Nana have been unfaithful to Pop? Certainly she hadn’t seemed like the type of person who would stray, but then again, was there a type for those people? She wondered if Nana had ever been unhappy living in White Stone, if she, too, wanted something more. The letter bothered her considerably, but she knew why. Pop and Nana’s relationship had always seemed so easy, so comfortable. It was an unsettling feeling, thinking that their relationship may not have been as perfect as it seemed. Every time she looked over at Mabel Townley, she wondered what she knew. Libby traced the square pattern in the table with her fingernail.
“Libby!” Celia Potter came clacking through the small dining area, flinging her hand up at Mabel in a quick hello. “Why didn’t you call me, honey? I’d have met you for lunch.” She looked down at her silver bangle watch and twisted it on her wrist to see the time. “Did you just get here?”
“Yep,” Libby leaned over and pulled out a chair, trying to sit up a little straighter so she wouldn’t have to hear anything from her mother about it. She realized what she was doing and immediately relaxed her body. She didn’t have to please her anymore; she was a grown woman. It was time she started thinking like it. “They haven’t gotten my drink order yet, so you’re just in time. You can join me now,” she gestured to the chair she’d pulled out. That was the trouble with a small town; with only one main street and a handful of places to go, running into people was inevitable.
“What a pleasant surprise!” she said, sitting down. “I was just going to pick something up but now we can have lunch together.” Celia dropped her handbag under the table and spun around toward Mabel. “Are you by yourself too, Mabel? Come over here and join us if you’d like.”
Mabel carefully hoisted herself up, steadying her legs by holding on to the table. Then she ambled over. Watching her mother’s ease of conversation there only made Libby wish again for her old life in New York. She didn’t feel comfortable at all. People there didn’t seem as driven as they did in New York, their pace was slower. It had never worked for her as a kid, and it still didn’t work. In her small town there was nothing. And there never would be anything. Just the same thing, day in and day out.
A waitress appeared, transported Mabel’s lemonade over to Libby’s table, and filled their water glasses with a pitcher of iced water. “Can I take your order?” she asked. “Or do you need a minute?”
“I’m ready,” Mabel said, still wriggling herself into a comfortable position. “I’ll just have the southern fried steak and potatoes.” She looked over at Libby and Celia. “I get the same thing every time I come!” she chuckled. She pulled off the paper band from the silverware and draped the napkin in her lap.
“I think we’re probably ready too,” Celia said, smiling in Libby’s direction. “I’ll just have a salad. Do you have Ranch dressing?” The waitress nodded, and Celia turned toward Libby who, until that very moment, hadn’t given a second thought to what she was going to eat. She scanned her menu quickly. What should she get? The choices seemed almost foreign to her now: Chicken and Dumplings, Fried Catfish, Pulled Pork Barbeque. “I’ll have the same, please.” she said in defeat.
“Libby, it’s good to see you,” Mabel said, squeezing the juice of the complimentary lemon wedge into her lemonade and stirring it with a spoon. “You’re living in the Roberts’ place, right?”
She nodded.
“It has a lovely view of the bay from the screened porch. Anne and I used to sit out there all the time. I just don’t get that kind of breeze on my porch.”
“You’ve known Anne a long time, haven’t you?” Libby asked. Had Mabel been at the dinner with Anne and Mitchell that night, she wondered? If Anne had feelings for Mitchell, might she have shared them with Mabel?
“I’ve
“Libby!” Celia Potter came clacking through the small dining area, flinging her hand up at Mabel in a quick hello. “Why didn’t you call me, honey? I’d have met you for lunch.” She looked down at her silver bangle watch and twisted it on her wrist to see the time. “Did you just get here?”
“Yep,” Libby leaned over and pulled out a chair, trying to sit up a little straighter so she wouldn’t have to hear anything from her mother about it. She realized what she was doing and immediately relaxed her body. She didn’t have to please her anymore; she was a grown woman. It was time she started thinking like it. “They haven’t gotten my drink order yet, so you’re just in time. You can join me now,” she gestured to the chair she’d pulled out. That was the trouble with a small town; with only one main street and a handful of places to go, running into people was inevitable.
“What a pleasant surprise!” she said, sitting down. “I was just going to pick something up but now we can have lunch together.” Celia dropped her handbag under the table and spun around toward Mabel. “Are you by yourself too, Mabel? Come over here and join us if you’d like.”
Mabel carefully hoisted herself up, steadying her legs by holding on to the table. Then she ambled over. Watching her mother’s ease of conversation there only made Libby wish again for her old life in New York. She didn’t feel comfortable at all. People there didn’t seem as driven as they did in New York, their pace was slower. It had never worked for her as a kid, and it still didn’t work. In her small town there was nothing. And there never would be anything. Just the same thing, day in and day out.
A waitress appeared, transported Mabel’s lemonade over to Libby’s table, and filled their water glasses with a pitcher of iced water. “Can I take your order?” she asked. “Or do you need a minute?”
“I’m ready,” Mabel said, still wriggling herself into a comfortable position. “I’ll just have the southern fried steak and potatoes.” She looked over at Libby and Celia. “I get the same thing every time I come!” she chuckled. She pulled off the paper band from the silverware and draped the napkin in her lap.
“I think we’re probably ready too,” Celia said, smiling in Libby’s direction. “I’ll just have a salad. Do you have Ranch dressing?” The waitress nodded, and Celia turned toward Libby who, until that very moment, hadn’t given a second thought to what she was going to eat. She scanned her menu quickly. What should she get? The choices seemed almost foreign to her now: Chicken and Dumplings, Fried Catfish, Pulled Pork Barbeque. “I’ll have the same, please.” she said in defeat.
“Libby, it’s good to see you,” Mabel said, squeezing the juice of the complimentary lemon wedge into her lemonade and stirring it with a spoon. “You’re living in the Roberts’ place, right?”
She nodded.
“It has a lovely view of the bay from the screened porch. Anne and I used to sit out there all the time. I just don’t get that kind of breeze on my porch.”
“You’ve known Anne a long time, haven’t you?” Libby asked. Had Mabel been at the dinner with Anne and Mitchell that night, she wondered? If Anne had feelings for Mitchell, might she have shared them with Mabel?
“I’ve
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