Chapter 15 #2
She stopped, and as she raised her eyes to his, something vulnerable flashed across her face.
Something that made him feel like she truly did care about him.
Not just his story. And damn it, he cared about her too.
Before the other night, he’d genuinely liked Libby.
Still did. And the more he stood here, staring at her like this, the more he accepted that she wasn’t full of shit at all.
Annoyingly, she’d profiled him pretty accurately.
“Um… I… Thanks for the shoes,” he said.
“You’re welcome.”
“So, um…” The humidity was suddenly getting to him.
His cheeks were hot, and his brow slicked with sweat.
Was today the day he moved forward with his life?
Rebuilding it wouldn’t happen overnight.
Or even next week. But what if right now was the start of the rest of his life?
“So… I’ve counted my blessings,” he said.
“Okay.”
“And I’ll stop sulking, too. Eventually.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Will you tell me about your notebook now?”
She shook her head. “Forget the damn notebook.”
The forest rustled beside them.
He tried again. “Why were you interviewing the priest the other day?”
“It’s what I do.”
“That tells me nothing, Libby.”
“All right, if you must know, I have this channel. It’s called Travels with My Child.”
“Ah… Your lipstick, the glittery eyelashes. Your camera always at the ready.”
“I review off-the-beaten-track destinations suitable for solo parents like me,” she continued, “and I like to feature interesting people we meet on our adventures.”
“And that’s why you wanted to interview me?”
“Well, there’s interesting people, and then there’s interesting people who’ll blow up the internet.” She shot him a sideways glance. “You, Cranky, in case you didn’t know, fall into the latter category.”
“Thanks.” Or at least, he thought there was some sort of compliment in there. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Blowing up the internet… That doesn’t quite sound as good as it should do. It sounds just like the very thing I’ve been trying to avoid.”
“It’s only one of the things you’ve been trying to avoid.” She shot him a pointed look. “You came out here to escape those reporters who climbed over your fence, but they’ll still be waiting for you when you get back.”
He ground his teeth. “Yeah.”
“You’ve got to feed people like that,” she said. “Otherwise they’ll make a meal out of whatever scraps they find. That’s why they write things about you based on blurry photos splashed across social media.”
“I’m not even in those blurry photos most of the time.”
“Exactly.” Libby looked up at him. “And the best way to keep them off your back is to give them something happy.”
“Happiness?” He almost laughed.
“You may scoff, but that’s really the simple truth of it. Misfortune and misery breed media attention. You show everyone that you’re okay, and they’ll soon leave you alone.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Give or take a few trolls and hacks.
Which you’re better off ignoring, anyway.
” Libby shrugged. “Go shoot a video of yourself having fun on the beach, post it on your social media, and ta-da! No more misery stories about Dan Jones. In fact, I bet your true fans would love to see you smiling again.”
This was too easy. Too sunshine and rainbows. To prove her wrong, he’d give it a go, except…
“I don’t have a phone to shoot videos with. I don’t have the internet.”
Libby’s eyebrows raised.
“Right,” he said. “But you have a phone.”
“And access to the internet,” she added.
“Okay. I can see where this could go.” He walked on in silence beside her. If he hadn’t stormed out, they’d have had this conversation the other night. “Now will you tell me about your notebook?”
She looked at her feet.
“I’m sorry I lost my shit the other night, Libby.”
Slowly, she searched his face, as if she were looking for the slightest hint of anger. He wasn’t angry. Actually, this was the most tranquil he’d been in two days.
Then, as if she’d come to the same conclusion, she said, “The notebook is where I dump my ideas for content.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Most of them are stupid. But stupid or not, I never actually get time to do anything with them for obvious reasons.” She pointed at Karim, who was still sleeping.
“So I write my ideas down. When I first saw you on the flight, I thought it would be cool to interview you about your recovery. Then, when I got to know you a little better, I figured one interview could turn into a whole series. You’ve got so much to say that people want to hear. ”
“The Highs and Lows?”
“Yeah.” She gave a little laugh. “But then I really got to know you and saw—”
“—that I’m a self-centered prick.”
She half-smiled—he was pleased to see it—but then she sadly shook her head.
“I saw how much you’re still hurting. I thought telling your story would help you get some perspective, some balance and focus.
I thought you could inspire people. But I guess you’re not ready, and you’re not interested. And I respect that.”
They walked on in silence again, accompanied only by the gentle rustle of the forest and Karim’s wheels on the dusty ground.
Perspective.
Balance and focus.
That’s exactly what Dan needed.
“What if I told you I am interested?” he said. “That I could be ready?”
“Then I’d feel like I’ve pushed you into it.” She looked away. “That you’d think I’m like everyone else. Using you.”
“Helping me.”
She raised her gaze back to his, her brow crinkling.
“You’ll be helping me, Libby,” he said again.
“Not using me.” Telling his story, his way, was what he had to do to get his life moving forward again.
It would give him some breathing space while he planned what to do next with his life.
“You scratch my back, Libby. I scratch yours. I’ll give you as much happy content as you need for your channel if you get those reporters out of my face. ” Dan held out his hand. “Deal?”
Her eyes dipped to his palm. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Then it’s a deal, Cranky.”
She pressed her hand into his and shook.
A chorus of wolf-whistles and kissy-kissy noises erupted down the dirt road. It was the Christopher Mac Gang.
Had they been there all this time?
Dan groaned. “Go away!”
They didn’t, of course. Instead, they ran up to him, laughing.
Libby snickered too.
“You’re just as bad as they are,” he managed to say a split second before he was swamped.
They tugged at his T-shirt and pulled on his arms.
“Come to the caves!” they said. “We want to show you the kopeka.”