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“Even our parents. They love her, but she still won’t be alone with them. We can’t even leave her alone in a room with Mariana or she starts to freak out,” Tyson adds.
“The people that raised her really fucked her up, Colt.”
I jump down and fish my keys out of my pocket. “Why didn’t I know this?” I don’t know who I’m mad at, but unknowingly putting Libby in that position sets a fire under me. “Wait.” I stop before I get to my truck door and turn around to find the other two have also left their spots on the tailgate. “She asked to visit her. I told her I’d have to work today, and she said she still wanted to go.” This doesn’t make any sense. If she isn’t comfortable with parents, then why is she over there?
“She wanted to go to your mom’s by herself?” Blake seems just as awestruck as I feel.
“Yes…” Tyson and Blake look at each other just as my phone starts to ring. I pull it out and see Sarah across the screen. My stomach sinks and I answer it.
“Hey Sarah.”
“Hi Colt. I’m sorry for bothering you, but I just got off the phone with the police and I felt like I should give you a call.” The pit sinks deeper.
“It’s not a bother. What can I do for you?”
“Well, it turns out the police were finally able to pin down who broke into the salon. I told them not to call Libby because I don’t know how she’ll react. But I figured if anyone was going to tell her, it needed to be you.”
“Who was it,” I ask, keeping my tone low. Both Tyson and Blake are staring at me. They can’t hear what Sarah is saying, but they look as though they understand exactly what this conversation is about.
“It was Joe.” I clench my fists to keep myself in check. I know the answer without having to ask. I know it in my bones. But taking my silence for confusion, Sarah clarifies, “Joe Clark.”
“Thank you, Sarah,” is all I can say before hanging up my phone and tossing it into my truck. I climb in and shut the door before anyone says anything.
“Colt?” Tyson finally asks through my open window. I crank the ignition and put the truck into drive.
“It was her fucking father.” And I stomp on the gas, kicking gravel up as I speed off.
46
Spending the day with Leann puts an extra pep in my step. Something about her gives me energy I didn’t realize I was lacking. It’s as if she’s breathed new life into me, which feels wrong, but that’s the only explanation for what has happened.
We ate the lunch I brought with me; we sat and drank ice tea, took a walk down the street, and now I’m making dinner while we wait for Colt to get here.
“Did you have a good childhood, Libby?” Leann is full of questions. Most of the day was spent with her telling me all about Colt as a child, which I loved. So I suppose this question was inevitable, but it still causes me to stop mid-stir and consider how I answer it.
Do I tell her the truth? Should I sugar coat it? Make it vague? Nobody wants to sit at a pity party.
“Cancer doesn’t give me superpowers, dear. I can’t hear your thoughts.” For being someone who has a disease eating away at their body, she is full of quick wits. And it pulls a smile from me every time, making it impossible to get lost in my own head.
“It was typical, I think.” Everyone has problems growing up. Some are just worse than others. In the grand scheme of things, I think I had it pretty good. There weren’t any deaths. I wasn’t homeless. I was lucky enough to have friends and an escape when things got too bad.
Leann cocks a brow. “You think?” She is just like her son. Or I suppose I know where Colt gets his need for directness.
“Sure.” I shrug my shoulders and get back to stirring the gravy I’m making. “Nobody has an uneventful childhood, right?”
She stays quiet, so I peek over my shoulder and find her studying me with her face resting in her hand. “Tell me about yours.” It’s not fair that every question she asks is essentially a dying woman’s request. You’re obligated to give her anything she wants. Even if she weren’t, though, I have a feeling she would have me opening up, regardless. Talking to Leann is the easiest conversation I’ve ever had.
“Okay,” I say, pointing the spoon at her. “But you aren’t allowed to pity me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I turn the burner off and slide a sheet of biscuits into the oven before resting my hip against the counter. Crossing my arms, I brace for the impact of the memories that are going to come crashing in as soon as I open this door.
“My dad wasn’t a nice guy. He liked to yell and beat on my mom a lot. Sometimes he’d lay into me too, or lock me out at night if I put up too much of a fight. But I’d just go to my friend’s house. Actually, it’s Tyson’s sister, Blake.”
“He’s a good boy,” is all she says and waits for me to continue.
I smile and wonder if she knows about his sweet tooth. “That’s pretty much it. My dad left when I was seventeen and I haven’t seen him since.”
