Love Me for Me (21 page)

I
t was July fourth
. Independence Day. Libby could feel the excitement in the air as she arrived at the winery for tonight’s fireworks. She hoped to see Pop. If he was himself, he would probably be there. He’d always gone. She remembered how he’d sit on the quilt or towel—whatever they had that year—and smoke his cigars while chatting to everyone who walked by. To this day, whenever she smelled a cigar, she thought of him. Libby said a silent prayer that he’d be well enough tonight. She couldn’t wait to celebrate with everyone—her mom, Pop, Jeanie, Helen… Pete would surely be there.

She was apprehensive to see Pete because this day had always been a day they’d spent together. As the evening breeze wrapped around them, he’d shield her with his arms, sitting behind her, his chin on her shoulder. They’d watch together, the smell of sulfur from the fireworks mixing with his scent, his fingers entangled with hers, the feel of his breathing at her neck. She’d never get to feel that again. Seeing him tonight, and knowing that, would add a layer of tension to the night that she didn’t welcome.

Libby stood next to the bar consisting of a slab of ultra glossy wood resting on top of a line of oak barrels while the man in front of her explained the type of wine that was in her glass. A grid of bottles, cork sides out, blanketed the wall behind the bar. She took a sip of her wine and set it down. Holding a linen table napkin against the bottle, the barman poured her next taste into a fresh glass. She took another sip, glad that the wine was taking the edge off her worry.

Pete came up beside her. “How are they?” He eyed the wine glasses on the bar.

There was something different about him tonight. As she looked at him, she didn’t see the kid she’d dated so many years ago. She saw the grown man who had told her that day in the woods that he didn’t want her. She also realized right then that she didn’t still love the kid she’d known. She had fallen for the man who was standing in front of her now. The man she could never have. She chewed on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

She looked out at the lawn to steady herself. The sun was floating just above the horizon. Its light was coming in through the wall of glass doors leading out onto a veranda. “They’re all very good. I like this one,” she said, pointing to a bottle of dessert wine she’d tasted.

“Do you have a place to sit yet?” he asked.

“Mom’s here somewhere. She’s probably found a spot. I’ll walk out with you.”

“Would you grab us a couple of bottles of her favorite, please, Phil?” Pete said to the man behind the bar. The man smiled warmly at them and then disappeared below the bar top. It was barely sunset and people were starting to take their spots on the acres of manicured lawn outside. Beyond the grass, endless rows of grapevines stretched along the hills of the grounds.

Phil slid two slender bottles across the bar to Pete then set down fresh glasses and a corkscrew with the name Sandy Grove Vineyards etched in script along the handle. Pete dropped one of the bottles into a straw bag containing large towels. He grabbed the other bottle and led Libby toward the glass doors, their wine glasses dangling between his fingers at her back. She followed him down onto the lawn.

It only took a minute for her eyes to settle on a sight that gave her pause: in front of her, on patchwork quilts and towels, were so many familiar faces. Jeanie was pulling food out of a wicker picnic basket and handing it to Helen. Pop was in a camping chair, his feet propped on a beach bag. Her mother was next to Jeanie, fluffing her sundress over her knees, her sandals kicked onto the grass beside her, a glass of wine in her hand. Emily was scattering toys over one of the towels while Ryan had Charlotte on his shoulders, running around them all, making airplane noises. Mabel had stopped to chat with Pop, her hand above her eyes to shield the sun as she looked for her own family, presumably. Jeanie, wearing a white visor and American-flag dangle earrings, was the first to notice Libby and Pete, raising her hand and waving wildly at them. It made Libby smile so wide that it was almost a laugh.

Pete handed her the bottle and glasses and set down the straw bag once they reached their family. He pulled out the two beach towels. With a snap, he laid one of the giant towels next to Jeanie’s quilt. “Pop, you doing all right?” he asked over the heads of the others.

“Great, thanks. Enjoying the warmth out here. You keep the air so cold inside…”

“Yep. Clearly fine,” he smiled, giving Libby a conspiratorial glance. The old Pop would have stopped at ‘Great, thanks,’ and she knew his slight irritability was due to his dementia. For some reason, after seeing Pete’s response, she wasn’t worried. When Pop was having a good moment, like he was right then, Pete seemed to just enjoy him. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that way of thinking was probably the right way of thinking.

Pete spread the second towel onto the ground. As Libby sat down closest to Jeanie, she handed Pete the wine bottle and set the two glasses on a small camping table beside Jeanie’s basket.

“Missed ya, honey,” Jeanie said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “You doin’ okay?”

“Yep,” she said. Pete handed her a glass of wine.

Libby took it and thanked him before leaning over to her mother. “Hey, Mom. Glad you’re here,” she said, scooting closer to her.

Celia tipped her head so their temples were touching, the setting sun on their faces. “Me too.”

Charlotte, who had started running around the group of them, giving her daddy a break, stopped next to Libby. “Hi, Miss Libby,” she said, waving a tiny hand with bright pink fingernails.

“Hi, Charlotte! Did your mommy help you paint those pretty fingernails?”

“Yes. I wanted to look fancy,” she said with a grin that produced a dimple on each cheek. She wiggled her fingers in the air and then plopped down next to Libby, her little legs crisscrossed under her dress. “You have pretty hair,” she said, fiddling with Libby’s tresses.

“Thank you.” Even though she looked like her mother, Charlotte’s resemblance to Ryan and Pete was clear, and for an instant—only an instant because she pushed the thought away as quickly as possible—she wondered what Pete’s little girl would look like,
their
little girl. She wouldn’t allow that thought for very long because it was too painful. It would never happen.

She couldn’t help but think again how badly she’d ruined things between them. For her entire adult life, she’d thought about only herself—what
she
wanted—and when she’d finally realized what she’d done, it was too late. She tried to clear her mind and focused on Charlotte’s sweet face instead. The little girl was still playing with Libby’s hair, her tiny fingers twirling the strands. She noticed Charlotte’s long eyelashes, her little, pink pout, her milky skin.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Pete said. It wasn’t until Libby looked up to agree that she realized he wasn’t speaking to her but to Charlotte. Charlotte nodded, still playing with Libby’s hair. Libby looked down at her wine quickly and took a sip, not wanting to meet Pete’s gaze. She couldn’t think about what she felt for Pete tonight, or it would consume her, and she just wanted to enjoy the moment. It had been a very nice comment from Pete, and she could tell that he was trying to lighten the mood between them, but for Libby, it was a reminder of the relationship they couldn’t have. She could feel the muscles in her shoulders tighten and she wanted to rub the knots out of them.

This was supposed to be a night of celebration, but instead she felt like she could cry at any moment. She was on edge, upset. Having him there beside her was too hard, and she didn’t know if she could get through the rest of the night. Being just friends was complicated. She couldn’t do it. But she had to, because that was all Pete was offering.

“Y’all hungry?” Jeanie thrust a bowl of potato salad between them. “Eat up. That’s what it’s here for.”

“I’ll take a few of those ham biscuits, Jeanie,” Pop called from his chair.

“I knew you would!” Jeanie reached into the basket and pulled out a stack of paper plates, handing one to each person. “I’ve got chocolate-chip cookies for dessert, y’all!”

As they started passing the food around—chips, rolls, cucumber slices and potato salad—it was Helen who quieted the chatter by raising her glass of wine. “I’d like to make a toast,” she said on her knees to be above everyone. Charlotte raised her sippy cup. “I am so thankful to have everyone here tonight. May we always be as content as we are in this moment.” Then Helen turned to Libby, her glass still raised. “I’m glad you came home, baby girl. Cheers.”

Libby touched her glass to Helen’s and sipped her wine. She took in all the faces around her smiling and holding their drinks. She hadn’t thought they’d be together again. A band started to play on the lawn under an enormous tent with more tables of wine. Pete refilled Libby’s glass. She could barely look at him or the tears would come; she could feel them rising up. This—all her loved ones, Pete, everyone—this was what she wanted. This was what made her happy. How could she ever be happy in New York when all the people she loved were in White Stone? She took a sip of her wine and tried her best to be in the moment.

“Did you know,” Pop said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “that I’ve been coming to this since 1963. Even back when we had it at the town fire station, before this,” he waved his hand out at the vineyards. “I remember when Helen was Charlotte’s age. We gave her ice cream on the hottest Independence Day in history, and it melted down her dress.” He smiled, his eyes dancing in the setting sunlight. Libby felt tears in her eyes. She was sentimental. Not because everyone she loved was around her this time, but because Pop could remember. For that one fantastic night, Pop remembered.

Charlotte had pulled out a bottle of bubbles and, as the sun slipped below the horizon, the bubbles floated up into the sapphire sky. Large tiki torches burned at the edges of the vineyards and along the sides of the tents with the band and wine tables. One by one, the stars began to appear in the sky, and the blue faded to black. Then, all became quiet, and, like magic, a large
Crack
, and an explosion of color filled the sky. Red and blue and gold fanned out in the black of night and fizzled its way toward them until it disappeared. With another
Crack
, more fireworks shot up. Libby watched Charlotte. The little girl’s eyebrows were raised, her mouth open in an enormous grin, her hands covering her ears.

As the last few fireworks went up, Libby sat, her arms around her knees, the nearly empty glass of wine in her hand. With all the excitement, she had only just noticed that Pete was sitting behind her. His warmth shielded her only a little from the breeze, and she wished he would put his arms around her. Jeanie had leaned back on her elbows, her head tilted toward the sky. Helen had Charlotte in her lap, bouncing her little legs in time with the music. Pop was dozing—how, with all that was going on, she didn’t know—in his chair. Celia was talking to Ryan and Emily. So much of her life Libby had spent trying to achieve perfection, or close to it. She’d left everything behind in search of it, when, as she looked around, she knew now, without a doubt, it had been right there all along.

When the last of the fireworks had finished, Helen helped Jeanie pack up the dishes and blankets. Ryan picked up Charlotte, who had curled up on her side with a small blanket, her eyes blinking heavily as she tried to fight sleep. Charlotte put her head on her daddy’s shoulder. Emily piled the toys into her bag and then started helping the others. Pop was still sleeping in his chair. Libby helped Jeanie with the dishes, but she kept her eye on Pete.

The night was ending, and she didn’t want it to. Panic shot through her as she watched him picking up his things. She didn’t want to be away from him. Ever. She had to try one more time to explain herself or the what-ifs would drive her crazy. She’d done it all wrong last time. If she could just convey to him what she was feeling, maybe he’d change his mind. She grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear, “Can we stay back after everyone leaves? I need to talk to you.”

“I’ll take Dad home tonight, Pete,” Helen said, her eyes darting between the two of them, a smile playing at her lips. “Glad to see ya, Libby.”

“It’s good to see you too,” she said, still glancing at Pete and waiting for an answer. His face showed no emotion, but he made eye contact and nodded.

She felt so nervous that she could hardly hand Jeanie her things without dropping them. She could feel the fire under her skin from fear. She worried that she’d make a fool of herself, pour out her feelings to Pete only to have him turn around and walk away. Again. She was unsure, scared, nervous. But what was the alternative? Just leave and never let him know all the things she’d been thinking, how she’d changed? Her pulse was racing, her mind going a hundred miles an hour, rehearsing what she might say. She hadn’t planned this; she hadn’t thought it all out. She’d been impulsive in asking him to stay back, but she knew in her heart that no time was better than right now to tell him what she was feeling.

The crowds departed, and Libby and Pete said goodbye to Jeanie, Celia, and the Bennett family, leaving them alone on the vast lawn of the vineyard amidst the litter and flickering torches. Pete sat down on the towel and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. He looked out ahead, his face showing nothing. She lowered herself down beside him. Above them, through the last bit of dissipating smoke from the fireworks, was a black sky so big it almost took her breath away. Millions of stars peppered the darkness. Neither of them said anything. She didn’t want to, worried about how to begin what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath and looked up at the stars.

L
ibby fixed
her gaze on one particular star, and she thought about how, by the time she saw its light, it could have already burned out. She hoped that it wasn’t the same for her and Pete. He’d already told her he was moving on without her, but could she change his mind? As terrified as she was, she had to give it a shot.

“Are you cold?” he asked, a puzzled look on his face. It was July in Virginia, and the air was warm and humid, but Libby was sitting with her fingers hidden beneath the bends in her crossed arms, as she tried to warm her fingertips. They were icy from nervousness. It was as if all the heat from her body had gone straight to her face. Her stomach ached with unease.

“No,” she said, uncrossing her arms. She looked into his eyes and wondered if she had the nerve to do this. “Being back here has changed me,” she said before she could lose her courage. She was out of her comfort zone. This was a leap of faith. She had to take a risk and make herself vulnerable, and she still may fail. It went against everything she’d ever done in her life, but it felt more right than all of the other things she’d accomplished. She needed to do this. So she just started talking and let it all out.

“It doesn’t matter how far away I am, all I can think about is you. I had it wrong, Pete. For so many years, I’ve had it wrong. I can’t be happy in New York because you aren’t with me, and I miss you so much that I don’t even care about anything else anymore—not a job or an apartment. It all seems so silly now in comparison. So, by chance, do you feel anything like what I feel? Because if you do, I’m not going back to New York.” Just like that old tire swing, when she’d jumped as a girl, her heart racing at the complete excitement of knowing her fate just before she hit the water. She was ready to jump.

Pete broke eye contact and took in a breath. He let it out slowly and looked back at her. “Look, you left.
You
left. You needed something else to keep you busy, and you couldn’t find that something else here. Now that you’ve spent over a decade in New York, chasing God knows what, you’ve come back. It feels to me like you’re bored.” He looked at her, thoughts clearly moving behind his eyes. “I don’t doubt that you’re looking for something else, but I don’t think it’s necessarily something real. I feel like it’s just another goal for you to reach.”

Indignation swam through her. Didn’t he know her better than that? How could he think that she was anything but completely serious? She’d never risk this much unless she was certain. “I’m not
bored
,” she said. “This isn’t about any kind of goal.” She blinked to keep the tears at bay. She knew why the tears were coming. Because what he’d described was exactly what it looked like. She’d always been so focused on achievement that she hadn’t looked around and noticed the people who meant the most to her. Instead, she’d left them all behind, and the fact that she couldn’t change it made the guilt almost intolerable. She dragged her fingers under her eyes to catch the tears before they fell. “It’s about how I feel about you.”

“So it’s about how
you
feel.” He stood up and walked toward the vineyards, stopping on a grassy hill, his back to her.

She stood and walked up behind him, her head pounding with the stress of the situation. She had to make him see…

He turned around. “It’s always been about you. About where
you
can get the best education, where
you
can move forward in life, what makes
you
happy. I’d like to be able to get on with my life without having you coming in and out of it any time that it pleases you.”

Libby was shaking her head, willing the words to come out, but they wouldn’t. Tears were coming instead. As they slid down her cheeks, she wiped them with the back of her hand. “You’re wrong.”

Until now, all her life her choices had been made for her. She didn’t get to choose as she watched her daddy drive away and leave her. Her mother had trained her to hate White Stone—she didn’t get to see it with her own eyes growing up. She’d been pushed to compete, to work hard, to please her mother. She’d thought her life had been her choosing, but it hadn’t. Not until now.

“It isn’t about me. It’s about the man I see in you. It’s about Pop. It’s about never missing another birthday or Sunday dinner or boat ride. It’s about being with the people I love.”

“What about everything you’ve said about needing achievement to make you happy? What’s going to happen when you start to miss that? I don’t plan to be around when you decide to walk out again.”

She could see it in his face: the disappointment she’d seen that day when she’d left at eighteen. Was he disappointed in the person she’d become? Maybe she wasn’t even the type of person he wanted to have in his life. As this revelation dawned on her, a hopeless feeling took over, and she scrambled for what to do next. She wanted to be the one person whom he wanted to talk to at night, the one he wanted to spend all his time with, the one he couldn’t live without. She wanted to care for him, help him with Pop, be there for him, love him. “I won’t walk out,” she said, her words uneven and broken from her tears.

“I don’t believe you,” he said quietly, looking out at the trees.

She’d never felt pain like this before. Not when Wade had left or when she’d lost her job. The misery of what she felt right now was something she could barely manage. How would she ever be able to convince him that she wasn’t going to change her mind because there wasn’t anything else in life that she wanted more?

“In your mind, you want this, but you just want it because you can’t have it,” he said, his face becoming rigid. “I don’t think you even really know what you want, Libby, because only a short time ago, all you wanted was to be in New York. Now you want to be here.” He shook his head, his lips pressed into a straight line.

“Don’t tell me what’s in my own mind,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. He didn’t have a clue—clearly—what was in her head. How dare he assume he did! She could feel her knees begin to shake from anger. He looked at her, a ragged, tired expression on his face.

“I have real responsibilities, Libby. Pop depends on me. I need to be with someone I can trust. Someone who pays attention to what I want and need sometimes,” he said. “Life is about compromise, and you’ve never demonstrated even once that you know how to do that.”

He was right. She hadn’t given him any reason to believe that she was capable of that. She’d left. Twice.

“I can’t stop thinking about you and Pop when I’m away from you,” she said, grabbing his arm gently and turning him toward her. “I worry so much about Pop, but I worry about you too. I want to show you that you can depend on me. I know I haven’t given you any indication that you can, but if you’ll just let me show you…” She couldn’t imagine how she had any tears left, but they still came—one after another.

A crew began walking the grounds, picking up the trash left by the townspeople and putting it in bags. A white floodlight illuminated the lawn, and the tiki torches were being extinguished one at a time. She saw it all, but she didn’t care. She stood there next to Pete, their towels still on the grass behind them, praying for some miracle to make him change his mind.

Pretty soon they’d have to leave and she may not have another chance like this—just the two of them—where she could tell him how she felt.

“I love you so much,” she said. “I always have. I’ve made stupid choices to make everyone else happy. And you’re right; I didn’t even really know myself what made me happy. Until I came back and saw you and Pop and your mom—everyone. I realized that being with you makes me happier than a job or an opportunity… anything in the world. I don’t want any of that if I can’t be with you. I don’t care where we live or what job I have because it’s meaningless when you aren’t a part of it. I
know
I can make you happy because all I want to do is to be there for you and Pop and your family.” She took in a breath and waited. She hung on his every movement—his blinking eyes, the twitch of his fingers—anything to give her a clue as to whether she’d convinced him of her feelings.

“I don’t know, Libby,” he shook his head. “We need to go.” He pulled away from her and began to pack up the last few things that were left from the fireworks. He folded the towels and placed them into his bag and slid the empty wine glasses into the side pockets. He didn’t say anything else. She waited.

“Tell me, what don’t you know?” she pressed.

He slid the bag onto his shoulder and moved toward her. His mouth was turned down, the skin between his eyes creased, his face showing fatigue. “I don’t know if I need this right now. I’m tired. I have a lot going on. I…” He pinched the bridge of his nose as if relieving an ache there. “I just need to go home.” He turned away and started walking toward the car. Libby followed in silence.

When they got to the Bronco, Libby slid in on her side and didn’t say a word. She was too busy thinking about his response. He’d been given one night—one night—without the burden of watching over Pop, of worrying about the realities of life, and she’d dropped a bomb on him like that. She felt awful. How selfish could someone be? Even though she hadn’t meant to, she’d still thought about herself first instead of considering what a conversation like this might mean to Pete. She’d given him one more worry, one more thing to contemplate. It was no wonder he was tired.

The rush of air from the open windows of the truck drowned out the chirping of the crickets in the woods as they drove home in silence. She wanted to put her hands on his face, kiss his lips and tell him she was there for him—she’d always be there for him—and the thought that she may never get the chance to do that was nearly crushing.

She didn’t know where to go from here. She was so confused. Her time in White Stone had made her realize that she wasn’t happy in New York, and, if she couldn’t be with Pete—if she had to see him day in and day out—it would tear her heart out, so she couldn’t be happy in White Stone either. It was overwhelming. Pete pulled into Celia’s drive, turned off the engine and twisted toward her just like he’d always done when they were kids. But this time, she didn’t see that kid anymore. She saw the man she was in love with, and it terrified her because she didn’t know what more to do about it. The ball was in his court.

“Call me if you need me, if Pop needs me,” she said, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes again. She sniffled a little. She didn’t want to get out the car.

“I will. Do you need me to walk you up or are you okay? It’s dark…”

“I’m okay.” She opened the door, got out, and shut it. As she leaned on the open window, she said, “I’m here for you regardless of our issues, whether we’re together or not. If you need me, call.”

Pete nodded and started the engine. “I’ll wait for you to get in the door,” he said, tipping his head toward Celia’s front porch.

L
ibby looked at her phone
. Nothing. She didn’t expect anything, but the silence was absolute torture. She couldn’t control this, and it was terrifying. She’d just fled New York on a moment’s notice, leaving her brand new job with barely an explanation to her boss, and now she was sitting in her mother’s house in White Stone with not the first clue as to what she was to do next. Always, she’d had a reasonably attainable goal to meet and, as long as she’d done what was expected, she’d met that goal. But this wasn’t a goal; it was her whole life, and she didn’t know how to behave. Her stomach ached for relief, the acid settling like fire in her gut.

She’d been up for hours. Her head was pounding and her eyes still stung from lack of sleep. She’d woken throughout the night, thoughts flooding her mind. Each time, it had taken quite a while to fall back asleep. She rubbed her eyes, trying to relieve their dryness.

“Do you want lunch, honey?” Celia asked from down the hall. As restless as she was, and as terrifying as her life was at this moment, she was glad to be with her mother again. She was glad that Pop was just a drive away, and she’d get to see all the lovely faces she’d left by going to New York.

She hadn’t even told Mr. Wiesner when she’d be back, because she had no idea. It all reminded her of the first time she’d ever jumped off Catherine’s swing. She’d said she wouldn’t do it. It didn’t look fun to her; it looked startlingly scary. So many things could go wrong: the tree branch could break, the swing could come undone, she could hit the water too hard—so many things… Pete had asked if she wanted to do it, and she’d told him no. She could still see the way he looked at her—that protective gaze—and he said, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want. If you decide to, I’ll help you, but I think you can do it by yourself.”

She’d watched as the other kids got on one at a time, each one sailing through the air and splashing into the water. She’d watched their laughter, the sun glistening off the beads of water at their shoulders, and the way it brought them all together. She’d never been taught how to live like that, but she wanted it. She’d grabbed Pete’s arm and asked him to help her get on. Then, all by herself, she pushed off the tree and felt the motion of it in her stomach. She remembered holding on to that rope, her eyes on Pete as he reassured her, nodding subtly, telling her with his eyes that she’d be okay. Without thinking it through any more, she’d jumped. It was exhilarating and fun and frightening all at the same time. When she’d climbed onto the sand, dripping wet and laughing just like her friends, her heart hammering, she knew that Pete had been right. She could do it. And she drew on the freedom of that one moment for the rest of the summer.

It occurred to her that choosing the unknown and staying in White Stone wasn’t much different. She worried for the things that may go wrong, but in the end, she welcomed the freedom of not having a goal to reach, not having her choices mapped out. In a way, she could just
be
.

“You don’t have to make me lunch, but thanks for offering,” she called back to her mother. Then she picked up her keys and threw her handbag onto her shoulder. “I’m heading into town. Do you need anything?”