Chapter Twenty-Eight
Libby put the last of the day’s files into the basket on her desk and looked up. Her office was a far cry from the small desk she’d had at Marty’s. She hadn’t bought any plants yet, and the walls were still bare. Libby rested her forearms on the dark mahogany-stained desk, her eyes roaming the top of it. She’d put her name plate in the center, a lamp on one corner, and her computer on the other, but the emptiness was still apparent. There were no framed photos of children or loved ones, no family to display. Not even a pet.
She’d thought about Pop all day, wondering how he was and if Pete was doing okay. She knew that even if she were there, she couldn’t make the disease go away, and there was nothing she could do right then anyway, but it didn’t ease the worry she felt. She wondered about whether Pop was scared all the time, or if he’d felt anything when his mind had been gone. She was frightened for him, worried that he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye when the time finally came because he wouldn’t be lucid.
On her way home after work, she contemplated her life. She wished she lived closer to her friends, that people would drop by unannounced the way Jeanie had done back home. She missed Pop, Helen, Jeanie and her mother, and wished they, too, could be there with her.
The one person she tried not to think about, but he kept rising to the surface every time she had a thought, was Pete. She’d made such a fool of herself in the woods that day at the bench, when she’d been too caught up in her own feelings to take Pete’s feelings into consideration. He’d been quite clear that day. The sadness that she’d had when he’d told her how he felt was as fresh as the day it happened. She played the conversation over and over in her head, and every time she thought about it, she felt more terrible about her own behavior. No one had caused this sadness but her.
Libby unlocked the door to her apartment and went inside. With a thud, she dropped her bag onto the floor, went into her bedroom and plopped down on her bed. For a few minutes, she stared at the ceiling, not letting any thoughts at all into her mind. Her eyes moved from the window to the heating vent to the dresser. Across the room, on the dresser, sat her memory box. She got up and opened it, pulling out the little blue-stoned ring Pete had won her at the bonfire. She slipped it onto her finger.
Then she lay back on her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and allowed herself to cry like she had after she’d left so many years ago. This time, however, she felt worse. She felt as if she had a hole in her chest that she couldn’t fill. Get yourself together! she thought. You have Trish’s wedding tomorrow! She bunched the covers up over her head and tried to clear her mind, her tears unrelenting.
* * *
“Do you think they’re too much with the veil?” Trish asked Libby, holding up a pair of teardrop pearl earrings to her ear in front of the church mirror. “Should I have kept it more basic?” Her chestnut hair was swept up, tucked, in hundreds of curly strands, into a simple headband with a veil attached. The deep shade of her hair contrasted beautifully with the antique white of the veil.
Trish had talked a whole lot about the planning of her wedding, but Libby wondered if her friend realized how lucky she truly was because, after the wedding, she’d have the start of her own family, the one person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with right there when she needed him. As much work as weddings took, it was really the moments after the wedding that would be the happiest, in Libby’s opinion.
“They’re gorgeous,” Libby said. She pulled Trish’s train out from under the table and fluffed it along the floor. The heat from outside seeped in through the old window frames and doorways of the cathedral, flushing the faces of the bridal party. Thank goodness their dresses were strapless and their hair was up. Libby ruffled the skirt of her pale green satin dress to allow some air to flow under it. There was no breeze like back home to relieve the warmth in the air. She couldn’t slip her shoes off and walk under the shade of a large tree, the cool grass beneath her feet. Outside there was just more sunlight and pavement, making the summer heat seem worse.
“About two minutes,” the wedding planner said, her eyes darting around the room as if to ensure everything was as it should be. “Take your places.”
Libby helped Trish turn around by lifting her train as Trish fastened the last earring. The organ began through the large double doors. It was time.
Trish twisted toward Libby. “I’m so glad you could be in my wedding.” In the past that would have felt like the ultimate one-to-one: I’m getting married and you’re not. This time, however, it didn’t bother her one bit. She didn’t feel competitive about it at all.