Jeremy glanced back at the main house as the guests started to spill outside. “Your work looks like it’s going well.”
“It is. Booming, as a matter of fact.”
As soon as she and Jeremy had decided to get pregnant, she had had to stop administering chemo to her patients. After two lost pregnancies, her resolve to deal with the sick or dying had vanished. With Jeremy’s blessing, she had then started her photography business.
“You said you hated the weddings and fancy affairs,” he said. “Now you’ll be at events like this all the time.”
That coaxed the first real laugh she’d had in weeks. “They’re starting to grow on me. There’s something comforting in tradition.”
As they reached the Volvo sedan he had purchased after she had become pregnant the first time, she sensed he had something to say and was screwing up the courage.
“Out with it,” she said.
He looked up, shaking his head. “With what?”
“Please. You look like you could explode.” It was not charitable to take pleasure in his discomfort, but she did.
“You know me too well.”
“Three years of marriage. What gives?”
More coins jangled. “Monica is pregnant.”
And there came the punch to the gut that wiped away any smugness she might have mustered. Memories of lost babies swirled in her brain, and all the old pain, locked so carefully away, hammered to be released. For several seconds, she could not speak, fearful her tone would betray her sadness.
“I know it’s a hard subject for you,” he rushed to say.
It had been their hard subject. Their losses. Their pain. Now it was all hers.
“I should have told you months ago, but I knew you were dealing with the loss of your dad.”
“Months ago? When is she due?”
“A few weeks.”
She cleared her throat. “Wow. That’s really wonderful.” Had he saved the pint-size Nationals T-shirt?
“You’re upset.”
“No. Just surprised.” To prove there were no hard feelings and that she was okay, she hugged him. “I know you’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.” Her voice sounded far off, and the tone had an odd vibe to it, like distant thunder before a storm.
“Well, good luck to you both.”
He stared at her, his eyes darkening with embarrassment. “I know my timing is lousy.”
“I doubt there’d have been a good time.”
He retrieved the box out of the Volvo and carried it to her car. She glanced inside. “My running shoes. I’ve really missed them.”
“I thought you’d want them.”
“Very thoughtful. Thank you. Got to get back to work.”
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked with a genuine kindness that somehow irritated her.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” She slammed the car door a little too loudly. “I need to get back to work. My bride will be leaving soon.”
He took her hand in his. His heartfelt grip warmed her chilled fingers. “Good luck, Libby. I’ll always love you.”
She cleared her throat. “Like the song. Same.”
She tossed him one last grin and then headed back toward the porch; her legs felt wooden, and tension banded her lower back.
She barely glanced at the Model T as she climbed the front steps and almost bumped into a woman standing at the top of the stairs. “Sorry,” she said, and then she looked up and realized the woman was their host, Elaine Grant.
In her fifties, Mrs. Grant was wearing a smartly tailored navy suit and black heels. She had swept brown hair streaked with gray into a french twist. Sierra would have called her classic French chic.
“No trouble,” Mrs. Grant said.
“Sorry, I was preoccupied for a minute. Is there a shot you want me to get?” Jeremy’s Volvo sped down the long drive.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Grant asked, eyeing her closely. “You look pale.”
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s just that my ex-husband decided to show up and return a few of my things. He also told me he’s getting remarried and is having a baby soon.” She smiled. “But you know what? He returned my favorite running shoes, which was really terrific. You know when you first break in a pair, but they still have good support? It’s the sweet spot. I really missed those shoes.”
“Oh. Are you all right?”
Her response sounded ridiculous. If her life were a sitcom, she would have grinned as the canned laugh track played. “Sorry, too much information, Mrs. Grant. Your home and gardens are beautiful.”
Mrs. Grant smiled. “Shame about the weather. And please call me Elaine.”
“Elaine. The weather is always a risk.” She cleared her throat, hoping Elaine had already forgotten about her babbling explanation about Jeremy. “It was kind of you to open up your home for Ginger.”
“I’ve known her since she was a little girl, and her mother has always been good to me. She’s practically family.”
Hoping to move quickly beyond the Jeremy confession, Libby rushed to add, “If you ever decide to open this property for private events, you could charge a small fortune.”
“I toyed with the idea a few years ago but didn’t think we had much to offer until the gardens were restored.”
“They’re in peak form now.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, because I’m considering a photographer to catalog the gardens and the house. If we do embark on this venture, we’ll also need a website.”
“That’s a must-have.”
“Come by my office Monday at eleven. We’ll talk more.”
“Sure; that would be great,” she said.
There was a loud cheer inside, and she knew the bride had changed into her travel outfit and was ready to depart.
Libby had her camera raised as she stepped away and angled her lens toward the bride and groom. The next few minutes passed in a flurry of laughter, fluttering yellow rose petals, and the couple’s exit in the Model T.
Libby kept shooting as she followed the car down the long driveway, watching as the cans, now attached to the car, clanged against the dirt, foretelling better things to come.
CHAPTER FOUR
LIBBY
Monday, June 8, 2020
Bluestone, Virginia
Libby dreamed of the baby girl. Libby had dreamed of her before, and now as then, she kissed the little one on the belly, inhaled the faint scent of sweet milk, and rubbed her nose against the tiny cotton shirt. Small hands fisted her hair, tugging until both mother and child laughed with pure joy.
“Who will you become, little one?” she mused.
Feet kicked, laughter gurgled, and the child said, “I’ll be whatever I wish to be. The world is there for the taking.”
“You’re still too little to take on the world just yet. Stay with me.”
“Mothers and children can’t always be together.” The child’s voice held no hint of sadness.
“But that’s wrong,” Libby said softly.
“That’s life.”
“No, there’s an order to life. It’s not time yet. Don’t leave me, little one,” Libby said.
But the girl was gone, her laughter faded, and the dream vanished, leaving Libby fully awake and staring at the popcorn ceiling of her father’s living room.
The rumble of pots in the kitchen had her rising and reaching for her phone. She knocked over another empty wineglass. She couldn’t remember the wine or what it had tasted like as she had gulped it down last night and prayed for sleep.
She had spent the better part of yesterday editing the photo files from Ginger and Cameron’s wedding while she also compulsively checked Jeremy’s and Monica’s Instagram accounts. Every ten images she finished for Ginger and Cameron earned her another peek at the expectant couple. She had confirmed that Jeremy and Monica had gone public with their relationship five days after she and Jeremy had signed divor
ce papers. Their first post was a selfie, and they did not look like a couple. Jeremy was holding the camera high, grinning, and Monica was holding her hands up, as if she was asking a question.
Libby swung her legs over the side of the couch and scrolled through her phone to the couple’s latest post, featuring bright smiles, heads tilted close to each other, and clinking coffee cups. Monica’s ring finger now sported one hell of a rock, which must have set Jeremy back a pretty penny.
She studied Jeremy’s smile as well as Monica’s, trying to decide if maybe she looked a little happier than he did. She did not want her Jeremy back. But to think he was not quite whole after their shared losses had been okay. However, she found no signs of a joy imbalance. In fact, he looked positively buoyant after his visit to see her.
The happy couple did not advertise Monica’s baby bump, but if Libby scrolled back and looked hard enough, she could see signs of it in March and April under Jeremy’s oversize college sweatshirt. Her face was rounder, her breasts fuller. She had all the telltale signs that Libby had missed.
As Libby’s hand slid to her flat belly, she remembered when it had been barely rounded at fourteen weeks along. It was getting so hard to remember the soft flutter kicks.
More pots clanged in the kitchen, shaking Libby’s thoughts away from her phone. “Sierra, if that’s not you, I’m calling the cops.”
“What thief would make coffee and scramble eggs for you?”
“Good point.” Libby’s oversize T-shirt brushed her legs just above her knees as she picked up the wineglass and carried it into the kitchen.
Libby found Sierra standing in front of the stove, which dated back to the 1950s. Her parents had never had cause to replace the appliance, because it worked just fine. That mind-set also explained the refrigerator from the Reagan years and the dishwasher purchased right before Y2K. If her dad had thought she was going to sell the house, he had not gotten the memo stating that kitchens and bathrooms were key to a successful sale.
Sierra’s black pencil pants, polka-dot blouse with an exaggerated white collar, and round red earrings created an I Love Lucy vibe that meshed with the kitchen.
“Get a lot of work done?” Sierra cracked an egg with one hand as she reached for another.
“I did. It’s going to be a crazy week ahead, so I decided to knock out the look book for Ginger and Cameron. I’ve got to say, there are some pretty magical moments with the two of them laughing in the rain.”
“Sounds like a musical.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you taking any kind of break?” Sierra asked.
“I will as soon as I get through June and the first week of July. Next wedding won’t be until September.”
“Good. You could use the time off.” She poured Libby a cup of coffee and handed it to her.
Libby took a sip and then pressed the warm cup to her temple. “Bless you.”
Sierra dug aspirin from the cupboard and put the bottle in front of her. “I won’t ask about the two empty wine bottles in the trash.”
“They were both half-full and from the wedding. Your boss gave them to me.”
Sierra picked up her coffee. “He shouldn’t do that, but he does in order to not deal with the bottles.”
“Lucky me. What time did you finally get out of there?”
“We finished the cleanup about six. Rick gave me a ride home. I came by but didn’t see you.”
“I went for a drive.” Meandering down the long roads had felt a little less pointless than coming home and staring at the walls.
“At the reception, I was caught up with serving cake and didn’t get the chance to ask you, but did I see Jeremy at the wedding?”
“You did.” She took another sip. “In a nutshell, he came to tell me he’s getting married. Also turns out he and his soon-to-be wife are having a baby. In a few weeks.”
“Libby.” Sierra dragged out her name, etching sadness and anger into each syllable.
“Don’t do that voice. And don’t look at me like that. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Those bottles were more than half-full, and you didn’t step outside yesterday. I thought you were tired, so I left you alone. But now I can see you were mourning.”
“I was not mourning. I’m a workaholic. You said yourself my energy is totally out of balance and too focused on work.”
“Why did he come to the wedding?”
“He was looking for me. He wanted to have this conversation with me in person, but I think he also wanted a public meeting so things didn’t go sideways.”
“It couldn’t have waited until you were finished shooting the wedding?”
“Guess not.”
“Well, old Jeremy just dumped a truckload of manure on your head, and I think that stinks.”
“I have to respect that he told me in person.”
Sierra tapped a red manicured finger against the side of her stoneware mug. “There are days when I rail at the universe for taking Adam from me. If I get really on a roll, I console myself with the idea that at least I’ll never have to see him with another woman. Selfish, but knowing we are both alone always does the trick for me. I don’t know what I’d do if he had married another woman.”
Libby washed down two aspirin with a gulp of coffee. “We got a divorce for a reason. And if your husband found another woman a tad too quickly, you would drink and work too much like me.”
“Too much of either is not good for you.”
“Like I said, I’m taking a break soon, and I can’t blame Jeremy. I left him. He’s not a bad guy.”
“Then why do I want to punch him in the nose?”
“What would you have him do? Send a text?”
“It’s what any self-respecting millennial male would have done.”
Libby smiled. “Not him. He’s not the bad guy.”
The eggs sizzled in the pan, pulling Sierra’s attention back to cooking.
“I met Elaine Grant at the wedding,” Libby said.
“What did she want?” Sierra lifted the edges of the egg so the uncooked middle could reach the pan.
“She’s talking about creating a website for the Woodmont Estate. She’s going to need a photographer.”
“And you might get the job?”
“Maybe.”
“Can you imagine if Woodmont opened for big events? It would drive all kinds of business into Bluestone.”
Libby made a mental note to take her laptop so she could show Elaine the shots from the wedding. She’d sent Ginger her link to her look book but was not sure if the honeymooning bride had passed it on. “It would be great for everyone in a fifty-mile radius.” She took a long sip of coffee, thinking it serendipitous that Ginger had found her own website. “What’s with the 1950s look?”
Her gaze sharpening, Sierra said, “I’m meeting with the bank today.”
“Ah, you’re going through with the loan to buy the old mercantile store in town.” The space had started as a mercantile store in the 1920s, and when the owner had died, the property had been passed through the family, becoming a hardware store at one point and an antique store in recent years until it had closed for good.
Sierra dished out eggs on two plates already decorated with freshly sliced fruit. “I went by the mercantile store yesterday. It has so much potential. Great bones.”
“What will it cost to buy and renovate?”
“A lot. Hence the loan. I have enough from Adam’s life insurance to pay for most of the building, but I’ll need bank money for working capital.”
“Reno is always more than you think. Whatever the contractor quotes, add fifty percent.”
“I’m trying to be positive here,” Sierra said. “I need to make this work.”
Libby pushed her scrambled eggs around her plate. She did not need to ask Sierra why she needed this project. Like her, Sierra found it easier to work than mourn. “Call me after your meeting. One way or another, I’ll help you figure it out.”
L
ibby arrived at Woodmont at five minutes to eleven. The sky was a vivid blue, and there was not a trace of rain in the forecast.
Libby turned off the paved road onto the long gravel driveway that led to the main house. Slowing as she approached, she took time to enjoy the view unburdened with worry about weather, time, and wedding logistics.
In the field to her left there was no sign of the freshly rolled green hay, which no doubt Colton had transferred to the barn before the rains. Shorn sheep grazed in the north field, and beyond them she could see the gentle bend in the James River.
It really was one of the most beautiful pieces of property in the county. During the Historic Garden Week with her mom, they would sit with the older ladies from the area and sip hibiscus tea while eating biscuits stuffed with Virginia ham. Once or twice her mother had invited her father to join them, but he had always politely begged off.
“Better I let you ladies enjoy it,” he would say, grinning as he retreated to his office.
Mother and daughter had shared this adventure until the year Libby turned thirteen and her mother passed away from a drug overdose that her father had always insisted had been an accident. Pain medications did not mix well with wine.
“She left me,” Libby had said.
“No, baby, your mother would never have left you.”
“My first mother gave me away,” Libby had insisted.
“No, she gave you to us to adopt.”
“When I’m a mother, I will never leave my baby.”
Libby remembered a lush flower arrangement from the Carter family arriving at the funeral home for her mother. It was not the largest by far, but it was stunning, and the blooms looked as if they had been picked from Woodmont’s gardens. It simply read CONDOLENCES FROM THE CARTER FAMILY. A similar arrangement had arrived when her father passed in January, though this one came from a florist.
The senior Dr. Carter, Edward, had been an ob-gyn like his father before him. She supposed that her father had crossed paths professionally with Dr. Carter during the years he had practiced medicine, and the family had reached out in their grief as a professional courtesy. It was a small community, and everyone knew each other.
Honeysuckle Season Page 4
