28. Libby
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
libby
Our day starts down at the docks. Fisher gets out of the truck to pick up packages, telling us to stay put. There’s no way I can sit here and do nothing while he works, so naturally, we don’t listen.
“Hi, Bob!” Sutton yells.
“I thought his name was Cank,” I mumble as we walk over to chat.
“Ah, Libby,” the older man calls. “Glad to see you’re doing okay since your accident.”
“Wasn’t an accident.” Sutton cups her mouth and does that loud whisper thing again. It’s pointless but absolutely adorable. “Someone cut her wires.”
Cank’s forehead creases with concern. “Who would do that?”
I shrug. “Fisher’s working on figuring that out. I’m still betting it was the goat.”
His face morphs into a scowl. “Betty would never.”
“Betty is a boy, and his name is Fred,” Sutton says like Cank just made the most ridiculous error.
“Betty is a goat,” Fisher growls, then shakes his head. “I mean the goat is a goat. And I thought I told you to stay in the car.”
Betty is a boy whose name is Fred? That makes so much more sense, if I’m honest, since Betty is very clearly a male goat. Sutton is clearly the smartest on the island. With a huff, I frown at Fisher, who’s loading packages into his truck. “What are you doing?”
“Delivering the mail,” he grumbles, like it’s obvious.
It would be if he was the mailman.
“But why?”
“How do you think you get your mail, Princess?” His tone is teasing this time.
I shrug. “I thought you were being nice. I didn’t know this was another one of your jobs ,” I sing. Oh, now that I know he’s the person I’ll be annoying with purchases, a whole slew of ridiculous orders crowds my mind.
“While he’s dropping off this mail,” Cank says to me, “could you run into the grocery store and ask Doris to add bacon to my order this week?”
I shudder at the mere thought of dealing with Doris. That woman despises me. And she’s mean.
But I’m nothing if not neighborly, so I paste on a smile and head toward the truck. “Will do.”
“Will we be seeing you at the Fourth of July parade?” he calls after us.
Sutton spins and walks backward, grinning. “Yup. We’ll be riding Putt-Putt.”
“I said no,” Fisher grumbles from the back of the truck. “Does no one listen to me?” With a grunt, he hops down and stalks to the driver’s side.
Sutton and I giggle as we strap ourselves in.
“Cank asked?—”
Fisher’s phone rings, cutting me off.
He creeps along the path, nodding in a silent request for me to answer it. I think. Grimacing, I pick it up and put it on speaker.
Before Fisher even says hello, the line crackles, and a nasally voice says, “Oh, Fisher, I need you.”
My skin crawls. This woman needs Fisher?
Sutton crosses her arms and grunts.
What the hell is that about?
“What’s the problem now?” Fisher asks in that no-nonsense tone of his. It’s kind of hot.
Okay, who am I kidding? It’s very hot.
“The squirrel is in my gutter again.”
He presses his tongue into his cheek, then sighs, his body deflating. “Okay, I’ll be over in a few.”
“Oh, thank you,” the caller gushes. “I’ve got lunch laid out. Why don’t you stay and eat? Let me show you my appreciation.”
Oh my god. This woman is shameless. The voice is a dead giveaway. I know exactly who’s hitting on my man.
“Thanks, but I’ve got the girls with me today, so I’ll just take care of the squirrel.”
“Oh, I’d love to spend time with little Sutton and Lindsey. I’ve got enough food for all of us.”
Without bothering to explain who the girls he mentioned are, he snatches the phone from my hand and hits End.
It wouldn’t surprise me if the woman on the other end doesn’t flinch at Fisher’s abruptness. From what I can tell, the people on the island have come to expect this type of behavior from him.
Besides, she’s probably still talking in that nasally tone, believing he’s there.
“What did she mean that the squirrel was in the gutter again ?” I ask.
Fisher shakes his head. “Damn squirrel keeps getting stuck in her gutter. It’s ridiculous.”
I nod. Can’t say it really surprises me, though. There’s a lot of ridiculousness going on here. A male goat named Betty, an old man who paints in the buff, a man who goes by the nickname Cank but whose name is really Bob. “Do you think she stuffs the poor thing in there?”
Sutton giggles from the back seat.
“And how would she do that?” Fisher doesn’t look at me, but there’s a smile there, I swear.
I curl my hand into a C shape and give my fake squirrel a shake.
“Come here, little squirrelly,” I say, mimicking Flora’s nasally tone.
“Don’t worry. You just gotta stay here”—I shove my hand forward like I’m stuffing the squirrel into the gutter—“for a little while so I can spend some time with Fisher. ” I drag out his name and really dig into that New England accent.
Behind me, Sutton’s giggles turn into full-on belly laughs.
Fisher comes to a stop in the road and squints at me. “And why would anyone do that?”
“For your attention.” I bat my eyes, hands clasped in my lap.
Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “Would you do that for my attention?”
A smile plays at my lips as I lean closer. “I don’t need to. I’ve already got it, don’t I?”
He reaches across the console and slides his hand into mine. “Every bit of it, Princess. Every damn bit of it.”
I bite my lip and lean back against the seat, unable to look away from him.
“So are we still going with that spider story, or are you ready to admit you’re dating now?” Sutton says from the back.
Lips pressed into a line, I fight a smile while I wait for Fisher to take this question.
He points into the distance. “Oh look, a Puffin. And a reindeer. Oh and there’s Santa too.”
Sutton giggles again, the sound as light as ever.
Fisher’s eyes flash with amusement as he rolls forward again. Flirty Donuts has nothing on this.
“You two coming in?” Fisher says as he parks. The baker is already standing out front, her red hair teased high, screaming for attention just like the low-cut too-tight shirt she’s got on. Shameless, truly.
“We’ll wait here. I’m hungry, so don’t take too long,” Sutton says without looking out the window.
Fisher nods as if Sutton’s response is normal— when it absolutely is no t—and disappears.
I turn in my seat and study her. I’ve never seen Sutton so snarky before and while I’m all for her hurrying this situation along, I’m concerned about what’s going through that pretty little head of my favorite girl.
Before I can drum up the words to ask, she beats me to it. “Do you wear a bra?”
I rear back, caught off guard. If I’d had time to ponder all the things that could be bothering her, that would not have made the list.
“Um, yeah.”
Lips twisting, she looks out the window.
“Do you wear a bra?” I ask slowly, keeping my tone neutral.
Sutton lets out a laugh far too sardonic for such a young person. “What do you think? Fisher would lose his mind if I asked him to get me one.”
Suddenly, I get it. At least partially. I straighten, feeling more confident about being a confidant for her. “Yeah, it was totally awkward talking to my dad about it, but it wasn’t as bad as being made fun of for not wearing one.”
Sutton shifts, her lips tugging. “People made fun of you ?”
“Everyone gets made fun of at some time or another, pretty girl. Some people are just mean.”
With a sigh, she sinks lower in her seat. “Ben said he could see my nipples.”
I picture the scrawny ten-year-old and decide I’ll knock a paint can onto his foot—a full one—at the next rehearsal. “Believe me, one day he’ll be begging to see them.” I slap a hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. Cringing, I exhale harshly. “Please, don’t tell Fisher I said that.”
Sutton laughs, the tension leaving her body.
I relax a little too. Despite clearly struggling with keeping my conversations with her appropriate, it feels good to know I can put her at ease.
“But seriously, boys are jerks sometimes. And if someone tells you a boy is picking on you because he likes you, that’s crap.
” I huff. “A boy who likes you should be nice to you. He should do nice things for you?—”
“Like when Fisher bought iced coffee for you?”
Cheeks heating, I rack my brain for how to respond without stepping on any other landmines. Fisher and I haven’t even discussed what’s going on between us, and Sutton is his, so it’s up to him to decide when he wants to talk to her about what we’re doing. Whatever that may be.
“Or how he delivers all your packages?” She raises her brows.
My heart flutters, but I play it cool. “He delivers everyone’s packages.”
“Yeah, but he goes all the way to Boothbay to get yours, and he definitely doesn’t dance with anyone else.” Her expression goes thoughtful. “Before you, he never smiled.”
The weight of those words slams against my chest with a powerful thud, knocking me back. “ Sutton .” I grasp her hand and squeeze, hoping she understands just how much that truth means to me.
It’s bittersweet. I hate that before this summer, he never smiled, and even more, I hate that she noticed.
But I can’t help but be thankful that now that it’s a relatively regular occurrence, she’s around to witness it.
Joy is a powerful thing. My hope for her is that she can emulate that and not the sadness that’s settled around the two of them like a fog for so long.
“I’m really glad you’re here.” Her voice is so quiet I almost miss the admission.
“I’m really glad I’m here too.”
Fisher comes stomping back, his friend on his heels.
“Sutton,” she calls. She’s wearing a smile, but it drops the moment she sees me in the front seat. Seeing as how there are no doors, it’s not easy for her to ignore me, but she does a decent job. “Hi, baby girl,” she coos.
“Hi, Flora,” Sutton replies, her voice far more monotone than usual. She kind of sounds like Fisher, if I’m being honest.
“I was just telling Fisher that you two should come over for dinner. You could even have a sleepover.”