Love Me for Me (16 page)

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.

T
he 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.”

A
fter 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.

L
ibby 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. She’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.

“Hi, honey,” Celia said, coming forward and kissing Libby’s cheek. “Marty called, and I helped him plan this. They’re all really sad to see you go, so they wanted to do something special for you.”

“Thank you,” Libby said. Then, she turned to the crowd and said in a loud voice, “Thank you to everyone for coming. This is too much!” She waved her hands in the air. “Please, have a seat!” A short time ago, she’d have been mortified at being the center of attention like that, having people coming to see her, but now, she saw friends. She saw Sophia laughing at something Jeanie was saying, Mabel wiggling herself comfortable in her chair, pushing her glasses up onto her nose and looking around to see who else was at her table. Helen was talking to Scott and Catherine, Catherine nodding vigorously, Esther and Leanne beside her. She did wonder about Pete and Pop—they weren’t there—but she tried not to let it bother her. Everyone else was there to say goodbye; she needed to focus on that.

After the waiter took their orders, Helen came over and leaned on the back of Libby’s chair. “Pete wanted to come,” she said near her ear, “but Pop wasn’t himself today.”

It was easy to say—Pop wasn’t himself—but those three words had new meaning to Libby. She knew the severity of them, and it concerned her. While she was enjoying a nice meal, Pop was struggling with keeping himself together, and Pete was having to deal with it all. It made her want to cry right there at the table. She wanted to be there, to help in some way, but she had to stay to say goodbye. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Libby said. Helen put her hand on Libby’s shoulder and rubbed back and forth.

They were interrupted for a moment as the waiter made an announcement. “Everyone gets one drink from the bar compliments of Marty,” the waiter called out over the chatting. “You can all go out to the deck and sit by the water while you’re waiting for your food to come.”

“I’ll see him tonight,” Libby said, resuming their discussion. “I’m taking Jeanie’s supper over to them.”

“Pete’s having a tough time,” Helen said, her expression indecipherable. “This is all so hard for him.”

T
heir lunch had lasted
most of the afternoon, but Marty let Libby go right at five, which made her happy because she could meet Jeanie in town to pick up the casserole for Pop and Pete. It had been a few days since she’d been to Pete’s, and she felt apprehensive on many levels: she worried about Pop, of course, but she also wasn’t sure how to act with Pete. She wanted to comfort him, protect him, make him happy, but she knew she couldn’t achieve any of those things. She decided that the best she could do was to help out.

Jeanie rounded the corner, carrying a warmer that resembled an enormous rectangular oven mitt. “Hope it’s still warm. I just took it out of the oven about fifteen minutes ago,” she said, handing it over to Libby. “Hugh doin’ all right?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. I’m sure he’ll be glad to have this though. It smells divine.”

“Dish yourself some before you leave there then. I made enough to feed an army.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Thanks, Jeanie.”

“Have a good night,” she said.

Libby set the dish gingerly in the front seat of the car and headed down the quiet road that led to Pete’s cottage. She wondered what she would encounter at Pete’s. It had to be so frustrating to never know if the day would be good or bad, hard or easy. Guilt washed over her as she pondered the life she was about to have for herself: the apartment overlooking the busy city streets, the busy social life, the new job. She wished Pete could be in that life. She had nothing pressing there, nothing consuming her time other than work. She wished she were closer so that she could lend a hand with Pop.

She parked the car and carried the dish up to the door. With her elbow, she knocked. The sun was staying out later these days and the sky was still bright. Libby noticed freshly chopped logs at the end of the porch and smiled to herself as she thought of Pete’s stone fireplace in winter, when the logs would be used. How warm it would probably be. It was odd to think that by then she’d have her regular life again, and everything would be back to normal. She knocked a second time.

After a few more knocks, she tried the knob, and it was unlocked. “Pete?” she called inside, holding the dish against her side with one arm. “Pete? Pop? Anyone home?” She’d told them she was going to stop by. Where had they gone? She felt the trepidation start to filter through her as she wondered if perhaps Pop had gone on one of his walks.

She let herself in, shut the door and went over to the kitchen where she slid the dish onto the counter. The house was completely silent. She looked out the window at the backyard but saw no one, anxiety now flooding her. Was Pete out running the streets looking for him? She walked through the kitchen and into the hallway. She’d never been past the office before, but she kept going, looking in rooms, concern creeping in on her by the second. Her heart was beating so hard, it felt like her whole chest was moving, and her hands were trembling.
Please, please be okay
, she chanted to herself.

She passed a bedroom. Empty. Then the next… She stopped, and her shoulders fell in relief. The room looked like it must be Pop’s. He was sprawled across the bed, asleep. Pete was on the floor, his head on the bed, resting on his forearms; he’d dozed off as well. Gently and carefully, so as not to startle him, she caressed Pete’s arm until he came to. He blinked a few times and then looked around.

Libby raised her hand in hello.

Once he’d gotten oriented, Pete stood up, put his hands on his back and bent backwards in a stretch. Then he followed Libby to the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” she asked quietly so as not to disturb Pop.

“Yeah.” Pete rolled his head around on his shoulders. “He couldn’t remember anything from today at all. It terrified him so much that he didn’t want me to leave. I sat with him until he fell asleep. What’s this?” he peeked into the giant oven mitt.

“Jeanie’s sausage and potato casserole.”

Pete raised his eyebrows in excitement. “Want some?” he asked, sliding it out and retrieving a serving spoon from a drawer.

“Absolutely!” she smiled, an attempt to change focus from Pop’s dementia to something positive. It worked because Pete’s face broke out into a smile. It was good to see, although his eyes were dark from lack of sleep.

Once the food had been dished out, Pete poured the two of them a glass of sweet tea, and they sat down across from each other at the small, circular kitchen table near a window with a view of the bay. She wondered how much worse Pop’s condition could get, how much more Pete would need in terms of help. Her time there seemed to be shrinking right in front of her eyes.

“Thank you for coming, Libby. And I’ll have to thank Jeanie for this fantastic food,” he said, smiling again. The sight of it sent happiness zinging through her like an electric charge. It was so good to see him smile.

“You’re welcome. I had to come. I couldn’t imagine not helping, even if it is only dinner.” She wanted to grab him, bury her head in his chest and stay there all night. Even in his weakest moment there was something so protective about him, so strong. It was going to be hard to leave him. She took in a deep breath to try and clear her head, and focused on his smile. It’s funny how when they were kids, smiles were so frequent that they took them for granted. Now, when she could see Pete’s face brighten, it had significance, because she knew that waiting just behind it was a whole lot of pain and anguish.

“That’s the girl I remember. The caring, sweet girl. You haven’t changed as much as you think you have,” he said, still grinning. “What do you have planned tonight?”

“Nothing really. The cottage is done, and it’s too late to pack anything. Why?”

“Pop sometimes gets back up—usually around nine or so. Would you mind staying? …just in case I need you.”

“Of course I’ll stay.”

B
y ten o’clock
, Libby found herself wrapped in the throw that had been draped on the sofa, watching a movie with Pete. Pop had yet to wake. The movie was funny and she was glad for that, because it made Pete laugh. Once, he’d laughed and it had come out like an explosion—one giant “Ha!” that had sent her nearly falling off the sofa. He probably thought she was laughing at the movie, but she had laughed in response to him. Hearing him happy was the best sound—more calming than anything else, even better than the sound of the sea.

She watched the film wrap up, knowing that in any minute the credits would roll. She hoped for some unexpected second plot to emerge to keep her there, but, as expected, the credits did roll and she found herself looking at a black screen. Pete turned off the television.

“That was good,” he said, his face still showing amusement.

“Pop’s been sleeping like a baby.”

“Only because you’re here,” he teased. “Ever since Nana passed, he hasn’t slept an entire night. Maybe today just took it out of him. It was a tough day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not tired at all after my catnap on Pop’s bed,” he said, wriggling to a straighter position. “Want to have a drink?”

“Yeah.” For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t had to think about that answer. There was nothing to ponder, nothing to decide. She knew without a doubt she wanted to have a drink with Pete Bennett. It wasn’t just because she felt bad for him or because he’d asked her; it was because all she wanted to do tonight was stay with him. She started to unwind herself from the blanket.

“No, don’t move. Stay right where you are. I’ll bring it in to you.”

After Pete left the room, Libby looked around. She’d been there long enough that a feeling of normalcy had fallen over her. It wasn’t strange anymore to be back, or to be there with Pete. It was… like home. What a strange feeling: two places that were totally juxtaposed both felt perfectly comfortable to her.

What would it be like when she got back to New York? Work would certainly consume her hours, and she expected to fall right back into the swing of things. But that one niggling feeling kept coming back: she’d miss Pete. She’d miss a whole lot of other people too, but most of all, she’d miss him. And there was nothing she could do about that.

“Here you go.” He handed her a glass of beer.

“Thank you.”

He sat down right next to her, draping his arm along the back of the sofa, and making her feel as if he had his arm around her. “Remember how we used to watch movies at Pop and Nana’s,” Pete said, “and she would bring us soda, telling us we were the only ones she allowed to drink in her living room?”

“Yeah,” Libby chuckled. So many memories…

“And she acted like soda was part of some sort of prohibition, getting skittish when Mom picked us up and asked what we’d been up to. She was always uneasy about giving us too many treats.”

“Nana was a funny lady.” She could feel the tips of his fingers on her shoulder. She didn’t want to look, but it felt almost like a caress.
Please don’t put me in this situation
, she thought.
I don’t have the strength to push you away anymore.
She began to rationalize: Pete was someone she’d known a very long time—like family; that’s why they could be snuggled up under a blanket drinking beers together into the night, right? Whatever chemistry she was feeling was because of their long history together, nothing more—right? She kept repeating it, attempting to convince herself.