and grabbed her camera bag and shoes before dashing across the back lawn to the Mancuso house. She pushed open the kitchen door.
“Do you even use the house?”
Libby sat in a kitchen chair and laced up her shoes. “I just took a shower.”
Sierra set a cup of coffee in front of Libby, then ladled eggs onto a blue plate and set them in front of Libby, along with a fork. Also on the plate was a strawberry, thinly sliced and fanned.
Libby took a bite of the eggs, discovering the jolt of protein was what she needed. “Bless you.”
Sierra filled a large orange mug sporting a Virginia Tech logo. “You’re like a ghost. You come and go but leave no traces.”
“It’s just weird,” she said. “I haven’t really lived there in years.”
“You live there now.”
She sipped her own coffee, craving the jolt of energy. “Not really. I’m still visiting.”
When her father had become ill last year, he had set about cleaning his home and decluttering, tossing away all the unnecessary baggage that came with living. The walls had been repainted a pale gray and the trim a bright white. He had not tackled any of the larger projects like the kitchen and bathrooms, no doubt thinking the new owner would renovate them their way.
He had left her with a stripped-down version of his home that was now ready to go on the real estate market. He had wanted Libby to sell it and take the money to find a new place to live. Libby had told him she would think about it, which she was still doing.
Sierra shook her head. “You’re afraid to put down roots.”
“I did that, remember? Roots don’t always run deep enough.”
“They could if you didn’t baby them too much.”
Libby arched a brow. “You live over your parents’ garage, Sierra. It doesn’t get any less settled than that.”
“At least I’m living there. I’ve unpacked my bags,” she said with a grin.
“I like to keep my options open.” The sound of a text dinging sent Libby fishing in her bag for her phone. The text was from the bride starring in today’s wedding.
Ginger the Bride: Rain on the horizon. Send sunny thoughts.
Libby: I’m on my way.
Ginger the Bride: Mom worried. I say it will be fine.
Libby: Umbrellas always packed. See you in thirty.
Libby grabbed a granola bar from the cabinet that Mrs. Mancuso kept stocked. “Sierra, why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be at the venue setting up catering tables or presearing salmon patties?”
“Rick’s got me on cleanup crew, not setup.” She made a face. “Can I ride with you?”
“Going now.”
“And you have your camera equipment?”
“All in the bag.”
Libby had been obsessing over worst-case scenarios since the sixth grade. Maybe it had been because of her mother’s worsening mental health and suicide, which might have made her mental herself. Regardless, she liked to make lists of all possible disasters.
If she had an event or party that she was excited about, she made lists of all the things that could keep her from going. In college, she could not sleep unless all her homework was done, her coffeepot was set, and her clothes were laid out. Her mother jokingly had called it a “belt and suspenders” approach to life, which she sometimes took too far. So together, she and her mother had both planned for all the minor disasters as major ones swirled around them.
Thankfully for today, she had listed Sleep through the alarm and Hurricane. There was also Swerve to miss a deer, Road washed out (from the hurricane), and Run out of gas.
“We’re okay on time,” Sierra said. She tossed her an extra granola bar. “Better get going.”
Libby picked up her camera bag and purse and hurried to her car. She placed it all in the back seat before sliding behind the wheel. As Libby started the engine, Sierra got into the passenger seat and hooked her seat belt. Libby fastened her seat belt and confirmed her gas gauge was full.
She backed out of the driveway, glancing toward the house. “The coffee maker is off?”
Sierra sipped her coffee. “It is. And it’s also washed out and unplugged.”
“Bless you. I’d hate for your mom’s house to burn down.”
Sierra pulled down the visor and traced her red lips with fingernails painted to match. “You can mark off House burning down from your list.”
A smile teased the edge of Libby’s lips as she drove down the tree-lined road and onto Main Street, which was the only thoroughfare in town.
Bluestone, population