“Here we go,” Madeline muttered.
“That was my family!” Libby cried angrily. “Don’t you get that? They were my family and of course I want them back! Do you know how I ache for Alice and Max every single day?” she shouted, pressing her fist against her heart. “How much I miss hearing the details of their lives, or helping them brush their teeth, or watching them play? That was all yanked out from beneath me without warning, so yes, I do want them back. And if I have to take Ryan as part of the deal, I might just have to suck it up.”
“But here’s the thing, Libby,” Madeline said quietly. “It wasn’t really your family. It was Gwen’s.”
The truth detonated painfully inside Libby, exploding into painful little shards. “I can’t talk about this anymore,” she said, her voice shaking. She turned around and walked out the door, onto the porch. She stood there, trying to suck in deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.
It wasn’t working.
She jumped off the porch and began to stride up one of the trails into the forest behind the house, her fists clenched tightly and her head aching from the many confusing, competing thoughts.
What was the truth? Or was she trying to create a new truth, one that suited her emotions, her sense of having been wronged? Libby truly didn’t know anymore.
TWELVE
Dani was behind the cash register when Sam stopped into the Grizzly Café for a coffee. “Good to see you, Sam,” she said cheerfully. “The usual?”
“Please,” he said. He glanced at the tables at the window—that’s where he always sat when he came in for a cup of coffee—but his usual table was occupied.
It reminded him of another time it had been occupied. He’d been passing by, and had seen Libby through the window, sitting at his usual table. She was hunched over a mug with both hands wrapped around it, staring at the tabletop. Sam couldn’t say how he knew, but she didn’t look right to him. Something was off. Maybe Sam should have walked on. Maybe he should have not let his emotions guide him. For whatever reason, he’d changed direction and had come in.
She’d been on his mind a lot the last couple of days, obviously, after that damn impetuous kiss. He couldn’t help thinking back to that day only a few weeks ago, and how she’d looked up when he’d entered, smiling a little and giving him a halfhearted wave. Her hair was always a mess of curls, but that day it looked as if she hadn’t attempted to comb it. She’d rolled a bandana and tied it around her head to keep it from her face.
Dani had told him that she’d been like that for an hour, sitting and staring. Sam had gone over to check on her.
Libby had tried to perk up. “Hey, Sam,” she’d said. “Sit down . . . did you come for coffee?”
“Yeah. Are you sure you don’t mind if I join you?”
“Not at all. I could use the company.” She’d laughed, but it had sounded hollow.
Up close, Sam had noticed that her complexion was sallow, and there were dark circles under her eyes. It had alarmed him—he’d never seen Libby look anything but healthy. “Are you okay, Libby?” he’d asked.
She’d laughed and looked away from his direct gaze. “Why does everyone keep asking me that? I really must look bad. But I’m fine. Really. I’ve just been battling a bout of insomnia, that’s all. My mom gets it, too.”
That had sounded to Sam like a practiced response.
“Sam?”
Dani tapped him on the shoulder, and Sam turned around. “I’ll have your coffee right out,” she said. Sam nodded. He sat down at a table near his usual one, his thoughts returning to the past. Libby had been so much on his mind recently that he couldn’t help his thoughts wandering back to that day.
He remembered Libby asking him what was up, and his casual shrug.
She’d said, “Hey, guess who I ran into last week? Don Chadwick—remember him?”
Sam had remembered him—Don Chadwick had retired from the sheriff’s office about a year before Sam’s demise. “Sure. He was a nice guy.”
“He always helped me with the holiday parties,” Libby said. “He asked how you were doing. I told him you’re doing great, that you’re the county’s rural area deputy now. And he said he was very glad to know that you’d landed on your feet.”
Sam remembered thinking that it was nice of her to say something kind about him. He’d gotten past the shame of what had happened to him, but he still didn’t mind a good word now and then. He’d told her that it was nice of her to say so.
“But it’s true. You look great, Sam. You look happy.” And then she’d suddenly leaned forward, looked at him with dull blue eyes. “Are you happy?”
It had seemed an oddly earnest question to him at the time, but in hindsight, he could see why. “I’m as happy as I can be, I guess,” he’d said. “Are you?”