He had meant to tell her this, to explain why he was breaking it off. At first, he’d been too angry to speak to her. And as each day passed, it became a little easier to ease away from the love he’d had and simply turn his back. Too easy. He was surprised that he, of all people, who valued integrity and honesty above all else, could just walk away.
So when he heard her car slow and turn on the road that led up to his house, he groaned. That was the thing about mountain valleys—one could hear people coming literally from miles away. Sam could have stopped what he was doing, cleaned up, met her out front and turned her away, but instead, he kept working on his latest creation—a birdhouse made like a Japanese pagoda.
Libby’s car stopped. He heard her knocking on his door. A moment later, he heard her walking around his house, her feet on his deck, coming closer to his work shed.
He knew she was at the door, standing behind him, and still, he didn’t turn around.
“You’ve come this far, you may as well come in,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, and her voice slid over him like warm honey. He felt her step in deeper, could feel her presence fill up his shed.
“What are you making?” she asked.
“Japanese pagoda.” He took a breath, put down his tools, and turned around to face her. His heart caught, midbeat, at the sight of her, the curly black hair framing her face, the jeans hugging her body and tucked into rain boots. She wore a tight sweater, and it seemed to him that she’d lost a little weight. Her eyes were two little shimmering pools.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Ah . . . okay, I guess,” she said, and nervously shoved her hands into her back pockets. “How are you?”
“Okay.”
“You don’t pick up your phone these days.”
“I’ve been busy.” Busy missing you.
She nodded, pressed her lips together. “Well, I guess I should just say what I came to say,” she said, sounding resigned. “I came to apologize, Sam. I have tried to think of the right words that would convey just how sorry I am for everything, but I can’t seem to find them. Nothing seems adequate. Sorry doesn’t begin to cut it, I know it, but that’s all I have. So I’m sorry,” she said, and her eyes began to glisten with tears. “From the bottom of my heart, from the depth of my soul, I am deeply, truly, sorry.”
That apology broke his heart. “I know you are, baby,” he said quietly, and Libby’s eyes welled even more.
“I’ve started seeing a therapist,” she said. “She’s helping me a lot. She likes windmills, and she says that we should let life carry us . . .” She paused, gave her head a slight shake. “She’s really helped me to understand what I did was wrong, and better yet, to understand why I do things like that.”
“That’s great,” he said. He could feel his chest constricting around his heart, squeezing it. This was not what he wanted—what he wanted was to wrap his arms around her, feel her breath in his ear, her body warm and soft against his.
“Since you won’t return my calls, I came up here to tell you this. It’s important to me that you know how sorry I am, and how . . . how much I love you, Sam.”
Sam couldn’t help himself; he reached out and stroked her wild hair, recalling the feel of it on his face when they made love. His heart squeezed again, and he dropped his hand.
She mistook that caress for encouragement. “Things are better now,” she said. “I’ve been working on a plan for the ranch, I’m working on the race. I think I am finally to a place where I can manage my . . .” She made a gesture at herself. “My anger and disappointment. The past is not important to me anymore. You’re important.”
He pushed his hand through his hair. “I’m glad to hear it. But I can’t be with you, Libby. Not because I’m mad or disappointed, but because I’m an alcoholic,” he said, and pressed his hand to his chest. “I told you once that I walk a tightrope every single day of my life. It’s the truth. The only difference between me and Tony is that, somehow, I managed not to pick up a bottle again. And when you . . . when you took those kids,” he said, swallowing down the bitter reminder of that evening, “I felt an urge to drink that I haven’t felt in a very long time. I felt myself inching closer to a drink, to drown the anxiety. And because I went into the bar to get you, to rescue you again, I didn’t get to Tony in time. Maybe if I had, I could have helped him. I might have at least stopped him from picking up the booze and the pills.”
“Don’t say that,” Libby whispered, her voice breaking.
“But it’s true, Libby. I let Tony down, I let myself down. I know what I need. I need an even keel. I can’t rush to everyone’s rescue anymore. I can’t save every soldier who wrestles with demons. The only thing I can do is save myself, one day at a time.”
“You didn’t have to save me,” Libby said. “You don’t ever have to save me. You could have let me take the fall for once instead of coming to my rescue.”
“What, and let you be arrested? Let that man talk you into going home and doing God knows what?” he asked skeptically.