Love Me for Me(2)

And now here they were, having a businesslike phone conversation, like strangers.

“Okay, then,” he said finally.

That’s all you have to say? she wanted to scream into the phone. She clenched her phone, feeling the tightness in her knuckles. Leaving her hometown, becoming an adult and a successful professional, she’d felt in control of her life. This—her fiancé falling out of love with her—was out of her control, and it drove her crazy.

She fumbled with her keys and found the newest one on her key ring. “I’ll be in touch,” she said, a little more snippy than she’d meant to, and hoisted her carry-on suitcase onto the stoop.

She had to wiggle the key back and forth in the old lock to loosen it. With a pop, the knob finally turned. The line was dead on her phone, she realized, so with another deep breath, she ended the call and dropped the phone into her bag.

There had been absolutely no way Libby was going to stay with her mother while she was back here. But after actually coming home to the cottage, she wondered whether staying had been a good idea. Memories swam through her head faster than she could process them. She’d spent so many happy times there. Before she’d left for good.

She and Wade had bought the cottage together. It had belonged to Hugh and Anne Roberts, who happened to be the grandparents of someone she’d known very well, someone she’d cared for very much: Pete Bennett, her childhood best friend and high school boyfriend. When her parents were struggling with their marriage, Libby had escaped to the Roberts’ cottage with Pete. The Roberts were like her own family. She even called them Pop and Nana just like Pete did. Standing there, she could almost hear the sounds from those happy days.

The new furniture that she’d purchased with Wade looked out of place and a little too modern, but she was able to look past it into her memories—memories of card games and laughter, lemonade on the porch, apple pie and lightning bugs at dusk. Seeing what was left of it made her feel as if she couldn’t breathe. But she was a fighter; she’d come through a lot to get where she was, so she could handle it. At least that’s what she kept telling herself. Her chest tightened, despite her efforts to think positively, as the new décor came back into focus.

Wade had wanted to sell the cottage as is, but she’d suggested that with some renovations they might actually make a profit. He’d agreed that she could go there and do the work, but now the weight of it was nearly crushing. The sun streamed through the tiny windows next to the front door, letting in the only light in the room. With her bag at her side, Libby watched the dust settling in the beam of sun, her mind racing.

The apartment she’d shared with Wade in New York had been small but open with an unusual amount of natural light, bright white walls, and modern furnishings. When she’d moved in with him, she’d wanted to add some femininity to the place. She’d torn out pages in magazines and she’d copied the very best in design until their apartment was perfect. It was a stark contrast to what was before her now. This cottage was dated and weathered, the walls screaming out memories of a different time.

The wall in front of her still had five nails jutting out. Five nails for five pictures, and if she closed her eyes, she could see them exactly the way Nana had arranged them. Now, just like Nana, the pictures were gone. Like ghosts, however, the memories were still hanging there right in front of her.

Libby was supposed to go to her mother’s as soon as she’d gotten into town, but she didn’t want to see anyone just yet. She worried about running into people who knew her, about seeing her mother. At eighteen, she’d sped out of the little town of White Stone as fast as her feet could take her. And with her life in the state it was now, she didn’t want to face anyone, especially her mother. She’d come to the cottage she’d purchased with her ex-fiancé where she could be alone.

Originally, she’d never planned to even set foot in that house; the acquisition of it had all been her mother’s doing. Libby had been a little apprehensive about purchasing the property since it had belonged to people she’d known so well, but her mother assured her that it would be no problem at all. And the one thing she had learned over the years was that when her mother was happy, she was a much nicer person. Libby had made it her life’s goal, after her father left, to make her mother happy. And Libby’s buying that cottage had delighted Celia Potter. It was a physical demonstration of Libby’s success. It was her mother’s way of showing off.

One of her mother’s flaws was that when she was in good spirits, she got chatty. When she got chatty, it was cringeworthy. Libby guessed at the conversations that Celia probably had at the local market: My daughter is living in Manhattan—she’s got a top accounting job up there—Big Four firm!—and she had a little spare cash, so she bought the Roberts’ place. I told her as soon as it went up for sale… Her mother would lean in as if she were telling a secret, but hoping others would hear. You know, she’d say in her loudest whisper, how Hugh Roberts can’t take care of himself anymore after Anne’s death. It’s all so sad…