42. Libby
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
libby
“I can’t believe it’s all gone.” Maggie sniffles.
While the people of Monhegan did their best to get the fire out quickly, the paint acted as an accelerant, and there isn’t a thing left that’s salvageable.
Sadness engulfs me. All the work we did.
The kids, the town. It was all for nothing.
And all because Flora was jealous . I can’t believe she was responsible for all the mishaps: the golf cart, the window, the hot water heater— honestly, that one almost put me over the edge.
Hell, she tried to drown me during the Monhegan Goodbye.
I knew something was pulling me down. Now I know it was someone.
I’m both relieved and bothered by the truth.
Relieved because it means that Brad had nothing to do with any of it and is likely still oblivious to my whereabouts, leaving this island as my respite from the rest of the world.
Bothered, though, that Flora hates me so much she nearly killed me and Sutton today. Thank god we noticed the fire before we were totally trapped.
I pull my girl into my side again, needing her close to remind myself that she’s okay. “I’m so sorry, Maggie.”
Maggie’s green eyes widen, and her twin braids swing as she snaps her head in my direction. “Why are you apologizing? We should all be apologizing to you. You moved here to escape the crazy, only to find another breed of it. This isn’t who we are, Libby. Swear it.”
I hold out my arm and pull my sweet friend to my other side.
She sniffles against my shoulder, then a sob breaks free. This theater was her everything. Maybe her only thing. Yes, it was used as a theater and meeting place during the summer, but it’s also the schoolhouse. Her schoolhouse. Where she spends her days shaping little minds.
“We’ll rebuild.” Though Fisher told us to stay out of what’s left of the building, Wilder has been wandering through the debris. He steps out of the charred mess, his dirty blond hair darker than normal from the soot, holding up a sign. The Grease sign. “And we got this.”
There’s a low buzz of conversation around us as neighbors discuss what to do next. But I focus on that sign.
“Yes, we’ll rebuild,” I say louder.
Maggie nods against my shoulder and straightens, inhaling a steady breath. “Yes. We’ll rebuild, and next year, we’ll put on the best version of Grease ever.”
Smiling, I shake my head. “Not next year. We’ll perform on Sunday.”
Wilder tilts his head and regards me, though his expression is thoughtful rather than disbelieving. And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a gleam in his eye. Yeah, he knows precisely what I’m going to say.
“We’ve got no set. Nowhere to perform,” Maggie says glumly.
I release Sutton and take the sign from Wilder. “We’ve got a sign.” I point to the park in the distance. “And in the words of William Shakespeare, all the world’s a stage.”
Maggie blinks at me, then squints at the sign.
“No one was hurt,” I tell her, holding out my arms as proof. “And like you said, this is community theater. Participatory theater. It’ll be a little more participatory now because the people in the audience will need to use their imaginations, but we can do this,” I say, my energy and mood lifting.
Maggie bites her lip, her dark eyes watery. “I don’t know.”
Wilder steps up beside me and drapes an arm over my shoulders. “It could work. I’ll get some chairs from the inn?—”
“I can provide flashlights and popcorn,” Doris offers.
Maggie frowns. “Flashlights?”
“For the car.” I give Doris an appreciative smile. “Fisher and Wilder could hold them on stage and pretend to be our Pink Lady.”
Wilder waggles his brows. “I make one hell of a loud engine, Maggie.” He lets out a loud vrooming noise.
“That line belongs on one of your shirts.” She giggles, wiping at her tears. “You’d really all do that?”
“We’re islanders,” I tell her. I feel it in my bones. I may be new to Monhegan, but this is where I belong. “Of course we would.”
Maggie surveys the crowd. The people gathered talk over one another with suggestions and offers to help.
Finally, she pulls her shoulders back and nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
The next twenty-four hours are a whirlwind. Fisher doesn’t let me out of his sight, and he holds me extra tight when we fall into bed late that night. But we’re up early to help get the park ready for the play.
“I’ve got eggs and bacon going,” he says when I come down, dressed for the day.
I waggle my brows. “Making breakfast? I like it.”
At the table, Sutton talks around a mouthful of toast. “Well, he couldn’t get donuts.”
Fisher spins and points at her with the spatula. “Too soon.”
Chuckling, I step up behind her and drop a kiss on her head.
“Morning, pretty girl.” From there, I make my way to Fisher and sink into his hold, relishing the comfort he gives me.
I kiss his chest first, then tip my head back and purse my lips, silently asking for a smooch.
“Leave her be. She’s right. You’ll just have to come visit me in Boston for donuts now. ”
Fisher’s eye twitches. He hates that I’m talking so openly about leaving.
I get it, but it’s happening whether any of us are ready or not. “Kiss. Me.” I say the words slowly and then dramatically pucker my lips.
With a sigh, as if he’s being put out, he brings his mouth to mine. “Go sit.” He swats my ass with the spatula. “I’ll bring your coffee and breakfast over.”
Squealing, I scurry to the table. “He’s really trying to get me to come back,” I say as I slide into the seat next to Sutton’s.
She nods, brows lifted. “Maybe you should ask for that dock again. I’m pretty sure he’d cave.”
Fisher grunts as he sets a cup of coffee in front of me. It’s iced and frothy and the perfect beige color that signals he used just the right amount of creamer. “Not you too.” He squints, looking betrayed.
Sutton shrugs innocently. “Just trying to see what else she can get out of you.”
Hovering in close, he kisses the bare skin between my neck and my shoulder and whispers, “Everything. You can get everything out of me.”
A delicious warmth floods me, from my chest to my fingers and toes and all the way up my neck and into my cheeks. I pick up my iced coffee and take a sip to cool myself down.
When Fisher returns to the table with our plates, he slides his hand onto my lap. And he leaves it there all the way through breakfast.
God, I’m gone for this man. He doesn’t have to worry about whether I’ll come back. When I’m gone, I’ll be counting down the seconds until I can hop on a ferry—or helicopter or trash boat—and get back to him.
We spend the rest of the morning and early afternoon getting the park ready for the show and rehearsing. Then Mrs. K allows us to use the private dining room at the inn for hair and makeup.
Just as we’re headed out, ready to walk out onto the figurative stage, Maggie squeals. “Oh my goodness! Our Instagram post about the show change is blowing up!”
There’s a knock on the door, then Fisher’s deep voice. “You guys ready?”
Maggie opens it and steps out, her focus glued to her phone. “One of the summer people must have posted about your help with the show. The page has tons of new followers, and they all want to know if it’s true that Elizabeth Sweet is performing tonight.”
When she lifts her head, beaming, I choke back the urge to wince, instead faking a smile. Once she’s engrossed in her device again, babbling about how this is going to be great for the school, Fisher and I glance at one another nervously.
At the sound of a throat clearing, we turn in unison.
“It’s true,” Cank says. “There was a whole slew of people getting off the ferry this afternoon. Normally the incoming ferry on Sundays is mostly empty and the outgoing is full.”
A rumble of a growl rolls up Fisher’s chest.
With a sigh, I place my palm flat against his racing heart. “It’ll be fine.”
His jaw clicks, his dark eyes swimming with concern. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
So do I. But what choice do we have? Besides, more tourists means more money for the island, and we need that money more than ever now that the schoolhouse will have to be rebuilt.
I’ve already called my financial planner and instructed her to make an anonymous donation that will cover the rebuild, but there are a thousand other ways this town could use the extra income.
The brewery, the inn. They can all use the business.
If they benefit from the chaos that’s sure to ensue, then it’ll be worth it.
Ten minutes into the show, it’s clear Fisher was right to worry.
It’s hard to hear the opening number over the shouts.
“Give us Elizabeth Sweet! Where’s Libby?”
Those types of demands come from every angle. I’m hiding out in the tent we set up as our backstage area so that only the characters on stage are seen. The stage being the grass in front of the tree.
Fisher gives me an apologetic look, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. “We’re getting you out of here. Wilder can take Sutton back to the house.”
As much as I hate to miss the show, this is the right call.
So I follow Fisher out of the tent. He takes his hat from his head and puts it on mine, then he and Wilder flank me to keep me from being seen until we’re out of view.
Once we’re a couple hundred feet away, Wilder heads back to the show to stay with Sutton.
The walk is tense. I’m caught between wanting to apologize and knowing he’ll be mad if I do. I know this isn’t my fault, but I can’t help but feel bad that the hard work the kids and Maggie put into the show is being overshadowed by my stardom.
As we crest the hill, a group of people standing outside my house comes into view.
“Fuck. They found me.”
Fisher shakes his head. “I’m going to arrest every one of them for trespassing.”
I grasp his arm lightly, hoping to imbue a little calm. “You can’t arrest everyone.”
His chest puffs. “Watch me.”
“ Fisher. ” My heart thunks heavily as I peer over at him. I know what I have to do, no matter how much I hate it.
His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head sharply, like he knows what I’m going to say. “No.”
“Come on, Hacker. You know how to get into the house. Sneak me in through the back door so I can get my stuff.”
“ Libby .” His lips pull down in a tortured frown. He knows I’m right.
“I planned to leave this week anyway. We knew this was coming.” I loop my arm through his and press my cheek to his bicep. “Let the excitement die down. I’ll head to LA and do the whole Emmy thing. Then when I’m back in Boston, maybe you and Sutton can visit?”
I’m confident about every facet of the plan except that last part. I worry that once I’m gone, he’ll change his mind about bringing Sutton to see me.
But I don’t have a choice. I can’t stay here.
At least for now. I can’t bring more chaos to this island.
Sure, the income from tourism is great, but people love Monhegan because it’s a place to escape to.
Its anonymity is its superpower. People come for the quiet, untouched beauty. Not in hopes of seeing celebrities.
I won’t ruin that.
Fisher gives me a singular nod and pulls me to his chest, hugging me fiercely. “I’m not giving up on you, Princess.”
“That’s good.” I hold him tight and inhale his scent. “I’m holding you to that.”