Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 1

Libby watched the cars zip by on the highway, longing for her dad’s SUV with out-of-state plates to take the exit and put her life back together. From her spot under an ancient oak she spied a red minivan exit the interstate and turn the opposite direction.

She tried to refocus on the sketch pad in her lap and the wild flowers she’d stuffed in a soda can, but instead traced the scars on her palm with the tip of her drawing pencil. If only she could wash the marks away along with the memories of that tragic day. She wiped her palm against her jeans, but only the pencil marks disappeared. She focused on her drawing and rubbed the side of her pencil on the page and shaded the side of a leaf. A rumble caught her attention and she glanced up; a large gleaming bus turned off the exit and onto the county road toward her. The shiny silver and black exterior and darkened windows of the vehicle made it look like some sort of VIP ride or maybe a tour bus.

The bus approached Libby’s nature preserve and turned in.

In al the months she’d come to Parfrey’s Glen cars rarely puled in.

She liked it that way. She thought of Parfrey’s Glen as her own secret place where she could get lost in her thoughts.

The rumble grew louder as the enormous bus turned and puled to a stop in the gravel parking lot on the far side of the clearing. She waited for the door to open and reveal the famous person within. Maybe it would be someone mega-famous like Celine Dion. Her mom loved Celine and always dreamed of seeing her in concert. But it never happened.

A moment later the door opened and Libby’s hopes were dashed. Her quiet nature preserve had been invaded. By boys.

A trio of noisy guys poured out. The first leapt from the top step and landed several feet out on the dirt, folowed closely by another. The last twirled a Frisbee on his finger as he descended.

Her spot under the tree provided a sense of privacy, so she observed them undetected, a voyeur on this group of loud, young strangers.

The Frisbee sailed through the warm September air as one of the guys raced to catch it. A man and woman exited the bus, her arms loaded with picnic supplies. The woman walked to a sunny spot of grass, set down her load and spread out a couple colorful blankets.

They were just a family. No one famous. Okay, a rich family.

Libby enjoyed a perfect view of the group. It made her homesick. She propped her sketch pad higher to hide from view.

The family appeared to be on vacation and just happened to ride in a huge tour bus, but they didn’t look wealthy. They wore blue jeans and t-shirts and argued. Their banter reminded her of her family. Her drawing forgotten, she soaked in their every move.

One of the boys turned around providing her a perfect view.

He tilted his head to the side and pushed away a lock of sun-kissed hair. A tiny thril flipped in her stomach. He held a portable sound system and loud music filed the air.

“Peter, turn it down.”

“Dad, come on, you never let me play it loud,” he grinned. He adjusted the volume and set the system down.

“Real funny kid. Now get out of here before I put you to work.”

Peter darted through the long grass toward his brothers, his movements swift and athletic. Libby’s eyes trailed his every move.

“Garrett, over here,” he yeled.

The Frisbee flew smoothly through the air. Peter leapt high and caught it. “Oh yeah, baby,” he bragged, dancing as if it was a touchdown.

He flung it back, his body grace in motion, this time, to the boy first out of the bus. This one appeared younger. His hair was a mop of loose dark curls and he wore a constant grin. They continued to torpedo the disk at each other and trash talk in the hot sun of early fal. Occasionaly, Peter would do some crazy moves to the music playing in the background. Libby stifled a giggle.

Peter glanced up at her.

Uh oh.

“Heads up,” the grinning brother yeled, as the Frisbee sped towards the unsuspecting Peter.

Peter ducked as it whistled by, and landed not far from Libby. He looked straight at her. Every emotion she wore on her thin skin felt exposed. He jogged over and grabbed the Frisbee from the grass.

He wasn’t supposed to notice her. She considered this place her private sanctuary. She worked hard to blend in with her surroundings.

He whipped the disc back and sauntered to where she sat against the giant oak. He plopped down in the unmowed grass, his chest rising heavily.

“Hey.” He checked her out with curiosity. “Whatcha doing?” Libby’s mouth went dry as this great-looking guy stretched out before her. Apparently he expected her to respond. Her tongue felt numb.

A year ago she would have been comfortable with him. Now, that confidence was a distant memory. These days guys rarely talked to her and when they did, it was to ask rude or nosey questions. She never answered them. Libby was an oddity to the kids in this town, Rockvile, which was fine with her. She had been left in this crummy place and preferred to be alone. It was easier.

She’d grown comfortable with solitude, except for now. She prayed for her former confidence to come back, but it was lost, along with so much else.

Libby held the sketch pad as a shield. “Uh, drawing,” she uttered.

“Oh.” He lay in the grass propped up on a muscular arm. He watched her with casual interest, as his breath came back. He was nothing like the guys at Rockvile High School.

“Are you drawing those?” He pointed at the wild flowers sticking haphazardly out of a diet soda can.

“Yeah,” she spoke softly. She couldn’t even speak properly.

“It’s realy dumb though,” she added trying to sound normal and not like the insecure girl she’d become. She puled back and forth at the pendant around her neck.

“Why’s it dumb?” His deep blue eyes gazed at her.

Geez, he talked too much.

“It just is. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just something to do.” She pressed the pencil hard against the pad and broke the lead.

“Can I see it?” Peter reached for the pad.

Libby’s face heated. “I don’t know. It’s realy nothing to look at.” She puled the bound papers close; her fist gripped the pencil tight.

When she didn’t offer him the drawing, he scooted next to her. He leaned close and took the pad, his fingers brushed against hers, feather soft. He sat so near their legs bumped. She wanted to reach out and touch him. He seemed larger than life. His blond hair was stil streaked by summer sun and hung past his eyebrows and over his eyes. He smeled good. Like shampoo and toothpaste.

He studied the drawing then wrinkled his brow as if it wasn’t what he expected. He pushed the hair out of his eyes and looked sideways at her. She noticed a touch of razor stubble on his jaw.

“Wel?” She waited, and nibbled at her lower lip as he examined her sketch.

“It’s not of me,” he said.

“Why would it be?” She saw his look of embarrassment.

“Wel, you’ve been sitting here watching us, I figured you must be drawing one of us.” He handed back the drawing, a bit sheepish.

“Wow. Kind of ful of yourself, aren’t you?” She teased, feeling brave for a moment. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s just a bunch of weeds.”

Libby couldn’t get over him sitting so close. He moved right into her space as if it was no big deal, but it was. She struggled to sit stil and not stare at him as her pulse raced.

He studied her then shook his head.

“Wel, it’s not very good.” He declared, but the corner of his mouth turned up as he fought back a grin. His eyes sparkled.

“Now you’re just being mean,” she teased again, surprising herself.

She whacked him in the chest with the papers, and scooted a few inches away to recover from the awkwardness of being so near to such an awesome looking guy. Plus, this way she could sit and look straight at him. He had great eyes.

“Sorry, that’s the best I could come up with. You’re right. I was conceited,” he said.

“Fine, but you forgot to include mean.” She chalenged.

“Okay, you’ve got me. I’m conceited and mean. Not a good start here. Let’s begin again.” He laughed then leaned forward and held out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Peter.”

She looked from his outstretched hand to his friendly face.

Happiness wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun, and this guy, Peter, was hot.

“Hi Peter, I’m Libby.”

They shook hands and grinned. His hand felt warm and strong.

“So Libby, do you come here often?”

She roled her eyes at the canned question. “Yeah, pretty often. Mostly on the weekends.” Every chance she got was more like it. Anything to get away from the confines of the house.

“So you must live around here,” he looked around for nearby homes.

Libby didn’t want him to notice the rundown farmhouse in the distance. She didn’t associate herself with the house, its owner, or even the town.

“So what’s with the uber bus? You on vacation? Or just like to drive a gas guzzler?” She twisted her pendant on it’s thin leather cord.

“We live in it when we’re on tour. And yes, it’s a major gas guzzler.” He raised an eyebrow, aware of her not so smooth change of topic.

“What do you mean tour? Like a vacation tour of the country?”

He laughed. “No, we’re on tour promoting our album, Triple Threat.” He said with pride in his voice.

“Your family is in a band?”

“Actualy it’s not my whole family, just my brothers and me.” His demeanor changed, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. She looked across the way to his brothers and furrowed her brow. “You are not! You’re making it up.” She could tel he was trying to impress her.

“No, realy, we’ve had the band for over two years now.

“Sure you have.” She eyed him, not believing a word. They were too young. They must al stil be in high school. Plus, they looked nothing like members of a band. She didn’t know exactly what guys in a band would look like, but not like these guys.

“I’m teling the truth.” He sat back and laughed again, that she refused to believe him.

“So where do you play?” She pierced him with a stare. She’d catch him in his own lie. “You look too young for the bar scene. Do you play weddings?”

A coy expression covered Peter’s face. “Uh, no nothing like that. It’s more public places.”

“What, like parks or fairs?” That she might believe.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Okay, if you say so.” She shrugged. “Then you get to drive around and see lots of different places? I’d do that in an instant, if I could.” Anything to escape life here. She wanted to ask if there was room for one more.

“The sights are great, but it can get claustrophobic with five people crammed in one giant tin can for days at a time. You’d hate it.”

“Maybe, but I’d be wiling to make the sacrifice to get outta here.” A tightness in her chest occurred whenever she thought of her trapped existence.

“What’s wrong with here?” He twirled a long blade of grass between his fingers.

“Everything.” Where to begin? Nothing about this place fit. It was al wrong. She didn’t belong here and never would. She wasn’t about to explain her screwed up life to Peter. “Just everything.”

“Okay, that tels me a lot.” He smiled, gazed straight into her eyes and didn’t look away. Her stomach turned upside down. “You want to elaborate?”

“No.” She swalowed and looked away. His life sounded much more interesting. “So what’s the name of your band?”

“You like to change the subject.” He grinned.

She noticed how his eyes sparkled each time he smiled. “Yes I do,” she said with no apologies. “So?”

“Jamieson. Our band is caled Jamieson.” He watched for her reaction then asked, “ever heard of us?”

“Should I have? It doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Realy? You’ve never heard of us?” He wore a look of disbelief.

“No, do you play around here? We have a park pavilion that has groups sometimes. Is that why you stopped in Rockvile?” Libby had to admit she never listened to music anymore. It al ended up sounding like sad songs.

“No, we haven’t played around here.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Don’t you listen to the radio?” She sighed. She didn’t want him to think she was an idiot.

“Listen, I know it sounds strange, but, no, I don’t listen to the radio.

In fact, I don’t even own one.” Anymore.

“Seriously?” His jaw dropped open.

“Let’s just say I live an unconventional life without al the modern trappings of society.” She watched for his reaction.

“How about a computer?” He asked.

“Nope.”

“A TV?” He offered. She could tel that now he was the one having trouble believing her story.

Libby shook her head no. “Let’s just say I get realy good grades. And I love nature. That’s why I come here so often. What’s your reason for stopping?”

“We come here because my Mom likes how private it is. You know how Moms are. Anytime she can find a spot that’s surrounded by nature and not al highway, she puts it on the schedule.”

Libby glossed over the Mom comment. She didn’t want to think of her mom. She missed her so much her heart hurt. “You’ve been here before?”

“Quite a few times, actualy.”

Of the dozens, maybe hundreds, of times she came to Parfrey’s, she never saw them. How odd that today they would meet. This news warmed her insides. She wondered how many times in this last lonely year they just missed each other coming and going.

“Hey Petey, who’s your girlfriend?”

Peter’s other brother yeled as he moved toward them with a cocky walk and hooded eyes. He appeared older, a little shorter than Peter and not nearly as good looking. He stared down at her as if she were a mangy dog.

“That’s Garrett,” he said under his breath. “Ignore him, he can be a jerk.”

“Hey Loverboy, Mom said it’s time to eat.” Garrett stopped before coming too close, as if Libby was tainted.

Libby puled her knees in and hugged them. Garrett made her feel like a second-class citizen. She couldn’t see any resemblance between him and Peter.

“I’m coming,” Peter got to his feet and turned toward Libby.

“I’ve gotta go, but maybe later.”

She’d love to see him more than he’d ever know.

Libby checked her watch. “Oh my God, I didn’t realize how late it’s getting, I’ve gotta go.” If she didn’t leave right now, she’d get the third degree. She flipped the sketch pad closed and gathered her belongings.

“Here.” Peter extended a hand to her, his face kind and close.

“Thanks.” She grasped his strong hand and stood enjoying the warm touch of his skin.

“It was fun talking. I wish I’d bumped into you sooner,” he said.

Was he actualy disappointed to see her go?

“Who knows, maybe I’l see you again someday.” He rewarded her with a mega-watt smile.

“Maybe.” She couldn’t imagine it happening, but for the first time in months she felt happy.

“Have fun on your tour.” She dumped the weeds and wild flowers onto the ground. “I’ve gotta go.”

She hesitated for a moment not wanting to end the magic. It had been a very long time since she’d relaxed and hung out with anyone, let alone a great guy who smeled good.

“Wel, bye.” She ran down the trail into the woods. Once in the thick of the trees she turned back. Peter stood in the same spot holding one of the wildflowers she’d left behind. He waved. She waved back then disappeared into the woods.

She recaled the touch of his hand on hers and brought it to her cheek. Being with him made her happy and a little giddy. An unfamiliar sense of euphoria washed over her.

Libby took the long way back, so Peter wouldn’t see where she lived.



# # #

Libby braced as she approached the beat up old farmhouse.

It loomed forgotten on acres of rich farmland and wooded areas.

Most of the land was leased to a farmer who benefited from the fertile soil. From what she could tel, the leased property was her aunt’s sole method of income. The rest of the property sat abandoned and lonely with a colection of broken down cars littering the yard. The odor of leaking oil and rusted metal clung to the air. Once a vegetable garden flourished providing fresh life and nourishment, but that must have been years before.

She didn’t know why her aunt let it al fal apart, but her parents always said Aunt Marge struggled with demons early in life and never recovered from the fight. Libby heaved a sigh and inserted her key into the lock on the paint-chipped door.

Upon entering, the familiar smel of smoke and trash filed the air. The television blared in the next room, confirming her aunt’s presence. She hoped to sneak upstairs unnoticed.

“Don’t forget to lock the door behind you. We can’t be taking any chances.” The gritty voice of her aunt holered from the sickeningly sweet smoke-filed living room. “People are getting murdered in their beds every day.”

“It’s locked,” she said resigned. The house was dark, as always. Aunt Marge kept the curtains closed and shades puled.

She didn’t want the Peeping Toms watching her. Who would want to watch a middle-aged woman smoke and drink al day?

“Come in here and let me get a look at you.” Libby dropped her backpack at the foot of the steps and dragged her feet as she entered the living room. Aunt Marge reclined in an upholstered chair, her feet on a mismatched ottoman.

A dented up TV tray served as her coffee table, cluttered with smoking paraphernalia, a bottle of whiskey and a dirty glass.

“What’s wrong?” her aunt demanded while clenching a cigarette between her thin, stained lips.

“Nothing.” Libby didn’t want her aunt to ask questions or take an interest in her. She pushed her long hair behind an ear as she tolerated the inspection.

“You’re not lying to me are you?” Aunt Marge’s eyes narrowed. “I hate liars.”

“No, I would never lie to you. I just have a lot of homework left.”

She grunted in reply. “There’s groceries on the counter if you’re hungry. Now get upstairs and get your work done. You know I won’t tolerate laziness. You prove to those school people you’re doing just fine. I don’t need them snooping around here again.” She picked up the television remote and started snapping it at the television, effectively dismissing her.

Libby made her way through the cluttered house into the kitchen. On the edge of the counter, next to piles of dirty dishes and old junk mail, sat a torn grocery bag. She began puling things out.

A bag of cheese popcorn, a box of granola bars, a bag of red licorice and a warm package of sandwich meat. At the bottom she found a six pack of soda and three candy bars.

She placed the soda and unappetizing sandwich meat on a crusty metal shelf in the refrigerator, grabbed the cheese corn and a candy bar and went up stairs with her backpack. It was always a relief to leave Aunt Marge behind. With any luck she wouldn’t hear from her again today. Hopefuly she’d drink herself into a stupor and fal asleep in her sunken chair.

Once inside her room, she pushed the door shut, closing out the ugliness below. She set her things on the neatly made bed. The worn bedspread featured snags and smal tears, but she kept it and everything in the room as clean as possible. She picked up the smal framed picture of her family. Her mom, dad and little sister Sarah, along with a former version of herself smiled brightly. The photo was taken while on a rafting trip out West two years earlier. Their arms hung comfortably on each others’ shoulders, reminding her of the love they shared. She traced their faces with her finger, returned the photo to its place and wondered when her dad would come back for her.

Libby moved to the two large windows and raised them a few inches. Fal air blew in, making her room feel better. Outside, across the fields, the rear entrance to the preserve was in perfect view. The spot she’d met Peter. She puled a chair near the window and propped her book on her lap as she began doing homework, checking too often for Peter and the silver tour bus.