“It’s fine.”
“Okay! Then you pick the dates and I’ll be there!”
“Will do.”
After jotting down a list of possible times and dates for the shower and the odd detail about the brunch, they said their goodbyes and Libby stopped unpacking. It was time for a break. The sun was setting, painting the sky a vibrant pink. On the side of the cottage, off the kitchen, there was a small screened-in porch. It had a paddle fan and a comfortable porch swing. When Wade had mentioned buying furniture, the only piece that she argued over was that swing because from it, one could look across two acres of lawn, straight out to the sunrise over the bay in the morning, and the moon casting its glistening light in the late evenings.
She’d been on that porch with Pete enough to understand the necessity of a solid piece of furniture for that location, but her memory hadn’t done it justice. The photos didn’t let in the light breeze coming off the bay or the shushing sound of the waves as they kissed the sand during high tide, the rustling of the pines, and the almost electric sounds of the insects in the woods. All those sounds, together with the clap, clap, clap of the paddle fan, were more like silence than anything she’d had in a long time.
She just sat, gently rocking, her long strands of blond hair moving ever so slightly with the wind. The silence, while calming, made her more homesick. She wanted the velocity of the city, to be back in her reality where she could make progress toward her goals. But she was stuck in a place where nothing moved forward. If anything, it yanked her backward in time, like quicksand. Tears swelled in her eyes as she thought of it all. She tried to steady her breathing by matching her inhales and exhales with the tide.
A knock at the screen door behind her sent her leaping to her feet. She hadn’t even heard anyone walk up.
“Sorry, hon. Did I startle ya?” Jeanie stood with a covered dish in mitted hands.
“It’s okay.”
She held out her dish, the steam escaping from under the foil. “I brought you some supper.” Libby held the screen door open, allowing her to enter. “It ought to last you a few nights… You been cryin’?”
“No, I think it’s just the salty air.”
“You’ve been away too long if your eyes are tearin’ up from fresh air!” she said, shuffling up the three wooden steps. She knocked her feet against the boards on the porch, Libby guessed to get the stray sand off her shoes. “You need some good chicken casserole to reacquaint ya with this part of the world, Miss Libby!” She left Libby on the porch and headed inside toward the kitchen.
Libby had known Jeanie all her life, and she was more mothering than her mother had ever been. With her big bear hugs, concerned eyes and loving smile, she was one of Libby’s favorite people. Once, when her mother had been telling a group of shoppers at the local supermarket all of the top universities she’d planned to visit with Libby, Jeanie caught Libby’s eye, pursed her lips, and rolled her eyes. That had been the first time it had occurred to Libby that perhaps her mother’s way wasn’t always the right way.
She could talk to Jeanie.
“It’s still hot so come and dish yourself some,” Jeanie said as Libby pulled a chair out at the wicker dinette she’d put in the small nook in the kitchen. “Mind if I have some too? I’ve got some apple pie out in the car, but I couldn’t get it in one trip.”
“Not at all.” She pulled out a second chair and then went to the cabinets to get dishes. She set them down on the counter and grinned at Jeanie who had already found a serving spoon in the drawer and was dishing out their servings. “Thank you, Jeanie, for thinking of me. You didn’t have to do all this.” She was so grateful to have Jeanie and so thankful that she had brought her dinner. No one had ever brought her a fresh-baked pie in New York. More than the food, she could tell that Jeanie cared, and it felt good to be cared for.
Jeanie waved a dismissive hand as if it were nothing, but Libby knew she’d taken a lot of time to prepare it, even if she didn’t want to admit it. “You don’t have an apron hangin’ around here,” she noted.
Libby shook her head. “Nope. Don’t cook much.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll help you out for now, but you’d better get to practicin’ because no cookin’ ’round these parts means no eatin’!”
Libby allowed a little huff of laughter to escape at that remark. Jeanie was right. If Miller’s even did takeout, it would probably start to get really old by the end of the month, considering the limited menu, and the other few places around also served mostly seafood which would wear out its welcome after a while.