Ginger had tried to get Margaret to move to Charlottesville and into a one-level house close to her, but the city was too bustling for her taste and too far for a twenty-five-mile daily commute to Woodmont. She did not know what she would do if she could not see her boys every day.
This old house was barely twelve hundred square feet and had only three tiny bedrooms. Over the years, there must have been several coats of off-white paint added to the walls, but in the evening light, it looked faded and a little tired. She had been meaning to change the color to something brighter. Yellow, maybe. She had told herself there was too much work at Woodmont, and now that Elaine was getting over her sickness, taking time to change a paint color seemed silly.
She walked over to the dining room table, piled high with magazines and china she had still not put away from her own Easter supper with Colton, Ginger, and the boys.
After flipping on the lights in the kitchen, she walked past an unfinished one-thousand-piece puzzle she had been working on for five years. She crossed the small room to the electric teakettle that Elaine had given her last Christmas and filled it with water. A push of the button, and it was heating.
As she waited, she looked at the puzzle, disappointed by her limited progress. She had finished the border but had done little to finish the image featuring an enormous basket of sleepy golden retriever puppies. She should just give up and dismantle it, but her grandmother had always complained that no one saw anything through. Margaret’s own mother had not stayed around to raise her, so she had decided years ago she would style herself like her grandmother and never quit anything. So the puzzle stayed.
When the kettle whistled, she fished a tea bag from the cabinet and dropped it into a favorite mug covered in honeysuckle flowers. It had belonged to her grandmother, and though the rim was slightly chipped, she was willing to avoid the rough edge for the sake of the memories.
She poured hot water over the bag, swirling it gently and watching as the water darkened.
Her old phone rang, and she crossed to the wall and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
“It’s me, Mom,” Colton said. “Just making sure you got home.”
“Alive and well.”
“Dinner was fun.”
“It was nice.”
“What did you think of Libby?” he asked.
“I like her. She’s a strong young woman.”
“What’s her deal with Elaine?”
“I don’t know,” she lied. “Best ask Elaine.”
He chuckled. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Sure thing, son.”
“See ya.”
She hung up the phone and picked up her cup, running her finger over the chipped edge. She sipped tea and walked over to the puzzle, fingering a few pieces before she lost interest and walked out onto the back porch.
Margaret sat on the vinyl-covered cushions nestled in the porch rocker seat. Gently, she swayed back and forth, sipping her tea and staring up into the cloudless night sky at the bright pinpoints of starlight.
The stalemate she had with her house and her inability to move on toward a new future did not have anything to do with caring for Elaine or Woodmont. It had to do with Libby.
Margaret had been waiting for the girl to return. And now that her father had passed, she hoped the young woman would sink her roots deep in this valley. Libby being here would be good for everyone.
The tea tasted too bitter. She considered adding more honeysuckle syrup but decided it was not worth the bother.
She tipped her head back, tracing her finger over the chipped edge of her mug as she stared at the stars. “I don’t know where you are right now, Dr. Carter. But if there’s any justice, you’re burning in hell.”
CHAPTER TEN
LIBBY
Tuesday, June 9, 2020
Bluestone, Virginia
Hours before the sun rose, Libby’s eyes popped open, and she was fully awake. She was back in her father’s home and sleeping on the couch in the living room. Glancing at her phone, she confirmed it was 3:24 a.m. Willing herself to enjoy the remaining hours of sleep, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply several times. The harder she tried to sleep, the more awake she felt.
She stared at the tiny luminescent stars that she had glued on the living room ceiling when she was in sixth grade. The stars had annoyed her father, but her mother, who had watched her affix them all,