Finding Libbie

by Deanna Lynn Sletten

  “Is Mom not feeling well again?” Libbie asked. She picked up her littlest niece and held her. She was only five months old, but she was quite heavy. Libbie felt bad that she hadn’t seen much of little Leslie or Lynn over the past couple of months, but she’d wanted to spend every free moment with Jack.

  Gwen sighed. She looked tired and had dark circles under her eyes. “She’s been sick more than usual. She hasn’t been the same since you moved out. You really should visit her more often so she doesn’t feel so depressed.”

  Libbie frowned. “Why is it my fault? She was sick even when I lived at home.”

  Gwen shook her head. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

  Libbie didn’t want to fight with her sister. She’d been feeling really happy about the prospect of the library job, and she wasn’t going to let her sister ruin her good mood. “I’ll try to stop by more and see Mom,” she conceded.

  Libbie ran upstairs to her room and rummaged through her closet. She had an extra suitcase in there, so she pulled it out and packed up several pairs of shoes and a few purses. She sifted through her dresses and pulled down a few, laying them on the bed.

  She went down the hall and peeked into her mother’s room. The shades were drawn and the only light was from the lamp on the nightstand. She knocked softly. “Mom? It’s Libbie. I just wanted to say hello.”

  There was no answer, so Libbie slowly crept inside. “Mom?” She wrinkled her nose. The air was stale and there was a strong scent. It smelled like the liquor her father usually drank before dinner. “Mom?”

  Libbie came to her mother’s bedside. Abigail was sleeping. Her face was slack and her hair was mussed. Libbie had seen her mother sick many times before, but she’d never looked this bad. As a child, she remembered her mother having episodes, as they called them then, only once or twice a year. But as Libbie had grown older, her mother’s episodes had increased.

  Abigail stirred and opened her eyes. She stared at Libbie but didn’t seem to recognize her. “Gwen?”

  “No, Mom. It’s me, Libbie. I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay.”

  Abigail pushed herself up a little. “Will you hand me my glass please, dear?”

  Libbie noticed her mother’s words were slurred. She reached over and picked up the stout glass on the nightstand. Looking into it, she wondered, was her mother drinking alcohol in the middle of the day?

  “Libbie. Please.”

  Libbie handed her mother the glass, making sure Abigail had it firmly in her hand before letting it go. Her mother took a long drink and then lay back against her pillows, sighing.

  “Thank you, dear,” Abigail said. She closed her eyes.

  Libbie took the glass and set it back on the nightstand. That was when she saw the bottle. It had been hidden from view by the lamp. Slowly, Libbie turned the bottle so she could read the label. Bourbon whiskey.

  Libbie pulled her hand away quickly as if the bottle had stung her. She stared at her mother incredulously. Her mother wasn’t sick—she was drunk.

  Libbie ran from the room quickly, retrieved her clothes from her bedroom, and went down the stairs. She left the house without saying good-bye to Gwen. She couldn’t bear to face her. Gwen had to know that her mother was drunk, not ill. But there was no way she could discuss this with Gwen right now. Maybe not ever.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Libbie didn’t mention her mother’s drinking to Jack when he came home that night. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. She was afraid he’d think less of her and her family if he knew. As she thought it over, she wondered if she’d been too quick to judge. Maybe her mother really was sick and in pain. She could be drinking the bourbon to lessen her pain. Her mother took several different types of pills, so she must be under a doctor’s care.

  Libbie tried to remember if her mother had ever drunk excessively when she was a child. Abigail had always been the picture of decorum. Libbie never once saw her mother act strange or slur her words. If she were an alcoholic, wouldn’t she be drunk all the time? Libbie didn’t know any alcoholics, but she thought they couldn’t get through a day without being drunk. That wasn’t how her mother was. So maybe she needed a few days of relief every now and then.

  Libbie forced herself to push aside thoughts of her mother’s condition. Maybe she’d ask Gwen about it at some point. But until then, she wanted to feel good about the possibility of working at the library.

  Thursday afternoon Mrs. Thompson called her.

  “I’m happy to tell you that the board decided to offer you the job, Libbie,” Mrs. Thompson said. “I hope you still want to work for us.”

  Libbie wanted to squeal with delight but she didn’t think that would be very professional. “Oh, yes. I definitely still want the job.”

  “Wonderful. You’ll be working every Monday and Wednesday, nine to three. Come in on Monday, and I’ll show you around and get you started.”

  When Libbie hung up, she danced around the room and finally let out a happy squeal. Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Candy was standing there, looking worried.

  “I was getting out of my car and I heard you yelling,” Candy said. “Are you okay?”

  Libbie laughed. “I’m fine. I just got a call from the library saying I got the job! I was too excited to hold it in.”

  “That is exciting. We have to celebrate. Come over to our place. Jackie’s home, too.”

  Libbie followed Candy to her cottage and told Jackie the good news. Jackie clapped her hands in delight. “I’m so happy for you, Libbie.”

  “Let’s celebrate!” Candy said, heading over to her fridge. She pulled out a cheap bottle of red wine and a bottle of 7 Up.

  Libbie watched as she filled three glasses half full of wine and then filled them the rest of the way with the 7 Up. “I’ve never seen anyone do that before,” Libbie said as Candy handed her a glass.

  “It’s really good,” Jackie said. “And it makes cheap wine taste a lot better.” She giggled.

  Candy raised her glass. “To Libbie’s first job,” she toasted. The three girls clinked glasses and then took a sip.

  “This is good,” Libbie said. She took another sip. It was sweet yet smooth, and since it was only half wine, she figured it wouldn’t be too strong. “What’s it called?”

  Jackie giggled. “It’s a cheap version of a spritzer.”

  Libbie didn’t know what a spritzer was, but she knew she liked this drink.

  That night at dinner, Libbie made spritzers for her and Jack. She’d told him about getting the job, and he’d offered to take her out for dinner to celebrate, but she’d decided to eat in instead.

  “What’s this?” Jack said, staring at the wine glass.

  “The girls call it a wine spritzer. Try it. It tastes really good.”

  Jack took a sip. “It’s sweet, but I like it.” He smiled over at Libbie. “Where’d you get the wine?”

  “The girls let me buy a bottle from them. It’s really cheap wine, but with the 7 Up added, it tastes good. I thought we’d celebrate.”

  Jack lifted his glass. “Well, then. Here’s to you and your new job.”

  Libbie lifted her glass and clinked his, then took another sip. She’d drunk only one of these in the afternoon with the girls, and it had made her feel warm inside, but otherwise she’d felt fine. And now, as they ate dinner and drank their wine, that warm, cozy feeling washed over her again.

  “Your cheeks are flushed,” Jack said. “You look adorable.”

  Libbie giggled.

  “I could get used to this,” Jack said, reaching over and kissing her lightly on the cheek.

  “Used to what?” Libbie asked.

  “Wine at dinner. I feel like we’re being fancy.” He winked.

  “Maybe after dinner we can celebrate a different way,” Libbie said, winking at him.

  Jack stood and picked Libbie up into his arms. “I’m done eating right now,” he said, laughing.

  Libbie
laughed along with him as he carried her to the bedroom to celebrate.

  Libbie loved her new job. She’d been working there for a month, and she enjoyed every minute of it. On her first day, Mrs. Thompson explained the work she’d be doing and that she’d be paid $1.45 an hour. Her duties included checking books in and out, reshelving books, and helping to tag new books when they came in. She was introduced to the other full-time employee, Ardith Haag, a sweet lady in her mid-fifties. Libbie liked Ardith immediately and felt comfortable around both ladies. There were several volunteers who worked there on a regular basis, too, and they all welcomed Libbie warmly when they met her.

  Libbie almost wished she worked at the library more than twice a week. She felt important and useful, and she loved helping people find books. Mothers with little children came in regularly, and Libbie had fun helping the little kids find picture books and storybooks. She took pride in her work and was often asked for recommendations, and people said they liked her choices.

  When she wasn’t at work, she had plenty to do at home, but she grew restless easily. The first couple of months, running her own household had been exciting, and she did enjoy cooking and baking. But now the housework and laundry were growing old fast. She still didn’t mind cooking, but everything else bored her. She’d been used to having Sandra clean her room and do her laundry at home, and she hadn’t realized how nice that had been until she started doing all the work herself. But she didn’t complain to Jack because she knew she should be grateful that he worked so hard to support them and that she should want to help by doing the work at home.

  This is what you decided you wanted when you married Jack. So stop complaining.

  Still, she didn’t get the same feeling of accomplishment in cleaning and cooking as she did at the library.

  To take the edge off her long, boring days, Libbie had a wine spritzer with lunch every afternoon. She’d stopped taking Valium in the mornings because it made her feel slow and fuzzy all day. But the wine made her feel warm and happy, so she didn’t think it would hurt to have just one glass a day. Occasionally, she had a glass with dinner, too, but she tried not to drink too often in front of Jack. He never said anything to her about it, but she was sure he was thinking about that night when she’d freaked out with the vodka. The wine didn’t affect her that way, so she figured it was safe. She enjoyed how calm and content it made her feel.

  The first week in October, as Libbie worked behind the desk at the library, she heard a familiar voice say her name. She looked up. Her mother was standing there, staring at her incredulously.

  “What are you doing behind that desk?” Abigail asked. “Are you working here?”

  Libbie stood there, stunned, her mind spinning. She could lie and say she was a volunteer, but she knew her mother would find out the truth eventually. She took a deep breath and said, “Yes, Mother. I work here.”

  Abigail’s eyes narrowed. She walked closer to the desk and spoke quietly so no one else would hear. “Did that boy make you get a job? Why on earth didn’t you tell me you needed money? Your father would have helped you out.”

  Libbie feigned a smile. “Mom, I like working here. Jack didn’t make me get a job. I was bored, and I wanted to do something that made me feel useful. And it’s nice earning a little extra money of my own.”

  Abigail straightened her back. “Wilkens women do not work. We volunteer, we don’t work. We didn’t raise you to support a deadbeat husband. We raised you to be a lady and be treated like one.”

  “Mom! Jack’s not a deadbeat. He works really hard, and he treats me like a princess. Besides, I’m not a Wilkens anymore. My last name is Prentice.” Libbie immediately regretted that last sentence the moment she saw the shock in her mother’s eyes.

  “Well, then. Fine. I guess I failed with you. Thank goodness I still have Gwen.” Abigail set down the books she was returning, turned on her heel, and walked away with her head held high.

  Tears filled Libbie’s eyes. Her heart pounded and she felt like she was going to faint. She ran into the ladies’ room and hid in a stall as her tears fell. I failed with you. She couldn’t believe her mother had said that to her. Her mother had never been the affectionate type, but Libbie always thought her mother loved her and was proud of her. Hearing her mother call her a failure was devastating.

  She drove home and the first thing she did was pour herself a glass of wine. She didn’t even bother putting 7 Up in it. She drank half, then sat on the sofa and waited for the warm, comforting feel of it to flow through her. She drank down the rest and poured another. She just wanted to wipe away her mother’s words, no matter how many glasses it took.

  Jack walked into the cottage at five thirty and was surprised the kitchen light was off and Libbie wasn’t cooking dinner. He hung his jacket by the door and turned toward the living room. There, lying on the sofa, was Libbie, sound asleep. An empty bottle of wine sat on its side on the coffee table with an empty glass beside it.

  “Libbie?” Jack walked quickly to her side and tried to wake her up. “Libbie. Wake up.”

  She stirred, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

  Jack sighed with relief. She was breathing normally and seemed to be fine. He picked up the wine bottle and stared at it. Where is she getting all this wine? She couldn’t go to the store and buy it legally. The college girls next door must be buying it for her.

  He took the bottle and glass into the kitchen and then went into the bathroom to shower. He always took a shower before dinner since he got so dirty at work. He put on a clean shirt and jeans, and went back out to the living room. Libbie was still sound asleep, curled up on the sofa.

  Lifting her up carefully, he carried her to the bedroom and laid her on the bed, covered up with an afghan. Once he made sure she was breathing steadily, he went back out to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich.

  As he ate, he worried about why she’d drunk so much that she’d passed out. Was she tired from working and doing so much around the house? He decided not to make a big fuss about it. It wasn’t like she did this every night.

  The next day, as Jack ate a bowl of cereal for breakfast, Libbie staggered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She was still wearing her dress from the day before.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, smiling up at her from the table.

  Libbie grimaced, pulled out a chair, and plopped down. “What happened last night?”

  Jack’s brows rose. “Don’t you remember?”

  She shook her head.

  “I came home last night and you were passed out on the sofa.”

  “Passed out?”

  “Well, there was an empty bottle of wine and a glass on the table. I’m not sure how much of the bottle you drank,” Jack said.

  Libbie sat silent a moment and then a tear fell from her eye. “I remember now. My mom came into the library yesterday and said some really nasty things to me.”

  Jack went over to Libbie and kneeled down in front of her. “Why would she do that?”

  “She was angry because I was working. She said something mean about you and told me ‘Wilkens women don’t work.’ I got mad and told her I liked working there, and besides, I was a Prentice now. That really angered her. She told me I was a failure.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “I felt so terrible when I came home that I had a glass of wine to relax and it must have knocked me out.”

  “Oh, Libbie.” Jack wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry your mother feels that way. Don’t let it get to you. I’m so proud of you, and you love working at the library. Your mother will get used to the idea of you working.”

  Libbie sniffed and nodded. “I know. It just hurt.”

  Jack kissed her lips gently. “I hate that I have to leave, but I’ll be late if I don’t go now. Will you be okay by yourself today?”

  Libbie nodded. “I’ll be fine. I’ll probably just sleep a while.”

  “Okay. You get some rest and I’ll see you tonight.” He kissed h
er again and headed out to his truck.

  The morning breeze off the lake was chilly, reminding Jack that winter was around the corner. As he drove to work, he wondered how much wine Libbie had really drunk. He knew she’d had more than one glass—she’d been out cold last night. But why would she lie? He decided that it wasn’t a big deal. He couldn’t blame Libbie for wanting to relax after the nasty way Abigail talked to her. By the time he was elbow deep into a car engine, he’d forgotten all about it.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  For the next two weeks, Libbie tried to forget her mother’s harsh words, but it was difficult. Libbie had always been the good child, the perfect student, the shining star of the family. Being told she was a failure in her mother’s eyes had devastated her.

  Making matters worse, winter seemed to be in a rush to hit the north woods. Nights were extremely cold, and the wind off the lake was bitter. Jack started a fire in the woodstove every night to ward off the chill, but Libbie felt cold in bed anyway. She began to dread winter for the first time in her life. Thinking of being stuck there at the cottage almost every day alone depressed her. Carol was busy with school, and so were the girls next door. She could always go visit Bev at the farm, but as soon as the temperatures dipped below freezing, she’d have to stay and keep the fire going at the cottage. She had loved the cottage in the summer, but now she wished they lived in a regular house with a heating system.

  The last week in October, Libbie was standing at the stove, stirring rice in a pan for supper. It was five fifteen, and she had a chicken cooking in the oven. She’d make gravy for the rice as soon as Jack came home. The phone rang, startling her, and she ran to pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, hon. I’m sorry, but I need to stay late at work.”

  Libbie frowned. Jack had never stayed late at work before. “Why?”

  “A man’s car broke down late this afternoon, and he needs it fixed before tomorrow morning. The boss asked if I would stay late and finish up the job. It will probably be two more hours. The good news is I’ll get overtime pay.”