Libby stood still for a moment, shock and confusion swimming around inside her.
The light turned green and a few more cars passed, bringing her back to reality. She went into the market and tried to avoid the curious glances of the women in the window, who were now following her every move, their gazes burning into the back of her.
“That’s Celia’s daughter,” she heard one of them whisper before saying something else that she couldn’t hear. Libby’s mother had made her thoughts about the town quite clear, while Libby was growing up, and she’d been sure to let everyone know Libby’s plans for the future. All those carefully executed plans had come crashing down, and Libby felt like it was her failures that everyone saw when they looked at her. She continued walking past the counter and into the bathroom where she finally allowed herself to cry.
Chapter Four
Once she’d gotten herself together, Libby walked the few shady blocks from the market toward Jeanie’s house, shaking her head at how small a block in this little town was compared to the city blocks she used to walk in New York. She’d heard once that about twenty New York blocks equaled a mile. The entire width of White Stone seemed to equal a mile. The Maple trees that lined the sidewalks had grown in her absence, casting dark, thin shadows toward her destination.
With a rolled white paper River Market bag in her hand, containing muffins bigger than a grown man’s fist, she took in the fresh, salty air. She knew that the other women would show up with dishes of breakfast casserole wrapped in warming blankets that they’d prepared early that morning, but, given the circumstances, they’d have to be happy with her offering of muffins. They were made by hand, just not by her.
Jeanie lived in a white bungalow with rectangular boxes of red geraniums hanging from every window. The porch took up the entire front of the house. Sophia and Celia were there, swinging on the bench-style front porch swing. Libby wondered if they had done anything else in the twelve years she’d been away. When she’d left at eighteen, they were having brunch together, playing card games, and sitting on Jeanie’s front porch, and there they were, right in the same place twelve years later.
“Hey there, honey!” Celia waved to Libby as she made her way up the walkway, a nearby gardenia bush filling the air with its sweet smell. The front door had been left wide open with only the glass storm door between her and Jeanie, who held her Yorkshire terrier nestled between her voluptuous bosom and the crook of her arm while waving madly at her with her free hand. Libby smiled despite herself.
She had missed Jeanie.
“Welcome home!” Jeanie said, now holding the glass door open with one hand and allowing her dog, Rascal, to roam free on the porch. “How’s my birthday girl?” Jeanie smiled a smile that enveloped her entire face, her prematurely silver hair flipping out around it.
“I’m well,” she lied. “I brought these.” Libby held up the bag of muffins.
“Bless your heart!” Jeanie took the crumpled sack from her and peeked inside, her eyebrows bouncing up and down with excitement. She reached in and pulled out a blueberry muffin with sugared crumble on top. “I’m just cookin’ inside. I’ll go and get you a chair.” She offered the muffin to Libby.
“Don’t go to any trouble, Jeanie. I can sit on the steps.” She noticed a slight look of disapproval on Celia’s face as she said it. Her mother had already scooted to the far side of the swing, creating an open space in the middle between herself and Sophia. Libby broke a piece of crumble off the top of her muffin. “I’m fine,” she said to the ladies, taking a seat on the porch step. The two women wriggled back into a more comfortable position. Libby watched her mother’s reaction, worried that she’d upset her by sitting on the steps and not in an actual chair, but it hadn’t seemed to bother her too much.
She could tell that Sophia wanted to make conversation, but all she did was grin. A good friend of Celia’s, she probably knew why Libby had returned, and that made it awkward. What could she say? I’m glad you’re back? That would be rude if she knew the truth. Or even, How was New York? Clearly a poor choice of question.
“You’re gonna get your fancy clothes dirty on those steps,” Sophia finally said. Leave it to her to figure out something to fill the silence.
“It’s fine, really.”
Rascal meandered up to the porch from the front yard and sniffed Libby’s new shoes, causing her to focus on how very out of place they were there. She needed to be back in New York with other people like her, not lounging around on a front porch in the middle of nowhere.