Libby sat up with a start; she hadn’t heard Madeline come into the dining room. “Hey,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I didn’t hear you.”
Madeline stepped down into the dining room, still holding a cup of coffee. She was staring at Libby as if she couldn’t quite make her out, as if she had seen her somewhere and couldn’t place her. “Who was that on the phone?”
Libby could feel the stain of guilt spreading across her cheeks. “Alice.”
“Oh no,” Madeline said weakly, and sat down on the step so heavily, it almost appeared she’d fallen onto it. “Libby, what are you doing?” she asked in a near whisper. “Are you trying to get thrown in jail?”
“What? No!” Libby said, surprised. “Of course not. It’s not what you think, Madeline. She’s been calling me—”
“Oh my God, how?” Madeline exclaimed.
“Calm down. You know Alice and I have a very strong bond.”
Madeline closed her eyes. “Libby . . . he has a restraining order against you,” she said, opening them again. “He doesn’t want you anywhere near him or his family. People don’t get restraining orders for the hell of it.”
“Well I know that,” Libby said. “But people also change their minds.”
Madeline’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, changed his mind? About the restraining order?”
Madeline’s questions were making Libby question herself. She felt guilty. And wrong. She stood up. “He has apologized to me. He says he wishes things hadn’t happened like they did.” She stepped around her sister and went into the kitchen, desperate for an activity, anything so that she wouldn’t have to listen to Madeline.
But her sister was right behind her. “Okay, you have to explain this to me,” Madeline demanded, and put down her coffee cup. “Are you saying that Ryan has apologized for dumping you for his ex-wife, and lying to you, and then saying horrible things to you, and then slapping you with a restraining order? And you’re okay with that?”
“No, I am not okay with that,” Libby said firmly. “I was only explaining to you why Alice is calling.”
“Because if he has changed his mind,” Madeline said, sounding like she didn’t believe Libby, “that doesn’t make what he did to you any less horrible. In fact, it makes him even scuzzier.”
“Madeline!” Libby said sternly, whirling around to her. “Is he not allowed to apologize? To regret what he did? Don’t you believe that people can change?”
“Of course I believe it. People do change,” Madeline said. “But some people are just really good at playing both ends against the middle, you know? Because I promise you, if he’s told you he’s sorry, he wants something.”
“Jesus, you should have been a lawyer,” Libby said. “I understand your concern. I don’t want . . .” She paused, tried to gather her thoughts. “I miss Alice and Max, Madeline. I miss them so much,” she said, pressing both hands against her heart. “I miss having a family and I can’t say good-bye to them. And what about them? I was the one who took care of them. They love me, too, you know. What about what they want? You don’t know Ryan, you don’t know what went on between us. You can’t make judgments about it.”
“You’re right,” Madeline said, still nodding, her hands on her hips now. “I don’t know him or what it was like between the two of you. I’m only going by the fact that he basically used you to babysit his kids while he was running around for everyone to see with his ex-wife.”
“For everyone to see?” Libby repeated. “No they didn’t!”
“Yes, they did, Libby. Ask anyone,” Madeline said, casting her arm wide. “Everyone in Pine River knew what was going on but you. He made you look like a fool,” she said, her voice softer. “And if he is telling you anything other than he deserves to go to hell for what he did, he’s lying.”
Libby’s mind was racing again, trying to sort through what was truth and what was her, trying to justify her feelings.
Libby’s heart felt as if it would leap right out of her chest. She was angry and hurt, and felt a little breathless. She was second-guessing everything she thought she knew about the last four years. Again.
Madeline groaned. She covered her face with both hands for a moment, as if she was trying to regain her composure. “I’m sorry,” she said, and dropped her hands. “I don’t mean to . . . to butt in. But I really care about you, Libby. I don’t want to see you hurt again, or . . . or—”
“Institutionalized?” Libby finished for her.
“Or that,” Madeline admitted, and pressed her lips together.
“For heaven’s sake,” Libby said wearily. That Madeline worried she was fragile didn’t hurt as much as it had right after Libby had come home. Now it was just a dull ache. “One week at Mountain View and I guess I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I’m not crazy to everyone around me. I had an emotional breakdown, Madeline. It’s not going to happen again. But if there’s a chance that I can have Alice and Max in my life—”