Once she got to the cottage, she pulled the shell from her pocket and looked at it again. She flipped it over in her hand, deciding which side she thought was more beautiful: the hard, rigid side with its perfect lines and symmetrical shape or the swirling colored side where everything seemed to run together, and she couldn’t find the end of one color or the beginning of another. Still undecided, she placed the shell in her memory box and closed the lid. It would be her reminder that even though jumping would have been fun, it only made things a mess afterwards.
Now, with the job interview set in New York, Libby had a fresh perspective about the future. It was time to get working on the cottage, spruce it up a bit and get it on the market. If she had any luck left, she’d get the Riddick Wiesner job and leave all of this behind her. The only slightly worrisome feeling was leaving Pete and his family now that they were back in touch. She’d miss them. She would definitely come home more often.
Another strip of old paper came off the wall. She balled it up in her hand just as her cell phone rang. The number was Wade’s. “Hello?” she answered, holding the phone with her wrists so as not to get the old wallpaper glue on her phone.
“Hi.”
This was certainly a change. To what do I owe the honor of a “hi” from you? she thought. “Hi,” she said back, grabbing a towel and wiping the glue off her hands.
“I just wanted to see how things were going.”
“I’m stripping wallpaper right now. Is that good enough?” she snapped. Everything that had happened to her lately had mentally exhausted her and it made her irritable.
The line was silent.
“I’m going as fast as I can. I have the kitchen torn apart, I’ve fixed a leak upstairs, and I have an interview in New York at the end of the month, so I hope to be gone soon. Is that enough progress?”
“You have an interview? Anyone good?”
Oh, now he wants to get chatty. “Riddick Wiesner.”
“Not a bad firm.”
“Yes, it looks promising. Did you need anything else?”
“Nope. Just checking on you.” Something in his voice sounded softer, like the old Wade, but she didn’t trust her gut since he’d left her like he had.
“Well, you don’t need to. I know this is half your house, but I’m taking care of things as quickly as I can.” She said goodbye and hung up the phone. Sitting there, she felt uneasy and very much alone. She leaned against the wall and pulled her knees up to her chest. She rubbed her hands. They were sore from stripping paper. As she sat there, she worried that Pete might be upset with how she’d left the party, but she couldn’t think how to approach him. She worried about bothering him. Maybe she would send a text. He could ignore it if he wanted to.
Hey! How are you? She began, and then paused. She needed a pretext for contacting him before apologizing for how brusque she had been at the party. I’m stripping wallpaper and I’m gouging the wall, she continued. Do you know how I can fix?
She put the phone down and resumed stripping the wallpaper when her phone pinged with a message. It read: Wentworth’s has people who can help you.
It wasn’t just because it was in writing, and it wasn’t just her reading into it. That text was short and not very friendly. Pete, no matter the situation, would not usually offer such a suggestion; he’d run right over and try to help. The more she analyzed the situation, the more she started to look inward instead of outward. She’d blown it. What was wrong with her? She had just texted him as if it had been twelve years ago. Did she really expect him to drop everything to help her? Suddenly, she wanted to apologize. She tested the waters first. She texted back: You okay?
He responded: Yep.
No, he wasn’t okay. Twelve years ago, he would’ve been so concerned by the question, that she’d receive at least a two-liner about how fine he was. But, again, his reply was short. She shouldn’t have texted. She needed to just leave him alone, but now she didn’t want to.
She turned off the steamer and went to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. She was already planning what to ask him, what to say. She wanted to call him or maybe even go and see him. She didn’t like this feeling at all. In usual form, she started to run through their last conversation. He’d suggested she hurry back to New York. She’d thought he was just upset with her for not jumping, but was that what he actually wanted? With the water on, she lathered her hands with soap and scrubbed. Her scrubbing became slower as she thought it through, the sound of the tap the only noise in the room. She rinsed her hands and dried them on a towel. Maybe if she made light of her last text it would diffuse things.