Libby nodded. She knew Pete probably hadn’t asked for help. When it came to his independence, he was about as stubborn as Pop. Looking at Pete’s face, she could tell it was taking a lot out of him, and she worried that he wouldn’t be able to continue at that pace.
She leaned around the corner and called out, “Pop,” once the carafe had enough coffee in it to pour a cup. “Coffee’s ready.”
“I’m just lying down for a rest,” he called from down the hallway. “Leave it in the pot for me, would you?”
Pete took his beer and gestured toward the living room. “He gets tired a lot. That’s why I lose him. I keep thinking he’s sleeping, but he gets up and wanders.” Libby sat down in the exact same spot she’d been when she’d asked if he’d ever live in New York. Now, it seemed like a preposterous question. So much had changed in such a small time. As she sat there, knowing her future and how in only a few weeks she’d be back to her old life, she felt different, a little nervous.
She wanted to be there to help with Pop. Would Pete be able to do it alone? She knew he was capable, but the extra set of hands that she could provide might be helpful. Would she be able to see Pop again before he slipped away completely and didn’t know any of them? She would lose precious time with him by leaving. The conundrum put her in a very perplexing position. She’d never had anyone emotionally pulling her one way or the other before. She’d always focused on her goal no matter the cost. She knew she needed to go back to New York, but the situation was tugging at her heartstrings.
“What are you painting?” he asked, attempting to make small talk.
“The living room.”
Pete was leaning forward on his knees, his hands clasped. The beer sat on the coffee table, sweating from the heat that even the paddle fans couldn’t push out of the room. He wasn’t looking at her; he was looking down at the floor, and she thought again how exhausted he seemed. That wasn’t the Pete she’d known as a girl. She’d lost him as much as he’d lost her. They were just two strangers who shared common memories.
“Is there a facility in the area?” she asked quietly, her thoughts moving back to Pop. “Somewhere he could live where he could get help when he needs it?”
Pete finally looked up. “I don’t want to do that to him.” He rubbed his hands back and forth on his trousers for a moment before turning toward Libby. “Why punish him for his failing memory? He needs his family. We’re all he’s got. Take that away and who knows what he’d be like. He may slip further from us.”
She didn’t know if Pete was right or not, or what the safest method of care was for Pop, but she understood what he meant about family. Her family wasn’t perfect, but, in a quirky way, his was, and now with Nana’s death and Pop’s illness, it seemed to be taking all his strength to cinch it together and keep it from falling apart. Her worry for Hugh and his family took her far away from her life in New York, but at that moment, there was no place she felt more needed than right there in White Stone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sun’s warmth was just starting to seep in, burning off the morning dew. Libby scraped the porch’s wooden floor with her bare foot, nudging the swing as she rocked with Jeanie, listening to the sound of the waves swishing about in the bay. She would certainly miss this. It was so calming and peaceful.
“I wonder how Helen’s handling it all, ” Jeanie scowled in concern.
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her since the party.”
“How’s Pete?”
“He looks tired, Jeanie. I don’t know if he can keep up the pace for much longer. I think I’ll go check on them today,” Libby said, apprehension pecking at her. She felt an unease that was indescribable after having seen Pop. She hadn’t wanted to leave him and Pete last night but it seemed strange to ask to stay, so she’d gone, taking her worry with her.
“That might be a good idea. Is Pete eatin’? I could make him supper and bring it over.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Please do. I’d be more than happy to help, you know that.” A smile spread across her face—the smile that Libby knew well. “And I make a mean potato casserole.” Always trying to lighten the mood. Libby could have guessed it before the words even came out of her mouth.
“Why don’t you just make that anyway,” she grinned. She was glad to see Jeanie. Sitting there with her, she wondered how she’d gone all those years without being in touch. She would miss Jeanie’s easy way about her, her lighthearted jokes and mothering care.