Sam may not get that, but he didn’t have to get it. This was Libby’s life.
She got into her car and drove to town, pulling into a spot on Main Street, just outside Tag’s Outfitters. She was still brooding over Sam’s anger, and as she looked up at the door of Tag’s, she was suddenly reminded of a sunny afternoon in early May. It was the first time she’d come to town since Ryan had sat her down at the kitchen bar, had even filled her wineglass for her, and had told her that she had to leave. That he was through, that he didn’t love her anymore and hadn’t for a long time.
“Through?” Libby had said. “How can you be through? What are you talking about?” She’d been so confused. Of course she knew that things were a little strained between them, but she never would have guessed that he was thinking to end it, that she was headed out the door.
“Afraid so,” he’d said. “It’s just not working for me. I think it’s best if you leave.”
“Leave?” she’d all but shouted. “There’s no discussion? No talking? You just announce you’re done and I have to leave? Just when did you think I was going to do that?”
She would never forget the look he’d given her. It was indifferent, uncaring. “Well . . . now,” he’d said with a shrug.
Everything had blurred after that. Wine had spilled along with her tears. There had been a lot of shouting, a lot of accusations, but Ryan had insisted there was no one else, there was nothing but Libby and a love he didn’t possess anymore.
And then Alice and Max had come home.
Libby closed her eyes, unwilling to think of the moment Alice and Max had understood what Ryan had done.
Libby shoved angrily against her car door to open it, and stepped onto the sidewalk.
She remembered something more, as she hitched her purse over her shoulder. Libby had nowhere to go and had moved in with her mother. After two weeks of stumbling around blindly, painfully, her mother had insisted she get out and get on with her life. As if Libby hadn’t spent the last four years creating a family that was now gone. As if Libby were wasting time. Libby had tried to move on.
She remembered walking down this street, on her way to yoga. Yoga would center her, yoga would ease her, she’d reasoned. It was right here that she’d run into Sam. Literally. She’d been darting around tourists and had even clipped a mailbox in her haste, her mind racing, her thoughts in another place altogether. She’d had her yoga mat strung across her back.
She didn’t notice Sam until he spoke to her. “Libby, hello,” he’d said, and he had smiled so warmly that she’d had to fight the urge to burst into a sudden torrent of tears. That happened quite a lot to her in the beginning.
“Oh, hey Sam.” She’d slowed down, even taking a step backward to keep from passing him. She’d smiled, too, or at least she thought she had. But Sam had instantly dipped down to have a closer look at her with those knowing eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Me? Sure!” she’d said. Because after a couple of weeks back home, Libby had learned to say everything was okay so her mother would not hover and harp. “How about you? I heard about you rescuing that couple on the Divisidaro Trail last week. Dani Boxer is singing your praises. She said they were scared to death. They were staying at the Lodge and told her all about it.”
Sam had chuckled, and Libby had realized then that, judging by his casual manner, he hadn’t heard about her. He was just being nice when he’d asked how she was. “Dani is quick to sing praises,” he’d said. “They weren’t very lost. They hadn’t strayed from the trail nearly as far as they thought they had. But then again, they had a special glow about them from all the weed they’d been smoking.”
“Aha,” Libby said with a grin. “The rolling papers should come with instructions, shouldn’t they? Please do not hike while stoned.”
Sam grinned. “Going to yoga?”
“Yes. Are you coming?” she’d asked and, grateful for the few normal moments, had playfully poked him in the shoulder. “The offer still stands, you know. You never took me up on it. Where is that yoga mat, anyway?”
“In my office. Right between my desk and the wall. I’m still mulling it over.”
“Liar,” she’d said. “You told me that last time I saw you. It’s been over a year now.”
“I like to mull things to death.”
She’d actually laughed a little, because so did she. “So how is that back of yours, anyway?”
“Stiff as a board,” he’d admitted.
“Knew it,” she’d said. “I better get going or I’ll be late. Have a good day, Sam.” She’d moved to pass him, and had accidently brushed against him when she did. Sam had surprised her by impulsively catching her hand in his, and she remembered thinking her hand felt so small in his. As small as she felt inside.