Hugh Roberts, who had been so strong and so intelligent—she couldn’t fathom anything like that happening to him. He was a salesman—medical supplies. People said that he could sell anything because he was that sharp, that much on his game. So the thought that someone so bright could have a disease of the brain was tough to take. It seemed like such a loss. As if Anne’s death hadn’t been enough, now Pete was dealing with that.
“Does he… know who you are?”
“Yes. He remembers his family. He remembers Nana... It hasn’t progressed that much yet. He’s just a little forgetful right now.”
A cool breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, causing Libby to look up. The sky was a piercing blue with cumulus clouds that looked like bowls of whipped cream. She wondered if Anne could see the two of them standing there. What would she think about all this: Libby living in her house, talking to her grandson after so many years, Hugh being cared for by Pete? She could almost feel her presence.
“Can you help me? Let’s see if we can get the rest of those boxes inside,” Pete said.
Libby followed him to the truck and, together, they finished unloading the boxes, piling them in the center of the living room, filling nearly the entire floor.
“Thank you,” she said, wiping her hands on her trousers.
“You’re welcome.” He took a step toward her, and for that one second, she felt like time had stood still for those twelve years. It was as if she were the same eighteen-year-old girl she’d been back then when she looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. She didn’t know what else to say. She was sorry she’d hurt him, sorry she didn’t get to see Nana, sorry she hadn’t spent time with Pop. She could keep listing the reasons for being sorry, and she felt like that one little word wasn’t good enough, but it was all she had. “I’m sorry,” she said more quietly, her eyes on the wooden floorboards by her feet.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
What did he mean by “okay?” Okay, he knew she was sorry? Okay, he wasn’t upset with her anymore? Okay, he didn’t care one way or the other? She looked for an answer on his face but his expression was neutral, his smile gone. She wanted him to smile. She needed his smile. It always made things so much better.
“Hey,” he said. “Happy birthday.” The corners of his mouth turned up just a bit, winding her stomach tighter than a nautilus shell. That slight glimmer, that infinitesimal look of happiness, took her breath away. “Get anything nice?” he asked, clearly chewing on some thought. Had she finally convinced him that she was truly sorry for what she’d said to him? He had to know that, regardless of her opinions of where he lived, she didn’t have the same opinion of him.
She had a strange urge to grab him by the pockets of his shorts and pull him toward her like she’d always done, but she knew better. “Yeah,” she nodded, thinking how good it felt to be near him. That was gift enough. “I did.”
Chapter Seven
Libby folded some of the empty boxes and leaned them against the wall upstairs. She’d contemplated not even breaking them down since she hoped that she’d be filling them back up sooner rather than later. She opened the door of the last bedroom upstairs. Tucked away inside the room, on the ceiling, was the attic, accessible by a pull-down lever door, where she planned to store the boxes until she needed them again. Libby tugged on the rope and the door fell open on its hinges, revealing a folded wooden ladder. She unfolded it and stood on the bottom step, testing her weight. It seemed sturdy, so she grabbed a couple of boxes and climbed up.
The warm spring air filtered in through two vents on either end of the house, causing a plume of heat to envelop her the minute she got to the top. The old wood interior smelled of dust and rain. She pulled on the chain of an uncovered light bulb to illuminate the small space. The light clicked on, exposing a roll of old flooring and a few spare tiles from one of the bathrooms.
Libby pushed her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ears. With a nudge, she thrust the flattened boxes over the flooring. They sent up a cloud of dust as they came to a rest on the other side. She turned around to go back down the ladder but stopped, noticing a yellowed envelope peeking out from under the linoleum flooring. Curious, she pulled it from its spot, wondering if it had old family photos or something the Roberts had left behind. The end had been torn neatly to expose its contents. She flipped it over in her hand, and saw the name “Anne” written in heavy script on the outside. Inside there was only a single sheet of yellowed paper.