Chapter 22
lovelillibet Few things compare to the dynamism of open flames. My candle game is strong, but I aspire to level up one day. Wouldn’t it be atmospheric to live in olden times, with a flickering torch on the wall? Or one of those darling oil lamps? We all need more warmth in our lives, so why not start with fire?
Love, Lillibet
Image: The red-and-white lighthouse at Makapu’u Point with the Pacific Ocean in the background.
#eternalflame #homefires #hotornot #oldschool
Jefferson found Libby on a bench in the shade, out of the flow of tourists moving between the park and the shops. He thought the heat might have gotten to her, but the slumped shoulders and hanging head suggested the problem was on the inside.
He watched her as he approached. She hadn’t spotted him yet, so her expression was unguarded. If he had to put a name to it, Jefferson would have said she looked a little sad. It reminded him of his sister Susan in the last year of her marriage, always tensed for the next argument. Libby’s husband sure seemed to keep her on a tight leash. Financially, anyway; he didn’t appear too worried about her physical whereabouts. Or how she was feeling.
Susan had once accused Jefferson of suffering from a mild case of white knight syndrome. Her point had been driven home with a solid punch, shortly after picking him up from the hospital where he and Hildy had been kept overnight for observation.
Don’t you dare pull another stunt like that. And you better not fall for another wounded bird, she’d warned, before he could explain that he wasn’t really dating the “Snowbound SoCal Socialite.”
As it turned out, the “wounded bird” comment had been in reference to Genevieve, who—once he thought about it—had been known to showily fall apart when she wanted something. That left it to Jefferson to step in and save the day. He was honest enough to admit liking his role in their dynamic: the one who kept calm and solved problems. Compared to Gen’s revolving array of crises, his issues were easy to ignore.
In the months since their breakup, Jefferson worried he’d worn a groove in his brain, programming himself to respond to drama. Was that why he’d been immediately drawn to Lillibet? Was she a closet disaster?
She looked up then, as if she’d heard him thinking about her, and Jefferson watched her face light up as their eyes met. He knew he wasn’t imagining their connection, and he was willing to bet she was equally aware of it. Hard to say if that made the situation better or worse.
He sat down beside her, leaving a respectful distance between them. “Everything okay?”
“It turns out I’m a tiny bit weird about people buying things. There’s a little voice in the back of my head that’s always whining, Are you sure that’s a good idea? So, yeah. That’s what it was. Money stuff.”
That tracked with what he’d gathered about her early life. It also sounded like a partial truth, but he wasn’t going to push for more. She’d talk when she was ready. Or not at all, considering he probably wasn’t her top choice of confidant.
“It’s a ti plant.”
It took Jefferson a few seconds to catch up. He’d been letting his eyes wander while he thought about Libby, but it must have looked like he was captivated by the pointy fuchsia leaves.
“The gardens here are beautiful. I bet you’d love to take pictures, if we had more time.”
He nodded, though he wasn’t thinking about plants. “Are you going to say something wise about sand and hourglasses?”
“No.” She spoke without looking at him. “But I do wish I’d met you under different circumstances.”
Jefferson knew what she meant, though he wasn’t ready to trade the memory of that day on the beach. He felt like a teenager, sitting in the dark next to a girl he liked, both pretending to watch the movie while totally focused on each other. If I put my arm here, will she move away? Was that an accidental foot touch or something more?
Only he and Libby were both grown-ups, so the question of whether she was putting out feelers or throwing up a wall carried much higher stakes.
“Are you talking about your husband?”
“Hmmm?” She seemed genuinely puzzled. “Oh, him? No.” Libby started to shake her head, before rapidly correcting course. “I mean, of course that’s part of it. In a way.” She gripped the back of her neck with both hands, squeezing as she tipped her head back. “You must think I’m a monster.”
“No.” There was an understatement for the record books.
“You know that saying, ‘You’ve made your bed, now you have to lie in it’?”
Jefferson nodded. That was a pedestrian one, by Lillibet standards.
“It’s like that. Except I didn’t make the bed, or wash the sheets, and the mattress sucks, and somebody stole my pillow. I’m lying in a big mess, basically. It might as well be an old lumpy futon on the floor. With fleas. And what if this is the only bed I ever get?”
Even before he heard the hitch in her voice, Jefferson recognized the signs of a doom spiral. Next the mattress would be on fire, surrounded by quicksand and piranhas.
“Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder, forcing himself not to dwell on the shape of it, or the warmth of her skin. “Do you need ice cream?”
Libby sniffled. “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “How did you know?”
“I’ve seen the symptoms before.”
“Your nieces?” she guessed.
“Sometimes.”
She smiled at him through damp lashes, and Jefferson had a vision of a cartoon tombstone with his name on it. Wounded bird, said the voice of reason. Wedding vows. But it was like telling someone to pack an umbrella when they were already soaked. A waste of breath.
“There you are!” Hildy cut through a sunburned family whose coloring screamed Upper Midwest, raising both arms to keep her shopping bags from whacking the occupants of the double stroller. “I know you’re supposed to choose your own Me-mas gifts, but I couldn’t resist. Also I feel like we’ve reached a place where we really get each other, so it’s not like I’m going to love something you’d hate, or vice versa.”
“You shouldn’t have.” It wasn’t a knee-jerk response; Libby sounded genuinely distressed.
Hildy wedged herself onto the bench between them, depositing her loot on the ground. “This is cozy. Just the three of us.”
“Where’s Jean?” Libby asked, scanning the passing traffic.
“I was supposed to tell you. She had to go. Said not to expect her for dinner. Oh, and we ran into Keoki as he was leaving, and his cousin got us VIP seats for the show tonight. Hot shirtless men and open flames! My uncle is going to love it.”
“Is that so?” Jefferson was curious to hear Hildy’s rationale.
“Are you kidding me? Percussion, burning stuff, and audience participation are like his three favorite things. You should see him at Cirque du Soleil.” Hildy leaned in to Libby. “I also took the liberty of buying tickets to the dinner buffet. So you don’t have to worry about cooking.”
“I guess it makes sense, if we’re staying for the show.”
“Plus I picked up on it not really being your thing. The actual making of food.”
“Oh?” Libby said faintly.
“No shade,” Hildy assured her. “This is social media we’re talking about, not testifying in front of a grand jury. Everybody gives themselves a glow-up. You’re still you, underneath the filter.”
Libby’s smile was strained. “That’s one way of putting it.” She hesitated. “It seemed like something people would expect. From Lillibet.”
“Branding. Sure.” Hildy checked her phone. “Breaking news. Uncle Richard is drinking out of a coconut. Dreams do come true.”
* * *
“I need some men,” the emcee intoned, his mouth an inch from the mic. “Big guys, little guys, or in between. Doesn’t matter as long as you’re brave enough to come up here.” He angled a hand above his eyes as he peered at the packed tables.
At Hildy’s look of challenge, Uncle Richard stood, dropping his napkin next to his empty plate before marching toward the dance floor. Libby’s husband sprang out of his chair to jog after him, a terrier shadowing a Great Dane. They were joined by a dozen or so hapless husbands and young kids.
“What about you, JJ?” Hildy asked as the performers tied grass skirts around the waists of their volunteers.
“I don’t want to show anyone up,” he replied, as the group on the dance floor began swiveling their hips in time with the instructions from the stage.
“Whatever you say, Shakira.”
They both looked up at the sound of Libby’s laughter. She was shaking with it, that first choking burst giving way to silent spasms. Jefferson suspected it had something to do with seeing her husband and Uncle Richard do pelvic thrusts.
A pair of young, shirtless dancers flanked Hildy. Earlier in the evening, she’d watched with vocal appreciation as they scaled palm trees in nothing but a loincloth. It appeared they’d both oiled their muscular chests since then, smooth pectorals glistening under the lights.
“Fine. You talked me into it,” she said as they led her away. “Let’s show the old folks how it’s done.”
Every day with Hildy was an education.
“Jefferson.”
How many times had Libby said his name? Not enough for the effect to wear off.
“Can I ask you something?” Her warm brown eyes were fixed on his face.
He nodded, embarrassingly eager to be of service—even if it was just passing the salt.
“Do you think we could pretend, for tonight, that we’re not ourselves?”
Jefferson’s confusion must have shown on his face.
“Forget everything you know about me.” She leaned toward him. “No past, no complications. I’m just a girl you met on the beach.”
“Libby—”
“I’m not really married.”
She might as well have dumped the pitcher of ice water over his head. “You mean you want me to pretend you’re not married?”
“I mean I’m really not. He only asked me because he needed a green card. It’s a temporary arrangement. There was never any kind of … personal relationship.”
That explained a lot. And yet, however easy it was to accept that Mr. L was only her husband on paper, Jefferson was struggling to grasp what it meant for him.
“It’s a secret,” she said into the silence. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” Libby frowned at the spoon she was flipping over and back again. “I guess that’s what secret means.”
“And you’re telling me because?” Jefferson wanted to be sure he understood. And if part of him hoped she would say, Because I trust you and want you to know me, he was also braced for disappointment. The answer could just as easily be, You’re leaving town in two days, and we’ll never see each other again.
Libby set down the silverware to clasp her hands on her lap. He could almost feel her gathering her courage.
“I was thinking we could leave,” she said, with only the slightest tremble in her voice. “Right now. You and me.”
Jefferson was already on the edge of his seat, but those words pulled the chair right out from under him.