are the shed lights on?” She yawned. “My mother is concerned that you’re doing something dangerous.”
Libby drew in a deep breath. “Setting up my photography equipment.”
“Again, why this time of night?”
“Haven’t you been after me for months about this?” Libby asked.
“Not in the middle of the night, dear. Did something happen at Woodmont?”
She rolled her head from side to side. “Nothing happened at Woodmont. Elaine’s daughter was a little rude, but it was no big deal.”
“What did she say?”
Olivia’s letter explained a lot about Lofton’s behavior at dinner. Libby would bet that Lofton, her baby sister, knew about the adoption. (God, had she really strung those words together?) Which led to the next question: Who else knew? Ted? What about Colton or Margaret?
Libby swatted away the buzzing thoughts. Too much to process. “I found my dad’s deed to the house.” She took the coward’s way, but she simply was not ready to talk about this. It had taken her months to speak about her miscarriages, and though finding a birth mother certainly was a different kind of gut strike, it hurt so bad she could not begin to voice her feelings.
“Set up an appointment with the bank,” Libby said. “The sooner the better.”
“Are you sure about this? I mean we’re talking about putting your father’s house up for collateral.”
She lifted a Brownie camera out of the box. It was small and compact. She had never found film to test it out. Turning away from the equipment, she shut off the light and shut the shed door on her way out. “It’s my house now, Sierra. And you’re right. I can’t just let it collect dust.”
“Yeah, but this is not what I was aiming for.”
“I know. And I’m glad it can come to some good use. Set up the meeting. The sooner you can start your business, the better.”
“Do you want me to come over? You sound a little weird.”
She started back to the house she had grown up in, wondering if it had all been a lie. “What do you know about Elaine Grant?”
“What brought her up? Wait. Something did happen at dinner.”
“No. Dinner was fine. I’m just curious about Elaine.”
Sierra sighed, as if sensing now was not the time to press. “I know she moved away after college. After her grandfather died, she inherited the property but really didn’t start visiting regularly until after her grandmother died. My mother always thought Elaine must have had a falling-out with her grandmother.”
“Like what?” Libby asked.
“Not privy to the workings of the Carter family. I know Elaine didn’t show any interest in Woodmont until a year or two ago.”
“Why did she come back?”
“I don’t know. Maybe older and wiser, and the old wounds had healed. Shame your dad isn’t still around. I think she and your dad were friends.”
She climbed the back steps and into her kitchen. “Why do you say that?”
“I had taken Mom to the Hotel Roanoke’s brunch. She loves their french toast and the mimosas. Anyway, I saw Elaine and your dad at a table. Mom being Mom went over and said hello, and I went along for the ride.”
“And?”
“They both looked a little tense.”
“Tense how?”
“Like a big conversation. Neither one looked well, and they didn’t look happy to see anyone from Bluestone,” Sierra said.
“You never told me.”
“I guess I forgot about it. Didn’t seem that important. I mean, it was a public place. And they said they were looking to do a fundraiser for the pediatric cancer unit at UVA. It never happened, but then your dad passed away.”
The fundraiser excuse did not smell right. They had to have been talking about Libby. “Okay. Well, unlike the fundraiser, your bank meeting will take place, and you’ll get the loan,” Libby said.
“You going to stay up all night?” Sierra asked.
“Most likely.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”
“Sierra, sometimes grief rears its ugly head and won’t let me sleep. You know what I mean?”
“I do. Have you been on Jeremy’s Instagram page again?”
“Guilty,” she lied.
“Just unfollow him, Libby.”
“I know. And I will.”
“You need to stop looking back.”
A spontaneous, tense laugh burst out. “Don’t I know it. But tell that to the past. It keeps biting me in the ass.”
“I could bake you cookies,” Sierra offered.
“Then I would be sad, sleep deprived, and fat.”
“How can you be sad if you’re eating a cookie?” Sierra asked.
Libby laughed. “I appreciate you; I really do. I’m just having one of those nights. You know how it goes; you think you’re finished