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“Take care, Tina.” His voice was abrupt, his words final, and he departed seconds later. Leaving her feeling shockingly bereft.
“Are you sure?” Tina asked Libby a month later, watching while her friend breastfed the always-voracious Clara. Libby was running a tender hand absently over the infant’s downy-soft black hair. She always seemed to be touching Clara in some way. As if she couldn’t help herself. While, to Tina’s eternal regret and shame, she could barely bring herself to look at the baby. She loved Clara with everything in her, was happy to spoil her from afar, but something inside of her seized up in terror at the thought of actually holding the infant. She knew her behavior confused and hurt Libby, but she couldn’t explain it. Not without opening a Pandora’s box of shameful and painful, long-held secrets.
Tina had hoped that constant exposure to Clara would help her overcome this one terrible obstacle that was starting to trip her up with much more frequency recently, but instead she found that she was getting worse instead of better. She spent longer hours at work, reorganizing files that were fine, cataloguing a backlog of books that had been lying around for months, updating their electronic lending system. When she got home she was usually completely exhausted, and Libby tried her best to leave her in peace. She knew her friend was starting to feel like a burden, and that was the last thing Tina wanted, but she didn’t know how else to make this bearable.
And now, the worst had finally happened: Libby was leaving. And Tina knew it was because her friend felt unwelcome, but she had no idea how to make her understand. And she knew that if she told Libby the truth, it would make her feel even worse and even more determined to move out.
“Libby, I know I’ve been distant, but work has been full on this last month. I’ve loved having you and Clara here.” Not a lie, not really . . . she did like having them here. She liked watching Libby with her baby. But that was all she wanted to do . . . watch. Not participate.
“I know, Tina,” Libby said, her eyes gentle but not quite convinced. “I just want to get away from Cape Town, away from Greyson.”
“Has he called? Bothered you?” Tina asked sharply, and Libby smiled, the movement of her lips bittersweet.
“Not at all. Harris calls every day; so do my parents . . .” Libby also visited her parents regularly so they could see their granddaughter often, but she adamantly refused to move in with them, despite their constant pleas that she do so. “And, of course, Constance and Truman have called a few times.” Her in-laws weren’t the most demonstrative of people and didn’t seem quite sure how to respond to the situation between Greyson and Libby, but they were clearly interested in their first grandchild and often sent their chauffeur—Libby’s dad’s replacement—with gifts for the baby. They had visited only once, and fortunately Tina hadn’t been there to witness that awkwardness, but Libby had told her it had been truly horrendous. The only bright spot, apparently, had been the way they had cooed and fussed over Clara.
“I would just feel better,” Libby continued, “if there were more distance between us. I hate knowing he’s just a few suburbs away.”
“So where does this Chris live?”
Libby was considering moving in with an old friend and mentor.
“He lives somewhere on the Garden Route.” Tina raised her eyebrows at that bit of information. The Garden Route was a six-hour drive away. A beautiful part of the Western Cape that Tina always enjoyed visiting.
“That’s quite a distance,” she stated unnecessarily, and Libby nodded regretfully.
“I know, but I think, for now, it’s best.”
“I could drive you.” The offer was out before Tina could think about it, and Libby’s face went slack with shock.
“But it’s a long drive. Clara and I could fly.” Her tone of voice conveyed her reluctance at that thought.
“I suppose it’s better than being cooped up in a car all day,” Tina agreed.
“Truthfully,” Libby said with a grimace, “I’d prefer driving. Even though it’s a short flight, I’d rather not fly with her just yet.”
“So let me drive! Road trip—we haven’t done anything like that for a while!” And never with a baby. Tina wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, volunteering to place herself in such close confines with the infant, but maybe this would be the perfect cure for her stupid issues. Total immersion therapy.
“Are you sure?”
“Yep. I haven’t tested my car yet. Not really. I’ve only done these piddling little drives to and from work. Sometimes to my parents’ house. This will be fabulous. Let me take you. Please. It’s the least I can do.”
“You’ve already done a lot, Tina,” Libby reminded her, and Tina waved her hand impatiently.
