Page 72 of Songs for Libby

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

When Sean knocked on the door, I rolled my eyes. “You have a key for a reason, Sean!” I yelled loud enough that he could hear me. I was bracing myself against the kitchen counter, trying to get my hip to support me like a good little hip should.

The lock turned and Sean walked in, honing in on my pathetic stance. “What’s wrong?” He rushed over. “You’re not in preterm labor, are you?”

“No, my back and hips just don’t seem to be getting along.” I reached for him and he supported me as I hobbled over to the couch.

“Why aren’t they getting along?”

“Because I’m twenty-four weeks pregnant, and I have a baby in there who’s trying to make enough room to come out in a few months, which basically means my entire skeleton is being torn apart!” Pain and pregnancy hormones made me dramatic.

He looked at me with concern, both for my physical and my mental health. “Is there anything I can do?”

I waved him off and slowly sank down onto the couch. “I’ll be fine. I have an appointment in a little while.” I’d called as soon as I woke up and realized I could hardly move.

“Obstetrician?”

“No. Acupuncturist.”

The look of shock on his face would have made me laugh if I were in a laughing mood.

“Acupuncture? As in needles?” Sean was very familiar with my feelings about needles.

“Yes.”

“Are you messing with me?”

“Nope.”

“You hate needles.”

I shrugged. “I still hate most needles, but this is different.”

He continued to look at me as if I’d grown a third head before shaking himself out of his confused stupor. “I’m trying to figure out what strange confluence of events would have led you to even give it a chance.”

The soft smile that curved my mouth surprised me. “Jonas was an acupuncturist.”

He blinked at the mention of my dead husband. “Oh…I thought he was in the army.”

“He was. He got out before we met.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said with a note of disappointment.

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know that, Libby.”

His guilt about this specific thing baffled me. “How would you have known? I’m the one who cut off contact.”

“I know,” he said. “I just wish things could have been different. I wish I hadn’t been an idiot and driven you away.”

My guilt cycle came around yet again, reminding me of my own part in his downfall. “It’s not all your fault.”

He gave me an amused look of disbelief. “It really was.” He said it easily, like he had accepted long ago that he held the entirety of the blame.

“No, it wasn’t.” I blinked up at the ceiling as tears snuck up behind my eyes. “You’ll never know how sorry I am for getting you to sign that contract.”

A look of genuine concern filled his face. “What do you mean, getting me to sign it?”