Love Me for Me (9 page)

W
hile Marty was digging
head first into the copier machine, pulling out wads of sooty paper, Libby looked out the window at the late afternoon sky, still thinking about her question to Pete. Their conversation had been mortifying and it had kept her up all night. The conversation went round and round in her head: her motive for asking and what she’d actually implied when she’d asked. She hadn’t meant to sound like she had; she had just needed to know if there was any chance they could be together. And there wasn’t.

She reached into her newly organized file cabinet and pulled out his file, looking around as if someone would scold her for even having it. The idea of rifling through Pete’s finances made her extremely self-conscious. Noting his contact information, she pulled out her cell and sent him a text:
Hi. Just wanted to inform you that I’ve been assigned as your accountant. Let me know if this is a problem and you’d prefer someone else to look over your finances. If not, I’ll have you sign a consent form. Libby.

Her phone lit up:
You can do my taxes. It’s fine.

She texted back:
Are you sure?

Her phone pinged again.
I should feel lucky, right? Not everyone in this town gets a fancy New York accountant with a degree from Columbia.

She stared down at the plant by the window, its leaves drooping and looking a lot like she felt at that moment. She texted back:
I’ll send you the form.
She was too tired to text anything more.

She looked around again, still self-conscious about viewing Pete’s documents. With a flourish, she opened it up and peered down at the contents. At a quick glance, it looked like Pete had a few separate IT jobs and his own web design company. She turned the page. He’d also invested some money in the winery down the road.
Impressive
, she thought.

She checked her phone but Pete hadn’t said anything more, so she turned the sound off and dropped it into her bag before she typed anything else. She didn’t want to have to think about him any more than she already had.

L
ibby woke
to a stream of sunlight piercing her vision. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept that well. She’d spent most of the evening planning Trish’s bridal shower, and found herself in bed before nine o’clock. Blinking to clear her vision, she pulled her phone over to see what time it was when she noticed a text waiting for her. She sat up in bed to escape the blinding light and opened the message. The number was Jeanie’s. It read,
Good morning! I’m picking you up at ten o’clock for a party. This is a two-man mission. I need someone to help me carry food. Wear something a little dressy.

Libby kicked the blankets off her legs and put her feet on the sun-warmed floor. What if she didn’t want to go to a party? Walking back and forth across the hardwoods, she mulled it over. The thought of hanging out with Jeanie did sound very appealing—she needed a friendly face—but she should really focus on the things she had to do at the cottage. Then she wondered,
Will Pete be at this party of Jeanie’s?
The idea of seeing him caused Libby’s hands to get tingly and her mouth to feel like it was full of cotton. Her phone faded to black and she set it on the dresser.

Throwing her head back and taking in a breath to steady herself, she shook her head. She wanted to tell someone about her predicament, but there wasn’t anyone to tell. Her mother certainly wouldn’t approve of her feelings for Pete, and Trish was so caught up in her wedding that she probably wouldn’t have time to hear her out. Jeanie would just tell her to stay and go for it. She was on her own. She had better get organized and find herself a job before things got any messier. It was only eight o’clock so she resolved to send in a few more job applications over breakfast before she took her shower.

By the time she was ready, it was nearly ten o’clock. As she walked outside, a wad of Trish’s bridal shower envelopes in her hand, she met Jeanie on the sidewalk next to her car.

“Hey there! You look nice,” Jeanie said with a grin. “Ready?”

“I suppose, ” she said, dropping her house keys into her handbag. She slipped Trish’s invitations into the mailbox and lifted the flag. “A friend’s bridal shower invitations,” she explained, noticing her curiosity. Just the mention of Trish caused a pang of homesickness. “Where are we going?”

“Pete’s.”

“What for?” She could feel energy zing through the palms of her hands, causing unsteadiness in her fingers. She both wanted to see him and run away from him at the same time. Libby knew that spending more time with Pete was not advisable because they were never going to work out their differences, but it didn’t stop her from feeling like she’d explode with happiness the minute she saw his face. She opened the passenger door and got in. The salty smell of Jeanie’s cooking wafted toward her from the backseat. Nestled along the seat in back was a row of tins, each one covered in aluminum foil.

“It’s Helen’s birthday. I’m invitin’ you to the party because I need someone to help carry all the food,” she said as she started the car. “I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t want to come since everyone’ll be there.”

Libby had forgotten until now that Helen Bennett’s birthday was only a few days after hers. As much as she wanted to see Pete’s mom, Jeanie had been right. She didn’t want to have to see everyone else. She worried that people would judge her for having lost her job in New York. Or, worse, that, like Pete, they saw her as a person who thought she was better than everyone else.

“I don’t have a gift for Helen,” she worried aloud.

“You showin’ up will be gift enough, I’m sure,” Jeanie smiled.

The closer they got, the more panic slithered through her as she thought about coming face to face with all the people she was about to see.

I
t had been
a long time since Libby had seen Helen Bennett. Worry had settled in her shoulders, causing them to ache. Libby could put on a good face to hide her feeling of failure, but Helen had a way about her that made Libby feel like she always knew better. About everything. When they were young, Pete and Libby would sneak off to the abandoned field down the road and walk to the water’s edge to be alone. When Helen asked where they were going, Pete would say, “We’re just going for a walk.” Helen would nod, her knowledge clear on her face.

She’d say, “Pete, you had better stay on the road during that walk,” like she knew, and Libby felt the need to obey her as if Helen were her own mother. Helen was one of those people who felt like family.

“Helen’ll be happy to see you, I’m sure,” Jeanie said as if reading her mind. She glanced over at Libby, gripping the wheel around a turn. There was something so familiar and comfortable about taking that drive with Jeanie. It took her back to another time.

The person she had been was insecure and anxious, always concerned about what her mother thought of her. She’d watched her father and his new family carry on, chipping away at her mother’s already fractured confidence. She’d had the constant burden of being perfect for her mother’s benefit, her successes inflated, her failures hidden.

As an adult, she’d learned how to be the person she’d always strived to become. She was proud of the fact that she’d traveled extensively, had a respectable job with opportunity to advance, and a great boyfriend. Growing up, her mother had measured Libby’s worth by her ability to achieve things like those, and Libby felt that she had finally arrived. Without those things, she felt lost, unsure of how to proceed. Being back home was like an indefinite waiting period when her life was put on hold.

“You’re quiet,” Jeanie noted.

Libby nodded.

“What are you thinking about?”

How much I don’t belong here.
“Nothing, really,” she said instead.

Jeanie pulled onto the extensive drive to Pete’s cottage, and they bumped down the rocky path to the front of the house. She turned off the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition. “Ready?” she asked.

“Yep!” Libby said with forced enthusiasm. Her hands began to tingle with nervousness.

They exited the car, piled a stack of food tins in their arms, and walked around to the back of the house where Libby was surprised to find an enormous crowd of people.
Had the whole town come to Helen’s party?
she thought. She gazed from face to face, recognizing nearly all of them. A few looked her way, surprise registering on their faces before they settled back into their conversations.

Leaving, with her Columbia acceptance letter in hand, she’d felt unstoppable. She’d made it clear to anyone who’d asked where she was going and what kind of life she’d planned on having. She’d said so many hurtful things about where she’d grown up, she couldn’t even remember to whom she’d said what. At eighteen, having grown up hearing her mother constantly complain about White Stone, she didn’t realize the enormity of her actions. Now she understood, and that made it worse because the guilt overwhelmed her. And there they all were, looking at her. She felt uneasy, nervous. Jeanie had already set down her tins and took the ones from Libby’s arms, leaving Libby standing alone. She looked around for Pete but didn’t see him.

“No way!” she heard a booming voice over the chitchat. “Libby Potter?” Ryan Bennett emerged from the crowd, and despite her nervousness, Libby hurried over to him. Ryan was Pete’s brother, three years his senior. He was a little taller and broader than Pete, with darker hair, but the two looked strikingly similar—same green eyes, similar smile. “Where have you been, young lady?” he kidded.

Until he was standing in front of her, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed him. Ryan was that classic big brother, not only to Pete but to her as well. He’d looked out for her and stuck up for her when it came down to it.

“I’ve been in New York,” she said, the late morning breeze off the water giving her a chill.

“I’m in Richmond now. Got a little one. Her name’s Charlotte.” He nodded over to a wisp of a girl with blond ringlets snaking down her back, dressed in a white sundress with a fat, pink ribbon belt and sandals. She was sneaking M&Ms off the table.

“Oh, Ryan, that’s fantastic.”

“My wife’s around here somewhere—Emily.”

“Well, I declare…” Libby turned to find Helen Bennett pacing toward her, her dark, shoulder-length hair blowing in the wind, a glass of white wine in one hand and a camera in the other. “My sweet girl, I have missed you so much!” She leaned in and kissed Libby’s cheek. Her familiar scent of citrus and flowers sent Libby unexpectedly spiraling toward the memory of Helen holding her when she’d fallen on the gravel outside.

Libby had been just twelve at the time, running as fast as she could after Pete and his friends, but their legs were longer and she couldn’t keep up. Her mother had always advised against playing with the boys. Libby wasn’t used to that type of play; she’d been taught to be more reserved and ladylike. But she loved to be with Pete and his friends, having some free-spirited rough-and-tumble play away from the eye of her mother.

While trying to catch up to them, Libby had slipped in the dirt and skinned her leg all the way to the top. Helen picked her up and carried her back to the house just as Pete had noticed she wasn’t with them. He’d burst through the door, concern on his face, checking to be sure she was all right. Libby remembered being embarrassed because Helen had pulled her shorts up to bandage the scrape, showing her entire leg. That was her awkward age, when she wasn’t sure yet what parts of her to show and what not to show, and she remembered that Pete’s presence had made her bashful.

Helen got her all bandaged up and held her face in her hands. “You okay?” she’d asked. Libby nodded. “Good,” she’d said, smiling, and she kissed Libby on the cheek just as she had right then at the party.

“Want a drink?” Ryan asked, pulling her back into the present. “I can make you a Mimosa. We have champagne,” he grinned deviously. “And now we’re old enough to drink it in front of people,” he winked.

She let out a quiet giggle. Libby had a rule: she didn’t drink alcohol before noon. When it was mixed with a breakfast drink such as orange juice, however, that created a gray area, and she was forced to make a judgment call. Given the situation, and the fact that she was about as nervous as she’d been since she’d arrived, with all of those faces staring at her, she accepted Ryan’s offer.

“I need to get Charlotte out of the M&Ms anyway,” Ryan said.

“So!” Helen grabbed Libby’s hands and held them out, “What have you been up to besides runway shows?”

“Sorry?”

“You look like a million bucks,” she grinned. Helen’s face was endlessly youthful despite her long hours in the sun living along the coast. She had a milky complexion and her face seemed to be incapable of a frown. Her dark auburn hair fell loosely down to her shoulders, and it didn’t matter which way the wind blew it, it always ended up looking great. “How’s your mama?”

“She’s well. She’s glad I’m home, I think—although I haven’t seen her as much as I should.” She thought about her mother’s expression when she was pleased—the way she’d almost glowed whenever Libby had done something well—and she wished she could show her that there were other ways to be happy. She wished Celia could find her own way instead of relying so much on Libby.

“Call her over if you’d like. We’ll be here all day.”

“Thanks. I might do that.” She wondered what her mother would think of the fact that she was at the Bennetts’ party. While her mother had told her once that she had nothing against them, Libby could sense a sort of tension whenever she mentioned being with the Bennetts. She speculated that her mother worried Pete would distract her—and she had raised Libby to stay focused.

Ryan returned with two bubbling flutes and an unfamiliar woman. She had on a sundress, a thin cardigan, and heels that sunk into the soft ground as she walked. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a curly bunch, with little tendrils falling around her friendly face. Libby knew immediately who she was because she looked almost exactly like Ryan’s little girl.

“This is Emily, my wife,” Pete introduced them and handed Libby her glass. “This is Libby Potter.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Libby said.

“Likewise,” she beamed. “It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

What does she mean by that?
Libby wondered. Had people been talking about her? Was she the laughing stock of the town? Libby wanted to ask about what Emily had been told, but Helen herded them all together for a picture. She straightened her face out, put on a smile and waited for the snap. As Helen turned the camera around to show them the image on her little screen, Ryan grabbed her arm and Emily’s and quickly whisked them away, claiming that he wanted to show them something down by the water.

When the shoreline came into view, Libby’s breath caught at the sight of what was in front of her. Silver buckets with deeply set burning candles lit a path along the edge of the sea grass down to the sand. Just before the shore, on the grass, there were tables and chairs set up under a large tent. The white tablecloths, which were tied to the table legs with sea-foam-blue ribbons, fought against the wind. Each table had a large, glass bowl centerpiece filled to the brim with seashells and a crowd of people chatting around it. On the other side of the tables, a man with tan trousers, a white cotton shirt, and bare feet tuned a guitar while perched on a stool, a microphone stand and a lone speaker set up beside him. The gentle lapping of the bay water kept time while he strummed and tuned. Standing next to the man was Pete.

“This is gorgeous,” she said, glancing from table to table to take in the scenery.

The musician began to play his guitar. Ryan led them onto the beach as a few others farther down the beach started dancing. Pete noticed them and walked over. When he did, Ryan and his wife left, joining the growing crowd, and began to dance to the soft guitar that was playing over the breeze.

“Hey,” Pete said, his brows pulled together slightly. “What are you doing here?”

“Jeanie brought me,” she said, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. She gave a shiver, pretending her shaking was from a chill, when really it was from looking at him with the wind in his hair. It brought her memories of when they were younger. “I helped her bring food.”

There it was. His smile. She felt dizzy at the sight of it. “I didn’t need Jeanie to bring food,” he chuckled, “but you know how she is. You can’t tell her anything.”

After the humor about Jeanie had passed, it got quiet between them. Pete became solemn and looked out over the water. They were standing side by side with all those people around them, but it felt like just the two of them on that beach right then.

“This is amazing,” she said, trying to remove the obvious heaviness that penetrated every conversation they had.

“Thanks.” He smiled down at her. “I got the idea from you.”

“What?” she asked, kicking off her sandals to keep them from sinking into the sand. She set them next to an empty chair. The beach was filling with people dancing, the tables emptying out.

“Remember when we were fifteen and Mom was turning forty? She didn’t have a party and we gave her a picnic at the public beach just outside of Kilmarnock? It had been your idea.”

Libby giggled at the memory. “I do! We packed her sandwiches and a birthday cake that Ryan bought at the supermarket.” She had completely forgotten that memory until then.

“Yep,” he grinned, and she thought she saw affection seeping out from behind his eyes. Libby didn’t want to notice it, but she had. “I thought we could give her a slightly upgraded version of a beach birthday party this time.”

“Pete!” Ryan called from the makeshift dance floor. “Bring Libby over here!”

Libby was frozen to the spot. She didn’t want to go because if she went over there, they’d probably be forced to dance, and she’d have to feel him against her. Pete looked at her, uncertainty in his eyes. All the tables were empty now, the area by the guitar player full of people. Even Jeanie had found her way down and was doing the jitterbug with a little boy.

“Pete! What are you waiting for?” his brother playfully taunted him. “Get over here!”

Pete nodded toward the gathering of people. “Let’s just go over there,” he said, clearly not wanting to go himself. They snaked their way through the guests until they reached Ryan and Emily. Just as they neared them, the music changed to something slower and Pete looked at her uncomfortably. Ryan took Emily by the waist and pulled her close, swaying to the music. The guitar player only had to play the first few notes of the song before Libby recognized it. They’d played Helen’s Billy Joel album on the old record player hundreds of times, and this had been
their
song.

“
Just the Way You Are
,” she smiled nervously, looking at Pete. He was peering down at her, his eyes gentle but his face serious. He nodded. Just like all the girls she’d known in school with boyfriends, they, too, had a song. The difference was that this particular one hadn’t faded with the years for her; it was the kind of song that still made her feel something inside.

As the song played, the notes bouncing around her amidst the sound of the ripples of water against the sand, she felt a different ache. This wasn’t an ache of sadness like the one she’d had coming back and having to face everything she’d left; it was an ache for what she couldn’t have.

“Be a man, Pete,” his brother kidded, clapping him on the back before embracing Emily again. “Dance with her,” he said over his shoulder.

Pete took in a slow breath, his gaze somewhere in the distance over the crowd. Then he pulled her toward him and embraced her with one arm, holding her other hand. They were dancing in the sand, his arm around her, the wind rushing in between them. She wanted to clasp her hands behind his neck like she had so many years ago, put her face against his chest, hear his breathing. The feel of him this close to her was making her woozy and she was having trouble knowing where to look because if she looked at him, she worried that she’d fall apart.