“Go down by Lucky’s and meet me back at the park,” Pete said, looking more frantic with every move. Libby nodded and headed toward Lucky’s gas station about two blocks away. She looked between buildings, on benches, around every corner she could think of. No Pop. The dark streets were so familiar that she didn’t need the store lights to know exactly where to go. She knew all the places in which to look, and still she couldn’t find him. As she raced toward the park, she glanced down the street that took her to Jeanie’s, but it was empty.
Her hands were starting to tremble from apprehension just as she caught sight of a familiar figure. When she saw the man coming out of the corner store, she blinked several times to be sure it was really the person she thought it was. “Pop!” she called out, and the figure turned around. “Pop! What are you doing?” She ran toward him, feeling as though the happiness would burst right out of her chest.
When she reached him, she threw her arms around him. “Where were you?” she asked, out of breath from the whole ordeal, a lump forming in her throat. She’d never been so glad to see anyone before.
“I sat down at Joe’s and had a cup of coffee and a chat with the folks in there. Then I picked up a loaf of bread. We were out.” As he said the words, Libby could tell by his eyes what he was probably thinking: that he couldn’t even go out for something that simple anymore without worrying everyone to death.
“Pete’s probably at the park by now. We were looking for you. We’d split up.” She linked her arm in his. “Let’s go meet him. He’ll be so happy you’re okay. And Pop,” she stopped walking and waited for him to make eye contact. “Next time, would you leave us a note?” He nodded, and she could tell the suggestion bothered him. He didn’t like his predicament any more than they did.
When they got to the park, Pete was waiting under a street light, his arms folded, his gaze up near the tops of the trees. “Pete,” she called out quietly, approaching him from behind. He turned around, and she could see the worry leave him as if it were some foreign being in his body. His shoulders fell, the tightness in his features left.
“Pop. Where have you been?”
Pop’s cheerful demeanor was replaced by one of annoyance. Libby had never seen him that way before. “I’ve already accounted for my night with Libby. Do I have to say it again just for your benefit?” he snapped. Libby looked at Pete, concerned again. Hugh hadn’t ever spoken to anyone like that before, that she’d ever heard. “Here,” he held out the loaf of bread tied in a plastic bag with a twist tie. “We were out.”
The three of them walked back to Libby’s to get Pete’s car. None of them uttered a word. Libby was too busy thinking about Pop’s behavior. It’s the disease, she thought. It had to be terrible not remembering basic things like where one lived. Even worse, it must be hard knowing that a time may come when Hugh wouldn’t even know the people around him. She wondered if he was irritable like that on a regular basis.
Pete must have a lot on his mind. Her presence was probably making it worse. He didn’t need her to get in the way with her insensitive texting. She thought again how selfish she’d been to send that text tonight.
By the time they got back to the cottage, the silence between them was deafening. The situation was too heavy to make small talk, yet none of them had anything to offer regarding the issue at hand. When they got onto the patch of grass, illuminated by the porch light, Libby finally said, “Pop, I’m glad you were just getting coffee and bread.” She hugged him, and she was happy he hugged her back. “Have a good night,” she said to Pete.
“You too,” Pete said and then left her on the grass. He and Hugh climbed into his Bronco. The engine growled as Pete looked one last time in her direction. Then they drove away into the darkness of the night, his red taillights shrinking in the distance. With the sound of crickets singing in the woods nearby, Libby stood, thinking.
Her worries about Pete’s shortness with her, the wine, seeing Catherine, and then the frantic search for Hugh had exhausted her. She tried to make sense of her thoughts, but her fatigue was knotting them all together, and she couldn’t even get one entire thought to process. She’d never been that tired in New York. Things had never been that hard. Even losing her job, leaving her apartment, and breaking up with Wade hadn’t exhausted her like that. She thought again how she needed to get a move on with the cottage, sell the thing and get out of town as soon as she could.