When she thought back to her days in the city before going home, she’d spent them having coffee with friends, doing charity events, finishing up work, things like that. Now, because she still hadn’t completely gotten into the swing of things, her days were very quiet when she wasn’t working. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought something was different since she’d come back. She was still capable of working hard, but the drive she had for success had been replaced by something else. She just wanted to go home and be with the people she loved.
Libby closed the newspaper when she realized she’d read the last three sentences a few times and still hadn’t internalized them. Her thoughts were somewhere else. Where is Pete? she wondered. She looked at her phone. Nothing. Out the window, a few people were walking briskly down the sidewalk. She’d been one of those people once. Now, she found herself walking more slowly, looking up, taking in the things surrounding her, thinking. Now, she was in her head all the time.
Her phone pinged and she nearly scrambled to get it. The excitement that had fizzed when she saw Pete’s number quickly dissolved as she read his words: Hi, Libby. Things are not good. Pop’s not well. Can I call you?
Panic stung her insides as she dialed his number. “What’s wrong?” she asked when he answered.
“Hi,” Pete returned, his voice quiet.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
With a deep breath, he started in, “You know how stubborn Pop is, don’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“His bones are getting brittle. He refused to go to the doctor, but I’d noticed that things weren’t right—he kept limping—so a couple days ago, I made him an appointment and dragged him there. He’d been walking around with a broken leg. He’s in a cast right now because he fell trying to get down the stairs outside. He hadn’t told anyone.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She wanted to leave right then, just get her keys, lock up, and head for the airport.
“He barely remembers recent events anymore,” he said, his voice sounding tired. “He’s cranky most of the time because of the dementia. I’m doing my best, but it’s getting really hard. He’ll have only a day, maybe two at a time where he remembers. His mind’s gone more than it’s here these days.”
Pop was starting to leave them more often now, and Libby didn’t want to miss a single lucid moment. “I’m coming home. You need me, and Pop needs me. I can help you.” She didn’t care about work or her responsibilities. She needed to be with them as much as they needed her help.
“Libby, you don’t have to.”
“I want to. I want to see Pop. I’m coming.”
* * *
She’d caught the last flight out of New York, her mother was picking her up at Richmond International, and she’d told her boss, Mr. Wiesner, that she had a family emergency and had to return home immediately. She wasn’t lying. Pop was family, and he needed her.
“It’ll be okay, honey,” her mother said as they drove down the narrow, two-lane road toward home. Libby hadn’t wanted to talk the whole way there. If she had tried, then the sobs would come, and she was scared that she’d not be able to make them stop. “It’ll be okay,” her mother said again, patting her arm with her free hand. It’s funny how people say that when something goes wrong. It wasn’t going to be okay. Pop wouldn’t magically get better; he couldn’t make his brain work again.
Her phone pinged in her bag and she pulled it out, her mother glancing over at her with concern as she drove into town. Pete had texted: How far are you from home? Pop’s himself!
She texted back: Not far. Be there in five.
“Mom, can you take me straight to Pete’s and drop me off there? I’ll get him to bring me home,” she asked.
“Of course,” her mother said, and Libby noticed that this time there wasn’t any sideways look, no flash of disapproval. Just concern. It was a relief to be back, to know she’d get to see Pop and talk to him at least one more time. Seeing Pete would take a weight off her shoulders that had been so heavy, she could hardly stand it. She’d wanted to see him, be near him, help him in any way she could.
The five minutes seemed like fifty. Libby nearly jumped from the car before it had come to a stop in front of Pete’s. His front door opened as she leaned in the car window and thanked her mother. With a quick wave, she ran up the stairs to see Pete. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his glasses on, a small grin on his face. Seeing him was like coming up for air.