by Liz Flaherty
It’s like we’re all renting our lives. Nate’s words echoed in her mind. Haunting. Hurting.
She loved her life, her friends, the tearoom. She adored Jesse, although they didn’t talk much. They never had, but that didn’t make them any less cognizant that they were each other’s only family.
If I were gone, who would care?
She opened the medicine cabinet to look at the row of medications on the middle shelf. Vitamins. Calcium. Capsules that were supposed to be good for her hair and nails and joints. House-brand allergy pills. At the end of the row, hidden behind the pain relievers, were the antidepressants.
God, she hated them. She’d tried to stop taking them more than once, but the headaches and hopelessness had immediately returned to being impenetrable.
“I know you don’t like depending on them.” Arlie had sat with her in the doctor’s waiting room in October, the last time she’d tried going it alone and ended up with a panic attack and skyrocketing blood pressure. “I had to take them after the accident and I hated them, too, but Gianna said it was better that I hate pills than that I hate myself.” She held Libby’s gaze. “She said she’d lost Daddy, but she wasn’t going to lose one of her girls. She’s my stepmom, Lib. I’m no more her blood than you are. We’re not losing you, either. You go right ahead hating the pills—I don’t care at all—but don’t you stop taking them. Hear me?”
What would happen if I took them all at once?
She closed the mirrored door and shook her head at her reflection. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you,” she muttered, “but you need to get a grip.” She clipped her hair into a messy knot at the back of her head and went into the apartment’s miniature kitchen. “Are you done with that chocolate yet, Llewellyn? You are so slow.”
“It’s ready. Here.” He handed her a cup. “Let’s go do some stargazing. What do you say?”
She followed him onto the porch and they sat on the lounge, leaning back to stare up at the clear sky. “Want to go roller-skating soon? A three-hour weeknight adventure?” he asked.
“I’d love that. I can still beat you, you know, and I can get under the limbo stick a half foot lower than you can.” She probably couldn’t, but that was how their conversations always went, and she loved them. Loved him. She loved Jesse, too, but Tucker would have been a better brother.
Or maybe not.
He snorted. “In your dreams. How long’s it been since you skated?”
“Hmm...” She sipped chocolate and gazed at the Big Dipper. “I believe it was November when Holly took all the cheerleaders—she’s their coach, remember? I went along to chaperone. We raced for a prize. I came in second behind Holly.”
He laughed. “Tuesday night?”
She nodded. “Good. Want me to fix us some dinner?”
“Great.”
They relaxed there in her favorite place, pointing at this star and that one and delineating constellations with more energy than precision. They argued, as Midwesterners often do, about when autumn’s harvest moon actually occurred until she went in and looked it up, and then they argued about the accuracy of the Farmer’s Almanac. By the time her cup was empty, Libby wasn’t sure where the pain in her head had been. She didn’t care, as long as it was gone, and it hadn’t left any voices behind to whisper wondering questions or worries about a rented life.
Suddenly Tucker’s arm was around her shoulders, tugging her closer to him. “Over there,” he said, pointing. “The brightest one. See it? Wish on it, Lib.”
For just that moment, with his lean cheek brushing her temple, his heartbeat solid against her hand when she laid it on his chest and his voice her talisman against depression’s threat, she felt entirely safe. Entirely happy. Entirely loved.
And she wished for always. For ownership.
CHAPTER SIX
“I TOOK ALL the skin off. That was not my intent.” Tucker looked at his rink-rashed knees with minor disgust and major discomfort he was doing his best to hide. It was one thing to know your pain threshold lingered between zero and one, but quite another to admit it.
“You were showing off. I told you to wear knee pads.” Still wearing protectors on both her knees and her elbows, Libby swabbed his wounds with something caustic enough that the slightest of whimpers escaped his lips. “Oh, hush, you big baby.”
“You might have warned me about the whole thing with cracking the whip.”
“And you might have been paying attention. It’s a good thing to do in a skating rink with a bunch of fifth graders.” She put large Band-Aids over the abrasions. “Do you need to lie down while I finish dinner, precious?”
“I think you’re being unnecessarily mean to me.” He pulled the legs of his sweatpants down over his knees. “Can I help you with it?”
“You can cook the spaghetti while I get the garlic bread ready. Did you bring any wine?”
“I did.” He got to his feet, following her to the kitchen. “If you’d been nicer to me, I’d even have brought you some. Oof!” He doubled over when she elbowed him, exaggerating to please her.
She smeared butter onto the bread while he ran water in the pasta pan. “Are we going to talk about your dates?” she asked. “It’s kind of been all me lately, what with looking at the stars the other night and tonight’s adventure. I’m ready to butt into your life again.”
He grinned at her. “I don’t need your oar in. I’m doing just fine on my own.” He wasn’t, but he didn’t think she could do anything about whatever the problem was between Meredith and him.
“Of course you do. If it wasn’t for me, you’d probably be signing up on a dating site and meeting people for coffee in remote and anonymous coffee shops halfway to Indianapolis.”
She looked so serious, he was afraid she had experience in the matter. “You haven’t done that, have you?”
“What? Met someone online? I have. We exchanged bread recipes and he wanted to get together somewhere so I could share sourdough starter with him. I didn’t have time that day, so I had to say no.” Her eyes were wide. “His hopes were raised and swollen to twice their size, so I had to punch them down before it got out of hand.”
He sighed heavily. And sighed again, thumping his forehead in feigned despair. “That’s a disgusting play on words. But I’m assuming you belong to a group of bread bakers online, right?”
She laughed, clapping her hands. “Good for you, Llewellyn. You picked right up on that. And the guy who wanted to meet me is Max Harrison.”
Tucker put dry spaghetti into the pan, folding it down into the boiling water. He shot her a disbelieving look. “The high school principal? The one who’s been dating Gianna for the past few years?”
Libby smirked, pushing the bread into the oven. “The one you’re still scared of? Yep. That’s the one.”
“I’m not scared.” He drizzled olive oil into the water, gave the pasta strands a separating stir and set the timer. “Cautious, maybe, but not scared.”
“Yeah, right.” She turned on the burner under the sauce. “So, how’s Meredith? The whole staff of A Woman’s Place had lunch at the tearoom today.” A Woman’s Place was the gynecology clinic on the lake. “However, so did the English department from the high school, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to anyone.”
“She’s okay.” He gave the boiling pasta another desultory stir. “Actually, she’s great.”
Libby handed him the cheese grater and a chunk of parmesan. “You want to put this on the table?” She took it back. “Never mind. You pour the wine. The last time you grated cheese, I was cleaning up cheddar for a week.” She took the things to the table and added, “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Hear what?”
“That Meredith is great. I’d be gladder if you were more convincing.”
He poured wine into the stemless
glasses they’d learned the hard way were best for them to use and gave her one. “It’s not something that can be forced. A relationship, I mean.” They clinked glasses and sipped. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about my dates.”
“That’s what you get for thinking.” She took the bread out of the oven.
They filled their plates and sat at the round table in the dining area. “Maybe I should ask Marie Williams out,” he mused. “I think she’s divorced again.”
“No, she’s not. They may be living apart some of the time, but they’re not divorced. I truly think that’s a kettle of fish you might want to avoid.”
“You don’t like her, do you?” Which was saying something. Libby liked everybody.
Usually. “Not much.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s mean to her daughter. I don’t mean she hits her—I’m sure she doesn’t—but she makes her feel bad because she’s on the heavy side and she’s probably not very pretty right now. But how’s she ever going to feel pretty if her own mother doesn’t think she is?”
A good point. There was likely something Freudian in Tucker’s penchant for loving mothers, but he didn’t know what it was. He would have to ask his own the next time he talked to her. She’d no doubt be entertained by the notion.
“It’s moot anyway. I’m still seeing Meredith, and we all know I’m loyal as a puppy.”
Pretty Boy padded into the room as if he’d been called, coming to stand beside Libby’s chair and frown disapprovingly at Tucker.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. Somewhere in his little bitty mind, Tucker knows he’s not a puppy,” Libby soothed, petting the dog’s smooth golden head. She frowned across the table. “You’re also not one for exclusivity in dating. Is that something new, or do you think you and Meredith might be heading toward commitment?”
He couldn’t tell how Libby felt about that. She was smiling, but her eyes seemed to be devoid of expression. He wondered how she did that and realized with startling suddenness how often she did. If asked, he would have said he knew her better than nearly anyone, but there were mysteries to his best buddy that he had no clue how to solve. Especially since he was fairly certain she didn’t want them solved.
* * *
“WE GOT AN offer on the Albatross. Can you believe it?” Tucker entered the tearoom late Friday afternoon, wearing a dress shirt and tie with black jeans—an outfit she was unaccustomed to seeing on him. “I may not have my four-bedroom house yet, but I won’t have to live in the Hall, either. How about that? Why are you still open? It’s after four.”
Libby looked up from setting out stacks of plates and rows of forks on the dessert table. “I know, but we have a bridal shower here tonight. Neely’s working it, but I’m helping with setup.” She smiled at him. “Was it a good offer?”
“It wouldn’t have been good enough for my grandmother, but Jack and I are pleased. We’re keeping much of the grounds, including the acreage with the barn and the Dower House where Jack and Charlie live, so we’ll still have plenty of frontage and room to put in another dock and maybe another house.”
“Are you going to move in with Jack?” She handed him two sleeves of plastic wedding cups and pointed to the table beside the buffet.
“Until the wedding. I’m pretty sure Arlie won’t want me there after that—she’s already taking on Jack and Charlie. The handsome and charming brother and uncle might be a bit much.”
“She might rent you the Toe after they get married.”
He nodded. “It’s a thought.” He opened the doors beneath the buffet to get out the punch bowls. “I think I spend too much time here. I know where everything is.”
Libby frowned, looking at the clock. “I thought you and Meredith were going to a play in Indy.”
“That’s tomorrow night. She took the kids to their dad’s tonight, then she’s going to her folks’ for the rest of the weekend. I’ll pick her up there.”
“Did you get the text from Dan Parsons yesterday?”
“That’s why I came by. I wondered if you wanted to go see the new baby. If we leave now, we can be up there by seven. We could take some pizza. There’s no snow this time, and not likely to be any.”
“That would be great. Pour us some coffee while I change clothes. You want to make sure they’re up for company?”
He looked sheepish. “I already did.”
Libby changed into jeans and a sweater and came back down, carrying wrapped gifts for all three Parsons children. “Don’t say a word,” she said. “Gavin’s and Mari’s are just sweatshirts with the Lake Miniagua logo on them. I thought they’d like them.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he protested, pulling off his tie and tucking it into his jacket pocket.
Libby went into the kitchen to tell Neely she was leaving and came back out carrying a cupcake with messy icing plus a bakery box holding another dozen. She handed the loose one to Tucker. “An oops. Don’t get that stuff on your shirt—it will never come out.”
When they got to the car, she saw why he hadn’t teased her about her gifts for the children. In addition to a gift bag with the words It’s a boy! emblazoned on it, there were two long boxes on the back seat. “Fishing poles,” Tucker said. “Promotional ones from the plant. One of them might be a little girly.”
The late February air was crisp but not cold. They talked all the way to the Parsons’ home. “What’s it like, going back to a farm? Don’t you miss it?” he asked, pointing at a herd of cows milling around behind a fence. It looked like a bovine social hour.
“I miss the farm itself, even though I can go there any time I want since Jess still lives there. But I don’t miss how hard the work was or how endless the days were. I know when I close the tearoom, I have to open it up again the next morning and that I’m probably going to be baking both after hours and before opening time. But I also know if I’m sick or something happens, I can put up the Closed sign and call the pastry customers and it won’t be that big of a deal.”
It was a big deal to her, although she didn’t want to admit that—not even to Tucker. When she failed, and it seemed to her she failed often, the depression hovered ever closer. In her mind, she knew being ill two days a year or even four or five wasn’t a failure. She was the first one to tell Neely to stay home and get some rest when she needed to, because the other woman’s fibromyalgia was no joke. However, she found her own weaknesses nearly unforgivable.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s not a big deal, but I think you’re faking it when you say it’s not. Go on with what you were saying.” He waved an impatient hand without taking his eyes from the road.
She scowled at him, hoping he sensed it even if he wasn’t looking at her. “Milking cows, on the other hand, is a show that absolutely must go on. When my mother and father died, those cows had to be milked no matter whose world had come to an end. You remember.” Her throat closed up, and she had to struggle to find her voice. “Dad was milking when Mom died, and he finished before he came to the house. Two years later, the cows were in the milking parlor before the sheriff and the ambulance even got there the morning I found Dad.” The memories were crushing, taking her breath with their painful intensity. “But you were there before any of them—you knew I was alone.” He’d come tearing up the driveway of the farm as if the devil were chasing him. She’d been standing at the door of the barn, rigid, as if the reality of that awful morning would reverse itself if she just didn’t move.
She’d folded when Tucker ran toward her, and he’d caught her before she went down. He’d been catching her ever since.
He nodded, reaching over to squeeze her fingers. “I remember the day the trucks took the cows away when you bought Seven Pillars.”
She did, too. It might have been the last time she’d cried, because as much as she’d hated milking them,
she’d still loved the huge, gentle-eyed girls. Jesse had put his arm around her and said, “If you’ve changed your mind, we can stop this right now, give the money back and go on the way we’ve been.”
It was the first time in either of their lives they’d ever known absolute freedom. Libby was shocked by how much the autonomy hurt.
“That was a hard one.” She took a deep breath, then another, staring out the passenger window at the fallow fields, just starting to green up with spring’s early hope.
She didn’t think the word hope went well with spring. As far as she was concerned, T. S. Eliot had it right when he proclaimed April the cruelest month.
And it was only a little over a month away.
* * *
GAVIN AND MARI ran to the car to greet them when they pulled into the driveway. “Wait till you see the new baby,” said Mari, hugging them indiscriminately. “His name is Carson. He poops all the time and doesn’t have any hair. Daddy says he’ll lose all his, too, if I don’t quit talking so much. I think that’s goofy, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, kiddo. I had hair to my shoulders when we started the drive up here and Libby talked all the way. Now look at me.” Tucker pointed at his recently cut hair and caught Gavin in a headlock, scrubbing his knuckles over the boy’s scalp. “Can you carry the pizza?”
Alice and Dan were in the kitchen. Alice, looking tired but radiant, sat at the table holding a gorgeously bald baby. Dan, his still-thick hair pulled back into a ponytail, was staring at a jug of milk in consternation. His expression lightened when he shook hands with Tucker and hugged Libby. “Do you know what that is?” He pointed at the glass container.
Tucker smiled at the baby in Alice’s arms and stroked a finger down his tiny cheek. “You are a good-looking kid. I may have to borrow you.” Then he looked back at the gallon-size Mason jar. “I’ve been wrong before, but I’d almost swear it was milk. It doesn’t look very good,” he added.
