Time Will Tell

Time Will Tell part 3

The doorbell rang, interrupting Libby’s peaceful breakfast. She took a deep breath and gathered the morning paper into a pile, stalling as the impatient pealing continued.

He’s your fiancé, not an executioner. The thought didn’t ease her trepidation, nor did she hasten her pace in answering his urgent summons. She wiped her hands on her slacks, took another deep breath, and braced herself as she swung open the door.

Dave pushed past her into the room, annoyance stamped over his expression.

At least I’ve had a good night’s sleep so I can deal with him, she thought. Libby kept quiet as he moved through her apartment, edgily pacing back and forth, reminding her of a caged tiger.

He stopped and glared at her. “Don’t you answer your phone anymore?” His tone was sharp. “Or return your messages?”

Libby decided to ignore his testy disposition. “Sorry. I got wrapped up in something and forgot I’d turned off my cell.” She offered a contrite shrug. “And when I got your messages, I’d planned to call you back after a quick shower, but I fell asleep. So let’s start over, OK? Good morning! Would you like some coffee?”

“I’m not in the mood for games. Where were you yesterday afternoon and last night? I was worried about you.”

She sighed. “Sit down, Dave. We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to sit down. You’ve been acting weird lately and I want to know why.”

“Sit!” Libby demanded. “And I’ll tell you. My shift at the store starts at nine, so I don’t have a lot of time. You can either listen to what I have to say, or you can leave.”

Dave pulled out a chair and sat, then impatiently drummed his fingers on the table.

Libby poured a cup of coffee and placed it in front of him. “I’m quitting my job today. I’ve found another one.”

He practically shot out of the chair. “You what?” Total shock replaced annoyance in his expression. “You’ve only been a manager with Dillard’s for ten months. I thought we went over this.”

Libby held on to her rising temper, but the effort cost her. “No. You told me your opinion and I listened. Now I’m doing what I feel is right for me.”

“You can’t keep quitting, Libby. Five jobs in four years doesn’t look good on a résumé. It’s immature and irresponsible.”

Though the real number was six, she remained silent, eyeing the handsome man spouting off his explanation as if he were talking to a child. She couldn’t help but smile. He sounded so much like her father. Dave Phillips was really a wonderful guy—the perfect height for her at five feet ten inches with wavy dark brown hair and soulful brown eyes—when he wasn’t telling her how to behave. In a sudden rush of insight, their relationship became clearer.

Libby already had a father, which was why she needed to take a stand now. Holding on to her determination, she asked, “Do you like your job?

Dave’s brow furrowed and the bluster went out of his expression. “Why?”

Libby eyed him thoughtfully. “Just answer my question. Do you?”

His yes came out in a long sigh and he nodded.

“Did you always want to become a doctor?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “For the most part, yes.” Whether out of frustration or agitation, Libby wasn’t quite sure as he added, “I knew it was something I wanted fairly early on.” He aimed a narrow-eyed gaze at her. “How does my wanting to be a doctor have any bearing on what we’re discussing?”