by Liz Flaherty
Libby, Holly and Penny exchanged a look of alarm, although Mollie appeared pleased—she was fonder of boots than heels. “She’s going to make us wear them this time, too, isn’t she?” Penny sounded resigned—painfully so.
Arlie laughed. “Nah. Jack’s too conservative. And he’s got this thing about stilettos.”
In the end, they made popcorn and went down to Arlie’s living room and watched My Best Friend’s Wedding.
“Are we still going to have our sister Sundays after you get married?” asked Penny, standing at the back door when they were leaving. “You won’t be living in this house anymore.”
“We’ll still have them. Tuck will probably be here, and he won’t mind us coming over,” Arlie assured them, hugging everyone as they left.
Libby and Holly walked together, sharing melancholy feelings as they sauntered through a light drizzle to Seven Pillars, where Holly had left her car.
“I never like change,” Holly admitted, “and Arlie being married is a biggie.”
Libby nodded. “It is. We’ve all been so close for so long, I’m afraid it will be different.”
Holly laughed. “We were saying the same thing when we went away to college. It didn’t change then.” She stopped. “Oh, Lib, I’m sorry—that was thoughtless. I know you wanted to go and couldn’t.”
“I went vicariously, though. You and Arlie either came home or I went down to Ball State more weekends than not, any time I could get someone to do the milking.” Libby bumped shoulders gently with her. “And I’m okay with the way things turned out. Really, I am.” She laughed, the sound catching in her throat with the memory. “Though just the other night I was telling Tuck about how I should have been an astronomer.”
“We all have deferred dreams, don’t we? Like in that poem by Langston Hughes.” Holly smiled, her dark eyes so bright Libby thought she saw the stars reflected in them. “I was going to open a dancing school, then got sidetracked by writing books. Arlie wanted to sing. Jesse wanted to study art in Europe, then live in New York. Jack—”
“Wait a minute.” Libby interrupted her, standing stock-still. “Jesse wanted what?”
“You knew that, didn’t you? Not that he probably ever talked about it.”
“No, I didn’t.” She should have. She and her brother had had each other’s backs from the day of their mother’s diagnosis when Libby was in eighth grade. But they hadn’t talked about dreams; they’d talked about survival. About who’d milked which cows and who’d fed calves the night before. About who was going to ask Dad for lunch money.
But still. “I can’t believe I didn’t know.”
Holly tucked Libby’s arm through her own and walked on. “I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t gone into his studio in the barn one day when he didn’t know I was there. Which was a big mistake, by the way, even though I only went in because I was looking for him. He was so mad at me he wouldn’t even talk to me for a few days.”
“What was in there? I haven’t been in it since he built the new studio.”
Holly hesitated, and Libby held up a hand to stop her. “No, don’t tell me.” She smiled, but it felt wobbly. “But I’m glad you know. I think he’s safe with you, isn’t he?”
Holly nodded, moisture brightening her eyes even more. “He is. I promise.”
* * *
“YOU CAN’T BE HER. We were just talking about you two weeks ago.” Tucker stared at the blonde woman who’d just approached him at the bar in Anything Goes. “I mean, I know it’s you, but...how long has it been, anyway?”
The woman laughed, showing astonishingly white teeth. “It’s been fifteen years. I think you were in kindergarten and I was in nursery school at the time.”
“Obviously.” He gestured at the stool next to his. “Won’t you sit down?”
“Thank you.” Susan...Sharon...whatever her name was—she hadn’t said it yet—sat down. “It’s spring break where I teach in Wisconsin. I know it’s not beach weather in Indiana yet, but I thought it would be fun to take a nostalgic trip back to the lake anyway. I haven’t been here since that summer when we went out. I couldn’t believe it when I walked in and saw you. You’re about the only person I remember from spending that Christmas with my grandparents.”
“Are they still here at the lake?”
“No, they’ve both passed away, and my parents sold the lake house. It never occurred to me to come back until I went to a conference in Michigan and saw the Llewellyn’s Lures plant there. It brought back some sweet memories.” She smiled when the bartender set a glass of wine in front of her on the shining mahogany bar. “Thank you.”
Mollie nodded. “You’re welcome. It’s nice to have you back, Sandy. I hope you have a good time while you’re here.”
Sandy—that was it! Tucker felt like leaping across the bar to hug Mollie. He hated to forget names, even ones he hadn’t thought of for fifteen years.
“How about dinner?” he asked.
She smiled. “I was going to get some carryout, but I’d rather share a meal and old times with someone. Thank you.”
“Go ahead and get a booth on the lake-view wall before it fills up,” Mollie suggested. “I’ll bring your drinks over.”
Tucker nodded his thanks and escorted Sandy to the table. “You live in Wisconsin? Is that where you’re from? I really don’t remember.”
“Yes, I teach first grade in the town where I grew up.”
“Married?” Might as well get it out of the way. “Kids?”
“Divorced and yes, twenty-one of them.” She grinned. “I’d like to have kids, really, but sometimes I think there’s not enough of me to go around. I love teaching with every fiber of my being, but it absolutely takes every fiber to do it well.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “What about you? Did you go back to the girl at Vanderbilt?”
“No. She had an old boyfriend.”
“Married?”
“Never. Close a few times, but no cigar.”
It was an enjoyable evening. Conversation never flagged. He began to think he’d be able to let Libby off the hook, because he’d done just fine at meeting a woman all on his own. They even had sugar cream pie after dinner. “I’m on vacation,” Sandy said. “You bet I’m having dessert.”
It was then that he noticed Libby standing at the bar, her silky hair in its usual loose braid. She was wearing a short black skirt and a sleeveless teal sweater that showed off her freckled and toned arms. And a pair of those skinny heels that made her legs look a mile long even though they weren’t.
He wondered what she was doing at the Grill so late and if she had a ride home. Unless he was mistaken, she had a wineglass in front of her. She usually walked home if she was going to drink, but she sure wasn’t going to do any walking on those strappy black stilts.
She wasn’t alone. Jim Wilson, the high school football coach, was standing beside her. Really close. They were both looking up at the TV behind the bar and laughing. Libby never watched television—why was she suddenly completely entertained by it? Or maybe it wasn’t the TV but Jim. Who was a nice guy but wrong for Libby. Completely wrong.
Sandy’s voice reclaimed Tucker’s attention. “That’s Libby Worth, isn’t it? Standing at the bar, I mean. I remember her. Is that her husband?”
“That’s Libby. She’s not married.”
“That’s too bad. She was always so nice to everyone. Sometimes that’s the way it goes.”
He frowned, not getting her point, and pushed his empty dessert plate aside. There were many reasons sugar cream was Indiana’s state pie, and he’d just enjoyed every one of them. “The way what goes?”
“The nice girls who aren’t very pretty or thin enough too often don’t get the guy or the two-point-however-many kids. They end up being the bridesmaids, the babysitters, the stereotypical spinster librarians.
Average seems to be the new word for socially unacceptable.”
What she said was far too often true. Tucker knew that. His father had even laughed at him once for dating a girl who wore thick-lensed glasses.
Are you trying to prove some kind of point, son? Don’t you know it’s just as easy to like a pretty girl as one who’s not?
“Lib’s single by choice,” Tucker said mildly. He shrugged, trying to shake off the annoyance Sandy’s words had caused. “She thinks running her own business is enough trouble without adding a husband to the mix.”
“Oh, well.” Sandy blinked. “I’m sorry if I said the wrong thing. I don’t like being single and tend to take it for granted other women don’t like it, either. It’s not that I can’t take care of myself—of course I can—but I liked being married. I like always having a date to the dance.”
He didn’t know why he was so irritated. She felt exactly like he did. Or thought he did. He wanted to be married, too. He wanted the date for the dance.
“Hey.” He got out his wallet, paying their tab and leaving a hefty tip for the server who’d brought their meals. “I came over here on the pontoon boat. It’s a nice night. Do you want to go for a ride?”
She smiled. “I’d like that. You can drop me off at the condos if you would—I walked over.”
They stopped on the way out to speak to Libby and Jim. Tucker almost asked if they wanted to join them for the moonlight ride, but held back. Libby didn’t need him playing big brother if she was interested in the coach.
And he didn’t even want to consider why that thought bothered him so much.
The night was perfect for a boat ride, but it was a little cool. Tucker got jackets out of a storage box and offered Sandy one. When he held it for her to slip her arms into, she leaned back against him so slightly he might have imagined it.
She smelled good, like something floral he couldn’t identify. Her clothes were expensive, her purse a brand that Libby once said she’d like to carry but would have to sell the tearoom to finance. He only remembered because he’d said at the time that he thought it sounded more like a name that belonged on a gym bag.
“What do you do when you aren’t teaching?” he asked, moving slowly away from the Grill’s dock and waving at the pilot of the boat waiting to take his place.
Sandy laughed. “Lesson plans.”
“Public or private school?”
“Oh, private.” She shuddered, so slightly that once again he might have imagined it. “I love to teach and I love my students, but I don’t think public school is within the scope of my abilities. Don’t you remember the difference between public and private school when you were a kid?”
He didn’t remember because he hadn’t gone to private school. It was one battle his mother had won. His father and grandparents had wanted him and Jack both to go to the same boarding school all the other Llewellyn males had attended, but Ellen had held her ground.
“I have to admit,” Sandy continued when he didn’t answer, “Cass Gentry loved going to the public high school here, and she got into a better college than I did—even though she ended up not going. You remember her, don’t you?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“SHE’S REALLY PRETTY. As pretty as Meredith.” Libby hilled fertile soil around the spindly new tomato plants in Gianna’s garden. “I think he likes her.” She squinted at the sky. “I also think we’re going to get another frost and all this effort will be wasted.”
“I couldn’t tell how he felt about her.” Arlie spoke from where she was planting green beans a few rows over. “He’s not secretive, but Jack is, and all he said was that she was a teacher and Tucker said you’d like her purse.” She straightened, groaning. “Mama, when are you going to shrink this garden to a manageable size?”
“When you girls start refusing to help with it.” Gianna frowned at the package in her hand. “Although I must admit, I think peas are more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Oh, absolutely.” Arlie and Holly spoke in unison, and their mother burst into laughter.
“All right. Just one row. That way there will only be enough for a couple of messes—no one will have to help freeze them.”
“Good thinking.” Arlie nodded encouragingly. “And you can take them off the list for next year.”
“Well, no.” Libby shook her head. “I serve pea salad in the tearoom for as long as they last, and it’s really popular. Maybe two rows, Gi.”
Holly pointed an accusing finger in Libby’s direction. “Then you’re picking and shelling them.”
“She does anyway.” Gianna dropped the wrinkly seed peas tidily into the row. “You and Arlie disappear when it comes to pea-picking time every year.”
“Which explains why I’m her favorite,” said Libby airily.
“Only because you’re dating Jim. Mama likes it when we have boyfriends.” Holly grinned at Libby and ducked the handful of dirt her mother tossed in her direction.
“We went out twice. That’s not actually dating.” She liked the football coach but had no illusions about having a relationship with him.
“Did Tucker mention what Sandy said about Cass?” asked Arlie, rescuing Libby from a subject she wasn’t ready to discuss, even with the Sunday sisters.
“Not much, I guess. She doesn’t know where she lives, although it’s out west somewhere. Sandy’s uncle used to be married to Cass’s cousin, or something like that. It wasn’t a close relationship, and it ended when that marriage did.”
“At least it’s a clue,” Holly said. “I’ll bet Sandy’s uncle could find out, anyway.”
“But if she doesn’t want to be found,” said Arlie thoughtfully, “should we even be looking?”
They carried their tools to Gianna’s garden shed, then sat on the deck to drink iced tea and look out over the lake’s shining surface, pretending the April sun was warmer than it actually was. “I don’t know,” said Libby. “It’s been so long and so many things have happened to all of us. Maybe it’s better to just let it go.”
But she knew they wouldn’t. The wreck had made them members of a club none of them could ever really leave. Most of them had remained friends, but even when they weren’t, they kept track of one another. They did things for each other that were never acknowledged. Several of them had been angry with Jack for years because he’d left town without a word after the prom accident, unable to face what his dad had done. But they’d stood solidly behind him when his grandmother died and he’d made a reluctant return to Miniagua.
“I can’t help worrying about her.” Gianna went into the house and came back out with a platter of sandwiches. “I remember how troubled she looked. When you girls were in two different hospitals, she’d sometimes sit with one of you while I sat with the other.”
“Jesse said she sat with me, too.” Libby had been in a coma for days. She’d missed the funerals. By the time she woke, the worst of everyone’s physical trauma had been over and their surgeries and reconstruction had begun. In a strange and dreadful way, she’d felt as if they’d gone on without her and that her grief was always going to be ten days behind theirs. Sometimes it still seemed that way.
They were still healing from the mental and emotional wounds, but the others in the club remembered some rawness that she didn’t.
“She did sit with you, too—I remember. I think she felt some of the same guilt Jack did, because she was hardly hurt.” Gianna looked haunted. “When I asked the cemetery sexton who took care of Dave’s grave before I ever got to it, all he knew was that it was a young girl. It had to have been Cass—none of you were well enough.”
“By that time, she’d left, hadn’t she?” asked Holly.
Gianna nodded. “Yes, and that’s why I’ve always worried about her. She did her best to look after everyone after the accident, just as Jack did, but
who looked after her?”
* * *
“LET’S GO.” TUCKER had come straight from the office. He was wearing a suit and white shirt, and his necktie was hanging out of his side pocket. It must have been a meeting day.
Libby shook her head, lifting chairs onto tables. There was occasionally a night when she didn’t have to mop the tearoom’s hardwood floors—this wasn’t one of those. “Can’t do it. Tomorrow’s a workday, and I have to bake for Silver Moon before I open. Or at 3:00 a.m. if I happen to wake up then.”
“This won’t take that long and we don’t have far to go. Lock up and let’s go. I’ll help you clean when we’re done.” He looked at his watch. “Come on, Lib. We’re burning daylight.”
She rolled her eyes at him, recognizing the line from an old John Wayne movie. “Do I need to change before we start herdin’ those cattle?”
“Nope.”
He was right—they didn’t go very far. Except for during the fair, the county fairgrounds were usually deserted in the late afternoon, but today there was activity on the infield of the racetrack. Tucker parked close to a van, and Libby leaned forward in her seat, peering through the Camaro’s narrow windshield. She gulped.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“You can’t make me.”
“Wanna try me on that? I’m bigger than you, and I could probably be mean.”
She almost laughed at that one. He didn’t have so much as a mean pinkie finger in his whole body. “Okay, you won’t make me. I know you.”
“Well.” He shrugged and reached for the keys. “If you’re scared—”
“I most definitely am that.”
“—and if you’re going to cry—”
“I never cry, Tucker Darby Llewellyn. You know I never cry.”
“I do know that, but when I tell this story, I’m telling it my way.” He started the car.
She reached over and turned the key to the off position. “I hate you for this.”
