“Hello?” she said, watching Pete out of the corner of her eye. Answering Wade’s call was causing an angry punching sensation behind her temples.
Without even a “hello,” he started in, “I was wondering how much longer you’ll be before the house goes on the market.”
She rubbed a knot that had formed in her shoulder. “Wade, I need to keep the cottage for just a little while. I’d like to live there until I can get back to New York.”
“What? I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
She looked over at Pete who had parked the Bronco next to her car and was on the other side of his truck, loading boxes into the backseat. She whispered into the phone, “Wade, be reasonable. I’ll pay the entire mortgage while I live there. I need a place to live.” She knew he didn’t feel anything for her anymore, but he wasn’t completely merciless.
“This is temporary, Libby. You still need to get the place in order, and get it ready to either sell or rent. I’d like to actually make some money on this investment.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t want anything other than temporary,” she assured him, then jumped as she turned to pick up a box and bumped into Pete. He looked down at her, his lips pressed together in an unreadable expression.
“Look, I’ll talk to you later.” She ended the call.
Pete clapped the dust from his hands. “I need to hurry up if I’m going to help you. I have to check on Pop.”
* * *
Pete and Libby had called his grandfather “Pop” the entire time Libby had known him, which was over half her life. Pete’s dad hadn’t been around while he was growing up, and neither had Libby’s. At the young age of eleven, when Libby had first started getting to know Pete, their mutual lack of a paternal figure had drawn them together. His mother, Helen, had done well for herself. She’d raised Pete and his elder brother, Ryan, on her own, but Pop and Nana had always been right there, just down the street, ready to offer a helping hand for their only daughter and her children.
Pop had always been special to Libby. He seemed to understand her, to accept her without any reservations. When she’d left, she’d missed Pop so much, and she’d wanted to contact him and keep in touch, but she hadn’t. Thinking of him, she had a heavy heart. His health was failing him—she knew that much—and she’d missed twelve good, healthy years with him.
She pulled up behind the Bronco, turned off the engine, and got out of the car. Libby jogged up ahead of Pete, who was carrying the biggest of the boxes, his biceps straining under the weight of it. Libby unlocked the door and pushed it open. He carefully set the box down in the front foyer and scooted it to the side with his foot.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said, looking around.
Considering that the room only had a sofa and one table with an extremely small television, she figured his comment was meant sarcastically. Sarcasm was good; she’d take it. It was much better than the disgust she’d seen before. She wondered, though, if it hurt as much for him to stand there, the two of them together, as it did for her. Seeing him was her real coming home moment, because it was he who had been everything for her, growing up. When her mother had pushed her too hard and she didn’t think she could take any more, Pete had had a way of lightening the mood, showing her how to be happy despite all the drama.
But most of all, he’d loved her. He told her all the time, and it made her feel untouchable. Like many high school romances, they had gone on in different directions in life, and now they were caught in the empty space between reality and the past. The feeling of it overwhelmed her. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked, but that only sent them spilling over. She dragged her fingers under her eyes and sniffled.
“I was just kidding,” he said, his eyes a little gentler than they’d been before. “I’ll go get the next box if you’ll just keep the door from shutting.”
She nodded, her mind still stuck in the empty space. She wasn’t the person who had loved him anymore. She was someone else. It was as if she were two entirely different people: One side of her wanted to hold on to him and never let go, tell him again how sorry she was. The other side yearned to get back to the city—her real life.
Pulling her out of her contemplation was the sound of children’s laughter. She stood in the open doorway and saw two boys, one tall and lanky, his feet like those of a Labrador puppy—too big for him—and the other, a dark-haired boy, shorter, and running with a football under his arm while Pete playfully chased him.