Page 86 of Songs for Libby

“Sure, but I had a plan. I was trying to keep everything quiet. You don’t need this.”

“Once that magazine offered a reward, it was only a matter of time.” I shrugged. “Besides, it could be worse.”

“How?” he asked, skeptical.

“Well, they could have plastered my husband’s death all over the article and speculated that you and I were having an affair before he died.”

His face went white.

“Like I said.” I grimaced. “It could be worse.”

He put a hand over his mouth, shaking his head and looking at me with guilt-filled eyes. “What if someone writes that story next?”

I shut my eyes against the possibility. “Let’s just hope they don’t.”

He let out a ragged sigh. “I’m coming home.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“The paparazzi are going to start prowling, Libby. I don’t want you to deal with that on your own.”

“I’ve done it before.”

His chin pulled back and I realized my mistake. “What do you mean you’ve done it before?”

I let out a sigh. “After you got out of rehab.”

He was silent, and I could almost see his mind spinning. “I didn’t look at any media afterwards. Randy and my mom kept it away from me.”

Lucky him. I shrugged. “They realized that the assortment of girls pulling you out of bars and clubs were all the same girl. Then they realized it was me. There was a lovely article with a bunch of high school photos in it. It was linked to the article,” I said, confused that he hadn’t seen it just now.

“We must be reading two different articles.”

“Oh, good.” My sarcasm was thick and bitter. “More than one article.”

“Well.” He forced a smile, though his eyes looked guilty. “All the more reason for me to come back. I wasn’t there the first time. I will be this time. I’ll get a flight back tonight.”

“Won’t that just prove everyone right? Maybe you need to show up a couple more times in New York.”

“I’m afraid nothing is going to make this better, Libby. We’re just going to have to wait for something more interesting to come along and distract everyone.”

“Okay,” I agreed, honestly relieved that he’d be coming back. I wanted him to do what was best for him, but I also really wanted him to be here.

♪♫♪

He was already in my living room when I woke up the next morning. I stepped out of my room and watched him running his hands over his face and tilted my head in confusion. “Did you sleep here last night?”

He nodded. “I got back late, so I didn’t want to wake you, but I also didn’t feel okay leaving you by yourself.”

I shook my head and went into my pantry. “You’re becoming a grade-A stalker.”

“It’s not stalking if you were given a key,” he hollered from the living room.

I smiled.

“Seriously, though, we need to discuss security,” he said, coming into the kitchen.

I turned to face him slowly, wary of what was going to come next. “What do you mean?”