“You’re upset.”
“No. Just surprised.” To prove there were no hard feelings and that she was okay, she hugged him. “I know you’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.” Her voice sounded far off, and the tone had an odd vibe to it, like distant thunder before a storm.
“Well, good luck to you both.”
He stared at her, his eyes darkening with embarrassment. “I know my timing is lousy.”
“I doubt there’d have been a good time.”
He retrieved the box out of the Volvo and carried it to her car. She glanced inside. “My running shoes. I’ve really missed them.”
“I thought you’d want them.”
“Very thoughtful. Thank you. Got to get back to work.”
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked with a genuine kindness that somehow irritated her.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” She slammed the car door a little too loudly. “I need to get back to work. My bride will be leaving soon.”
He took her hand in his. His heartfelt grip warmed her chilled fingers. “Good luck, Libby. I’ll always love you.”
She cleared her throat. “Like the song. Same.”
She tossed him one last grin and then headed back toward the porch; her legs felt wooden, and tension banded her lower back.
She barely glanced at the Model T as she climbed the front steps and almost bumped into a woman standing at the top of the stairs. “Sorry,” she said, and then she looked up and realized the woman was their host, Elaine Grant.
In her fifties, Mrs. Grant was wearing a smartly tailored navy suit and black heels. She had swept brown hair streaked with gray into a french twist. Sierra would have called her classic French chic.
“No trouble,” Mrs. Grant said.
“Sorry, I was preoccupied for a minute. Is there a shot you want me to get?” Jeremy’s Volvo sped down the long drive.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Grant asked, eyeing her closely. “You look pale.”
“Oh, I’m fine. It’s just that my ex-husband decided to show up and return a few of my things. He also told me he’s getting remarried and is having a baby soon.” She smiled. “But you know what? He returned my favorite running shoes, which was really terrific. You know when you first break in a pair, but they still have good support? It’s the sweet spot. I really missed those shoes.”
“Oh. Are you all right?”
Her response sounded ridiculous. If her life were a sitcom, she would have grinned as the canned laugh track played. “Sorry, too much information, Mrs. Grant. Your home and gardens are beautiful.”
Mrs. Grant smiled. “Shame about the weather. And please call me Elaine.”
“Elaine. The weather is always a risk.” She cleared her throat, hoping Elaine had already forgotten about her babbling explanation about Jeremy. “It was kind of you to open up your home for Ginger.”
“I’ve known her since she was a little girl, and her mother has always been good to me. She’s practically family.”
Hoping to move quickly beyond the Jeremy confession, Libby rushed to add, “If you ever decide to open this property for private events, you could charge a small fortune.”
“I toyed with the idea a few years ago but didn’t think we had much to offer until the gardens were restored.”
“They’re in peak form now.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, because I’m considering a photographer to catalog the gardens and the house. If we do embark on this venture, we’ll also need a website.”
“That’s a must-have.”
“Come by my office Monday at eleven. We’ll talk more.”
“Sure; that would be great,” she said.
There was a loud cheer inside, and she knew the bride had changed into her travel outfit and was ready to depart.
Libby had her camera raised as she stepped away and angled her lens toward the bride and groom. The next few minutes passed in a flurry of laughter, fluttering yellow rose petals, and the couple’s exit in the Model T.
Libby kept shooting as she followed the car down the long driveway, watching as the cans, now attached to the car, clanged against the dirt, foretelling better things to come.
CHAPTER FOUR
LIBBY
Monday, June 8, 2020
Bluestone, Virginia
Libby dreamed of the baby girl. Libby had dreamed of her before, and now as then, she kissed the little one on the belly, inhaled the faint scent of sweet milk, and rubbed her nose against the tiny cotton shirt. Small hands fisted her hair, tugging until both mother and child laughed with pure joy.
“Who will you become, little one?” she mused.
Feet kicked, laughter gurgled, and the child said, “I’ll be whatever I wish to be. The world is there for the taking.”
“You’re still too little to take on the world just yet. Stay with me.”
“Mothers and children can’t always be together.” The child’s voice held no hint of sadness.
“But that’s wrong,” Libby said softly.
“That’s life.”
“No, there’s an order to life. It’s not time yet. Don’t leave me, little one,” Libby said.
But the girl was gone, her laughter faded, and the dream vanished, leaving Libby fully awake and staring at the popcorn ceiling of her father’s living room.
The rumble of pots in the kitchen had her rising and reaching for her phone. She knocked over another empty wineglass. She couldn’t remember the wine or what it had tasted like as she had gulped it down last night and prayed for sleep.
She had spent the better part of yesterday editing the photo files from Ginger and Cameron’s wedding while she also compulsively checked Jeremy’s and Monica’s Instagram accounts. Every ten images she finished for Ginger and Cameron earned her another peek at the expectant couple. She had confirmed that Jeremy and Monica had gone public with their relationship five days after she and Jeremy had signed divorce papers. Their first post was a selfie, and they did not look like a couple. Jeremy was holding the camera high, grinning, and Monica was holding her hands up, as if she was asking a question.
Libby swung her legs over the side of the couch and scrolled through her phone to the couple’s latest post, featuring bright smiles, heads tilted close to each other, and clinking coffee cups. Monica’s ring finger now sported one hell of a rock, which must have set Jeremy back a pretty penny.
She studied Jeremy’s smile as well as Monica’s, trying to decide if maybe she looked a little happier than he did. She did not want her Jeremy back. But to think he was not quite whole after their shared losses had been okay. However, she found no signs of a joy imbalance. In fact, he looked positively buoyant after his visit to see her.
The happy couple did not advertise Monica’s baby bump, but if Libby scrolled back and looked hard enough, she could see signs of it in March and April under Jeremy’s oversize college sweatshirt. Her face was rounder, her breasts fuller. She had all the telltale signs that Libby had missed.
As Libby’s hand slid to her flat belly, she remembered when it had been barely rounded at fourteen weeks along. It was getting so hard to remember the soft flutter kicks.