Chapter 17
lovelillibet Who would you bring to your private island? A best friend? A lover? Your pets? Or maybe you prefer solitude?
Shipwreck fantasies can be a great way to re-center your priorities.
Love, Lillibet
Image: A small island appears as a smudge on the horizon surrounded by white-capped waves.
#myownprivateisland #secretretreat #exclusiveaccess
The sun was peeking over the horizon as they pulled into the parking lot, dipping the world in pale lemony light. Operation Evade Hildy’s Uncle (and coincidentally also Libby’s would-be husband) was a go.
Libby led the procession through the trees, followed by Hildy, then Jefferson, and finally Jean. She’d debated whether to wake her best friend after her late shift at the resort, but Keoki was registering for baby gifts with Cici, and Libby worried that without either of them around she would shrink into the awkward and tongue-tied version of herself.
To her relief, Jean had bolted upright as soon as Libby crept into her room with a jumbo travel mug of coffee.
“Today’s the day,” she croaked, rubbing her eyes. “Mark my words, something big is going to happen. She’s going to offer you the job.”
“She probably hasn’t even read the story yet. It’s been like four hours.”
“Don’t argue with my intuition. I feel it in my bones.”
“You know you’re not actually an old Irish wise woman?”
“I could be. In another life.” Jean grabbed the coffee and took a swig, wincing at the burn.
“Are you sure you’re up for this? You barely slept.”
“You know me. I love the nightlife.”
“You’ve got to boogie,” Libby finished. This was one of Keoki’s greatest hits, though not everyone appreciated the novelty of a disco standard performed as a ukulele dirge.
Fully caffeinated, they escorted their guests along the familiar trail to the beach, donning their reef shoes and checking that everything was safely loaded into the wet bags before starting across to Mo’o Island. It was not a casual stroll. The surface of the water looked like mercury where it was deep enough, but enough of the reef was exposed that you could see the uneven surface. There was barely room to place a foot between the knife-edged ridges and sudden dips. If you didn’t want to slice open your leg or step on something poisonous, you had to move with caution.
Between the hush of early morning and the concentration required to stay upright, they made most of the trip in silence—until they were halfway across, and Hildy burst out laughing.
“You okay?” Jefferson asked.
“I was imagining my uncle doing this. In his loafers. With the little tassels.” The giggles trailed off as she found another foothold. “Although golf shoes might not be a bad idea.”
Jefferson was still standing with his legs braced, staring at the reef below.
“You want your camera?” Libby asked, coming up beside him with the larger of the two waterproof backpacks.
“Not sure my balance is that good.”
“It’ll be easier on the island. There are tide pools.” Did this place fit the bill of “inaccessible to Hildy’s uncle”? Absolutely. But Libby had mostly been thinking of Jefferson. This was his kind of setting, beautiful but rough, with the otherworldly quiet she sensed from his pictures.
There was no one on the island when they arrived. It was just far enough offshore to make people think twice before swimming over, which was for the best. Between the rocks and the riptide, it was a trip better taken at the right time of day, preferably with someone who knew the area. An influx of tourists would also be a concern for the shearwater nesting grounds at the center of the island.
One of the gray-and-white seabirds circled overhead as they trekked along the narrow path. Libby unzipped the wet bag, handing Jefferson his camera. His eyes met hers in a silent thank you that made her blush.
After he snapped a few pictures, they continued around the protected habitat, traversing the uneven terrain at the far end of the tiny island. The rocks ended in a sheer cliff battered by waves. Droplets sprayed over them, leaving puddles where the ground dipped. Hildy peered over the rim.
“That’s a legit death trap. Rule number one. Nobody goes over. I’m not sure even JJ could save you from that. Hashtag common sense social media.” Popping her hip, she twisted to the side, pivoting to face the opposite direction when the wind blew her hair in her face. “How’s the light, JJ?”
“It’ll do.”
Libby watched in fascination as Hildy cycled through poses: looking down, looking up, hand in the hair, hand at her neck, sad smile, poker face, touching her lip. It was a master class in knowing your angles.
“I want this to say, I’ve lived, I’ve loved, I’ve learned. I’m a wiser woman today than I was yesterday. It’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.”
Jefferson lowered the camera. “That’s a tall order, Hildegarde.”
“A thousand words. That’s what a picture’s supposed to be worth. I’m barely over twenty. Anyway, this is just describing the mood. We’ll get Lillibet to help with the caption.” She smiled winningly at Libby.
Libby tried to look like she had some idea what was going on, but it was a losing battle. “What is this for, exactly?”
Hildy held up a finger. “Before we get to that, I need to apologize. I haven’t been completely honest with you, Lillibet.”
One of Libby’s feet slipped on a slick patch of rock and Jefferson reached out to steady her. He was wearing the rashie inside out to hide the Aquaman muscles, but she could feel the strength in his grip. She wasn’t sure it would be enough to hold her up if Hildy was about to take back the job she’d never officially offered.
“What’s all this, now?” Jean demanded, tugging Libby away from Jefferson. Libby was grateful to her friend for asking, since she couldn’t get the words past the tightness in her throat.
“Let me finish the preamble.” Hildy hopped down from the boulder she’d been using for her impromptu photo shoot. “I’m sorry I lied to you. That’s a shitty thing to do to someone you want to build a relationship with, professional or otherwise.”
Libby could only nod numbly.
“However,” Hildy continued, “in my defense, it was more of a misdirect than straight-up falsification and I have trust issues due to previous experiences with personal betrayal. It’s hard to know if someone is being nice to me for me or because of my family name.”
“I’m sure you had a valid reason for—embroidering the facts. Life is complicated. We’ve all made certain choices that in retrospect could have been … better.” Libby would have gone on if Jean’s warning glare hadn’t stopped her cold.
“Thank you for understanding,” Hildy said. “I was afraid you’d be mad. But I should have known you’d get it, being such an empathetic person. In fact—cue the dramatic pause—that’s why I loved your story so much. About Tutu Lua.”
“You read it?” Libby flinched as Jean punched her in the arm.
“No, she’s a frickin’ psychic. Let the poor wee lassie talk.”
Hildy put a hand to her heart. “I feel like I know her. Tutu. This is exactly the vibe I’m going for with the magazine. Gentle lessons in living an authentic life, with a delicious aesthetic. I want to go to her house and hear her stories. Maybe meet some of the big hunky grandsons.”
“I didn’t say that,” Libby began, stealing a glance at Jefferson.
“I can read between the lines. It’s okay,” she assured a frowning Libby. “Wilderness Daddy doesn’t mind. You know Speed, right?”
It was Jean’s turn to scowl. “The drug?”
“The movie. Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves. Where she tells him relationships that start under intense circumstances never last. And then some other stuff about the bus blowing up. But the main thing is the love story. You know what I mean?”
“Not—exactly,” Libby admitted. She’d seen it, of course. Keoki made them watch every Keanu movie, except the one where the dog gets hurt.
“I’m thinking that’s how we frame it. We flew too close to the sun, it was fun while it lasted, et cetera. Keep it archetypal. Easy to understand. Never underestimate the stupidity of the public.”
Libby was feeling pretty stupid herself at the moment. Like she’d been hit in the head.
“I know.” Hildy raised both hands in a be-patient gesture. “It needs your magic touch. And professional photography. I’m staring out to sea. Sun sparkles, maybe a rainbow. Or one of those birds swooping in! Lonely but beautiful and proud. What do you think, JJ?”
He shook his head. “I’m not an animal trainer.”
“We’ll hang around, see what happens. And then Lillibet will help me craft a poignant message about people who touch our lives for a season and then fade away, like autumn leaves or—something less trite. Every ending is a new beginning, lightly hinting that I might be available soon, after an appropriate period of mourning.” Hildy beamed at Libby. “I trust you.”
“You do?” Realizing she’d sounded a little too incredulous, Libby tried again. “Trust is—a river that flows in both directions.”
“Strange kind of river,” Jefferson murmured.
None of it fazed Hildy.
“You are the perfect person to bring our story to life. Like you did with Tutu. Two hot, young—or youngish—people from different worlds meet on the side of a mountain, finding life and quote-unquote love, until it slips away.” She bent to scoop up a handful of sand, letting it trickle through her fingers.
“You’re dying?” Jean sounded more outraged than concerned.
“No. My health is immaculate, thanks to JJ. We’re breaking up.” Hildy let that settle for a few seconds. “Well, fake-breaking-up. In the sense that we were never together. Maybe we should sit down?” she suggested. Probably because Libby looked like she was about to pass out.
They walked onto a sandy strip on the sheltered side of the island that faced the shore. Someone had arranged a half circle of driftwood logs around the ashy remains of a fire. Hildy settled herself on a weathered trunk, threading her fingers together and resting them on her knee like it was a boardroom table.
“Where were we?” she asked.
“You didn’t find love in the snow cave?” Not the most intelligent way Libby could have phrased the question, but her brain was too scrambled for logic. What next, they’d tell her the footage of Jefferson carrying Hildy through the snow was a deepfake?
“No. But we did discover a healthy platonic bond based on mutual respect and teamwork, so yay us.” Hildy patted herself on the back. “The real treasure was the friends we made along the way, and so on.”
“I—did not see that coming.” Either the sun had climbed high enough to warm the space between Libby’s shoulder blades, or Jefferson was watching her.
“Really?” Hildy looked delighted. “See, JJ? I told you we could do it. He was worried.”
“I don’t like lying,” Jefferson corrected.
“I approached him at a weak moment. Under the influence.” Hildy spoke with a hand shading her mouth, like the last bit was a secret.
“IV fluids,” he rumbled. “It wasn’t a morphine drip.”
“I’m talking about the euphoria of not dying. That’s a powerful high, especially when you factor in the rescuer/rescuee bond. He was so relieved I was alive and well.”
Jefferson shot her a wry look. “Sometimes I still am.”
“Thanks to your heartfelt paternal affection for me,” Hildy teased. Not about the affection; she seemed pretty confident on that front. Libby suspected the game was to crack Jefferson’s stoic fa?ade, though in this case Hildy had to settle for a shake of the head.
“I wanted to get a read on your character before we brought you into the circle of truth.” She smiled at Libby, as if that were no longer a concern. “You’re a lot like me. Ambitious but also loyal and discreet. That’s how I know I can trust you.”
“Oh,” Libby choked. “That’s really nice of you to say—”
Jean threw a twig at her. “Learn to take a compliment, Miss Lillibet. She’s ever so modest,” she added to Hildy, who accepted this with a brisk nod.
“The way I see it, you’re a storyteller, and I’m a story seller. It’s a language I grew up speaking. When everyone jumped on the May-December romance angle, I immediately saw the potential.”
“For fame?” Jean asked.
“For power. I control the story because I am the story. Well, technically we.” She circled a finger between herself and Jefferson. “But mostly me.”
“What’s in it for him?” Jean asked. “Is he on the payroll?”
“A little offended you think I’d have to bribe someone to fake-date me, but we’ll let that slide.” Hildy fluffed her windblown curls. “Besides doing me a solid, JJ is here to show his ex he’s not sitting at home crying while she plays stuff-the-sausage with Prince Caspian.”
“Crispin,” Libby murmured.
“Ahem.” Jean sent her a look that said, Try to be less obsessed, loser.
Libby gave herself the mental equivalent of a double slap. “Your uncle doesn’t know?”
“Nobody does except me and JJ. And now you two.”
“He’d be mad?” Libby guessed. “Is that why you’re not telling him?”
Hildy gazed at the brightening sky. “He’d respect the hustle. But I’m not going to give away my leverage before I have an ironclad commitment. Johnson Media is making bank off us. It’s not just the news coverage. TV movie rights, a novelization, there’s at least one memoir in it … if I can bring this all the way home, and claim the credit, I’ll be able to write my own ticket. No more, ‘Wait your turn, Hildy. You have to pay your dues.’ Like Uncle Richard isn’t the ultimate nepo baby.”
“And that’s when she gets the job?” Jean asked, cutting through the Johnson family drama like so much plastic packaging.
“Yes! It finally came together in my head—thanks to you.” Hildy directed that part to Libby. “I’ve been stressing over how to play the ending, because I think we all know it’s tricky to make the leap from tabloid darling to respected public figure. What am I going to do, go on Dancing with the Stars? No. I have a better way to stage my metamorphosis from being the story to producing content.” She paused as if one of them might want to venture a guess. “A classy, thoughtful, yet still highly entertaining profile of moi. Including strategically placed references to my exciting new magazine venture. Which my uncle will have no choice but to bankroll if he doesn’t want to look like an out-of-touch buffoon with money problems. And then you can be my star columnist, anchoring every issue with a deep-dive human-interest feature.” Hildy winked at Libby. “You talked me into it. No offense to what you’ve been doing, but this new direction feels fresh and forward-thinking. From self-care to caring about other people. It’s a radical approach.”
“Devious. Risky. Unnecessarily complicated,” Jean mused. “I love this plan.”
She was already taking it in stride, unlike Libby. In all their plotting and scrambling, Libby had never really believed the Lillibet experiment would work. It was more comfortable to keep her expectations low and imagine disasters, instead of letting herself dream that Hildy would offer her a golden ticket.
“Are you okay, Libby?” Jefferson spoke as if the two of them were alone on the island, earning a sharp look from Jean.
“That’s Lillibet to you, laddie.”
“It’s a lot to take in,” Libby said.
“Speaking of the job, she is,” Jean explained. “Proper gobsmacked.”
“I am. It sounds incredible.” Better than she deserved. That much at least Libby could say with complete honesty. A surge of hope sent her heart flying skyward. It was everything Hildy was offering but also the knowledge that Jefferson wasn’t in love with someone else. And maybe Libby hadn’t imagined the heat in his eyes last night, or the way he said her name—her real name—like it was something of value.
“Let’s not be a-countin’ our chickens afore they hatch,” Jean cautioned. “What’s our play?”
“We need the keys to the kingdom,” Hildy said, getting down to business. “Aka a fully autonomous executive-level editorial position for yours truly. So let’s dot every i and cross every t and serve this to my uncle in a package he won’t be able to resist. By which I mean a PowerPoint presentation. He has a troubling weakness for those.”
“All we have to do is—a slideshow?” Libby was sure there must be a catch.
“And keep my uncle happy and distracted. We’re selling him the narrative—I found love, sadly it didn’t last, but it’s okay because Lillibet helped me discover my true purpose, which is to be the next Anna Wintour. Only happy and not just about the clothes. Feed the illusion, so he doesn’t get suspicious and make me leave empty-handed.” Hildy paused to give Jefferson an encouraging nose-wrinkle. “Don’t worry, JJ. All you have to do is stand around looking stern. My uncle is always more comfortable with male energy in the mix. He’ll probably cry when we break up. But what was I going to do, live on a ranch?”
“Still not a cowboy, Hildy.”
“Your jeans beg to differ.”
Jean snickered.
“It’s today, tomorrow, and then Me-mas. Which will obviously have its own magic.” Hildy spoke as if they were home free. “And who better to curate a perfect vacation experience than Lillibet? Flex those hostess muscles before you transition to your ace reporter phase. Not that you won’t be able to maintain your lifestyle,” she added, like Libby might bail if she had to give up her sunrise yoga. “I’m totally down with you working remotely. I wouldn’t want Mr. L to think I’m stealing you away.”
“That—won’t be an issue.”
Jean elbowed Libby. “Sounds simple enough, eh? While we’re out here clearing the air, there’s something else you should know.”
Was she—she wouldn’t, would she? Libby was surprised by the force of her silent no. Of course she wanted Jefferson to know she wasn’t married, but that would require unmasking herself as a pathological liar.
“Turns out I’m not Irish,” Jean announced. “And I’ve never been in the slammer.”
“This is my shocked face.” Hildy pointed at her deeply unsurprised expression. “And the housekeeper thing?”
“Nah. I’m her roomie.”
“From college,” Libby jumped in. “Back in the day. You know what they say. Once a roommate, always a roommate.”
Jean nodded as if this were in her top three catchphrases. “I wanted to be here for moral support. Since this opportunity means so much to Lillibet. But like in the background, so she can do her thing. And who’s more invisible than a housekeeper?”
That really depended on the housekeeper, Libby thought.
“I figured the accent would set the mood,” Jean continued, forcing Libby to nod like that made perfect sense. Nothing like the world’s worst brogue to create an ambience!
“Aww, that’s sweet. Like me and JJ,” Hildy said. “Only without the accent, because I didn’t think of it. But he’s still my big manly binky. Not in a dirty way.”
“Good.” Libby hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Um, Jean—who is just Jean, by the way, not Jean-Colleen … or whatever—is an artist. She did the big painting. In the living room.” In case they thought Lillibet had filled the whole house with naked pictures of herself.
“Your Me Tree?” Hildy gasped. “I love your style. I’m giving serious thought to commissioning illustrated covers for my magazine. I don’t suppose you’d be interested?”
“Reckon I jest might—I mean, yeah. Totally.” Jean corrected her accent midsentence, sending Libby a look that said, Did you hear that? Ka-ching.
They spent another half hour on the island, Jean and Hildy chatting strategy while Jefferson took pictures and Libby kept an eye on the tide—and tried to look like she wasn’t coming apart at the seams. As soon as they got back, she’d text Keoki to see if they could do dinner at Tutu’s house tonight. Tomorrow she would … think about later.
One step at a time, Libby reminded herself as they picked their way back to shore. The water rose higher by the minute, swirling over their feet and sucking at their ankles. It was a precarious position: wobbling along spiny ridges of rock, halfway to dry land, but Libby was only part there, her mind spinning off in a dozen directions.
What was she really moving toward right now, beyond the safety of the beach: A job? A better life? The truth?
All Libby knew for certain was that turning back was no longer an option. She had to keep inching forward, hoping the next step wouldn’t send her plunging onto the unforgiving reef.