Page 57 of Songs for Libby

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Okay.” He acquiesced far too easily, and I figured he was only saying that to placate me.

“Besides,” I said, picking up a piece of my anger and using it as a shield. “I can’t imagine you’d volunteer for the job.”

“I can be strong for you, if you’ll let me.” His offer was quiet but oddly firm.

I finally turned to him, my gaze harsh and unforgiving. “Like you were strong for me all those times before?”

“No,” he answered, his eyes clear and steady. “I was never there for you before. But a lot has happened since then.”

“Your life is still the same. Same record label. Same manager. Same fans. Same music.”

“Yes, but I’ve made a lot of other changes—”

He stopped when a scoff escaped my lips. “You don’t have to catch me up on your life, Sean.” I sniffed back to residual tears. “I stand in check-out aisles. I see the headlines. Just because I wasn’t there doesn’t mean I could keep myself from knowing what was going on in your life and worrying all over again.” I shook my head as my lower jaw jutted out, trying to make room in my mouth to contain the hurt. “Three thousand miles between us and it still put a pit in my stomach every time I saw a photo of you with a drink in your hand.”

My quiet words sat in the silence because he didn’t fill it with his own voice. He didn’t argue, didn’t defend himself.

“Jonas watched me for a week after you announced your tour, terrified that I’d call you and beg you not to do it.”

“Was that a rule of his, or something? Not calling me?”

My teeth clacked shut as I turned on him.

“No, Sean.” My voice was hard. “It was my rule. He knew as well as I did that talking to you would be toxic,” I spat out as just a small portion of my frustration, anger, and yes, guilt spilled over. “I made him promise that he’d never let me contact you out of worry. Do you have any idea how messed up that is? I let you get your claws dug into me so deep that my marriage required that I have rules about you.”

I glared at him, daring him to argue with me. Wanting him to argue with me so that I could have an excuse to keep yelling. Instead he just gazed back at me, his eyes steady but filled with regret. I stood, unable to sit there while he was so calm and collected. I started to walk away but then turned back on him. “And another thing. If you ever insinuate that my husband was anything other than wonderful and understanding, I will happily show you the door. He wasn’t perfect and I won’t pretend that he was, but you have no right to say anything negative about him.” I turned once again and headed for my front door. I needed to walk, to burn calories and hopefully burn up my anger as well.

I walked out into the evening light and glanced behind me to be sure that Sean wasn’t following me. Good thing for him, he wasn’t.

As my feet ate up square after square of sidewalk, I tried desperately to get my thoughts to line up and make some sort of sense. Sean’s appearance was…unexpected.

It was wonderful.

And it was awful.

I was relieved.

And I was furious.

I wanted him to leave.

But I desperately hoped he would stay.

I had been surviving. Over the past two months I had come to the point where I was surviving, making it from one day to another, acting almost like a normal person. I had bottled and boxed and fenced in my emotions so that they were contained and manageable.

Now, though? Now.

The bottles were broken, the boxes were torn, and the fences demolished. There was no keeping it in. My emotions once again felt huge—too overwhelming to tame or name or contain. They were in chaos, running through my body, one second filling my head, the next second spilling over the bounds of my heart and then making my hands shake and my eyes burn and my knees tremble.

So I walked. I walked until my newly widened hips ached. I walked until the deep-seated fatigue of pregnancy settled like a twenty-pound blanket on my shoulders.

Then I turned around and walked home. Though I’d been walking a long time, I had stayed close to home, roaming nearby streets over and over while avoiding my own street.

In five minutes I could see my house and the strange car still sitting in front of it.

Sean hadn’t left.