Love Me for Me (15 page)

L
ibby wondered
how Pete fit in her life
.
She wanted to talk to him, let him know her excitement at getting the interview, tell him how eager she was to get back, but she knew that he wouldn’t share in the thrill of it. She wasn’t the girl anymore that he wanted to hear from. She’d spent the whole day at work, her mind alternating between thinking about Pete and how things had changed with her mom. With her mother, Libby felt she was in a good place; she felt like she could finally communicate with her. With Pete, things weren’t that clear.

With a deep breath, she checked one last time for her tickets, grasped the handle of her suitcase, and headed for the airport.

R
iddick Wiesner was
every bit Libby’s dream job. She’d have an actual office—no cubicle—a solid number of vacation days, and a better salary than the one she’d had at her last job. All she had to do was nail the interview. With her best Tom James power suit on and her highest heels clicking along the pavement, she crossed the busy Manhattan street toward the address on the screen of her phone. It was glorious to be back. The sun was shining, the morning was crisp. In the air she could hear the sound of traffic, honking taxis, and the movement of commerce, all of it filling her with an inexplicable excitement.

She entered through two glass doors—both taller than the oak trees back home—and made her way to the reception desk. A woman about her age sat at a sleek, fifties-inspired wood-grained desk, a brass plaque behind her with a list of the businesses in the building. Libby caught her eye and the woman smiled. “May I help you?” she asked pleasantly.

“Yes. I’m here for an interview at Riddick Wiesner.”

The woman reached over the desk to direct Libby to the elevators where she would get off at floor fourteen. She walked the blindingly shiny white floors to the elevator and hit the button just as her cell phone alerted her to a message. While waiting for the doors to open, she took a look at her phone. She was surprised to see a text from Wade. It read simply:
Can we talk?
Why did she have to get a message like that just before going in? Now her mind was wandering to all the reasons Wade could want to talk instead of focusing on her interview. Wade would not distract her. She was there for one purpose and one purpose only: to get that job. Nothing was going to get in the way of that.

The elevator doors swished open and she stepped aside to allow a few people to exit. When she got on and the doors had closed, she quickly texted a response:
Can’t talk now. About five mins out from interview with RW.
Then she turned the sound off on her phone and put it in her handbag. She wasn’t even going to look at the response if there was one. She didn’t want to know if he was checking on the sale of the cottage or if he was wishing her luck on the interview or anything else.

He’d left her at her lowest moment, dumped her—just like that. As she thought about it, she wasn’t sad anymore. She was angry. How dare he be that insensitive after all the time they’d spent together? She deserved more than the sad excuse for a break-up he’d offered. She shook the thought from her mind, trying to clear her head for the interview. He was
not
getting in the way of her success on that interview. She was giving it all she had.

When she arrived at floor fourteen, she stepped off the elevator into the hallway, still trying to clear her mind. She needed to be there, in the present, not thinking about anything else. Time to get to work on real life. She could sort out her muddled love life later.

After a quick call to Steven Wiesner, Libby was ushered into the Riddick Wiesner conference room where she met her potential new boss. He was tall and thin with a tailored, navy suit, a heavily starched blue pinstriped shirt peeking out from under his jacket, and a blood-red tie, but his face was friendly, his eyes warm. “Hello.” He held out his hand.

“Hi. Libby Potter.” She offered a firm handshake.

“Have a seat.” He pulled out a chair, the castors rolling toward her. She sat down across from him, the gleaming table empty except for a leather-bound legal pad and a pen on his side. “Thank you for coming today,” he said as he looked down at his notes.

He began to ask her all the right questions and she was firing answers back with ease and skill. There was no better feeling. Her mind went back to that tire swing, soaring toward the water, knowing the thrill of her fate. This was it. Like that perfect, splash-free dive, she was gliding along, completely free. The entire interview felt right, like she was meant to be there, and she could tell by his responses to her that he was impressed—the raised eyebrows, the eye contact, the smiles at just the right moment.

“Well, Miss Potter, normally I give it a day or two, but I have to say, you are the right fit for this job. I’d like to have you on our team.”

Like a bolt of electricity, excitement zinged through her. “I’d love to join Riddick Wiesner,” she said, standing and offering her hand across the table. Mr. Wiesner shook her hand, nodding.

“Thank you for a fantastic interview.” He walked around to her side of the table. “I remember you had some things to tie up, and I know you’ll need the obligatory two weeks’ notice for your current employer. Would you be able to start, say, in a month’s time?”

“Certainly.”

“Excellent. It was very nice meeting you. I look forward to working with you.”

“Thank you so much. It was a pleasure to meet you,” she smiled, trying with every ounce of energy she had not to burst into fits of screaming and laughter. She’d done it. She was back in the game. As she walked out of the office, Libby took in a deep breath and let it out, all her insecurities and worries lifting right off her like helium balloons. The warm sun was shining down on her like a ray of hope, and she knew things could only go up from there. She’d never been more focused, never more willing. She was going to sell the cottage and move as soon as she possibly could.

As luck would have it, Riddick Wiesner was only a couple blocks from her favorite diner, so she paced along the sidewalk outside, with her fellow New Yorkers, driven, focused, and with no time to waste.

When she entered the diner, she didn’t recognize any of the staff and they didn’t seem to notice her. She sat down at the table near the window that overlooked her favorite street. A waitress took her order, and within a few minutes she had her coffee in the white porcelain cup. With her hands wrapped around it, she looked out the window, the sun streaming in on her face.

She’d gotten the job.

She wanted to share her news with someone. Usually, when she had big news, she’d call Trish.
But I don’t want to call Trish
, she thought.
I want…
She didn’t want to admit it because it didn’t make any sense.
I want to call Pete
, she thought against her will.

She wished she could tell him in person, and he would share in her happiness, that she could see the laughter behind his eyes as she jumped up and down over it. It was selfish of her; she knew that. Telling Pete would be awful because when she told him, she’d lose him all over again. Getting that job meant leaving White Stone, but it also meant leaving him.

She called her mother instead. If anyone would share in her joy, it would be Celia. As soon as she answered, Libby gave her the news. The phone pressed against her ear, Libby caught herself smiling alone with only her cup of coffee to keep her warm, while her mother went on about how proud of her she was. Without a doubt, this had been a low point in her career and in her life. She knew her mother understood that. In some ways, however, it had been good for Libby. It had given her a chance to stop and think about what was important—understanding her mother, setting things right with Pete, seeing everyone again. It also made her realize that the people in her town had welcomed her back with open arms. No one had flinched when she returned; in fact, they’d made her feel… special.

L
ibby sat
in the hotel room flipping through the TV channels, staring at the television against the opposite wall. She finally clicked it off and buried herself in the covers. She’d spent the day in Central Park by herself, thinking about how nice it felt to get her life back on track. The weather was unseasonably warm, and the sun was shining through the trees. It was amazing how long she could just sit and take it all in. It felt so good.

Her phone pinged. She reached an arm outside the duvet and felt around for it. Pulling it under the covers, she opened a waiting text:
Can you talk yet? How’d the interview go?
In all the excitement, she’d let Wade’s text go unanswered. Even a few months ago, she never would have dreamed that after finally getting a job, she’d call people back home before she even thought to call Wade.

She swam out of the covers and dialed his number. “Hello,” she said when he answered.

“Hi,” he returned, an awkward silence trailing behind. There was something different about that “hi.” It was softer, quieter, as if there were some sort of significance behind it.

“What did you want to tell me?” she asked suspiciously.

“Where are you?”

“The W on Lexington. Why?”

“Can I see you?”

“It’s after ten! What’s going on? Just tell me.”

“Nothing’s going on. I don’t have anything to tell you,” he said. “I just want to see you. I miss you.”

Those last three words hung in the air as she felt the sting of heat crawl up her neck. She thought about all of the times they’d snuggled together, watching television or reading books, the times they’d laughed during drinks in the evenings, the way he looked at her… and then how easily he’d left her. Anger bounced around inside her like a runaway ping-pong ball. Her stomach felt acidic, her head beginning to pound. He had some nerve thinking he could call her and tell her that he missed her and expect a reaction that was anything other than complete rage.

There was a time when she’d been sad about it, but not now. Now she was incensed that he’d not been there for her. Things were good now; she had a job opportunity. Now he thought he could slide back in, avoid the hard times. Well, he was completely wrong.

“Say something.”

“What do you want me to say, Wade? Do you really think that I’ll jump with excitement at your admission that you miss me? That I’ll come running back to you after you’ve hurt me like you have? Who are you kidding?”

There was silence on the other end for quite some time before he said, “Libby. I just realized how much I missed you once you were gone. That’s all.”

A loud laugh escaped her lips, and she tried to calm her drumming heart. She could hear a buzz in her ears as the anger rose up inside. Wade had lived a very sheltered life, he’d always had the best of everything, and he’d been denied nothing. That was going to change right now. There was no way she was going to take him back.

“Can we at least talk about it?” he asked.

“I’d rather not.”

But he started talking anyway. “I was terrible to leave you when I did. I was scared. You’d lost everything. I didn’t know if I could be everything you needed me to be in that moment, and I wondered if maybe I wasn’t strong enough and you needed someone stronger than me.”

For some reason, she thought of how Pete took care of Pop. It was an odd thing to think about, given the conversation, but she couldn’t help it. Pete would never give up on anyone. He was one of the strongest people she knew. He was kind, like his grandmother, happy, like his mother, and loyal, like Pop.

“You’re right,” she said. “I do need someone stronger.”

“
E
eeeee
!”

Libby spun around to the sound of heels against the bare floor and the whine of her friend coming toward her. As she did, she was nearly knocked over by Trish, the scent of her Bois perfume assaulting Libby’s senses. She only recognized it because they’d shopped for it together.

“I have missed you so much! How are you?” Trish pulled back. “You’re tan!”

Libby was in her element. She had a job and she was coming back. She felt strong and happy and full of energy. No more one-to-one if she could help it. “I’m fantastic! Can’t wait to hear all about you,” she said, pulling Trish’s arm in the direction of a waiting taxi. The benefit of meeting at the hotel was that there were taxis available since they were always waiting for potential travelers. “Let’s go so that we can get you there on time.”

“I’m so excited!” Trish said, sliding into the taxi. “How many are coming today?”

“Twenty-six of your closest friends.”

“You are a doll! Love you!”

As they made small talk—mostly Trish chatting about the drama surrounding the planning of a wedding—Libby took in the musty scent of the taxi, the gray buildings darting past her window, the sun on the faces of pedestrians as they stood at the corners of intersections waiting for their turn to make their way through the city. It all felt exhilarating. It was good to be back.

The taxi pulled along the curb outside a small bistro where Libby had reserved a room for the bridal shower guests. She handed the fare to the driver and led Trish inside. The staff had set up a small table for presents; a few gifts, exploding in silver and white ribbons, were already on the table. A handful of women she knew from around town waved from their seats, the wait staff dutifully filling their champagne glasses. Their clothes, their hair, the way they sat straight up in their chairs—the slight formality of it calmed her. This was what she was used to.

A few at a time, the ladies arrived and took seats at the tables, and after a couple of bridal shower games, everyone had settled into friendly chitchat. Libby sat next to Trish, and Trish had been telling her about how difficult it was to get china patterns years down the road unless one opts for a very well-known pattern, which was why she had chosen Mottahedeh, a word that Libby had to phonetically butcher just to try and say it. It would cost her wedding guests more money, but in the end it would be easier to replace, and thus a better investment in general and worth the money paid. When there was finally a lull in the wedding planning conversation, Libby decided to share the news of her new job.

“Oh! My goodness!” Trish threw her arms around Libby. “That’s fantastic news! When will you be moving?”

“I start in a month. I wasn’t expecting to be back so quickly! I’ll need to find an apartment very soon.”

“Wait! Janice has an apartment she wants to sublet on the Upper East Side.” Trish leaned over to the table beside her. “Sorry to interrupt. Janice, do you still have that one-bedroom you’re trying to rent? Libby needs an apartment.”

“I do!” Janice bent around the other ladies to make eye contact with Libby. “It’s three thousand a month. It’s small but very clean. Hardwoods throughout, new appliances. It’s only for a few months while I’m overseas. Interested?”

She couldn’t believe her luck! A few months would give her time to go apartment shopping and find something permanent. “I’d love to take a look.” Everything was falling into place. It was a sign that this was where she belonged.

“Here,” Janice tapped her phone a few times and passed it to Libby via Trish. “These are the pictures.”

Libby scrolled though them. It was a basic apartment: white walls, small galley-style kitchen, relatively roomy living space for the area. “I’ll take it,” she said, handing Janice her phone. “When can I move in?”

“I’m leaving in two weeks.”

Libby settled back in her chair with a grin as the wait staff served enormous slices of cake to the guests. It had been a life-changing weekend for her. She’d gotten a great job and a new apartment. It didn’t get much better than that. Now, all she had to do was get the cottage ready for sale in the month that she had. With persistence, she knew she could do it, and the good news was that even if it sat on the market a while, with her new salary she could afford her half of the mortgage payments.

Despite all of it, there was something in the back of her mind lurking there, a sadness about leaving it all behind—everything she’d learned about her mother, all the relationships she’d built with the people there, her feelings for Pete, they all held her in place and made part of her feel heartbroken to leave it.

O
nce she’d arrived back
in White Stone, Libby decided to stop off at Wentworth’s the very next Saturday to get the last of the paint for the living room so she could get started as soon as possible. She wanted to wrap things up as quickly as she could so maybe she could leave in two weeks, get her things moved in, and give herself a little time before she started work. The silver bells tied to the door handle jingled with her entrance and the now familiar man waved from behind the counter. “Hello!” he called out to her. “How’s the house coming?” he asked, coming around to the front of the counter.

“It’s going well,” she smiled. “I’ve moved on to the living room. I need some paint. Can you help me out?” It occurred to her that she’d never asked the man’s name. “I’m Libby Potter, by the way,” she said, holding out her hand in greeting.

“Bruce Coleman. Nice to meet you.” He shook her hand and led the way to the paint aisle. “What color were you looking for today?”

“I thought perhaps a light mossy green or something.”

“I’ve got these.” He pulled three paper paint samples from the wall display and handed them to Libby.

“How about this one?” she said. “It’s really nice. I’ll take a gallon.”

“Good choice. I’ll just mix it up for you.”

As she waited for the paint, she had to look twice before she realized that she was seeing Pop through the shop window. He was walking alone. Libby understood enough about his condition from what she’d seen to know that he would not be walking the streets alone if Pete knew about it. “Do you mind if I step outside for a minute?” she asked Mr. Coleman. “I’ll be right back.” She grabbed the door handle and sent the bells into a ringing frenzy.

“Pop!” she called, jogging up beside him. He stopped and looked at her blankly. “Pop.” She noticed his eyes first. They didn’t look right; they looked confused. “Pop, are you okay?”

Hugh wrung his hands, the dry sound of them like wadding paper. “Oh, hello!” he said.

It was clear that he didn’t know her. His blinking eyes, his unsure smile, it all made her feel unsettled. The man standing in front of her was very far from the man who had taken her to swim practice and played cards with her on the porch of the cottage. That man was gone, and she didn’t know if she could get him back. She felt as though she wanted to mourn him while his body was still there. What an odd feeling, like having her prized possessions stolen right out from under her nose.

“Hi, Pop. Where are you headed?” The sun was setting, sending their shadows sliding along the sidewalk. Libby noticed how different his shadow was to the man she used to know. It was slightly hunched, large at the shoulders, but also at the waist. Hugh hadn’t answered, so she reworded the question. “Where are you going?” she asked gently.

“I… I…” He looked around at the various storefronts.

“Will you walk with me?” she said, gingerly taking his arm by his shrunken bicep. “I need to pick up some paint from Wentworth’s. Perhaps that’s where you were going? To get paint with me?”

Hugh nodded.

“Excellent. I’m so glad you found me.” She pulled out her phone and texted Pete, telling him that she’d bring Pop back and not to worry.

Hugh insisted on helping Libby carry the paint and put it in her car. He had yet to call her by name, and she wondered if he could remember anything about her at all. It was bad enough that he had gotten lost; she didn’t want to burden him with making him remember her name, so she just opened the door of the rental without saying a word and allowed him to get in.

In silence, they made the short drive to Pete’s house. On the drive, she thought of those five nails jutting out of the cottage walls. On that wall had been a collage of photos, one nail for every person in the family: Pop, Nana, Helen, Pete, and Ryan. She remembered the pictures. They were snapshots that had been blown up to a larger size. Each one was a different occasion. She remembered the one with Pop in the middle. It was on one of his birthdays. He was in a chair, a silly, paper cone hat on his head opening a present while Ryan and Pete watched on the floor beside him. She wondered where those pictures were. Were they packed away somewhere unreachable like Pop’s memory?

“I remember now where I was going,” he said as she pulled into the drive. “I was going to get a cup of coffee.” He looked down at his lap.

“I’ll get you a cup. You just go on in and relax,” she smiled, but her insides were turning over. He was so much worse than when she’d first seen him, and it was terrifying for her. It must be doubly terrifying for him.

Pete opened the door as Hugh walked up the few porch steps. Libby noticed how tired Pete looked. She met him on the porch after Hugh had gone inside. “I’ll get you a cup of coffee, Pop. You just kick back,” she called inside to him.

“Thank you,” Pete said. He had his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped as if in defeat. “I was working in the office. I didn’t even hear the door open.”

“He looks bad, Pete,” she worried aloud.

“It comes and goes.”

The idea of living with Hugh and never knowing when he’d snap into that state or snap out of it had to be exhausting. How long had Pete been dealing with that stage of the disease?

“I promised him I’d make him a cup of coffee. Do you have any here?”

“Yeah,” he said, placing his hand on Libby’s back and walking her inside.

She put her arm around his waist in return. It wasn’t entirely an embrace, but more a support, as if she were keeping him from crumbling. He looked so drained. She wanted to stay there and help both him and Pop.

Pete pulled a bag of decaf ground coffee from the cabinet and set it in front of the coffeemaker. He followed it with filters and a measuring spoon.

“Want some for yourself?” she asked.

“No. I think I’ll have a beer. Want one?”

“You twisted my arm.” She tried to sound cheery to lighten the mood.

As she filled the coffeemaker and set it to percolate, Pete popped the tops off two bottles, setting hers down with an empty glass. She smiled, knowing he remembered how she only likes to drink from a glass, and poured it in.

Libby thought about the man she’d known in Hugh Roberts. He was spectacularly charismatic, funny, generous, strong. She could string adjectives together all day long about him. He was so smart that she had felt she could ask him anything and he’d have the answer on his lips. Pop had always made her feel safe and cared for. He’d been a supportive husband to Anne, showing his wife affection, sneaking up behind her as she cooked, putting his arms around her and kissing her cheek right in front of Libby and Pete. And now, she’d seen a hollow man, a lost soul in and out of reality, his brain and body failing him.

“You’re quiet,” Pete noted.

“Just thinking.” She sipped her beer as she tried to put her thoughts together. “Can you do this alone? I mean, can’t Ryan help? Or your mom?”

“I thought I could. I’m the best one for him. I work from home, I have a spare room for him, a yard for walks. It’s getting harder though,” he said quietly.

Libby nodded. She knew Pete probably hadn’t asked for help. When it came to his independence, he was about as stubborn as Pop. Looking at Pete’s face, she could tell it was taking a lot out of him, and she worried that he wouldn’t be able to continue at that pace.

She leaned around the corner and called out, “Pop,” once the carafe had enough coffee in it to pour a cup. “Coffee’s ready.”

“I’m just lying down for a rest,” he called from down the hallway. “Leave it in the pot for me, would you?”

Pete took his beer and gestured toward the living room. “He gets tired a lot. That’s why I lose him. I keep thinking he’s sleeping, but he gets up and wanders.” Libby sat down in the exact same spot she’d been when she’d asked if he’d ever live in New York. Now, it seemed like a preposterous question. So much had changed in such a small time. As she sat there, knowing her future and how in only a few weeks she’d be back to her old life, she felt different, a little nervous.

She wanted to be there to help with Pop. Would Pete be able to do it alone? She knew he was capable, but the extra set of hands that she could provide might be helpful. Would she be able to see Pop again before he slipped away completely and didn’t know any of them? She would lose precious time with him by leaving. The conundrum put her in a very perplexing position. She’d never had anyone emotionally pulling her one way or the other before. She’d always focused on her goal no matter the cost. She knew she needed to go back to New York, but the situation was tugging at her heartstrings.

“What are you painting?” he asked, attempting to make small talk.

“The living room.”

Pete was leaning forward on his knees, his hands clasped. The beer sat on the coffee table, sweating from the heat that even the paddle fans couldn’t push out of the room. He wasn’t looking at her; he was looking down at the floor, and she thought again how exhausted he seemed. That wasn’t the Pete she’d known as a girl. She’d lost him as much as he’d lost her. They were just two strangers who shared common memories.

“Is there a facility in the area?” she asked quietly, her thoughts moving back to Pop. “Somewhere he could live where he could get help when he needs it?”

Pete finally looked up. “I don’t want to do that to him.” He rubbed his hands back and forth on his trousers for a moment before turning toward Libby. “Why punish him for his failing memory? He needs his family. We’re all he’s got. Take that away and who knows what he’d be like. He may slip further from us.”