Love Me for Me(66)
After the waiter took their orders, Helen came over and leaned on the back of Libby’s chair. “Pete wanted to come,” she said near her ear, “but Pop wasn’t himself today.”
It was easy to say—Pop wasn’t himself—but those three words had new meaning to Libby. She knew the severity of them, and it concerned her. While she was enjoying a nice meal, Pop was struggling with keeping himself together, and Pete was having to deal with it all. It made her want to cry right there at the table. She wanted to be there, to help in some way, but she had to stay to say goodbye. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” Libby said. Helen put her hand on Libby’s shoulder and rubbed back and forth.
They were interrupted for a moment as the waiter made an announcement. “Everyone gets one drink from the bar compliments of Marty,” the waiter called out over the chatting. “You can all go out to the deck and sit by the water while you’re waiting for your food to come.”
“I’ll see him tonight,” Libby said, resuming their discussion. “I’m taking Jeanie’s supper over to them.”
“Pete’s having a tough time,” Helen said, her expression indecipherable. “This is all so hard for him.”
* * *
Their lunch had lasted most of the afternoon, but Marty let Libby go right at five, which made her happy because she could meet Jeanie in town to pick up the casserole for Pop and Pete. It had been a few days since she’d been to Pete’s, and she felt apprehensive on many levels: she worried about Pop, of course, but she also wasn’t sure how to act with Pete. She wanted to comfort him, protect him, make him happy, but she knew she couldn’t achieve any of those things. She decided that the best she could do was to help out.
Jeanie rounded the corner, carrying a warmer that resembled an enormous rectangular oven mitt. “Hope it’s still warm. I just took it out of the oven about fifteen minutes ago,” she said, handing it over to Libby. “Hugh doin’ all right?”
“I don’t know. I hope so. I’m sure he’ll be glad to have this though. It smells divine.”
“Dish yourself some before you leave there then. I made enough to feed an army.”
“Okay,” she smiled. “Thanks, Jeanie.”
“Have a good night,” she said.
Libby set the dish gingerly in the front seat of the car and headed down the quiet road that led to Pete’s cottage. She wondered what she would encounter at Pete’s. It had to be so frustrating to never know if the day would be good or bad, hard or easy. Guilt washed over her as she pondered the life she was about to have for herself: the apartment overlooking the busy city streets, the busy social life, the new job. She wished Pete could be in that life. She had nothing pressing there, nothing consuming her time other than work. She wished she were closer so that she could lend a hand with Pop.
She parked the car and carried the dish up to the door. With her elbow, she knocked. The sun was staying out later these days and the sky was still bright. Libby noticed freshly chopped logs at the end of the porch and smiled to herself as she thought of Pete’s stone fireplace in winter, when the logs would be used. How warm it would probably be. It was odd to think that by then she’d have her regular life again, and everything would be back to normal. She knocked a second time.
After a few more knocks, she tried the knob, and it was unlocked. “Pete?” she called inside, holding the dish against her side with one arm. “Pete? Pop? Anyone home?” She’d told them she was going to stop by. Where had they gone? She felt the trepidation start to filter through her as she wondered if perhaps Pop had gone on one of his walks.
She let herself in, shut the door and went over to the kitchen where she slid the dish onto the counter. The house was completely silent. She looked out the window at the backyard but saw no one, anxiety now flooding her. Was Pete out running the streets looking for him? She walked through the kitchen and into the hallway. She’d never been past the office before, but she kept going, looking in rooms, concern creeping in on her by the second. Her heart was beating so hard, it felt like her whole chest was moving, and her hands were trembling. Please, please be okay, she chanted to herself.
She passed a bedroom. Empty. Then the next… She stopped, and her shoulders fell in relief. The room looked like it must be Pop’s. He was sprawled across the bed, asleep. Pete was on the floor, his head on the bed, resting on his forearms; he’d dozed off as well. Gently and carefully, so as not to startle him, she caressed Pete’s arm until he came to. He blinked a few times and then looked around.