for her. Glad one of us is.”
He hated Hattie’s wide-eyed look of concern.
“Don’t even start. I’m honestly glad to be back at work. It’s great being busy. Libby and I...” He finished his beer. “Got another?”
“Not unless you admit you two were more than friends.”
“Let me get this straight—you’re blackmailing me for beer?”
“Yep.” She retrieved another cold one, wagging it in his face. “What’re you gonna do about it?”
Sighing, he said, “You win. Had I stayed in Bent Road, we’d probably still be together, but did you know she actually wanted to marry me?”
“Of course, I know.” She grinned. “It was my idea.”
“Are you kidding me? Why’d you go and tell her something like that? You know my history. I’ve already done the marriage routine, and there’s no way I’m setting myself up for that kind of pain again should something go wrong.”
“Yeah, but—” she popped the beer’s twist-off cap and handed it to him “—what if you did marry her and the rest of your life went really right?”
Chapter Eighteen
Come morning, Heath rose extra early.
He stopped off at a grocery store for flowers, then drove through light drizzle toward Patricia’s grave.
He needed to talk to her.
At 6:00 a.m., the lot was deserted. The groundskeeper waved Heath in upon opening the gate.
“How’ve you been?” Arthur asked. The hunched-over old guy had to be pushing ninety, but he always wore a smile. He lived in a small caretaker’s house with his wife and a yappy little poodle that sometimes dug out from under his backyard fence and ran around peeing on graves. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Some good days, some bad,” Heath said. “How about you?”
“Happy wife, happy life.” He knelt to fish an empty beer can from under an azalea. “Though this damp weather’s got my arthritis acting up.”
“Sorry to hear it.”
“I’ll be all right. By the time my Gladys adds a little whiskey to my coffee, then gives my shoulders a nice rub, I’ll be A-okay.”
Heath laughed. “Sounds good. I’ll leave you to it.”
He envied Arthur’s seventy-year marriage. That was the way it was supposed to be. That’s the expectation he’d had when saying his vows.
With two hours to kill until he was due on base, Heath took his time winding through the graves. He liked looking at the really old ones, wondering about their lives. He was always surprised by how young people had been when they’d died in the 1800s. Patricia had also been stolen in her prime.
In front of her tombstone, he knelt, tearing out the few weeds before placing her flowers.
“Sorry it’s been so long,” he eventually said, “but you know how I never set much stock in these kinds of things. When you left me, I watched you go.
Wherever you are, you’re sure as hell not in this grave—at least not your spirit.”
He sat back on his haunches, plucking more weeds and the too-long grass.
“Anyway, I’ve got a bit of a situation, and I don’t know where else to turn. Everyone seems to think I should just jump right into another marriage, but...” He bent forward from the waist, pressing the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes. “It’s not that easy, you know? I used to envy you for going first. I imagined you partying up there with angels, while I was stuck down here in hell. Only something happened this summer—I met someone. When we’re together, she makes me feel like I could gladly go another fifty or so years.
“I’m pretty sure I really care about this woman, but not only do I feel guilty about leaving you behind, but what if she dies, too? It’s scary—this whole relationship thing. I just wish you were here to tell me what to do.”
Heath was so lost in his fear that he didn’t notice the woman approaching until she was nearly on top of him.
“Good morning,” she said. Her hair was blond—though not as pale as Libby’s, and cut short. She pushed a stroller, and when he got a look inside, he saw an infant not much bigger than Heather was when she’d been born.
“Morning.”
Just as soon as she’d appeared, she was gone, heading over a small hill.
But then a man appeared, chasing after the mother and child. Soon, he’d also vanished over the hill, leaving Heath once again alone.
All the times he’d visited Patricia’s grave, he’d never seen anyone pushing a stroller.
“Was that supposed to be some kind of sign?” he asked. “Am I supposed to go after Libby, then bring her here? Home?”
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but all he got was the familiar tightening in his chest from missing Libby and her baby. In that moment, he finally realized Patricia, his mom and Hattie had all been right—even Libby. They’d all told him, maybe not in the same words, that he couldn’t spend the rest of his life with a grave.
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