Hold on My Heart (33 page)

His words were brutal and raw, and she wanted to fight him. She wanted to remind him that what they had was good. And it was real. He’d let her inside his life, and he’d made Rachel her business the moment he asked for help with that goddamned collage.

But she knew he wouldn’t hear her, so she got out of the truck and slammed the door. He drove away and left her standing in the rain.

T
here wasn’t enough booze in his house to get him as drunk as he needed to be. It took a lot. He remembered that from the months after Connie’s accident. But he drank what he had in the house. Four beers and a shot of Jack Daniel’s. Not a bad buzz for four o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. He kept waiting for George to show up and throw gasoline on this fire. But he didn’t.

Evening came. It got dark, and somewhere around midnight Tom must have slept because he woke up at six in the morning with a neck stiff from lying on the couch, and a head splitting from alcohol and self-loathing.

He’d been here before, in this ugly place. The misery was comforting in its familiarity. He knew how to behave in this space. Knew what to expect. Nothing but more of the same.

Tom ate leftovers from his refrigerator, took a shower, and thought about going to get more food. He thought about watching television, or raking some leaves, or calling Dr. Brandt. But he did none of that. He wasn’t really sure what he did, but suddenly it was dark again, so he got undressed and climbed into bed.

Lying in the quiet darkness, with the scent of Libby’s perfume wafting up from the sheets, all those thoughts he had blockaded from his mind for the last day and a half broke through. The numbness gave way like an avalanche, and the pain grew chisel sharp. But he understood this kind
of pain better now. He knew he simply had to feel it, ride it out, or suffocate from it.

The truth was, he loved Libby Hamilton. With all his heart. And in a long line of mistakes, letting her go would be the biggest of his life.

Losing Connie had been an accident. A tragic, unavoidable twist of fate, but this thing with Libby, and what had happened with Rachel—that was stuff he could fix. Hurt feelings and misunderstandings could be talked through. Dr. Brandt had taught him that.

He and Rachel were learning how to do that together. She was old enough to understand what his feelings for Libby meant. In fact, the worst thing he could do would be to behave as if his relationship with her was less than it was. Libby had shaken him back into his own life. And while what happened yesterday morning in his kitchen had been regrettable, it wasn’t a tragedy. It didn’t have to devastate anyone. It was an obstacle to overcome, not a life-defining moment.

Anne was wrong.

He
had
grown up. He wasn’t a coward, and he wouldn’t hide behind misdirected guilt or self-inflicted shame. Connie would never have let him do that. He owed it to her memory, and he owed it to Rachel, to push past this.

And he owed it to himself to make things right with Libby.

Tom was up before dawn the next morning, not that he’d slept much. He’d spent most of his night chasing visions, and an hour or more just pacing around the bedroom wondering if Libby was asleep, or if she was thinking of him. He’d nearly sent her a text, but it seemed too juvenile. He’d sent one to Rachel, though, at one in the morning.

W
E NEED TO TALK
.

She’d answered immediately.

I
KNOW
. I
CAN MEET YOU AT THE COFFEE SHOP NEXT TO THE HIGH SCHOOL AT
7
A.M.
G
OOD
?

She was willing to meet him, anxious to talk. That had to be a good sign. But he was nearly sick to his stomach as he drove there the next morning.

He walked in and saw her sitting with a tall, dark-haired boy. She was wearing a beret and looked far too grown up. They both stood up when Tom came near.

“Um, hi, Dad. This is Jake.” She gestured to the boy.

They sized each other up, and Tom wasn’t sure who this was more awkward for, because certainly Rachel must have filled this kid in.

After a slight pause, Jake held out his hand. “Mr. Murphy. It’s nice to meet you.”

Tom shook it. “You, too.”

Rachel blushed. “Um, thanks for waiting with me, Jake. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Sure.” He gave Tom a nod and loped away.

“Nice kid,” Tom said.

“Yeah, he is. You want to sit down?”

They slid into a booth.

“Rachel, about Sunday, I—”

“No, Dad, let me go first. Please?”

He was relieved by her insistence, since he had no idea where to start.

Rachel picked up a sugar packet from the tabletop and twisted it in her hands. “I think I owe you an apology.”

If she had tasered him, he could not have been more shocked.

“I should have called you first to let you know I was coming. And I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It’s just that, well, you freaked me out.”

“You freaked me out a little bit, too. I had intended to say something to you about Libby sooner. I just didn’t know how to get it out there.”

“Well, it was certainly all out there in the kitchen. I think my retinas are scorched for life.”

Rachel had Connie’s sense of humor. He wasn’t sure that was such a good thing for him at the moment.

“It was unfortunate for you to see… that. But I want you to understand, my relationship with Libby has nothing to do with why I let you make your own choice about moving back. I’ve been very clear about wanting you home.”

“I know. That’s what Dr. Brandt said.”

Tasered again. “When did you talk to her?”

“Yesterday. I asked Grandma to take me to see her.” She picked up the paper coffee cup from the table and took a sip.

When did she get old enough to drink coffee?

“What else did Dr. Brandt say?” Waiting on that response was like waiting for test results. He wanted to know, and yet, he didn’t.

But Rachel shrugged. “Oh, you know her. She just kept asking me how I felt about things.”

If he wasn’t so wired and nervous right now, Tom might have laughed at that. As it was, all he could do was ask, “And? How do you feel about… things?”

Rachel gave a big, ponderous sigh. “I’ve thought a lot about all of this, and I guess I have to understand that you’re not really that old.”

“Old?” Fly ball, left field.

“Yeah. I mean, so it kind of makes sense that you’d want to be with somebody that you like. Part of me was really mad the other morning because it felt like you were cheating on Mom, or that you’d forgotten her, but I don’t think Mom would want you to be all by yourself forever.”

Grown men didn’t cry. And if they did, they sure as hell wouldn’t do it in a coffee shop.

Rachel took another sip of coffee. “And I guess if I had to pick somebody, Miss Ham—um, Libby is kind of cool.”

Tom would have fought her on Libby if he’d had to, would have worked to help Rachel understand there was a place for both of them in his life. But now he didn’t have to. Gratitude flooded through his limbs, filling him with a long-absent contentment. He was going to have to send that Dr. Brandt a very nice fruit basket come Christmastime.

“I don’t know what to say, Rachel. I’m so proud of you for being grown up about this.” He wished he could claim some credit for what a wonderful young lady she was turning out to be.

“I’m kind of proud of you, too, Dad.”

Yet another jolt to his system. He was going to have heart failure any minute now. “Proud of me?”

Rachel nodded, her blond waves bouncing slightly. “You’ve come a long way in the last few months. I like you again, now that you’re not being a big, bossy jerk.”

Just like her mother. Compliment him with an insult so that he couldn’t feel too good about it. But he did feel good. Because she was proud of him.

“I don’t really appreciate you calling me that, young lady.” He probably should have sounded stern, but he was so goddamned relieved, he couldn’t help but smile.

She sipped her coffee. “I’ll make a note of that. But one thing you should know. If it’s all the same to you, I think I might stick to that other
plan of moving home after I have my license. Not because of any of this, but, well, I don’t want to be that far away from Jake.”

This would probably be a good time for a paternal lecture about responsible behavior and good judgment, but given his track record, it seemed a little hypocritical. And the only part of that statement he cared about was the bit about moving home. “That would be fine, Rachel. Come home whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, and a little smirk tilted at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll call first.”

L
ibby stood at the doorway of the ice-cream parlor surveying the remnants of Marti and Dante’s wedding. Like every other aspect of her life, this now seemed an insurmountable mess for her to clean up.

The roses had wilted and turned brown with no water, a sink full of dirty dishes smelled funky and sour, and the cloudy December day outside painted everything in a sad, gray palette. Everything about this place had lost its luster. Or maybe that was just her. Every place she’d looked since Sunday morning seemed to be missing color and warmth and invitation.

She’d waited all day yesterday for Tom to call, or send a text, or even a smoke signal. Anything to let her know where things stood between him and Rachel.

And between him and Libby.

He’d left her standing in the rain without a backward glance. At least Seth had the decency to
pretend
he was coming back. But Tom Murphy was not one to give encouragement where none was intended.

She’d played the scene out in her head, over and over. Rachel walking in, the look of shock on her face, and Tom’s complete emotional shutdown afterward. She’d never felt so useless or so helpless as she had that morning.

If there was any way to fix this, she sure didn’t know what it was. Her heart was broken down and rusted on the side of the road.

She set the bucket of cleaning supplies on the floor and walked over to the chair sitting in the middle of the room. The very chair on which she’d seduced Tom Murphy. It was nothing special to look at now. Just an ordinary folding chair. Practically disposable.

Like the time they’d spent together.

At least she knew she wasn’t pregnant. Her dependable cycle had made its presence known that morning. No loose ends to worry about.

Libby folded the chair and leaned it against the wall. Then she stacked all the others, mixing them up so she couldn’t even be certain which chair it had been.

It didn’t help.

She couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering, reassessing. It left her raw and tense. Her dad would say she was as nervous as a porcupine in a roomful of balloons. And he’d be right. She thought about Tom so intensely, she could practically hear the sound of his truck rumbling into the parking lot.

Or maybe…

She looked out the window, and there he was, climbing down from the cab. Her stomach flipped and flopped as he made his way closer and came through the door.