Libby raised her hand in hello.
Once he’d gotten oriented, Pete stood up, put his hands on his back and bent backwards in a stretch. Then he followed Libby to the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” she asked quietly so as not to disturb Pop.
“Yeah.” Pete rolled his head around on his shoulders. “He couldn’t remember anything from today at all. It terrified him so much that he didn’t want me to leave. I sat with him until he fell asleep. What’s this?” he peeked into the giant oven mitt.
“Jeanie’s sausage and potato casserole.”
Pete raised his eyebrows in excitement. “Want some?” he asked, sliding it out and retrieving a serving spoon from a drawer.
“Absolutely!” she smiled, an attempt to change focus from Pop’s dementia to something positive. It worked because Pete’s face broke out into a smile. It was good to see, although his eyes were dark from lack of sleep.
Once the food had been dished out, Pete poured the two of them a glass of sweet tea, and they sat down across from each other at the small, circular kitchen table near a window with a view of the bay. She wondered how much worse Pop’s condition could get, how much more Pete would need in terms of help. Her time there seemed to be shrinking right in front of her eyes.
“Thank you for coming, Libby. And I’ll have to thank Jeanie for this fantastic food,” he said, smiling again. The sight of it sent happiness zinging through her like an electric charge. It was so good to see him smile.
“You’re welcome. I had to come. I couldn’t imagine not helping, even if it is only dinner.” She wanted to grab him, bury her head in his chest and stay there all night. Even in his weakest moment there was something so protective about him, so strong. It was going to be hard to leave him. She took in a deep breath to try and clear her head, and focused on his smile. It’s funny how when they were kids, smiles were so frequent that they took them for granted. Now, when she could see Pete’s face brighten, it had significance, because she knew that waiting just behind it was a whole lot of pain and anguish.
“That’s the girl I remember. The caring, sweet girl. You haven’t changed as much as you think you have,” he said, still grinning. “What do you have planned tonight?”
“Nothing really. The cottage is done, and it’s too late to pack anything. Why?”
“Pop sometimes gets back up—usually around nine or so. Would you mind staying? …just in case I need you.”
“Of course I’ll stay.”
* * *
By ten o’clock, Libby found herself wrapped in the throw that had been draped on the sofa, watching a movie with Pete. Pop had yet to wake. The movie was funny and she was glad for that, because it made Pete laugh. Once, he’d laughed and it had come out like an explosion—one giant “Ha!” that had sent her nearly falling off the sofa. He probably thought she was laughing at the movie, but she had laughed in response to him. Hearing him happy was the best sound—more calming than anything else, even better than the sound of the sea.
She watched the film wrap up, knowing that in any minute the credits would roll. She hoped for some unexpected second plot to emerge to keep her there, but, as expected, the credits did roll and she found herself looking at a black screen. Pete turned off the television.
“That was good,” he said, his face still showing amusement.
“Pop’s been sleeping like a baby.”
“Only because you’re here,” he teased. “Ever since Nana passed, he hasn’t slept an entire night. Maybe today just took it out of him. It was a tough day.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not tired at all after my catnap on Pop’s bed,” he said, wriggling to a straighter position. “Want to have a drink?”
“Yeah.” For the first time in a long time, she hadn’t had to think about that answer. There was nothing to ponder, nothing to decide. She knew without a doubt she wanted to have a drink with Pete Bennett. It wasn’t just because she felt bad for him or because he’d asked her; it was because all she wanted to do tonight was stay with him. She started to unwind herself from the blanket.
“No, don’t move. Stay right where you are. I’ll bring it in to you.”
After Pete left the room, Libby looked around. She’d been there long enough that a feeling of normalcy had fallen over her. It wasn’t strange anymore to be back, or to be there with Pete. It was… like home. What a strange feeling: two places that were totally juxtaposed both felt perfectly comfortable to her.
What would it be like when she got back to New York? Work would certainly consume her hours, and she expected to fall right back into the swing of things. But that one niggling feeling kept coming back: she’d miss Pete. She’d miss a whole lot of other people too, but most of all, she’d miss him. And there was nothing she could do about that.