Libby turned back to Pete, but he was already walking away. She had so many things she wanted to say, so many feelings about the last twelve years, but she’d missed her chance. What kind of life had he made for himself? Was he married? Did he have children? The image of Pete swinging a child up onto his shoulders, a woman by his side, sent a wave of jealousy through her stomach and up to her cheeks. It was a shocking feeling to have, but it was clearly there, raging inside. She’d rolled her dice, put everything she had on her choice, and, in the end, the odds had been against her. Now she was right back where she’d started, and she didn’t even have the comfort of the ones she loved to help her through it.
“Come in, Libby,” her mother said, patting her arm and ushering her inside. As Libby walked up the wooden steps to the restaurant, she watched Pete out of the corner of her eye, and she could have sworn that he’d looked back, just once, in her direction.
The hostess showed them to their table. Libby sat down and wadded her linen napkin in her lap. Why is this happening to me? she wanted to yell out. I planned perfectly! I did everything right! It wasn’t my fault they cut staff at work. It wasn’t my fault Wade left me… Right? The more she pondered her problems, the more unsure she became. She started to question her presumptions, and more questions filled her mind. Did I do something at work to be the one they let go? Am I not as sharp as my colleagues? Did I become a burden to Wade?
“Can I get you anything to drink?” a waitress asked as Libby scooted her chair farther under the table as a nervous impulse. She couldn’t tell if it was just her own paranoia, but it seemed like the waitress was looking at her as if she knew her. But then she wondered if, perhaps, the woman thought she looked out of place there.
The culture in White Stone was different than in New York. Libby hadn’t really noticed it until she’d been away. They dressed differently, more casual. Businessmen wore polo shirts and trousers on dressy days and jeans on Fridays. The women wore informal clothes to work mostly, and everyone, no matter who they were, wore T-shirts and shorts in their off time. The only time people felt the need to dress up was for church and special occasions. Libby looked down at the Diane Von Furstenberg sundress she’d gotten at Barneys last week. It made her feel like an outsider.
“I’ll have a water,” she said before looking down into her menu and trying to hide there.
“Nonsense!” her mother piped up. “Let’s have wine. Don’t you want a glass of wine, Libby?”
She peered over the menu at her mother. Celia Potter was the only person she knew who didn’t follow the area’s dress code. Her mother had on a brand-new-looking red and white dress, the fabric some sort of textured cotton. Her lips were as red as the flowers splashed across the garment. Her make-up, her hair, it was all done to perfection, so much so that it looked odd. Libby wished, for once, that she could reach over and tousle the over-sprayed salt-and-pepper waves that framed her mother’s face.
She didn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings, but the thought of alcohol made her insides turn over. In the state she was in, it would give her a pounding headache. “No thanks, Mom. I don’t want wine.”
“Well, I’m not going to make a scene by arguing,” she smiled a tight smile, her eyes darting around, probably to see if anyone had noticed the exchange. “I’m just glad to have you home, that’s all.”
The waitress waited politely by their table, her eyebrows raised in expectation of Celia’s order. Libby wondered why that girl had ended up in White Stone. For Libby’s entire life, her mother had told her she could do better than her home town, go away to college and do something grander with her life. She was taught to produce only perfection in the hopes that she could get out of there. And yet, Celia Potter had stayed.
She probably likes being the big fish in a small pond, Libby thought. If she did, that was the only thing she liked. She had been a stay-at-home mom for Libby until her father left them. Celia Potter had grown up in Las Vegas, and she had been a PR representative for one of the casinos, where she’d met Libby’s father. She followed him to Virginia but after he left them, there wasn’t a whole lot of corporate PR work to be had in the area. And by that time Celia had been out of the game so long she didn’t have much to show for herself in terms of experience, so she’d settled on a job as a receptionist at the local dental office.
The waitress was still waiting on Libby’s order.
“I’ll just have an iced tea… and another iced tea for her. We’ll both have a salad,” Celia ordered without consulting Libby.