Page 7 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane
Halloween
6
Libby
Hawthorne Lane
Libby is in a rush. Again. She has less than an hour before she has to open her shop, and she still needs to make a stop at the grocery store. It’s her assistant’s birthday, and Libby wants to bring her one of the fancy cakes they have at the bakery counter of Grocers’ Way. Erica deserves it. She works nearly as hard as Libby to make Lily Lane a success, not to mention that Libby owes her one for being willing to open at a moment’s notice last month when she got caught up waiting on Bill. But as with most things, Libby left it until the last minute and now she’s rushing.
She darts out of the house, the strap of her purse sliding down her shoulder as she pulls the front door closed, and trots down the brick steps of her porch. It’s another scorchingly hot day. This summer has been a brutal one, the type of oppressive heat that brings the entire town to a boil. Patience has been in short supply—customers being snippy with Libby’s staff, horns honking on Main Street. She wonders if the weather could be partially to blame for Lucas’s recent attitude too (though she knows that’s a stretch).
They’d argued again that morning. If you could even call it arguing. Lately, it seems to Libby like she can’t say a single solitary thing to her son without setting him off. This morning it was as innocuous as her asking about his plans for the day.
“Where are you going?” Libby inquired when Lucas finally emerged from his bedroom and made an appearance in the kitchen.
“Out,” he replied. He swiped a bagel from the kitchen counterand headed toward the front door without so much as a look in his mother’s direction.
“And where would ‘out’ be located, exactly?”
Lucas stopped in the hallway, throwing his head back in exasperation. She could see the dramatic rise and fall of his shoulders as he sighed heavily. “What’s with the interrogation?” he asked, finally turning to face her.
Libby swallowed her annoyance at his tone. “It’s not exactly an interrogation to inquire about where my seventeen-year-old son is going. Pretty sure that’s just basic parenting.”
“Field at the high school.”
“See? That wasn’t so bad.”
Lucas shrugged and slid in a pair of earbuds, once again tuning her out.
“It’s been great talking to you,” Libby huffed sarcastically as her son walked away. She threw up her hands in a sign of defeat, even though Jasper was the only one who was there to see it.
The entire exchange had thrown Libby off this morning as she turned it over and over in her head, trying to determine where she’d gone wrong. And now she’s running late.
She slides into her car, jams her key into the ignition, and starts the engine. Something is going on with Lucas. She’s certain of it. She just wishes he’dtalkto her. Like he used to. Maybe it’s her fault. Maybe she’s been spending too much time at the shop, and it’s affecting her relationship with Lucas. Ever since Bill left, Libby has practically buried herself in work. She knows it’s a crutch and that there are probably healthier ways of dealing with the whirlwind of emotions she’s constantly holding back, but working is the only thing that seems to distract her these days. In her store, she’s in control—she can trim, cut, arrange, and set things in order. She can make something beautiful enough to hide the ugliness in her life. But as much as Libby loves her shop, Lucas has always been her priority. He knows that. Doesn’t he?
Once again, Libby feels a stab of resentment toward Bill. She doesn’t understand it, how he could put their family through this. How it’s possible to just walk away from someone after eighteenyears of building a life together. Sure, things hadn’t been great those last few years, but life can’t always be sunshine and rainbows. Libby thought Bill understood that. She thought they’d weather the storm. And yet here she is, braving the elements alone.
Libby shifts her car into reverse, carefully checks her rearview mirror. She can’t risk another incident like the one she had with their new neighbor, Hannah Wilson. She’d practically run the poor girl over! Hannah was, thankfully, quite gracious about the whole thing, but Libby was mortified, stammering about how she’d been distracted that morning and issuing assurances that she’s usually a much more cautious driver. What a first impression she must have left on her lovely new neighbor.
But this time, there is no sign of Hannah. Instead, Libby spots a woman pushing a stroller along the sidewalk at an efficient clip, occasionally checking the fitness watch strapped to her wrist. Libby remembers those days, when motherhood was all-consuming, when it felt like you were losing yourself in the sea of diaper changes and nap schedules. When it seemed impossible that you’d ever have another moment to yourself, and those extra few pounds clinging to your hips were just another reminder of all the sacrifices motherhood demanded of you. But she remembers the golden haze of all of it too, the languid mornings spent with a laughing toddler—witnessing wobbly first steps and clumsy attempts at forming words. She’d wanted more children after Lucas, but it just wasn’t in the cards for her. No matter how hard she and Bill tried for another child, Lucas seemed destined to be their only. And so Libby put everything she had into raising her son—she gave all of herself over to being his mother. And now he’s nearly grown up and wants practically nothing to do with her. Libby wishes she could tell the woman with the stroller to slow down, not to rush these days away, but she knows she won’t understand, not until her kids are grown and she’s looking back on this time in her own rearview mirror.
—
The parking lot of Grocers’ Wayis surprisingly crowded for a Thursday morning. Libby checks her watch. She has only twentyminutes before she needs to open Lily Lane, but it should be enough time if she hurries.
She runs into the store, where a gust of cool air-conditioning and the smell of fresh produce greet her. The baked-goods section is at the back of the shop, and Libby makes a beeline for it, but she is quickly diverted from her mission.
“Libby Corbin?”
I don’t have time for this,Libby thinks. But of course, she doesn’t say that. Instead, she plasters a smile on her face, one that she prays looks more cordial than manic, and stops to chat with Beth Something or Other, the head of the PTA at the high school. Beth is standing with another mother whom Libby doesn’t recognize, a pigtailed toddler happily licking a lollipop in the front seat of the woman’s cart.
“Hi, Beth!” Libby trills.
“I thought that was you!” Beth gushes dramatically. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you up at the school! I hardly recognized you!”
Subtle, Beth. Very subtle.“Oh, you know how it is, busy-busy!” She resists the urge to check her watch again. She can almost feel the seconds ticking away as she stands here.
“I heard you have new neighbors up on Hawthorne Lane.”
