Libby wasn't surprised that Gibson had figured out the truth. But now she was trapped. Physically and otherwise. Her back to the wall, Gibson in front of her, holding her hands, pinning her down with his eyes as well as his words. She wanted to flee and hide so she wouldn't have to lie. But there was nowhere to go.
At last she had to look at him. “I never said I ran off with Owen,” she pointed out “That was just what everyone assumed. I let people believe what they wanted to.”
“You don’t buy that excuse any more than I do,” he said bluntly.
She couldn’t meet his gaze without admitting he was right. “I know. I should have set things straight from the beginning. But it was hard. The worst thing about coming back to Chatsworth was having to face people who would want explanations about where I had been, who Nicole’s father was, all that. When you told me Owen’s family had left town, it seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity.”
“And of course the truth would never have done.”
She hated the hard edge to his voice. He was judging her again, before he’d heard her side of the story. Just the way he’d assumed leaving her father had been her choice.
“I’d like to hear the truth, Libby. Don’t you think you could trust me with it?”
Easy for him to say. There was nothing in his past that could hurt Allie, so he couldn’t possibly understand Libby's situation. Nicole was the one who would suffer if the truth about Darren ever came out, and Nicole was the one she had to protect. “I can't, Gibson. I'd like to, but I just can't.”
He let go of her hands then, obviously hurt and angered by her answer. Libby felt an agonizing pain, like barbed wire ripping across her heart, at the way he shuttered his eyes and his feelings against her.
If only he could know what it was like to have a secret so terrible it couldn’t be told.
Gibson saw the distress in Libby's eyes, but for once he felt incapable of responding to it. He’d been fooling himself all along, thinking there was a special rapport between them. But she didn’t trust him any more than she trusted Donna in the kitchen. Or Tobey Stedman at the party. She hid the truth from everyone.
“Your friendship has meant a lot to me and to Nicole.”
“She’s a good kid.” He sighed. Until this moment he hadn't realized the extent of his feelings for Libby. Not until he'd felt the sting of the word friendship. Because what he felt for Libby went beyond friendly and well past neighborly.
“I think so, too.” Libby hesitated.
He saw her swallow, saw the struggle in her eyes before she spoke again.
“All her life she’s had only me. No father, no uncles or aunts, no loving grandparents. And you were right when you said life was hard for us. We never had much money. We were just this side of broke most of the time—and the other side of broke a few times, too.”
The admission was hard for her. He appreciated the effort. Of course. She didn't want to lose her friend. Maybe it was time he admitted that was all they’d ever be.
“The help you’ve given me on the farm, the time you’ve spent with Nicole on soccer—I can’t tell you how much they’ve meant—”
“Drop it, Libby.” Her gratitude was the last thing he’d set out to obtain. Still, he saw his gruff words had set her back, so he softened his voice a little. “I’m just glad things are getting better for the two of you. I can imagine how it must have felt when you were struggling to make ends meet. But one thing is clear to me. You’re a good mother to Nicole. At least she’s had that, and it isn’t a small thing, believe me.”
He felt the familiar stab of regret and pain for his own daughter’s situation. A little girl needed her mother, but Allie couldn’t even remember Rita, she’d been so young when the accident had happened.
My fault, my fault. The refrain pounded in the back of his brain like an irritating melody he just couldn't shake.
“Thanks, Gibson.”
Libby had her hands up to the sides of her face. Was she wiping away a tear?
“Sorry,” she said.
“Nothing wrong with crying, Libby.”
“Oh?” Libby nodded in Donna’s direction. The woman was polishing the surface of a nearby table. “After I’m gone, do you want the whole community wondering what you said to make Libby Bateson cry in the café that one evening?”
“I wouldn’t much care what anyone said.” But he didn’t like the way she’d said after I’m gone. As if she’d wanted to remind him her stay in Chatsworth was only temporary.
He sighed, suddenly exhausted from trying to understand this woman. “Let’s tell the kids we’re leaving.” He pulled his wallet out to pay the bill, but Libby surprised him by putting her money down first. “Hey. This was supposed to be my treat.”
“Let me,” she said. “You drive us to all the games and won’t take any money for gas. It’s the least I can do.”
He didn’t like it. He was sure Libby’s budget rarely extended to these sorts of extras. “But you didn’t even eat yours.” The bowl in front of her was full of thick, pink liquid.
“Maybe I’ve outgrown strawberry ice cream.” She kept her money on the table, so he decided to give in gracefully. He gathered the girls’ sweaters while Libby broke the news that it was time to leave.
What a bummer the night had been. He’d been so certain he was going to knock down some of the barriers between Libby and him, yet what progress he’d made was extremely slight. She’d admitted that she hadn’t run off with Owen, but he hadn’t really given her a choice. Essentially, she was still the same closed book she had been since she’d come back to Chatsworth.
And he’d never been much for reading.
On the school bus home the next afternoon, Allie and Ardis sat together, seemingly oblivious to Nicole, who ended up alone several seats away. Libby could tell her daughter was fighting tears, and longed to know what had happened. Remembering what she’d witnessed on the soccer field last night, however, she had a good idea already.
When they got to the farm, she put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “Feel like baking cookies, Nicole? We haven’t done that for a long time.” Nicole squirmed away from her. “I don’t think so, Mom. I’m not very hungry. I think I’ll go up to my room and read.”
With a familiar sense of helplessness, Libby watched her daughter run to her room. She wanted nothing more than to provide some comfort, to take away the hurt. But some things a mother couldn’t change, and Allie’s behavior was one of them.
Once her daughter was out of view, Libby hesitated before picking up her paintbrush. Maybe she should bake anyway. Surely the smell of fresh-from-the-oven, chocolate chip cookies would lure Nicole out eventually.
Libby was beating sugar into a cup of fresh white butter when she heard feet tearing down the stairs. A second later Nicole burst into the room.
“Mom! Thank you, thank you, thank you!’' She held a bathing suit in each hand—one a flowery, frilly affair, the other sunshine yellow with a practical racer back for swimming.
Libby wiped her hands on a nearby tea towel and knelt to accept Nicole's ambush-style hug. “Wait a minute, sweetie.”
But Nicole didn’t seem to hear her. “And you registered me for the lessons—” she lifted a pink carbon copy of the form “—and bought me goggles and a new towel!”
“I did?” Libby held her daughter at arm’s length. “What are you talking about?”
Nicole’s smile slipped a notch. “I found everything on my bed, with my swimsuits.”
“On the bed?”
Nicole nodded. “Why are you acting so funny? Are you just pretending to make it more of a surprise?”
It was unbelievable. Preposterous. But there was no other explanation. Libby remembered the conversation she’d had with Nicole. He had been on the other side of the house at the time, so conceivably he'd overheard Nicole’s request.
“Nicole, I didn’t register you in swimming, or buy those suits or the goggles or the towel.”
“But then—”
Libby pressed a finger to her daughter's lips. “I think your grandfather must have.”
“Grandpa? Really?”
“Yes. He must have overheard you asking me if you could take lessons.”
“Wow!” Nicole’s eyes rounded. “He must like me, at least a little, after all.”
“Of course he likes you!” Libby’s protective instincts came out full force. “I told you he was angry at me, not you. The problem is, he’s never had a chance to get to know you. Maybe now he’s ready.”
Nicole mulled that over. “I’m going to sit by the gate and wait for him to come in from the field so I can thank him.”
“I think he’d like that”
After Nicole ran outside, Libby turned back to the bowl in front of her; automatically she sifted the dried ingredients before adding them to the liquid mixture. Somehow she couldn’t imagine her father actually going to the community center to pay for the lessons, then driving into Yorkton—there was no store in Chatsworth that would carry such a variety of swimming supplies—to go shopping.
If he’d just felt sorry for Nicole, if he’d acted out of obligation, he could have given her the money. To have planned it all out as a wonderful surprise— that implied a whole different set of emotions.
The lines on the recipe card blurred. Libby gripped the edge of the counter. Why did she feel this ridiculous certainty that he’d stood in front of the rack of children’s bathing suits a long, long time, anxious to make just the right selections? She could almost hear the insecurity in his voice as he’d asked the salesclerk for help with sizes.
Libby wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, angry with herself for breaking down. Maybe this was the start of something really positive in Nicole’s life. It would be good for Nicole to have a real relationship with her grandfather.
As for Libby’s relationship with her father, she wasn't holding her breath. She had a feeling there would be no new goodies on her bed when she went upstairs.
After filling the watering can, she went to the living room to water the few new houseplants she’d started from slips Connie Browning had given her. From the vantage point of the front bow window Libby could see Nicole sitting high on the fence by the gate, waiting. Libby hoped that her daughter’s efforts wouldn’t be ignored or, even worse, spurned.
Quickly she went back to the kitchen to put together a shepherd’s pie with some leftover roast beef, but she found herself continually drawn back to that front window, her anxiety growing as the time for her father to return from the fields drew near. After rinsing the lettuce, she picked up a rag and went into the living room yet again. She was dusting the top of the television set when she heard the distant rumble of the tractor. Moments later it came into view. She stood watching, dust rag in one hand, her other hand to her mouth.
Her father parked the tractor by the fuel tanks as always, then jumped out of the cab and headed for the gate. Nicole was standing on the second rung of the wooden fence. She waved as her grandfather walked closer. Libby half expected the man to look away or even turn in another direction.
But he didn’t. He stopped right by Nicole. Rubbed his grimy face with one hand, then actually seemed to be answering her. When he held out one hand, Nicole took it, then jumped down from her perch to the solid ground below.
They remained like that for a few moments, hands locked, gray head bent low, small child looking up. Then her father brushed his hand over the top of Nicole’s head and started for the barn to feed the chickens, Nicole trotting at his side.
Nicole swung her arms in ever-widening circles, so excited she felt ready to burst She took off down the soccer field as fast as she could, then veered at the goal post and ran in the opposite direction. The cleats on her new running shoes gave her so much traction—there would be no stopping her now!
The shoes were another gift from her grandpa— they’d gone into Yorkton together to pick them out She’d asked him to come watch her play that night, and he said he would one day, but not yet. The time wasn’t right, he’d said. Whatever that meant.
“Hey, Nicole! Maybe you should save some of that energy for the game!” Gibson called to her from the sideline. But he was smiling, so she knew he didn’t really want her to stop. Allie was next to him, clutching his hand and trying to convince him that her stomach hurt too much for her to play tonight. Nicole knew Allie’s stomach didn’t really hurt. She was just trying to get out of playing soccer. Nicole tore past the two of them, running full speed across the field. It felt so great to focus all her energy on the game ahead of them. Lately things had been awful at school. Thanks to Allie, who’d gone from best friend to worst enemy.
And Nicole still didn’t know why. She’d tried to talk to Allie a couple of times, but Allie only ignored her, just the way her grandpa used to do.
Tonight, though, none of that mattered. When she was playing soccer there was no time to think of anything else. She reversed directions and jogged back to Gibson. Ignoring Allie, she asked, “Who do we play?”
“Sledgewood,” he answered. “I hear they’ve got a good team this year. That must be them now.” He pointed to the side street, where two minivans and a truck had just pulled up beside the field.
No sooner had the vehicles stopped than girls wearing matching orange T-shirts began spilling from the doors. Thirteen players, Nicole noted, as she checked them over carefully, trying to guess which ones were going to give her the most trouble. Last out were the grown-ups. Two mothers and a man, who was obviously the coach since he was wearing an orange T-shirt, too, and had a whistle tied around his neck.
The coach turned back to the van and out jumped one last girl. She was smaller than the rest, but obviously pumped about the game. No sooner had she dashed out on the field than she was challenging one of her teammates for possession of the ball.
“How much longer ‘til we start?” she asked Gibson, but he didn’t hear her question.
The other coach was walking toward them carrying a bag of soccer balls. “Nice night to play soccer, isn’t it?” he said.
“Sure is,” Gibson replied.
As far as Nicole was concerned, every night was a great night to play soccer. Seeing a stray ball, she raced for it and gave it a good whack. When the game finally did start, she’d be more than ready.
Libby watched in shock as Darren O’Malley walked toward the soccer field. Eight years hadn’t changed him much. His sandy hair had receded slightly and he had thickened a bit around the middle, but what she really noticed were certain attributes that reminded her of Nicole—the shape of his face, his pointed chin.
He would be twenty-eight now, she calculated, and if he had a child on the team, he must have gotten married and had children shortly after she’d left town.
Libby searched out Nicole, and for a moment felt as if her heart had stopped when she saw her little girl standing still on the field, staring at Darren with mild interest in her expression. Libby felt a sudden fear—that somehow the two of them would look at each other and immediately know what she had tried so hard to keep hidden. But the next second Nicole turned away and began playing with a couple of the girls on her team. Libby let out a long, shaky breath.
It had been bound to happen, and Libby had tried to steel herself for the eventuality, but the soccer field was the last place she'd expected to run into him. It shouldn't have been. After all, Darren had always loved sports and excelled at playing them.
He was talking to Gibson, a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. She noted he was left-handed. So was Nicole.
Even as Libby made an effort to focus on the field where the girls were playing, in her mind she saw him as he’d been eight years ago. She could remember every last detail of the hockey jacket he’d worn. It had been a great source of pride to him, especially the red letter C embroidered on the back of it, which identified him as team captain.
She wasn’t the only girl who’d been impressed by him back then. His steady had been the prettiest girl in town. But they had a fight one Saturday night. A group from high school had been partying out at Chatsworth Park. It was the sort of party Libby’s friends’ mothers wouldn’t let them go to. The sort of party Libby herself never would have been permitted to attend back when her mother was alive.
But her dad didn’t care what she did with her time. So Libby had been at that party.
She’d let Darren kiss her that night.
And when he’d asked to drive her home—she’d said yes.
Hoping her sunglasses would be a shield, she turned her back on him, wondering if he would remember her and what had happened that night. He’d been so drunk. She’d had to wait until he’d passed out before she could slip on her torn clothes and walk home. Thank goodness there wasn’t much traffic on the country roads at four in the morning. She would have made quite a sight.
“Libby Bateson?” Although she was standing some distance away, his voice carried easily.
She hunched her shoulders against the sound.
“Is it really you, Libby?”
Guarding her expression, she faced him and smiled frostily, hoping he would get the hint and leave her be. He didn’t
“When did you come back to town?”
Gibson was watching, slightly curious. He’d been polite since their conversation in the café last week. But distant, too.
“I moved in with my father in May.” She avoided eye contact by fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I'm driving the school bus and my daughter, Nicole, is going to school here in Chatsworth.”
Her voice barely tripped over the name of her daughter and she was glad the sunglasses hid her eyes from his gaze.
“I didn’t recognize you at first. You used to wear your hair short, right?” He moved in on her, his expression one of concentration as he struggled with old memories, trying to pinpoint the way things had left off between them.
So Darren didn't remember. That was a relief. She hoped he never would. Nothing could be done to right the wrong between them. All she wanted now was to live in peace.
Still, she was unprepared for the emotion she felt at seeing him again. She hated to look at him, hated the sound of his voice. The temptation was to run away, but she knew that would only raise questions. In his mind and in the minds of those around them. Like Gibson.
No, she had to act normally. And pray the sight of her wouldn’t bring back memories of that night for him. She couldn’t bear his knowing he was Nicole’s father, any more than she wanted anyone else to know.
Darren addressed Gibson. “It’s always nice when the pretty ones move back. It doesn’t usually work that way, does it, old boy?” He clapped Gibson on the shoulder, seemingly not noticing that the other man wasn’t sharing in the fun.
Darren glanced out on the field. “Which one is your daughter? What did you say her name was— Nicole?”
After a moment’s pause, Gibson answered. “The one carrying the ball.” His voice was low and steady, but Libby heard the hint of a question behind it She ducked her head, not wanting him to see her. Even with her sunglasses on, she was afraid he would read too much from her face.
“She’s good,” Darren said, watching Nicole work her way past two girls before landing a solid kick past the goalie.
“Thanks. What about you? Do you have any kids?” Libby needed the conversation diverted from Nicole. Fast.
“Yeah. That little one out there is my Ivy. She’s younger than the other girls, but we put her in this division because she plays so good.” The open pride in his voice was almost laughable. Libby wasn’t in any mood to be amused, though.
Ivy was tiny relative to the other girls on the field; however, it only took a few moments of observation for Libby to realize Darren wasn’t exaggerating her abilities. The sprightly girl knew just how to move the ball down the field, and Libby held her breath as Nicole stepped forward to challenge her.
The confrontation was quick, and Nicole emerged with the ball.
“Sh—” Darren choked off a curse as Ivy whirled around and came at Nicole from behind.
Libby couldn’t stop herself from doing a quick comparison between the two girls, and was thankful that their differences in coloring made any other similarity too vague to be noticeable.
“I’ve got three other girls at home,” Darren said proudly. “A three-year-old and one-year-old twins. Imagine I’ll be doing the soccer circuit for a good many years to come.” He didn’t look as though he minded one bit. “Well, I’d better get the team organized. Start the game in about five?”
Gibson nodded. “Sounds fine.”
Once Darren had gone he lowered his voice and turned to Libby. “I didn't realize you knew Darren. He was a few years ahead of you in school, wasn't he?”
Libby swallowed, staring resolutely in the direction of the soccer field, hoping Gibson would think she was concentrating on Nicole. “My friends and I used to watch him play hockey. I think I may have seen him at some of the after-game parties.”
“That’s it?”
She nodded.
“Like hell it is.”
A few seconds ticked by with neither saying a word. Finally, Gibson blasted the whistle right next to her ear.
“Let’s play soccer!”