Love Me for Me (17 page)

Trying to stop thinking of Pete, she let her mind wander to Anne and the letter from Mitchell. Was there really such a thing as a perfect relationship? She welcomed the doubt that was sneaking in because it helped her validate moving away from Pete. She only had a matter of days, and she’d need all the help she could get because there wasn’t a bone in her body that wanted to leave him.

T
he first thing
Libby felt was soft cotton on her face. Whatever she was sleeping on was moving almost in time with her own breath. Suddenly she became aware of her limbs, tangled up, a hand on her side, the all-too-familiar scent at her nose. She opened her eyes. The sun coming off the bay was nearly blinding through the window as she blinked, trying to register where she was. Pete stirred on the sofa under her.

The night had been so enjoyable, he’d said last night, that he wanted her to stay a little longer. She remembered talking and Pete putting on another movie, but then she had no memory, so she must have fallen asleep.

For a while he didn’t open his eyes, but she wondered if he was awake. His arms were wrapped around her, his head above hers just slightly. With one tiny movement, she could twist her body and be face to face with him. At that moment, though, she just shifted her eyes to see his face from her resting spot on his shoulder.

Pete touched her face, his finger trailing down her cheek, so she turned over and faced him, propping herself up on his chest. “Good morning,” she said. He smiled but didn’t say anything. “Do you remember falling asleep?” Her hair fell forward into her face and he tenderly tucked it behind her ear. She knew that look he had in his eyes. She knew what he was thinking. No matter how old they were, that look was exactly the same. It was the same look he’d given her when she’d told him, back in high school, that she didn’t want to date anyone else; it was the same look he’d had whenever she’d told him she loved him.

Right away, her mind went to the new job, the apartment waiting for her. She couldn’t make leaving harder than it was. Seeing him like that was killing her. There was no way to leave nicely once they’d gone to that place. She didn’t want to leave on bad terms; she didn’t want to hurt him again. “Pete… I need… I have to go.” She pushed herself up, the blanket falling to the floor. “I’m sorry I fell asleep last night,” was all she could get out. Her thoughts, once again, were racing through her mind, making it difficult to pinpoint the words for what she wanted to say. She wished she hadn’t stayed and they hadn’t woken like they had. It was too intimate, too much like it had been so many years ago.

She had everything she’d worked for her entire life right in the palm of her hand. She couldn’t give up everything she’d accomplished for a gut feeling. Her mother’s life kept flashing before her like a neon sign. She saw her mother’s red eyes, her fake smile. She knew what would happen if things didn’t go as planned, and one thing Libby knew about herself was that she was a planner. She couldn’t afford anything to go awry. She had to follow her mind, not her heart. It was the only way. She couldn’t stay. It didn’t make any sense.

“Morning!” Pop came in and sat down between them on the sofa, smiling as he looked back and forth between the two of them. “I feel great today!” It made both Libby and Pete laugh despite the heaviness of their thoughts.

“Libby was just apologizing for sleeping,” Pete said, tilting his head around Pop to make eye contact with her.

Pop stood back up. “Oh, dear,” he said. “I can tell by the look of you two that I shouldn’t get involved in this conversation. Continue… whatever this is.” As he left the room, he called over his shoulder, “The bonfire’s tonight. Perhaps you can go together if you can get along with each other long enough.”

After Pop left the room, Libby said, “I really need to go. I planned to see Mom today.”

He took in a breath and let it out. “You need to go?” he repeated, a slightly irritated look on his face. “You don’t need to do anything. You
want
to go.”

“I’m sorry.” She combed her hair with her fingers and straightened her clothes as best she could. She stood up and folded the blanket, setting it back onto the arm of the sofa. She wasn’t just saying the words. She truly was sorry.

“Look, I only have a few days and I’d like to spend them with friends. Can we do that? Can we put this…” she wagged a finger between them, “behind us for now?”

Pete stood up, sighed and looked down at her. “I’m going to the bonfire tonight. Want to go?”

“What time?” she asked.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“
I
still don’t know
why they advertise the bonfire every year. It’s busy enough without all the summer visitors finding out about it,” Celia said as she leaned out the window of her car. Libby had spent the entire Sunday afternoon with her mother at the cottage. Celia hadn’t boasted or gossiped or anything. They’d just talked. She enjoyed it so much.

She wanted her mother to relax, to enjoy the festivities without worrying about showing off or making sure everyone thought she had a successful life. She wanted her mother to see that she could be happy and that people would like her whether or not Libby went to New York or her mother had gotten dressed up in a showy outfit. The one thing Libby had seen in town was that people there genuinely liked one another. They looked out for each other. If her mother stopped worrying about appearances so much, she may see it as well.

“Are you going to go?” Libby asked.

“Absolutely!” she said, and they laughed because they both knew that whenever there was a social event in this town, Celia would certainly be in attendance.

“Silly question.”

“Parking’s going to be a bear. Are you riding with someone?”

“Pete’s picking me up.”

It was fleeting. The look didn’t stay on her mother’s face very long and she straightened it out. Probably not to cast any shadow on a perfect day. But it was there—the slight disapproval or annoyance, she couldn’t tell. The flutter of her eyes told Libby that Celia knew she’d seen the look.

“Why don’t you like Pete?” It felt good to have the courage to ask her mother about it directly. She was family after all—she should be able to do that—but for so many years she hadn’t. It made her feel stronger, like she’d finally grown up.

“It’s not that I don’t like him. I just want to be sure you don’t waste your life because of silly emotions you had as a girl.”

She wanted to tell her mother not to worry about her anymore, that she didn’t have to worry about anything anymore; Libby would be there for her and she could finally relax. “Believe me, Mom, no matter what I choose in life, it won’t be wasted. You have to trust me to make the best choices for myself. Plus, I’ve got a new job! And I found an apartment for the time being. It’s all going to be fine.” She was trying very hard to make Celia happy again, but then she realized she didn’t need to do that anymore. “But no matter what I choose, Mom, it’ll be what’s right for me. You’ve done a good job showing me how to make choices for myself. Don’t worry. I’ll make the right ones.”

Celia looked thoughtful for a moment and then, with a smile, she said, “I’m your mother. I will always worry about you. But I know that I no longer have to worry about your choices. You’ve shown me time and time again that you know what you’re doing.” Watching Celia’s reaction, Libby was excited for what was to come with their relationship.

Once Celia had made her way down the drive, Libby went inside to freshen up for the bonfire. It was a yearly tradition in the area, marking the beginning of summer. All the businesses contributed, the public beach exploded with vendors in brightly colored booths selling their wares, and the sidewalks were overrun by townspeople and tourists alike as they balanced locally made gifts, area produce, and cotton candy in their arms.

She’d had just enough time to freshen up when she heard the grumble of Pete’s Bronco outside. She opened the door. “Hey there!” he said with a grin that told her he’d left all of his worries at home tonight.

“Hi,” she smiled back, genuinely happy to see him. “Do you mind coming inside for a second?” she asked. “I just need to put on my jewelry.”

He followed her into the cottage. It took a minute before she realized that she was still walking toward her room but he wasn’t. He was stopped in the entryway, looking around. His head turned toward the kitchen door, and he was still for longer than he should have been. His face showed no emotion, but she could see something in his eyes. He was definitely processing something. He’d seen Wade’s roses. She was ready to discuss it, to explain them. She wanted to tell him how they didn’t mean anything, how they weren’t from anyone special. She wanted to let him know that phone-order red roses from someone who didn’t care about her enough to stick by her weren’t her thing. She wanted something better than that, something meaningful. But Pete didn’t ask, he didn’t say a word. He just turned and met her in the short hallway leading to her room.

It seemed like such a long time since he’d helped her move her boxes to the house. The old memories had been painted over, remodeled, made into something different. She took a hoop earring off the bedside table and put it on.

Pete stepped toward her dresser and flashed that crooked grin of his. He slid her memory box toward him. “You
still
have this?”

“Yes.” His question had made her feel a little sad.
Why wouldn’t I?
she wanted to say. Would he expect her to just leave her memories behind once she’d gone to New York? As she gave the question more thought, she realized that it probably was what he thought. She’d left everything else behind, why not her memories too?

He opened the lid and peered inside. It didn’t bother her. Her memory box wasn’t like a top-secret diary that needed a lock to keep her most inner thoughts hidden. They were already hidden because no one but her knew the true meaning of the items inside. It didn’t matter if he saw a piece of paper or a pebble or a twig. The significance of them was lost on him.

He unfolded the pink flier and read the words. Then he creased the paper and put it back. He picked up the white shell she’d gotten on their walk and traced it in his hand. He sat there for what seemed like ages, staring at it, and she could feel the heat under her skin as she thought of that day. She knew he recognized it, and it worried her. In truth, she’d kept the shell because it reminded her of who she was, but it had come from the day of Helen’s party, the day he’d jumped and she hadn’t. Why did
he
think she’d saved it? Did he think that she wanted a reminder of how she had refused to be the kind of person he was? She didn’t want the shell to ruin his mood. Before she could say anything, he put it back.

“I think I recognize some of the things in this box,” he said closing the lid. “Is it still full of your memories?”

“Yeah.”

“You have a few new ones in there. Anything interesting?” he smiled.

“If there is, I’m not telling. They’re
my
memories.”

“You’re just as tight-lipped about them as ever.”

“Yep,” she grinned back at him.

“Well.” He walked over to the door of the bedroom. “Ready?”

She followed him out, walking toward his truck and hopping in on her side. “Where’s Pop?” She didn’t really want to bring it up, afraid she’d bring him back down to reality, but she was genuinely curious and wondered how Pete had been able to slip away without him.

“He’s with Mom. She thought I needed a night out.”

“Smart woman,” she smiled.

“If he feels like coming, she said she’d bring him.”

Pete pulled down the drive toward the road, a gust of warm wind blowing in on them from the open windows. The feeling of summer was in the air: the marshy grasses along the road bending with the breeze of the passing cars, the large, orange sun hanging low on the horizon, and the crescendo of festive clatter filling her ears as they neared the town. The streets were full of people walking toward the beach for the bonfire—all in their shorts and T-shirts with straw bags to carry the treasures they’d found at the open-air market and craft stalls.

Libby looked across Pete to see who had set up closer toward the beach, but she was also taking in Pete out of the corner of her eye. He, too, had a T-shirt on, the soft-looking cotton of it reminding her of how it felt lying on his chest, his warmth radiating from underneath, the quiet thumping of his heart and the rising and falling under her from his breathing. She turned and looked out her own window.

“Looks like a good crowd,” he said, pulling up and parking the car.

“Yeah,” she said, but her head was swimming. As she looked out at all those people, she realized that she knew so many of them. She remembered them from when she was young, and some of them she even knew now. She could see Sophia in the distance, looking at the wooden crafts made by a man she swore had been her mailman. She saw Jason! How he’d changed. He wasn’t quite as thin anymore—same face, though. Marty was walking toward the beach with his family, and Leanne was parking her car. Thomas and Matthew went running toward them, flying kites with the other kids on the stretch of grass beside the tents. Nostalgia crashed over her like a stormy wave, pitting in her stomach, and she suddenly felt very sad that she wouldn’t see them anymore after she went back to New York.

“You okay?” Pete asked, suddenly on her side of the car, concern flooding his face. She hadn’t even noticed him get out.

“I’m fine,” she said, coming out of her thoughts. She opened the door to join him.

Pete swung a bag over his shoulder and took her hand. “Let’s have a lot of fun tonight. Don’t think too much, and I won’t either.” Together, holding hands, they started to walk toward the beach.

“
W
ell look at you two
!” Jeanie called out as they walked toward her. Live music from down the street nearly overtook her voice. “Y’all look so sweet walkin’ up, holdin’ hands.” Holding Pete’s hand felt as normal as breathing, as if the last twelve years hadn’t even happened. Knowing it could be the last time she’d be able hold his hand, she didn’t let go.

“Hey, Jeanie,” Pete greeted her, and then looked down at Libby, a thoughtful look in his eyes. He seemed so much like the same boy she’d known all those years ago. The smell of caramel apples and burning embers, the sound of the band in the background among the chatter of the crowd, the sea air, it all took her right back to the years she’d been to the bonfire as a girl with Pete.

She’d loved that night every year. It had been one of the few times she could escape and enjoy herself. As she looked around at all the happy faces, all the children playing, she wondered if her mother realized what she had there. She’d been so bitter about her life; had she ever taken a moment to see what was in front of her? There was no monotony there tonight. There was laughter and celebration, family and friends. It was enough to make her question whether her mother might have been wrong about White Stone after all.

“Your mama’s comin’. I talked to her this afternoon after she left your house,” Jeanie said.

“She said she was coming,” Libby affirmed. Maybe tonight she’d see her mother relax a little more. Celia had been doing so much better. Perhaps Celia just needed time before she could see that she could be content without relying on Libby’s achievements for her own happiness.

“Well, I’ll wait up here for her. Y’all go on down to the bonfire and enjoy yourselves,” Jeanie said.

On the way, they passed the stalls of games. She couldn’t even count how many stuffed animals Pete had won her over the years. Pete stopped, and Libby followed suit. Each game booth had teddy bears the size of toddlers nestled along the shelves at the back. The stall closest to them had a line of baskets. The gist was to throw a baseball into the basket to win a prize. It seemed simple enough, but it must have been rigged in some way as not one person had been successful. Pete was bending sideways to peer down the aisle at the various games. Then, without warning, he started pulling her down the walk.

“Where are you going?” she asked, shuffling along beside him.

“I see a game I want to play,” he said over his shoulder.

They came to a halt in front of a child’s game with yellow ducks floating in a tiny stream of water on the table in front of them. The goal was to choose a duck and match the number on the bottom with a corresponding prize number. Pete pulled a wad of cash from his pocket, separated two dollars, and handed them to the attendant.

“Which duck do you want?” he asked Libby.

With a deep breath, Libby looked down at all of the smiling yellow ducks jiggling past her. There were so many—all the same. She looked at each one, trying to find some sort of significance, some marker on it that would give something away, but their treasures were hidden. Even though they looked like nothing special, each one completely ordinary, there was something different waiting under every one. She just had to pick. Would she get something big and shiny or something smaller? Carefully, she plucked one out of the water.

“Twenty-two,” she read aloud.

“Twenty-two!” the man behind the ducks repeated with too much enthusiasm. She followed his finger to the board of prizes. Twenty-two was a child’s pretend fashion ring with a stone the same blue as the ocean. The attendant pulled one from a box containing a couple hundred more rings inside and handed it to Libby. She giggled, slipping it on her finger.

“Thank you,” she said to Pete, still giggling, as they turned back down the aisle leading to the beach.

“Well, you leave tomorrow. I wanted you to have something for your memory box and I didn’t think any of those…” he pointed to the giant bears, “would fit.”

“Thank you,” she said again, peering down at the toy ring.

The water sparkled like golden butterflies, the gentle waves fizzing at the shore. An enormous orange blaze popped and crackled on the sand in front of the water, the crowd lounging in chairs and on beach towels. The band music had picked up and was louder on that part of the beach. Pete reached into his bag and pulled out two foldable camping chairs. He shook them until they had their chair-like shape and set them in the sand.

“Hey!” Catherine came running ahead of Scott. “How are you?”

“Great,” Libby stood up and gave her a quick hug. “How about you?”

Scott caught up with them and waved at Libby. “We’re really well! I have a little news!”

“You do?” she said. Pete sat down beside her in his chair, the roar of the fire sending an intense heat through the bay breeze.

“Looks like you and I shouldn’t have had that wine the other night.” Her face was pinched into a colossal smile, eyebrows raised, eyes darting from side to side. Libby could only guess what her news was with a face like that. “We’re expecting!” she squealed.

“Oh, Catherine, congratulations!” Libby hugged her again. This time it was a long hug, the type of hug that says,
this is how happy I am for you
. Libby was thrilled for her. Truly. But it sent a quiver of sadness through her at the same time. She wouldn’t be there to see Catherine’s baby, to go crabbing, to enjoy the summer air outside. There would be a lot she would miss once she was back in New York.

“We found you!” a familiar voice soared over the crowd. Ryan and Emily came trudging through the sand with their chairs hanging on their shoulders from straps. Charlotte bounded ahead of them, stopping abruptly to examine a shell that had revealed itself in the sand.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” Libby walked over and offered another hug.

“I haven’t missed a single one!” Ryan said, setting up their chairs near Pete’s.

Before they could even get settled, Helen and Pop were coming toward them. “Pop!” Libby nearly squealed with excitement. It was so nice to see him out. His eyes were bright and shiny, and she could tell he was himself. “Hi, Helen!” she said, so happy to see her.

Pop handed his chair to Pete, who set it up for him, and they all sat down together like a big family. “I didn’t want to miss this with everyone here. I don’t know how many more of these I’ll have, so best I make sure to attend.”

Libby hated it when elderly people spoke frankly about their ending years. She didn’t want to think about how fleeting life was or life without Pop. The thought took her by surprise, and she didn’t want to ever leave him, knowing his condition. What if it worsened when she was so far away? What would she do?

“You look so serious,” Pete said quietly against her shoulder. For a moment, he looked out at the fire, the thumping of the music in her ears as she watched him. Then, without warning, he looked right at her and stood up. He pulled her off her chair by her hands and spun her around to the music. She kicked off her shoes as Pete whirled her out and in, their arms moving together like the waves in the sea. She couldn’t help but smile when he did that. He had always danced with her, ever since they were young. They’d danced together so many times that moving with him was as easy and graceful as her long-practiced strokes in the water.

Thomas and a few other kids went running past as Pete pulled her into an embrace, their feet kicking up sand with each movement. Libby got a glimpse of Helen, and her eyes seemed to be saying she missed this—the laughter, the dancing, the feeling in that moment that nothing could go wrong.

“I want to dance, Uncle Pete,” a tinkling voice sailed over the music from behind them, and Pete let go of Libby so they could turn around to face Charlotte.

“You do?” he kneeled down and took her hands, her fingers lost in his giant grip. Then, a squeal of laughter escaped her lips as he stood up and spun her around, her entire body lifting off the sand. Her striped sundress puffed out as the wind caught it, the gold of her hair catching the light from the bonfire, her ringlets trailing behind her. He set her back down onto her bare feet. Then Pete got on his knees again and started dancing with her, dipping her and spinning her, her giggles like bubbles in champagne.

“I love you, Uncle Pete,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Love you too,” he smiled. “Do you mind if I dance with Libby now?”

“Okay,” she said, dropping down onto a towel that Emily had filled with toys.

Pete grabbed Libby’s waist, but he didn’t dance. He leaned in toward her. “Want to walk around a little?” he asked in her ear.

“You’re not going to make me jump into anything are you?” Libby grinned.

“Ha ha.” He took her hand, fingering her duck-game ring. “We’re going to take a walk,” he told the others. “We’ll be back.” Libby noticed Ryan’s grin and the darting glance he gave Emily. She wondered again what Emily had meant by her comment about having heard a lot about her.

“You’re holding my hand a lot tonight,” Libby noted.

“Well, you’re leaving tomorrow. I need to get all my hand-holding in before then,” he kidded. There was so much familiarity in his face. When he looked at her, it was as if they could talk without saying anything. His gaze was so pensive every time he looked at her tonight, and she wondered if he felt as sad about her leaving as she did about leaving him.

Walking along the beach with him, with the sounds of the crowd and the band and the waves, Libby went right back to the smell of chlorine in her hair after a swim meet so long ago, the feel of the wind against her face in his Bronco, the taste of the strawberry wine they’d smuggled onto the beach, the laughter of friends, and the feel of his warm, salty skin as they sat, his arms around her, the moon shining off the bay, the pines towering behind them.

“Pete. I…” She knew that when the night was over, when the sun brought new perspective, she’d have a clearer head, and she would go to New York, but it wouldn’t change what she felt for him. “I’ll miss you, that’s all.”

“I know.” He looked out at the crowd of people walking through the stalls. He turned back to her, his eyes searching hers. The breeze blew her hair back away from her face as she waited for a response. After a long silence, he said, “I’ll miss you too. I just enjoy being with you. So tonight, can we do that—just be together and not think about tomorrow?”

Her chest ached with uncertainty and fear and longing all at once. “Yeah,” she said in nearly a whisper.

“Libby!” her mother’s voice tore through the moment. She was pacing along the sidewalk in short, clipped strides, Jeanie barreling along beside her. “I didn’t think I’d find you in this crowd!” she said from too far away.

“You found us!” Libby said, pulling away from all the thoughts that were slamming the inside of her head. She was thinking about Charlotte’s little curls and what having children there would be like. She was thinking about Pop and how nice it was to see him lucid. She was thinking about Helen’s face as she watched them dancing. But most of all, she was thinking about Pete, his hand still in hers, that contemplative look in his eyes, the way her heart hurt at the idea of leaving. It was all making her head pound with anxiety.

“Good grief!” Jeanie said, slightly out of breath. “Your mama’d have us walkin’ the length of the county lookin’ if we hadn’t found you.” Then, as if just now noticing them, their close proximity, the way Pete had moved his arm around her waist almost protectively, she said, “Where are ya’ll headed?” her eyes darting between the two of them as if she wanted to know more than just the answer to her question.

“We were just taking a walk,” Pete said.

“Lordy, don’t let him near the shore. We know what happened last time,” Jeanie teased.

Pete rolled his eyes. “Libby already made that joke, thank you very much.” The corners of his mouth twitched as he attempted to hide his amusement.

“Why don’t y’all take your walk? We’ll go find somewhere to sit,” Jeanie said. “I’m dyin’ to unload this bag.” She squinted toward the beach. “Hugh end up comin’?”

“Yep,” Libby said. “They’re all here.” And as she said the words, her heart was full. Never before, and probably never again, would everyone be together like that.

She and Pete walked silently through the crowd. Every person there had their own view of that night, but Libby’s was one of reflection. Jeanie’s words kept coming to mind:
Not everyone wants to leave this town. There’s a lot of good here, you know. Some people like it enough to spend their whole lives here.
She finally understood what Jeanie had meant.