by Jenny Hale
“I’m just lying down for a rest,” he called from down the hallway. “Leave it in the pot for me, would you?”
Pete took his beer and gestured toward the living room. “He gets tired a lot. That’s why I lose him. I keep thinking he’s sleeping, but he gets up and wanders.” Libby sat down in the exact same spot she’d been when she’d asked if he’d ever live in New York. Now, it seemed like a preposterous question. So much had changed in such a small time. As she sat there, knowing her future and how in only a few weeks she’d be back to her old life, she felt different, a little nervous.
She wanted to be there to help with Pop. Would Pete be able to do it alone? She knew he was capable, but the extra set of hands that she could provide might be helpful. Would she be able to see Pop again before he slipped away completely and didn’t know any of them? She would lose precious time with him by leaving. The conundrum put her in a very perplexing position. She’d never had anyone emotionally pulling her one way or the other before. She’d always focused on her goal no matter the cost. She knew she needed to go back to New York, but the situation was tugging at her heartstrings.
“What are you painting?” he asked, attempting to make small talk.
“The living room.”
Pete was leaning forward on his knees, his hands clasped. The beer sat on the coffee table, sweating from the heat that even the paddle fans couldn’t push out of the room. He wasn’t looking at her; he was looking down at the floor, and she thought again how exhausted he seemed. That wasn’t the Pete she’d known as a girl. She’d lost him as much as he’d lost her. They were just two strangers who shared common memories.
“Is there a facility in the area?” she asked quietly, her thoughts moving back to Pop. “Somewhere he could live where he could get help when he needs it?”
Pete finally looked up. “I don’t want to do that to him.” He rubbed his hands back and forth on his trousers for a moment before turning toward Libby. “Why punish him for his failing memory? He needs his family. We’re all he’s got. Take that away and who knows what he’d be like. He may slip further from us.”
She didn’t know if Pete was right or not, or what the safest method of care was for Pop, but she understood what he meant about family. Her family wasn’t perfect, but, in a quirky way, his was, and now with Nana’s death and Pop’s illness, it seemed to be taking all his strength to cinch it together and keep it from falling apart. Her worry for Hugh and his family took her far away from her life in New York, but at that moment, there was no place she felt more needed than right there in White Stone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sun’s warmth was just starting to seep in, burning off the morning dew. Libby scraped the porch’s wooden floor with her bare foot, nudging the swing as she rocked with Jeanie, listening to the sound of the waves swishing about in the bay. She would certainly miss this. It was so calming and peaceful.
“I wonder how Helen’s handling it all, ” Jeanie scowled in concern.
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her since the party.”
“How’s Pete?”
“He looks tired, Jeanie. I don’t know if he can keep up the pace for much longer. I think I’ll go check on them today,” Libby said, apprehension pecking at her. She felt an unease that was indescribable after having seen Pop. She hadn’t wanted to leave him and Pete last night but it seemed strange to ask to stay, so she’d gone, taking her worry with her.
“That might be a good idea. Is Pete eatin’? I could make him supper and bring it over.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Please do. I’d be more than happy to help, you know that.” A smile spread across her face—the smile that Libby knew well. “And I make a mean potato casserole.” Always trying to lighten the mood. Libby could have guessed it before the words even came out of her mouth.
“Why don’t you just make that anyway,” she grinned. She was glad to see Jeanie. Sitting there with her, she wondered how she’d gone all those years without being in touch. She would miss Jeanie’s easy way about her, her lighthearted jokes and mothering care.
“Jeanie,” she turned on the swing, tucking her leg under herself, “I’m sorry I left for college and didn’t ever call or anything.”
“Aw, honey.” Jeanie patted Libby’s knee. “I’m glad to hear that. You know, God didn’t offer me what he offered your mom, and I’m okay with that. I love you as if you were my own child. Here or not here—I still love ya.”
A knock at the screen door stopped them rocking. With the wind in her ears, she couldn’t ever hear when people came up to the screen door. When Libby stood to open it, she recognized Tim Mathis from the flower shop. She’d grown up with him. He was two years younger than her in school. His parents owned the local florist, and it seemed he’d carried on in their footsteps. Tim was holding a vase with at least two dozen red roses.
“Hi, Tim,” she said as she accepted the arrangement.
“Hey there! It’s been a while.”
“Sure has!”
“I heard you’d come back from New York.”
She nodded.
“Well, New York is following ya. Got the call for these this morning,” he pointed to the flowers.
“Thank you so much.” Libby said goodbye and plucked the card from the flowers.
It read: I miss you. Give me another chance. Love, Wade. Looking at the flowers—those perfectly arranged, identical, red roses—she realized how unoriginal they were. Wade knew what he was supposed to do, but he didn’t have any heart behind it. There was no passion there, and she just hadn’t realized it until right then. Certainly, it was nice to get red roses, but in Wade’s case, it had been a box to check: Bad Breakup: Red Roses. She didn’t want the perfectly arranged bouquet; she wanted something with heart. She set them on the table.
“Hello? Don’t just leave me sittin’ over here! Who’re they from?”
“Sorry,” she smiled. “They’re from a man named Wade. He was my fiancé…”
“Was? Looks like he wants to be an is.”
“Yes. He does.” She pinched one of the stems and pulled it toward her to take in its scent. As she maneuvered the large, glass vase on the small porch table, it occurred to her how out of place and formal they seemed there.
“What happened?”
“We dated for a year before he proposed. Then, a year after that, not long after I lost my job, he broke it off. He said he was scared.”
“You gonna give it another shot with him?”
Libby shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“There are plenty other fish in the sea. This sea in particular,” she winked. “Well, honey, I’m gonna head out.” Jeanie opened the screen door, the porch swing still swaying from her exit. “You need to check on our boys anyway.”
* * *
After Jeanie had gone, Libby had a chance to be alone in the cottage. The reality of leaving finally hit her. Her plans were coming together and she was heading for the life she’d spent so long building for herself, but there was so much here she could still do. She would miss the new friendship she’d started with her mom, Jeanie’s wit, Helen’s kind nature, and she still felt she could help with caring for Pop. Then there was Pete. She felt it in her soul: he could make someone so happy. If only it could be her.
She wanted to spend every minute with Pop and Pete until she left so, after much consideration, she’d decided to go over to see him. It was an odd feeling, wanting to be there for Pop. Nothing had changed. She still wanted to move on with her life, but it was as if the past were creeping up on her, pulling her in. It muddled her thoughts and made her chest ache.
She pulled the car up the drive and parked it next to Pete’s Bronco. He opened the door before she could even get up the steps.
“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.
“Hi.” She noticed the gold flecks in his hair. His hair had always turned golden in the summer, and, as the weather got warmer, the
gold was showing up again. He had a heavy stubble today—she’d never seen him unshaven like that before—and he had his glasses on. It made him look older.
“How’s Pop?” she asked.
“He’s okay today. He’s taking a nap. He’s been awfully tired lately.”
“As are you, I’m sure.”
“Ah, I’m fine.” He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I just have to keep my head on a swivel with him around.”
“How long has he been like this?” she said as he shut the door behind them and led her to the living room.
“A few months. I’ve noticed it coming on gradually. It started when, one day, he couldn’t do the math to settle his checkbook. He was at the desk, punching numbers over and over on the calculator. That was the first thing. That same week, he was out of his favorite pancake mix—the blueberry kind. He’d gone with me to the store to get more, and that afternoon he didn’t remember going.”
“Pete, I’m so sorry. I feel just terrible that this is happening to him.”
“I’m okay with all of it as long as he remembers us, but when he starts to forget who we are, it’s going to be very hard to handle.”
“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” Hugh snapped from the doorway, and both their heads turned in his direction.
“We weren’t, Pop,” Pete said, standing. “I’d say the same thing to you if you were sitting with us.”
“You’d better. Don’t sugarcoat things on my account. I know what’s going on in my head, and I can’t stand it any more than you can.”
She followed both of them into the kitchen. Libby had never seen Pop that ill-tempered. He’d always been the calm, cool one. He could outsmart, outtalk anyone in any argument, and he never even had to raise his voice. That’s what had made him a great salesman. But now he seemed paranoid and frustrated. She could only imagine what it must feel like to not have control of her own thoughts.
“Is there anything to eat in this house?” Hugh asked, rummaging in the fridge.
“Jeanie said she’d make you a casserole,” Libby smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
“That would probably be a good idea since no one else seems to be cooking,” he barked.
Libby’s eyes went right to Pete, her cheeks burning with protectiveness. It wasn’t Pete’s fault. He’d been doing a wonderful job with Pop. Now Pop was spitting insults at him. Pete’s face was stoic, emotionless as he watched him putter around the kitchen huffing and puffing. He caught Libby’s eye, and nodded as if to say, “It’s okay,” but she didn’t feel okay. She felt awful. How could Pop speak to his grandson like that after he’d nearly exhausted himself over his care?
“Pop, Libby and I are going outside on the beach if you need us,” he said.
Pop didn’t answer. He just continued to pull dishes from cabinets and food from the pantry.
Pete took Libby’s hand, and reluctantly she left Pop in the kitchen and followed him outside. “How dare he speak to you like that,” she said once the door had shut behind them. The sun was in her eyes, making them water.
“It isn’t him. It’s the disease. It makes people touchy. Don’t worry. When he’s just Pop again, he’s very agreeable.”
“My gosh, how can you stand to hear that, though?”
“I have this memory of him at the beach when we had one of our family parties. He and Nana were sitting under the umbrella in their beach chairs. He had a Bloody Mary in one hand and a cigar in the other, and he was wearing a straw hat. I can’t remember the joke he told, but it had made everyone laugh, including him. I just recall that image every time this disease takes him over. It’s my way of coping, I suppose.”
They made it to the beach and stepped onto the shore. The warm sand beneath her feet and the sea air did its best to block out the heaviness of the state of affairs. It was nice to just be with Pete. It was an awful thought to have, but she was glad to have a reprieve from the situation.
At the edge of the beach, where the sand met the grass, Pete had built a circular, stone fire pit. He began tossing twigs into it and Libby thought to herself how it would be perfect for roasting marshmallows. There he was with this massive cottage with extra rooms, a large yard, a fire pit for marshmallows, and a hundred trees with large branches just waiting for a swing. He had everything he needed to have a family there, yet he didn’t have anyone but Pop. The sadness of this hit her in that moment. What was he waiting for? And what would he do when Pop passed? What good was all of it if he had no one with whom to share it?
With a spark, he lit a match and threw it in, the fire consuming the kindling inside. Then he pulled two wooden Adirondack chairs over next to it, the heat from the fire dancing into the sky. Libby sat down and watched the flames shimmy upward and then dissipate.
“I’m glad we’re not taking a walk today,” she said, holding her hair back with her hand to keep it from blowing into her face.
“Why?” he said as he took a seat beside her.
“I don’t want you anywhere near that tire swing,” she huffed out a laugh.
He smiled, the lines around his temples just starting to show, his eyes on her as if he were waiting for a response. “I’ll be honest: I imagined both of us in the water, just the two of us, like we used to do all those years ago… Silly, really.” He shook his head, his thoughts clearly occupied.
Libby felt as though a weight were pressing on her chest. She did care for Pete. She just couldn’t imagine how they could fit in each other’s lives. What would she do if she didn’t have something to work for, a goal to reach? In New York, she was never still, always moving from one thing to the next. She didn’t know how to slow down. For so many years, there was no other choice, no other option but to move fast and push harder. Now she’d taken the new job and the apartment was ready. It was done. She had to return to the only life she knew. The sadness was welling up, against her will.
“But it was good that you didn’t jump, because it helped me to focus on the truth of the situation.” A log popped, the kindling glowing bright orange, embers popping into the air like lightning bugs. “Do you know what I realized that day on the beach?” He seemed to be waiting for a reply, so Libby shook her head. She could feel a lump in her throat at the thought of not seeing him every day, and shaking her head was all she could manage. “I’d forgotten that I was no different to you than this town. You think you can do better,” he said with a huff she took as cynicism.
His words chased each other through her mind like a runaway train. She didn’t think she could do better than Pete Bennett. He was everything she ever wanted in a person. It was true; she used to think she could do better than White Stone, but she had realized that she wasn’t choosing something better, just something different. She hadn’t told him yet about the new job or the apartment. She knew she had to bring it up, as painful as it was.
“I don’t think I can do better than you,” she said. She couldn’t help it; she put her hand on his knee. He fixed his eyes on her hand for a second, and then they moved up to her face. “But my life is somewhere else. I’m leaving for New York in two weeks. I got a job.”
Pete nodded, his eyes now on the fire. She waited a long while for him to say something, but then she thought, What could he say? She wanted him to be okay with it, but it was too complicated to be okay, so they sat in silence, together, the screech of birds overhead the only sound among them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Libby sat at her desk among three cards, a cake, and a small bunch of Mylar balloons that smacked the wall as the air conditioning vent blew them around. “We sure will miss you,” Marty said, leaning on the other side of her desk.
“Thank you so much for this. I’m sorry my stay here was shorter than I’d anticipated.”
“Well, it was only temporary work. You got us through tax season.” His eyebrows bounced up and down as he said, “I’m glad we had you as long as we did.”
Libby got up and gave him a hug. S
he’d miss that quirky office and its clients.
“We’re taking you to lunch,” he said. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Thank you,” she grinned. As different as that job had been from her old one, she really enjoyed it. She’d miss the little, wooden cubbies where everyone stored the coffee mugs they’d brought from home, the plant that seemed to brown no matter how much or little water was put on it, and the supply closet where Marty had them log the pads of sticky notes they took so he’d know when to order more.
“We’d like to take you to Miller’s, if that’s okay.”
Miller’s was a nice gesture, but it was quite expensive and Libby didn’t want Marty forking out that kind of money just for her. “I’d be just as happy somewhere less formal, if you’d like,” she said, trying to get the point across without being rude.
“No, ma’am. We’re going to Miller’s,” he said. Janet grabbed her car keys and slipped her purse onto her shoulder. “No arguing,” he said with a very broad smile and a wink.
They piled into Marty’s sedan and headed to the restaurant. As they pulled up, she noticed all the familiar cars parked along the curb. She saw Sophia’s and then her mother’s. A little farther down the street, she could swear it was Jeanie’s blue Civic, and even Helen’s car was parked in front.
When she got inside, she was led to a small dining room where, to her complete surprise, she found a few familiar faces waiting for her. “Your mom helped me plan this,” Marty said as all the recognizable faces smiled in their direction. Celia was front and center, batting her eyelashes with a big grin on her face.
The sight of them filled her with happiness. She knew all of them so well now, and she’d enjoyed seeing them as an adult. It had given her perspective that she hadn’t had before. There they all were, coming to see her off. It was enough to put tears in her eyes. They weren’t mocking her or judging her for everything that had gone wrong for her. They were celebrating with her, sending her off with love and smiling faces. For anyone else it wouldn’t be such a big deal, but for Libby it was huge. For the first time, she felt accepted, like one of them.
