Mr. August (10 page)

By the time he got to Route 127 he was spent. The emotion of walking away from possibly the love of a lifetime and trying to keep the tank from sliding off the icy roadway had taken its toll. Max sat at the traffic light at the junction of Route 33 and Route 127 for a good fifteen minutes. Because of the wicked weather there were no other fools on the roadway so he didn’t have to worry about holding up traffic. He put his blinker on to turn left. He had ten miles to go and he’d be to the cabin. He flicked off the blinker. Snow swirled all around. If he stayed where he was much longer the car would be surrounded by drifts.

When the traffic light turned green for the umpteenth time, he pushed the accelerator.

“What the hell are you doing, August?” A mile up the road, he pulled over. He was exhausted. His brain was on overload. And he was painfully in love with a woman who didn’t want the same things he did.

Flashing red lights filled his rearview mirror.

Max cursed when a state patrolman walked up to the car. He rolled the window down.

The officer shined a flashlight in Max’s face and then at Rory, who managed to sleep most of the trip home. The pooch covered his eye with his paw to block the light. The officer’s eyebrows dipped to the center. “Everything okay, sir?”

“Yes.” Max winced. Everything was not okay and would probably never be okay. But he wasn’t about to spill his guts to a police officer. If he did, he’d be cited for being an idiot and his man-badge would finally be revoked.

“Where are you headed?”

“To my cabin.”

The state trooper squinted with authority. “Are you aware that there is a level-three snow emergency in place?”

Max blew out a puff of air. Just slap on the cuffs. “I had no idea. I drove home without turning the radio on.”

The troopers’ squint deepened as if he found that hard to believe. “I suggest you get moving. Only emergency vehicles are permitted on the roadways during a level-three.”

Max didn’t give a shit about the roadways or whatever the hell emergency level they were under. The only thing he cared about at the moment was Libby. He was tempted to risk the roads—and his desire for a family—to keep her in his life. When he pulled the tank from the side of the road it fishtailed and it took some swift maneuvering to keep driving. To make things worse, the patrolman made sure he went home by following him to the campground.

Max pushed against some high drifts as he made his way back to the cabin. Pain projected across his heart when he came to the intersection of Duck Drive and Mallard Lane. He pictured Libby’s passion-filled eyes and her smile and he almost turned the tank around. Instead, he sighed with the hard reality that he was in the middle of a powerful storm and it wasn’t the one involving Mother Nature.

“You’re becoming a mere shadow of yourself.” Libby’s mother pushed a heaping plate of ham in her direction.

Libby couldn’t look at the ham. “I’m not hungry, Mom.” The smell of food was wreaking havoc with her equilibrium; looking at it might finish her off. She clutched the underside of the table like it would quell the queasiness that had been an off and on thing for over two weeks. It had to be the stress of getting fired and breaking up with Max. There was no other explanation. It had been a month since Max left and well over two months since Amanda let her go. Her body obviously could no longer handle the commotion and was fighting back. Libby cursed Max and Amanda under her breath and absently moved green beans around on her plate.

Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years had come and gone without as much as a phone call or text from Max. She’d been telling herself it didn’t matter, that she couldn’t possibly be in love with someone who wasn’t in love with her. Her brain got the message, her heart was another story—it wanted what it wanted, and no amount of rationalizing was going to change things. To add to her mixed up feelings, she missed Rory. She loved the pooch as much as she loved… Libby couldn’t finish the thought; it hurt too much.

Regina Griffin slurped a sip of coffee to draw Libby’s attention. “I saw Amanda Slayte at the mall yesterday. She was sitting at the food court drinking coffee and messing with her laptop. I gave her the finger under my packages.”

Libby’s mouth dropped open. Picturing her nearly-sainted mother lowering herself to obscene gestures on her behalf made a giggle form in her belly. The more she thought about it the more she laughed. She laughed until she cried, and subsequently hurried to the bathroom to dry heave.

Her mom followed. “Sweetheart, I know you’re still upset that Amanda could’ve done something so mean, but you need to move on. Life is passing you by, dear. While you’re tied in knots she’s rocking the fashion world. You need to grow a thick skin, give Amanda the finger like I did, and start living again.” She patted Libby on the back. “You can’t let that woman destroy you.” She cleared her throat. “While I’ve not been completely supportive of your career choice, I am now. Whatever I can do to help, I will.” Regina Griffin smiled tenderly and tucked Libby’s hair behind her ears. “I have faith in you, daughter, it’s just that I’ve always taken the safe road. I was afraid for you to venture into the creative arts for fear you’d starve. Er… I’m not saying anything helpful, am I?” Her mother’s exasperation was clearly mounting as evidenced by the faint thread of hysteria creeping through her voice. “Okay, one last stab at saying the right thing. Buck up, Libby, and show the world what you’ve got.”

“I love you, Mom.” Libby swayed and clutched the toilet lid. “You and daddy have always had my back.” The contents of her stomach inched higher. Gah! This side-effect of Max and Amanda was getting on her nerves, and if she wasn’t careful it would get on her mom’s spotless bathroom floor. “As soon as I get rid of the flu, I’m going to kick some fashion butt.” Libby wasn’t just going to kick some fashion butt she was going to be sought after by every fashion house from New York to Milan, even if it killed her. The only way to make the style giants take notice was to leave the madness in Ohio and move to New York. The Big Apple was the hub of American fashion. She should have been there all along. First, she had to recover her Jeep and personal items from the cabin—possibly under the cover of darkness. If she ran into Max the glue holding her cracked heart together would surely dissolve. Why she fell for the irritating, grouchy…good looking, amazing kisser was beyond all logic. He’d been a pain from the start. She exchanged the pain of Amanda for the pain of Mr. August. Pfft. Mr. August. What a joke!

Another dry heave wracked her with such force that a cool darkness took hold.

****

Max had sent the manuscript to his editor a week ago. The only feedback he’d gotten was an acknowledgement that the document was received. He’d missed the deadline by three days because once he got back to Celina he was filled with such self-loathing he couldn’t write a coherent thought. His brain was stuck and he couldn’t get it unstuck until he allowed the torment to roll out of him and onto the page. He channeled the agony of losing Libby, into one hell of an ending for his book. All the pain and angst that ripped him apart—and was still tearing him to pieces—was the emotional punch the story needed and what his readers expected. The book was done. He should be happy, or at least satisfied. He was neither. Instead of celebrating his accomplishment, he was pacing the cabin, running his hands through his hair, cursing himself for being the world’s biggest jerk.

A loud knock at the door cut into his funk. Actually, it wasn’t so much a knock as it was a fist hitting the solid oak door with all its might. The heavy sound startled Rory from his nap on the kitchen rug. He jumped up and skirted to the door. Max followed close behind.

The only two people who knew he was there was Jiggs and Libby. It wasn’t Jiggs at his door, he was certain. He’d received a call from Jiggs a few days ago that he was headed to Florida for a couple of weeks. It had to be Libby. Max’s heart immediately went into a thumping frenzy.

He yanked open the door.

Wearing an olive-green trouper hat with earflaps was none other than…
Oh, this was not good
.

“Hello, Maxwell.” Steph made a face like someone forced her to down a bottle of vinegar. “So this is where the almighty Mr. August spins his magic.” She pushed past him and looked around.

“Come in,” Max said redundantly, crossing his arms at his chest, bracing for the inevitable explosion. A prickle worked up his spine when she fanned through the manuscript he’d printed earlier. He expected her to give it a toss. Instead, she hit him with a murderous look like she was about to draw and quarter him. “Why are you here, Steph?”

Steph drew up in front of Max, hooded her eyes so only a smidgen of frosty-blue could be seen, and poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Why am I here?” She repeated the question a second time, much louder. “Why am I here?” She squinted harder. “Because…” To Max’s surprise, Steph’s anger broke away and was replaced with wobbly emotion. “Libby’s in the hospital. She’s severely dehydrated from throwing up and she has a slight concussion from hitting her head on the toilet.”

A sigh that sounded like a tire losing air came from her chest. “Dan and I came to clean out the cabin and take her Jeep back to Columbus.” She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second. When she opened them, the anger was back. “I wasn’t going to tell you about Libby because you don’t deserve to know. Dan talked me into it.”

Max felt like he’d been punched in the gut. The air caught somewhere between his lungs and windpipe. And the stress he’d been carrying between his shoulder blades for the last six months tightened. “The hospital? God, Steph.” He latched onto her forearm. “Did I cause this?”

Steph answered with an exaggerated eye roll. “Amanda put the screws to Libby and so did you.” Her chest puffed out and she went off on a tangent of intimidation. “I’m going to kick your ass. I can do it too. I have a black belt in karate.” She cracked her knuckles. “And if I catch up to that spineless hunk of human flesh, Amanda Slayte, I’m going to do the same thing to her.”

For reasons Max couldn’t explain, he wrapped Steph in a hug. “I know I hurt Libby. I didn’t mean to.”

Steph pushed away. “Why’d you do it? One minute you’re all lovey-dovey and the next you turned into a giant bastard.”

Max blew out a lungful of regret. “I overreacted when you said Libby didn’t want kids. It was stupid, I know. If I had it to do over again, I would’ve…”

Steph cut him off by raising her voice so loud it bounced off the walls. “I. Didn’t. Say. She. Didn’t. Want. Kids. You. Half-wit!” Her voice dropped to a low, threatening growl. “Men and their selective hearing! What I said was ‘since she isn’t going to have kids.’”

Max knit his brows together. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

Steph threw up her arms and started to walk away. She was almost to the door and turned around. “Libby isn’t going to have kids because she can’t. She has the worst case of endometriosis any woman could possibly have and her chances of getting pregnant are one in a million. The day she got fired, the doctor called to discuss a drastic procedure where he could put her into temporary menopause to curb the endometriosis long enough to give her a small window of opportunity.” She glared at Max. “Even then, her chances are slim. Essentially, she’s screwed.”

Max dropped onto the loveseat. Rory perched next to him. For a long few moments Max let the information sink in. “I’ve been a complete jackass,” he said quietly. “A stupid fool.”

“No argument there.” Steph grabbed the doorknob. “Libby’s my best friend, and you hurt her. I may never forgive you.” She walked out and quietly closed the door.

In the time it took Steph to get down the steps, Max was on her heels. “Leave her things, Steph. Take her Jeep if you have to, but leave her things.”

Steph cocked an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“You won’t admit it, but you want things to work out for Libby and me. If you take her stuff, she won’t come back.”

Steph hit him with the truth. “Libby’s not coming back.”

Max grabbed Rory and ran to the tank. He started the engine and gunned it down the drive.

****

Libby took a small bite of cherry Jell-O. “You have to eat” was the only thing she’d been hearing from the doctor, her parents, Steph, Dan, the hospital candy-striper, and the night janitor. Bleh! They wouldn’t eat anything either if every bite made them hurl. One good thing came from being sick for two weeks, she was too preoccupied with her stomach to dwell on the state of her heart. Who was she kidding? She thought of Max 99.9% of the time.

Her mother arrived and hawk-eyed the tray of food sitting in front of Libby. “I see you still aren’t eating.” She held up a pot of African violets with a blue get-well ribbon stuck in the center. “Something to cheer you up.” She placed the plant by the window and took a seat on the bed. Lifting the lid of the untouched bowl of chicken noodle soup, she arched an eyebrow at Libby, and commenced chewing her bottom lip.

When Regina Griffin had something important to say and wasn’t quite sure how to start, she chewed her lip. Libby assumed she was gearing up to give her a lecture.

Her mother smoothed the blanket, cleared her throat, and began. “I don’t understand this sickness, Libby. If it was a day or two, it would be no big deal. No red flags. But it’s been over two weeks.” She touched Libby’s hand. “Maybe you need some counseling.”

Libby wasn’t the least bit shocked by the comment. For appearances sake, this was about losing her job and she wouldn’t tell her mother different. “It’s something to consider.” It wasn’t just lip-service to quiet her mom. An objective third party was always a good idea. But Libby wasn’t going to pay someone to tell her what she already knew, or thought she knew. “A nurse came in this morning and drew a few vials of blood. Soon we’ll know if it’s viral or…” She couldn’t finish. It was hard to entertain the possibility that she might be making herself sick.

Her mother straightened the blanket again. “Your Dad and I are beside ourselves with worry.”

Libby hadn’t cried in over twenty-four hours, but tears formed in the back of her eyes. She didn’t want her parents fretting about this. They were getting older and shouldn’t be burdened with the chaos of their thirty-year old daughter. And their thirty-year old daughter needed to wise up and stop taking life too seriously. “Mom, don’t worry. I’m going to be fine.”