Page 70 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane
“Something the two of you have in common these days.”
“Funny,” Bill remarks.
“It wasn’t meant to be. Where is Heather today anyway?”
“She had a…doctor’s appointment. And I, uh, I thought maybe we should talk anyway. Just the two of us. About something kind of important.”
A sinking feeling opens in the pit of Libby’s stomach. It’s almost as if she knows what Bill is going to say before he utters the words that will change everything.
“Heather is…pregnant.”
“No, she—she can’t be.” Libby feels as though the ground has opened beneath her feet, leaving her in free fall. Heather. Pregnant. This explains why Bill moved her into the town house so quickly, but understanding does little to ease the pain of the wound to Libby’s heart.
Bill is going to have another baby. The second child they’d once both longed for. In a flash Libby sees the pile of negative pregnancy tests accumulated in the trash can, the slow shake of the doctor’s head, the silent sonograms that would never show the flutter of a heartbeat. But now Bill is going to have another chance…with someone else.
“I’m sorry, Lib. I know this can’t be easy.” He takes her hand, but Libby yanks it away as though she’s been scalded.
“Of course it’s noteasy.”
Her mind goes back to the early days of Lucas’s life, to the way he’d felt, warm and steady, in her arms as she’d rock him to sleep, the hazy golden sunlight that poured into his nursery as he’d taken his first steps. She remembers the day Bill taught him to ride a bicycle, all gapped teeth and scraped knees; she remembers the first days of school, the birthdays where they’d all crowded around a frosted cake together, watching Lucas scrunch his eyes closed and make a wish before blowing out the candles. An entire lifetime of memories. Moments that exist for Libby only in the past; fragile, fading things that she can pull out, look back on fondly, and reshelve like dusty photo albums. But Bill, he’s going to get to live it all again. Only this time, he’ll be experiencing that joy with someone else.
“Obviously this is going to complicate things,” Bill continues, “and of course we’re going to have to finalize the divorce now, but—”
He’s still speaking, but all Libby can hear is the ringing in her ears. She feels her sadness giving way to molten anger. It roils and churns inside her, sloshing in her gut like lava. Complicate things? Is that all she is to him now, a complication to be dealt with beforehe can start his new family? Libby pictures the three of them nine months from now: Heather dewy and glowing in a hospital bed, a new baby bundled in Bill’s arms, tears of joy filling his eyes. And then she imagines her own life: Lucas leaving for college, his bedroom boxed up, the posters pulled from the walls, leaving only a faint outline of the boy who used to live there, and Libby all alone in the big empty house that once held her family.
How much more is she meant to take? When Bill said he needed time away from their marriage, she lay down like a doormat and let him walk away; when she found out he was dating again, she was hurt but she did her best to move on too, and now, just as she was finally coming to terms with the end of their marriage, just as she was starting to find her own glimmer of happiness, there’s going to be a baby. It’s almost more than Libby can bear.
She clenches her fists at her sides, concentrating on the pain of her nails digging into the flesh of her palms, willing herself to contain the bubbling rage that threatens to boil over. “How can you be so—”
“Wait,” Bill interjects. “I think something is happening.” He points over her shoulder toward the center of the cul-de-sac.
Libby turns, sees the crowd that has gathered in the middle of the street, hears the din of raised, angry voices churning like a gathering storm. Her first instinct is to look for Lucas. She’s a mother. No matter how old her son gets, when she sees trouble, her first thought will always be to seek him out, keep him safe. “I don’t see Lucas.” The words come out panicked and clipped.
“I’m sure he’s fine, but let’s go find him.” Bill starts toward the throng of people, and Libby hurries behind him. He pushes his way through the crowd, aiming for the center of the circle. “Excuse me. Sorry.”
Libby is jostled by the onlookers, who all seem to be focused on something going on in the center of the cul-de-sac, but she can’t see what it is through the mass of people. She tries to stay close to Bill as he parts the crowd, but somehow they get separated. Someone elbows her drink, sending the cup flying and mulled wine spilling down the front of her shirt. She can’t be bothered to care right now. Her only thought is of finding her son. She doesn’t know what it is,a mother’s intuition maybe, but the longer she goes without setting eyes on Lucas, the more certain she is that something has happened to him.
Finally, she reaches the middle of the crowd and time seems to stand still as Libby surveys the scene before her. Colin towers over Lucas, who’s staring up at him with a look of terror frozen on his face. Lucas’s shirt collar is stretched and twisted, and a vein on Colin’s forehead bulges as he bears down on Libby’s son, fists clenched. Behind him, Georgina is pushing Sebastian and Christina through the crowd, away from the scene.
“Stop!” Libby shrieks, and in a flash, time is set in motion once again.
Libby rushes to her son and positions herself between him and Colin. “Leave him alone!”
Colin whips around so that he’s facing Libby, his shoulders squared, a roaring fire burning behind his eyes. Libby has never seen her neighbor like this before. She’s always known him to be so pleasant, charismatic. Mixing up mojitos at neighborhood barbecues, offering a smile and a wave as he collects his mail, asking after Lucas if they happened to cross paths. All in all, Colin Pembrook seemed like the perfect neighbor. But now, as he glowers at her, the heat in his gaze so strong that Libby can almost feel the burn of it on her skin, the illusion shatters around her. It was all a facade, a cheap plastic disguise.
“You better not have harmed a hair on his head,” she growls, her eyes locking on Colin’s, refusing to allow him to intimidate her.
“Or what?” He scoffs.
The sound of it, the casual flippancy, enrages Libby. She’s tired of being underestimated, disregarded, and ignored. She’s tired of being Libby, the woman who is expected to take it all on the chin, to be okay, to retain her composure no matter what life throws at her. She’s tired of everyone, including herself, glossing over her feelings. She’s held back so much for so long—the separation, Bill dating, and now Heather’s pregnancy—that she feels like a bomb on the verge of detonation. And this, Colin threatening her son, this is the very last spark that sets her off.
“Or it’ll be the last thing you ever do.” Libby levels the words at Colin, savoring the bite of them on her tongue.
Colin smiles pityingly, and Libby feels the flames of her rage climb so high that she’s engulfed by them. Lucas is everything to her, the only thing in her life that really matters. She charges at Colin, shoves him hard with both hands, channeling a primal strength she didn’t know she possessed. She doesn’t recognize herself in this moment; it’s as if she passed through the fire of her own anger and emerged, reborn, as someone new. Someone strong and capable, someone who won’t be pushed around.
Colin stumbles on his feet, a look of surprise passing across his face before his hand shoots out, trying to grasp Libby’s throat. She leaps backward as his hand swipes through the air, so close that Libby can feel the heat of his skin on hers.
“Get away from my wife.” Bill shoves his way through the throng of people and then charges at Colin, nearly knocking him to the ground. “And what did you do to my son?”
