Love Me for Me

by Jenny Hale

  “Now that you’re back, he’s been out and about all over the place. I see him everywhere!”

  “Is he coming tonight?” She couldn’t help herself. The wine on her empty stomach was causing her to voice more of her thoughts than she usually would. And she wanted to see him. His behavior since the end of the party was troubling her. She didn’t like it at all. Being near him and getting to experience that again made being without it a lonely feeling. He made her feel happy, and she hadn’t felt happy about much lately.

  “Probably not. I don’t think he can leave his grandfather alone that long. Scott said Pete really worries about him.” She strained the steaming beans and added the dressing, tossing them around until they were coated in it. Then she set the bowl in the refrigerator and pulled out a silver bucket from the bottom shelf.

  “Well, it’s time to go and catch our dinner. Follow me.”

  “Are we going crabbing?” Libby asked, nearly unable to contain her excitement at the sight of the bucket. She had loved crabbing as a girl. She used to go to Pop’s pier and crab with him. He’d taught her how, and she’d never forgotten. There was nothing like it. Catherine’s mere mention of it caused reminiscence of those days: Don’t let it pinch ya, he’d said. You need all those pretty little fingers. Tap it like this…

  Catherine refilled their glasses to the very brim. “I’m hoping Scott gets home by the time we have to get them into the steamer. He’s already put the crab bucket and things out on the pier for us. Get your wine. I’ll take the bait.” She grabbed her own glass and opened the door.

  After they’d waved to the ladies in the living room, they left the house and walked down the drive toward the road. The sun was beginning to set, painting streaks of orange in the pale blue sky. “The weather’s been warm, so I hope we get lucky and catch a ton.”

  Libby looked both ways down the winding road at the end of the drive. There was nothing for miles; the double yellow lines stretching out as far as she could see. They crossed and made their way through a path in the woods, walking carefully, Libby’s wine sloshing slightly in her glass. Through the last thin line of trees, the pier came into view.

  It looked like so many other piers she’d visited with Pop. She could still remember the hat he wore to keep the sun off his face, the black-rimmed sunglasses he had, and the large white bucket he used. She could see it swinging from his hand, his strong fingers wrapped around the handle.

  She hadn’t thought about crabbing in years, and reflecting on it now made her sentimental. She had been raised differently than her friends, and when it came to activities around town, she didn’t always know what to do, but Pop had been so gentle with her, so patient, coaching her one tiny step at a time until she got it right. She always felt perfect around him, even when she was trying something new. She didn’t feel like she needed to please him, she just needed to listen to him and she’d be okay.

  She took another sip of wine and stepped over a branch on the ground just before climbing the steps to the pier. The crickets were just starting to chirp in the woods as Catherine set down the bucket next to a net, a box with some weights, a ball of string, and other odds and ends. Catherine unrolled a very long piece of string and snipped it with a pair of scissors. Libby sat down next to her, slipped off her flats and hung her legs over the edge, her feet dangling above the rippling water. She took a sip of her wine and she felt the heat in her face from the alcohol and the setting sun.

  “So how’s the cottage coming?” Catherine asked, reaching into the smaller bucket she’d brought from the refrigerator, retrieving a small piece of chicken and tying it to the end of the string. She handed it to Libby.

  “It’s going well. I’m painting and taking down wallpaper.”

  “Once you get it all done, won’t you be tempted to stay?”

  “I can’t.”

  She worried. How could she explain to Catherine why she wasn’t staying? It was so difficult to put into words what she enjoyed about the high-pressure environment in New York—particularly when she considered how calm and peaceful Catherine’s life was there by the sea. She took a sip of wine just as she felt a tug on her string.

  “Can you hand me the net, please?” Libby pulled the string straight up, pinching it hand-over-hand until a crab dangled above the water. Carefully, she grabbed the net and scooped it right in. She still remembered the way Pop had taught her to tap the net against the bucket to get the crab off the string. Then, with a plop, it let go and fell into the bucket.

  “Do you like living in White Stone?” Libby asked.

  “I love it. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”

  Libby was happy for her friend. It was nice to hear that Catherine was content and settled. The two of them were so similar in many ways, but as Libby looked around at Catherine’s surroundings—the rough wood of the pier, the sun glistening off the water—she realized how dissimilar their worlds were.

  “Once you sell the cottage, what will you do then? Move back to New York? Can you hand me the net now? I’m feeling a pull.” Libby gave her the net, and Catherine drew another crab from the water.

  “That’s the plan.” She wished she could steer the conversation elsewhere.

  “I hope you aren’t leaving too soon,” she said, turning the net over and dropping the crab into the bucket with Libby’s.

  “Well, I hope we can get together again before I do. This has been so nice! I’m really enjoying it,” she said and took another sip of her wine. It was true. As much as she was itching to get on with her life, she loved seeing Catherine and Jeanie, Helen and Pop… and most of all Pete. Even being with her mother was getting better. But, she reminded herself, she needed to be back in the city, with a purpose, a focus. Without that, she felt out of sorts.

  After they’d caught enough crabs for everyone, they carried the two buckets back with their glasses of wine. “Scott’ll pick up the rest of our things when he goes fishing in the morning,” Catherine said, which was good because they were out of hands.

  When they got back, Catherine started the steamer in the garage. She looked at her watch. “Let’s just cook these up, and I’ll put some away for Scott when he gets home.” She tipped the bucket and dropped the crabs in. “Let me tell the ladies we’re back. I’ll get us some more wine and a pile of newspaper, and we can eat outside.”

  “Well, look at that!” Esther said, holding the railing and making her way down the three stairs to the garage. “Y’all caught a bunch of crabs, didn’t you?” Celia and Leanne followed. They walked outside to the picnic table and sat down, the warm sun bearing down from its spot on the horizon. Without the proximity of the water, the air didn’t move as much, and the humidity hit them like a wet towel. Celia tugged on her blouse, fluffing it out, the air flowing in and around it.

  “It doesn’t get this hot in New York, does it, Libby?” Celia asked.

  “No,” Libby said cautiously. She didn’t want to have to talk about New York with a bunch of people who probably didn’t care a bit about the city. Her mother was always asking those kinds of questions. It made Libby feel so uncomfortable. She’d dealt with it her whole life and still had never gotten used to it. At eighteen, she hadn’t cared what people thought because she was leaving and never planning to return, but now that she was there, she realized how her comments could hurt people.

  “Libby hopes to sell the Roberts’ cottage soon,” her mother said as Catherine returned with the newspaper.

  Leanne took a bundle of newspaper from her daughter and began spreading it over the picnic table. That was one of Pop’s tricks: always crack crabs on newspaper so it can be wadded up at the end for easy cleanup. She could hear him saying it in her head, and it made her smile.

  “Oh, yes! I knew Anne Roberts very well,” Esther said. “We were good friends all the way through high school.”

  Libby perked up. She couldn’t help but wonder if Esther had known Mitchell. This could be the perfect opportunity to find out more about him. W
ho was the man who had propositioned Nana? Had Nana been sure about her love for Hugh at the beginning of their relationship? Had she ever been interested in Mitchell? Had Nana given Mitchell a reason to hope she might run away with him? She had so many questions and no answers.

  Anne had been offered a life in a different place, with a man who had a fantastic job in a big city, and yet she’d stayed in White Stone, with Hugh. Had it just been the fact that she was married that had stopped her from leaving? Having seen Nana and Pop together, it was hard to imagine. They’d seemed so happy. Nana didn’t seem like someone who was trapped.

  “Living in her house, I’ve become so curious about Anne and Hugh. I knew them as adults, but I find it fascinating to hear stories about them when they were young. What was Anne like as a girl?” she asked, hoping to shed some light on the letter, and glad to be off the topic of New York.

  “Ah, she was the queen of the town. She was so pretty. Everyone loved Anne. But more than that, she was so kind. Did you know, at only twenty she helped raise money to restore the church in town? It’s a historical monument. She didn’t want to see it in decay, so she’d organized bake sales and car washes, as well as soliciting donations—door to door—with the area businesses to pay for its renovations and upkeep. I think she was probably known for her kindness more than her beauty.”

  Libby knew exactly what she meant because, while Nana was a beautiful woman, Libby remembered her kindness most of all. She remembered her tender smile, the way she looked up at the sky when she laughed, and how she would sing whenever someone was upset. If Libby had come over after a particularly stressful day when her mother had argued bitterly on the phone with her father, or when her mother had pushed her too hard that day, Nana would pull out a chair, make her something to drink, and quietly sing while she moved around the kitchen—sometimes singing the words, sometimes humming a tune. She’d always known how to calm her.

  “Do you know how Hugh and Anne met?” she asked Esther.

  “I do! I was there!” she smiled, her face lighting up. “It was our first day at high school. The three area middle schools emptied out into our one high school, and I still remember putting on my pink lipstick because I wanted to look nice for all the new people I may encounter. I met Anne before school, and we walked there together. She saw Hugh going up the steps into the building and she grabbed my arm, stopping me right there on the sidewalk. ‘Who’s that?’ she asked, knowing I didn’t know either. She was instantly captivated by him—and thrilled when she realized they had Science class together.”

  “They’d known each other that long?” Libby asked, wanting her to go on for hours with her stories.

  “Yes. They only started dating, though, their senior year. Hugh was too traditional to ask her out before she was eighteen.”

  Libby smiled at the thought. It was just like Pop.

  Catherine set the crabs and the bowl of green beans onto the table along with a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice. “Time to eat!” she said, pulling Libby back into the present.

  “This is lovely, Catherine! Thank you!” Celia said, pulling a paper napkin from the roll and placing it in her lap. The other ladies nodded.

  To Libby’s relief, Celia didn’t say anything embarrassing as they had their dinner. She’d let Leanne dominate the conversation with discussion regarding organizing the summer bonfire. As she watched her mother, Libby was surprised at how relaxed she looked sitting at a picnic table in the hot sun, cracking crabs. Celia even laughed loudly at something Esther said, covering her mouth and looking around as if she’d done something wrong. It made Libby smile. She was glad to see her mother having a good time. In a way, Pete was right. There was a lot of Celia in Libby. She could understand how difficult it was for her mother to open up, and she knew what that worry and awkwardness felt like. Watching her, it made Libby feel a sense of closeness to her mother that she’d never felt before.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time Scott arrived at Catherine’s, Libby’d had so much wine that she’d decided it best she didn’t drive home, so Scott had driven her, and a friend of his had followed in her rental. After they left, she sat in the cottage with a swimming head and the quiet buzz of the lamp beside her, feeling very alone. She knew better, but with the help of the wine, she decided to text Pete. Catherine had been lovely, but she felt as though Pete was her best friend there. Her fingers moved unsteadily across the letters: I’ve been thinking about you. How are you? I’m bored. What are you doing right now?

  She stared at the screen, her little blue text bubble the only thing on it. The minutes seemed like hours. She got up and got herself a glass of water. When she came back to the small sofa in the living room where her phone rested, she picked it up to be sure she hadn’t missed the ping. Nothing.

  She sat for quite a while, drinking her water and holding the phone. As she diluted the alcohol in her body, she came to the conclusion that she shouldn’t have texted him. He knew as well as she did why they couldn’t be together, and it seemed that being friends was as hard for him as it was for her, so he was distancing himself. She knew him well enough to know that. She’d told him over and over how she wasn’t the same person anymore, so she had no right to text him as if she were still that girl who’d loved him.

  After an hour of clicking through the shows on television and coming up empty, Libby decided to turn off the TV and call it a night. She picked up the remote just as she heard a knock at the door. She peeked out the window but she couldn’t see the person, so she stood there, deliberating. Another knock. She looked out again and this time she could see who it was. Pete was shifting impatiently from one foot to another. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking back and forth behind him. Libby opened the door.

  “Has Pop come by here? I can’t find him,” he said. There was a tiredness in his eyes; the usual spirit that she’d seen in his face was absent tonight.

  “No,” she said, suddenly worried beyond words. She glanced down the dark drive toward the street looking for him, hoping to see him wandering along.

  “Damn.” He looked around again, his shoulders slumped, defeated. “I thought that if he’d forgotten again, he’d come back here, since this was his home with Nana, and if he did remember where he was, perhaps he’d come to see you on the off chance.”

  Libby slipped her flats on and grabbed her keys. “I’ll help you find him.” She locked the handle and shut the door behind her. “Leave your car; we’ll look for him on foot. We can split up.”

  They paced briskly down the walk and out to the street where the darkness wrapped around them like a woolen blanket. “Which way should we go?” she asked, her stomach filling with anxiousness.

  “Let’s head toward town.”

  As they headed down the road in silence the loose gravel of the asphalt beneath their feet, she felt more terrible with every step. There she was, telling Pete how different she was as an adult, how much had changed for her, yet she hadn’t stopped, yet again, to consider his point of view. Look how much had changed for him. He’d lost his grandmother, who was as close to him as his own mother, and now, in front of his eyes, he was losing his grandfather. Like Libby, there were remnants of who he was, but he, too, was someone else now. They continued down the street toward town, two people who used to know each other, bound by only memories, walking along in the empty space.

  They arrived at the first intersection and Pete started looking in the windows of all the shops. Libby followed his lead, searching the faces of everyone she saw, willing Hugh to come out of one of the doors. Where would he have gone? She racked her brain for an answer. The intensity behind Pete’s movements was making her even more nervous. He knew more about Hugh’s prognosis than she, and if he was this worried, there was reason. She wanted to find him, if anything to take the concern out of Pete’s eyes, because it was killing her. He’d never looked so vulnerable, so unsure.

  “How long has he been gone?” she asked, cupping her hands on h
er forehead and peering into the market window.

  Pete looked down at his watch. “About two hours.”

  Libby worried for Hugh. It was dark, the spring air was a little chilly. There was so much water and dense forest around them. If he had forgotten, would he know where he was when he became himself again? Only a few hours ago, nothing was wrong except her circumstances—which seemed so silly now that she’d been struck with the worst worry she’d ever felt, apart from the worry she’d had as a child as her daddy drove away to start his new family.

  “Go down by Lucky’s and meet me back at the park,” Pete said, looking more frantic with every move. Libby nodded and headed toward Lucky’s gas station about two blocks away. She looked between buildings, on benches, around every corner she could think of. No Pop. The dark streets were so familiar that she didn’t need the store lights to know exactly where to go. She knew all the places in which to look, and still she couldn’t find him. As she raced toward the park, she glanced down the street that took her to Jeanie’s, but it was empty.

  Her hands were starting to tremble from apprehension just as she caught sight of a familiar figure. When she saw the man coming out of the corner store, she blinked several times to be sure it was really the person she thought it was. “Pop!” she called out, and the figure turned around. “Pop! What are you doing?” She ran toward him, feeling as though the happiness would burst right out of her chest.

  When she reached him, she threw her arms around him. “Where were you?” she asked, out of breath from the whole ordeal, a lump forming in her throat. She’d never been so glad to see anyone before.

  “I sat down at Joe’s and had a cup of coffee and a chat with the folks in there. Then I picked up a loaf of bread. We were out.” As he said the words, Libby could tell by his eyes what he was probably thinking: that he couldn’t even go out for something that simple anymore without worrying everyone to death.