A Barefoot Summer

by Jenny Hale

  While Trish told her the days to work around, she pulled a wooden container from the moving box. It had been sanded down until the surface was as smooth as glass, the grains evident under the clear varnish. On one side of the lid were two brass hinges with curling details, and on the other side, a brass latch. Her memory box. She set it down next to her necklaces and opened the lid. “Other than the dates you can’t,” she scooted the moving box to the side with her foot, “do you have any particular days you’d like better, or do you want me to pick?” she asked.

  “Could you fit them in during the next month or two? I know that’s probably a lot on you, given that you’ve just moved and you’re trying to do renovations.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Okay! Then you pick the dates and I’ll be there!”

  “Will do.”

  After jotting down a list of possible times and dates for the shower and the odd detail about the brunch, they said their goodbyes and Libby stopped unpacking. It was time for a break. The sun was setting, painting the sky a vibrant pink. On the side of the cottage, off the kitchen, there was a small screened-in porch. It had a paddle fan and a comfortable porch swing. When Wade had mentioned buying furniture, the only piece that she argued over was that swing because from it, one could look across two acres of lawn, straight out to the sunrise over the bay in the morning, and the moon casting its glistening light in the late evenings.

  She’d been on that porch with Pete enough to understand the necessity of a solid piece of furniture for that location, but her memory hadn’t done it justice. The photos didn’t let in the light breeze coming off the bay or the shushing sound of the waves as they kissed the sand during high tide, the rustling of the pines, and the almost electric sounds of the insects in the woods. All those sounds, together with the clap, clap, clap of the paddle fan, were more like silence than anything she’d had in a long time.

  She just sat, gently rocking, her long strands of blond hair moving ever so slightly with the wind. The silence, while calming, made her more homesick. She wanted the velocity of the city, to be back in her reality where she could make progress toward her goals. But she was stuck in a place where nothing moved forward. If anything, it yanked her backward in time, like quicksand. Tears swelled in her eyes as she thought of it all. She tried to steady her breathing by matching her inhales and exhales with the tide.

  A knock at the screen door behind her sent her leaping to her feet. She hadn’t even heard anyone walk up.

  “Sorry, hon. Did I startle ya?” Jeanie stood with a covered dish in mitted hands.

  “It’s okay.”

  She held out her dish, the steam escaping from under the foil. “I brought you some supper.” Libby held the screen door open, allowing her to enter. “It ought to last you a few nights… You been cryin’?”

  “No, I think it’s just the salty air.”

  “You’ve been away too long if your eyes are tearin’ up from fresh air!” she said, shuffling up the three wooden steps. She knocked her feet against the boards on the porch, Libby guessed to get the stray sand off her shoes. “You need some good chicken casserole to reacquaint ya with this part of the world, Miss Libby!” She left Libby on the porch and headed inside toward the kitchen.

  Libby had known Jeanie all her life, and she was more mothering than her mother had ever been. With her big bear hugs, concerned eyes and loving smile, she was one of Libby’s favorite people. Once, when her mother had been telling a group of shoppers at the local supermarket all of the top universities she’d planned to visit with Libby, Jeanie caught Libby’s eye, pursed her lips, and rolled her eyes. That had been the first time it had occurred to Libby that perhaps her mother’s way wasn’t always the right way.

  She could talk to Jeanie.

  “It’s still hot so come and dish yourself some,” Jeanie said as Libby pulled a chair out at the wicker dinette she’d put in the small nook in the kitchen. “Mind if I have some too? I’ve got some apple pie out in the car, but I couldn’t get it in one trip.”

  “Not at all.” She pulled out a second chair and then went to the cabinets to get dishes. She set them down on the counter and grinned at Jeanie who had already found a serving spoon in the drawer and was dishing out their servings. “Thank you, Jeanie, for thinking of me. You didn’t have to do all this.” She was so grateful to have Jeanie and so thankful that she had brought her dinner. No one had ever brought her a fresh-baked pie in New York. More than the food, she could tell that Jeanie cared, and it felt good to be cared for.

  Jeanie waved a dismissive hand as if it were nothing, but Libby knew she’d taken a lot of time to prepare it, even if she didn’t want to admit it. “You don’t have an apron hangin’ around here,” she noted.

  Libby shook her head. “Nope. Don’t cook much.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’ll help you out for now, but you’d better get to practicin’ because no cookin’ ’round these parts means no eatin’!”

  Libby allowed a little huff of laughter to escape at that remark. Jeanie was right. If Miller’s even did takeout, it would probably start to get really old by the end of the month, considering the limited menu, and the other few places around also served mostly seafood which would wear out its welcome after a while.

  Jeanie set two glasses of tap water onto the table, pulled the chair across from Libby out a little farther, and lowered herself down. Draping a paper towel in her lap, she asked, “How are you really doin’?”

  “Not great,” she said, looking at her steaming chicken and pasta.

  “Thought so. That’s why I stopped by tonight. I could tell when I saw you last.” They ate in silence for a moment. Libby knew that she was waiting for her to say something, but she just didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know where to begin. Jeanie took a bite of chicken and followed it with a swig of water. “Wanna talk about it?”

  She wanted to say “no,” but with Jeanie, she knew that her secrets were safe. She took a deep breath and let it out like a burst pipe, the tension in her shoulders pinching her neck—and tried to figure out how to verbalize her thoughts. “It’s hard coming back… hard to see everyone.”

  Jeanie nodded and took another bite. Through the glass in the door, a swarm of tiny bugs circled the porch light outside the kitchen window. “By ‘everyone,’ you mean Pete?”

  There it was. Jeanie just laid it all out there. But she was right. Libby couldn’t lie to Jeanie. “That’s a big part of it, yeah.”

  “Have you two had a chance to talk?”

  “Some. I don’t think he hates me anymore. Now he just doesn’t like me,” Libby smiled.

  “I’ve heard of married couples worse off than that. Maybe you two can work things out then.”

  “Maybe,” she smiled, knowing that she meant Pete’s “maybe” and not the real one.

  “If you did work things out, would you stay?”

  “No.” Her shoulders were tightening with the complete misery of her predicament. She could feel the stress welling up. Why did she even have to have dated Pete Bennett? They’d been friends for so long. Why had they taken that next step? It made everything so complicated. He was a fantastic person, just not the right one for her, and now it left them in a very odd place.

  “You might surprise yourself. Not everyone wants to leave this town. There’s a lot of good here, you know. Some people like it enough to spend their whole lives here.”

  Jeanie’s comment brought to mind Anne’s letter and the choices that she’d had before her. Regardless of what may have happened, she’d stayed. Libby wanted to tell Jeanie about it, but she knew it wasn’t her secret to tell. She wondered if Jeanie knew anything about the man named Mitchell or if she had heard any stories about trouble between Pop and Nana. They had been so perfect together; it seemed unthinkable that anything could have put a wedge between them, yet the point crept into her mind that Nana had been given the chance to escape that town for something bigger.

  “What’re you thinki
n’ about?” Jeanie asked.

  Libby set down her fork and put her hands in her lap. She took a moment to look around the kitchen, the old wallpaper still there where Nana had hung it. “I think about Nana and Pop a lot since coming home,” she said. “Being here brings back so many memories.”

  Jeanie took a sip of her water and nodded, following Libby’s gaze as she looked around the room once more. Jeanie had known Hugh and Anne Roberts quite well. During so many of the times she sought a retreat from the demands of her mother, and she’d come to the Roberts’ place with Pete, Jeanie had been there. Libby had never said a bad word to anyone about her mother, but whenever she’d shown up, it was as if Jeanie already knew.

  “Do you remember what they were like when you were young?” she asked, trying to ascertain how Mitchell could have even gotten into the picture. “They were always so happy. As a kid, it never occurred to me, but now, I wonder about their life together.” She scooped a bite of casserole onto her fork. “Didn’t you say that you’d attended their wedding? I’ll bet it was wonderful.”

  “I did go to their weddin’,” Jeanie smiled. “I was seven.” The paddle fan clacked outside as it spun the warm air around on the porch. “I remember her dress so well because I was at that age where I still thought it might be possible to be a princess one day. And that’s exactly what Anne looked like.”

  Libby leaned on her fist, her elbow propped on the table. “Tell me what she looked like.”

  “She had a long, ivory dress. The top was a mixture of lace and satin. It went right up to her neck and down her arms. She had a large sash of satin at her waist, and a train—I swear—the length of a football field. At least that’s how I remember it.” Jeanie stood up. “Come on out with me. Let’s get the pie from the car.”

  The crickets hummed outside as they walked into the late evening air. The sun was still resting on the edge of the horizon, casting enough light into the night sky to make the trees look like silhouettes against the sapphire-blue background.

  “I’ll bet Nana was a pretty young woman,” Libby said, opening Jeanie’s car door and allowing her to take the pie off the passenger seat. With the open car windows, the smell of cinnamon and apples wafted up toward her as if it were just out of the oven.

  “She was. I’ve heard she was the catch of the town when she was a girl.” Jeanie stepped to the side, holding the tin while Libby shut the car door. “In her—I suppose—thirties, she always had red lips and her dark hair rolled up on the sides in pin curls. So pretty.”

  “How long had she known Pop before they got married?”

  “I’m not sure. That was before my time. But I’ve never known a happier couple,” she said as they went inside.

  Libby opened a drawer and pulled out a knife. It was all she had for serving apple pie. As she dished the dessert, she was left to ponder the man named Mitchell and how he’d offered to take Nana away from Pop.

  Chapter Nine

  Libby felt strange to be dressed down. Even her casual clothes were out of place there—as Jeanie had pointed out last night after dinner—so she’d gone to the local clothing store and purchased a simple pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and a pair of flip flops. She had needed some clothes to wear when she worked on the cottage. The new outfit was also fitting for trips to the hardware store.

  With her gift card in hand, she’d decided to try again and see if she could find something to get that kitchen wallpaper off. It didn’t hurt matters that Jeanie had told her Pete was always in the hardware store and that he liked to take Pop there around noon before lunch. Since his dementia had worsened, Pop liked to build things, and he made Pete take him to Wentworth’s almost daily.

  There were so many things she wanted to say to Pete, to explain herself more, to make the situation between them better. She hadn’t worked out exactly how she wanted to say it all, and she didn’t know if she’d have the emotional stability to do it, but she still wanted to see him. She stood, staring at the various brands of paper stripper, scrutinizing the benefits of each, when she heard a familiar voice that sent flutters shooting through her stomach.

  “Wow. That’s an improvement.”

  She spun around to find Pete, right on time. The sight stunned her. It hadn’t been Pete who’d captured her attention. It was Pop, who was standing next to him. Pop looked considerably older than the last time she’d seen him. His hair, now completely white, didn’t stay down quite as easily anymore, and he seemed smaller, thinner. It took her by surprise so much that she didn’t even speak for fear her mouth would gape open. Her strong and protective Pop had withered to this feeble old man. But his big, bushy eyebrows rose when he caught sight of her and his face lit up.

  “Libby!” he nearly shrieked before wrapping her in a tight bear hug. He pulled back, his hands trembling with old age and covered in sun spots. With everything else in town, time had stood still, but not for Hugh Roberts. He had definitely moved along with the years. But upon closer inspection, his smile was the same and his eyes were still friendly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” she said, her eyes glassy from tears. She’d missed so many good years with him. Seeing how he looked now made her wish she had at least called him. She wrapped her arms around him, noticing how her fingers met at his back. He’d been a broad, tall man when she was growing up, and she could barely get her arms around him, but now he was so much smaller. He didn’t smell the same or feel the same, but it was him. She leaned back to look at his face and smiled, blinking the tears out of her eyes. “I missed you,” she said again.

  “Have you come back to see Pete?” he asked.

  “Um,” she wavered. Clearly he was thrilled at the idea, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. Pete seemed to read her thoughts and nodded at her as if to say, Say yes. “Yes, I have.”

  Hugh clapped his hands together in one loud motion. “Oh! That’s fantastic. Great news!” he said before turning down an aisle and heading toward the packets of nails.

  “Pop’s making a bookcase today. He needed some supplies.”

  Together they walked behind Hugh toward the spot where he had stopped to inspect a few small bags of nails. Being next to Pete made her knees feel loose and weak as if she couldn’t hold herself up. He wasn’t his normal friendly self, but he was pleasant instead of harsh, and she couldn’t help but notice it. Was his friendly demeanor because he understood how hard it was for her to explain herself and apologize for her actions? Or was it for Pop’s benefit? “What did you mean by ‘That’s an improvement?’” Libby asked, her arm brushing against his.

  “Your outfit. You finally look like one of us,” he said, that familiar amusement hiding behind his eyes. “Not that I don’t like the other outfits. This just seems more you.” The corners of his mouth turned up, and his grin unleashed an unexpected swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

  The problem was that it wasn’t her at all. Not anymore. She didn’t feel any more comfortable in these clothes than she had in the others, but for different reasons.

  “You miss Pop,” Pete said. “Glad you’re not heartless at least.”

  She could feel the sting of sadness, and she tried not to let it show. “I missed him so much,” she said. “I missed you both so much.” She wished she could sit him down right there and tell him everything she was feeling: how she’d cried about leaving him, how empty she’d felt for so long, how much she’d wanted to be with him.

  Pete didn’t respond to her comment, but she could see his face become calm, his eyes moving in thought. His jaw wasn’t clenched anymore like it had been the other times she’d seen him, and the line between his eyes was gone. Perhaps she was getting through to him.

  “Found them!” Hugh scuffled toward Libby and Pete, a small bag dangling from his fingers. Then he stopped and held the bag unusually far from himself and squinched up his nose. “How much are they?”

  “It’s fine, Pop. I’ve got it.”

  “Nope! No, no, no. I c
an pay for it, son. How much is it?”

  “Three dollars and some change.” Pete gave Libby a conspiratorial glance, and they both had to hide their grin, for they both knew how stubborn Hugh Roberts could be. With all the other changes in him clearly, that trait had held on. The common ground gave her a floating sensation, as if all their issues were pulled from her shoulders in that one moment. Pete was smiling. At her. There was nothing better than that. Even if, once Pop wasn’t there, they still had the same problems, it gave her a chance to feel good, and she hadn’t had that in a long time.

  Even though she still needed to get the wallpaper stripping liquid and a few things for the cottage, Libby walked with them to the register where Hugh paid for his nails. The same mustached man from the other day handed him his change. “So, my boy, should we leave Libby to her shopping?”

  Pete looked straight at her, right into her eyes, and it was as if they were the only two there. “Maybe,” he said. The word had come out like Maybe we should, but Libby wondered if he really meant their maybe. Did he not want to leave her? She kept her face clear of any emotion just in case it was all in her head.

  “You’ll have to stop by the house sometime,” Hugh said, embracing her to say goodbye.

  Libby nodded and smiled, unsure of an appropriate response to that suggestion.

  “Well, give her a hug then and we’ll be on our way!” Hugh said.

  Tension zinged through her. Pete let out a nervous-sounding chuckle but took a step toward her, putting his arms around her. Then, to her surprise, he pulled her close just like he had so many years ago, his lips on the top of her head, her face nestled into his chest—it was only an instant, and then it was done. He’d pulled away before she’d even had a chance to really register the feeling. Unexpectedly, all the emotions from the last few weeks flooded her body, and tears surfaced in her eyes again.