“Here are your accounts, he said, handing her a small box of files. The coffeemaker is over by Janet…” The receptionist waved. “And the bathrooms are just down the hall on the left.”
“Thank you,” Libby smiled.
Marty stood by her desk in silence for an unsettling amount of time, his hand propped up on the wall behind her. She wondered if she should make small talk in an effort to move him along. Before she could offer anything, he said, “I’ll be just over there,” and pointed toward a small desk with papers haphazardly scattered over it. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“I sure will, Marty. Thank you again for the work. I am very grateful for it. I think I’ll dig right in!” Libby slid the box toward her.
Marty clicked his tongue and raised his eyebrows—another one of his gestures. Then, he grinned and waved, heading over to his desk. Libby flipped through the files in the banker’s box in front of her. She had accounts for a handful of local store owners, a veterinarian, and a head of a construction company, but piquing her interest was a file labeled Peter Bennett. From his account details, it seemed that her Pete had his own web development business, and he was certainly doing well for himself. With a flush of heat to her face, she slapped the file shut and put it back into the box. It didn’t matter what their history was, she didn’t feel right looking at his yearly income summary.
By lunch time, she’d trudged through the numbers for a few of her clients and created reports reflecting their taxable income. Her stomach growled and she figured that it was as good a time as any to get some lunch, so she let Marty know, out of courtesy, and walked outside into the magnificent sunshine.
Two doors down was The Bay Café, which during the summer months drew in vacationers but today was only moderately busy. The floor was traditionally tiled in large black and white tiles, a handful of tables turned to look like diamonds rather than squares, were covered in red gingham cloths, and sitting in the center of each table was a shiny bucket of fresh yellow and white daisies. Following the note on the chalkboard sign to seat yourself, Libby found the table nearest the corner and sat down.
It wasn’t until she was settled in her chair and had ordered her iced tea that she saw Mabel Townley, Anne Roberts’s best friend, dining alone. She didn’t look exactly as Libby had remembered her, but it was clear that it was her. Like Hugh, her age had caught up with her: her light-brown hair was now almost completely silver, her shoulders rounded forward as if the weight of her own body were too much for her these days. Wire-rimmed glasses sat just a little too low on her nose, and she pushed them back up into place. Mabel spotted her and smiled, her lips pressed together. Libby waved.
Seeing Mabel, she wondered if Anne’s best friend knew anything about Mitchell or his letter. She sat at her table engrossed in her own thoughts. Could Nana have been unfaithful to Pop? Certainly she hadn’t seemed like the type of person who would stray, but then again, was there a type for those people? She wondered if Nana had ever been unhappy living in White Stone, if she, too, wanted something more. The letter bothered her considerably, but she knew why. Pop and Nana’s relationship had always seemed so easy, so comfortable. It was an unsettling feeling, thinking that their relationship may not have been as perfect as it seemed. Every time she looked over at Mabel Townley, she wondered what she knew. Libby traced the square pattern in the table with her fingernail.
“Libby!” Celia Potter came clacking through the small dining area, flinging her hand up at Mabel in a quick hello. “Why didn’t you call me, honey? I’d have met you for lunch.” She looked down at her silver bangle watch and twisted it on her wrist to see the time. “Did you just get here?”
“Yep,” Libby leaned over and pulled out a chair, trying to sit up a little straighter so she wouldn’t have to hear anything from her mother about it. She realized what she was doing and immediately relaxed her body. She didn’t have to please her anymore; she was a grown woman. It was time she started thinking like it. “They haven’t gotten my drink order yet, so you’re just in time. You can join me now,” she gestured to the chair she’d pulled out. That was the trouble with a small town; with only one main street and a handful of places to go, running into people was inevitable.
“What a pleasant surprise!” she said, sitting down. “I was just going to pick something up but now we can have lunch together.” Celia dropped her handbag under the table and spun around toward Mabel. “Are you by yourself too, Mabel? Come over here and join us if you’d like.”