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income. A good income produced a successful life and more opportunities. Not spending every day sitting on a porch swing, in a town where the nearest city was an hour away and there was nothing but home and beach. Until she left, she’d known nothing of the world around her except what she’d seen on television. She didn’t want that for herself or, God forbid, her children.
    There was a tiny scratching sound, and Rascal stood, wagging his tail, awaiting Libby’s assistance with the door. She was glad for the slight diversion. Before she could get up to let the dog in, Jeanie opened the door and scooped the puppy into her arms. “Y’all come on in and eat. Food’s ready.”
    Libby held the door open for Sophia and her mother. “Libby, honey, you need to eat. You look so thin,” her mother said as Libby followed behind them into the house. There was entirely too much food for four people, but that was how things were done there, she did remember that. The table was set with the Willow plates Jeanie had collected over the years at antique stores. Each plate was piled high with different variations of eggs, potatoes, and sausages.
    “So, I hear you’re sellin’ Hugh’s place.” Jeanie said as Libby took a seat in front of one of the plates.
    The other ladies were looking back and forth at each other, clearly uncomfortable. Is my life the elephant in the room? she wondered. Probably. Celia, who always praised her publicly, may just as easily seek the pity of her friends by telling Libby’s sob story about her depressing life.
    “Yep,” she said, setting her muffin on a napkin and scooping a bite of casserole onto her fork.
    Jeanie, now seated beside her, nodded and draped a cloth napkin in her lap. “That place is so nice, and nobody seems to want it,” she pointed out.
    “It is nice,” Sophia piped up, Celia nodding vigorously in response while chewing a bite of food. Libby watched Celia closely, terrified she’d bring up how much Libby had paid for the cottage or something else inappropriate, but she stayed quiet.
    “What do you mean, ‘nobody seems to want it’? Was it on the market long before I bought it?” Libby had a pang of worry, wondering if there would be more work required on the cottage than what she could see on the surface. Was there something about the house that she didn’t know? Surely her mother would have shared it with her if that had been the case.
    “No, you snatched it right up, first week on the market.” Jeanie picked up a glass pitcher of orange juice, poured some into her own goblet, and then offered it to Libby. “But Hugh only put it on the market ’cause Pete didn’t want it either.” Libby filled her glass and passed the pitcher along, her attention on Jeanie. “Looks like neither you nor Pete want it now. But then again, you two always did think alike,” she winked.
    “Libby got a new job!” Celia changed the subject, pulling everyone’s attention toward her. “She’ll be a part-time accountant at Marty’s firm.” The ladies all nodded.
    Libby wasn’t nodding. She was thinking. She and Pete did think alike—on everything except their future. That was a pretty big thing on which to disagree. She did wonder, though, about him. What had Pete been doing in those twelve years? She’d moved on. Had he? Did he snuggle up next to someone every night, give her kisses on the top of her head while she lay on his chest like he had with Libby so many years ago? She let her focus sharpen on the plate in front of her to keep the tears from coming back.
    “Well, Miss Birthday Girl with a new job, we’ve got somethin’ for ya,” Jeanie said.
    Sophia reached under the table and pulled out a small gift bag. “It’s just a little something. We thought you may need it,” she said, handing it to Libby.
    Libby took the bag by its purple handles and set it in her lap. With a quick look around the table, she dug her hand through the tissue paper and felt a rectangular