5. Libby
CHAPTER FIVE
libby
Monhegan Island is twelve miles off the coast of Maine.
Though from the view outside the kitchen window, it might as well be a million miles from civilization.
All I can see here are rolling hills that lead to a daring cliff and the angry ocean.
For the first time in my life, there’s not a person in sight.
No assistants or lackeys bugging me for my breakfast order or reminding me of what time I need to be on set.
My phone isn’t buzzing with invites to restaurant openings, and my publicist isn’t texting with lists of events I’m expected to attend.
I’m surrounded by silence and I’m okay with that.
Though I wouldn’t mind a coffee right about now.
I lean against the pale blue counter in the kitchen and smile. God, I can feel Mom in here. She had nothing to do with the decorating—that was all her great-grandmother—but she loved this place so much.
There’s a small wooden table pressed against the wall.
If I close my eyes, I can picture her moving about this space while six-year-old me sat at one of the three chairs, eating a bowl of cereal.
She always wore robes in bright colors. They would billow around her as she told me about what the day ahead would bring.
A beach excursion, hiking the cliffs along the back of the island to watch for whales, a boat ride to the mainland for a lobster roll at lunch.
My mother made even simple afternoon strolls seem as exciting as a night at the symphony.
She made everything special.
With an exhale, I open my eyes. Instantly, I’m engulfed in the silence of the muted space. Even the teal walls are duller than I remember.
Everything seemed so much more in my memory.
The reality doesn’t quite match up.
But that’s a me thing. If my mother were here, she would remind me that it’s all about perspective. No coffee pot? A reason to go into town and explore.
No hot water? Cold water is better for your skin.
No luggage? An excuse to go shopping.
Spiders? At least they’ll keep the bugs away.
The grump next door? A challenge. She’d find a way to make the man smile.
I grin at that, head tipped back. Even long gone, she can still make me smile. She’d have liked Sutton too.
She liked everyone.
Scratch that. Almost everyone.
She wouldn’t have liked Brad.
The mere thought of him sobers me. I really do need to turn on my phone.
I powered it down yesterday. Otherwise my publicist and father and everyone else in LA would be hounding me.
Renee is convinced she could fix this if I let her. My father doesn’t understand why I won’t fight back.
But Brad? Brad Fedder will destroy every last shred of goodwill I’ve earned in my lifetime if I don’t stay quiet. And if that happens, the world will question why I stayed quiet for so long.
And not one of them would believe me. I can all but guarantee it.
That is why I ran.
That’s why I’m here.
I push myself off the counter and head upstairs to change. My mother is right. The lack of coffee is an excellent reason to go explore. And an excellent excuse not to turn on my phone.
At least not yet.
I could really use that second suitcase this morning. My pink hoodie is too thin to protect from the cold wind—just like Fisher warned me about yesterday.
Arms crossed to hold in as much warmth as I can, I head down the dirty path I followed to get here yesterday.
The island is tiny, and the paths are deeply traveled, making it nearly impossible to get lost. Within minutes, I make it down the hill.
I pass several small homes and a sprinkling of businesses.
There’s no downtown, per se. It’s more like a pathway with signs that direct visitors to more paths.
Grocery This Way.
Lobster Rolls Here.
Best Clam Chowder Down the Path!
Ice Cream Up the Hill.
A sign for a brewery piques my interest.
It’s not a champagne bar on the ocean, but alcohol is alcohol, and I’m sure I’ll need a glass or two after another day with no hot water.
I make a mental note of the brewery’s location, then continue on.
Before I left the house, I gave in and turned my phone on, but only to call my father. It’s still early in LA, just barely six a.m. but he’s a workaholic, so like I knew he would be, he was up and showered and ready for the day.
I made him promise—again—to keep my whereabouts a secret and assured him that I’m fine. I swore the house was exactly as I remember— a fib, for sure —that the island has everything I need— clearly a lie —and that I’m going to enjoy this much needed break. A half-truth at best.
This is a much-needed break I’m just not so sure I’ll enjoy it.
Like my father, I’m a workaholic. Since childhood, I’ve been a working actress. By some stroke of luck, I landed a movie deal at just four. Outside the year my mother died, I’ve never slowed down.
The call to my dad was the only one I made. I didn’t even look at the messages from my publicist or my agent.
And I definitely did not reply to Brad.
I take the turn that leads down to the ferry docks and spot a woman sitting on a rocking chair on the deck of the inn.
The island is quiet, empty, though I’m sure once Memorial Day hits, the chairs on that deck will all be filled.
The woman waves to me, and I wave back, already feeling a bit lighter.
Close-knit community. This is what I came for. Neighbors who say hello, a small grocery store where the people shopping all know one another and chat about what they’re making for dinner, adorable coffee shops with specially made treats.
As the pier comes into view—along with a cluster of bags on the wooden planks—I hasten my steps. Could my luggage have already been delivered?
The water in the inlet where the ferry docks thrashes angrily, sending a chill through me. I’m glad I don’t have to be out on the ocean today.
As I get closer, I inspect the bags, and when I don’t spot my luggage, I shrug and head into the tiny store that sits beside the dock, hopeful that I’ll find breakfast and caffeine.
The older woman behind the counter looks up, eyes bright, when the bell above the door announces my arrival.
“Cank,” she hollers, “we have a visitor!”
Smiling, I glance at the menu written on a chalkboard above her head.
Coffee
Orange Juice
Egg
Seasonal Fruit
Muffins
Hm. What does egg mean? Can I just ask for it any way I want it? And what kind of fruit is in season?
“What can I get you?” the woman asks, her New England accent thick as she slides the pen from behind her ear.
“Um, I’ll take a sugar-free venti caramel macchiato with two pumps of syrup, one pump of cream.”
The woman blinks, pen held an inch from her pad. “We’ve got coffee.” Caffee . Like taffy with a C.
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “I’ll take whatever you have.”
“Milk and sugar?” She grabs a white mug. I’m guessing they don’t have to-go cups. “Real sugar.” She gives me a toothy grin. “None of that unsweetened kind.”
I laugh, praying she can’t see how red my face is, and nod. “Sure, coffee with milk and sugar sounds great.”
The door behind her swings open and the dock master from yesterday appears. Despite the chill in the air, he’s only got a white T-shirt on beneath his overalls.
Just looking at him makes me shiver. Though I can’t help but feel affection for the virtual stranger as well after he was kind enough to tell me where to leave my luggage and to point me in the direction of my house last night.
“Ms. Sweet. Good to see you.”
I give him a genuine smile. “You as well.”
“Did my wife offer you a muffin? You should take a few home. The grocery store doesn’t open until this afternoon.”
He snaps open a small paper bag and shoves three or four muffins into it.
“How’s the house? Everything in working order?”
“Everything’s great.” I frown. “Well, except I have no hot water.”
“Ah, the pilot must have gone out.” He pushes the bag into my hands.
“The pilot?”
“Yup.” He adjusts his floppy hat, drawing my attention, not for the first time, to the placement of the whale and the puffin. “You just have to light it. Want me to send Fisher over to?—”
I’m shaking my head before he can finish the question. “I can handle it. Thanks, Cank.”
His wife hands me my coffee and I take my bag of muffins. Then I settle on the stool and survey the ocean outside the window.
This is precisely why people come to this island. Nothing but rolling hills that lead to the ocean, a gorgeous lighthouse, and the birds to keep me company.
I take a sip of my coffee and hum, surprised by the rich flavor.
Who needs a caramel macchiato anyway? Nothing is better than a warm cup of coffee.
Except maybe a warm cup of coffee and a hot shower.
That’s next on my list. I saw matches in the kitchen this morning.
Now I’ll just have to figure out where the pilot is.
It’s probably connected to the big tank in the backyard.
As soon as I finish breakfast, I’ll head back to the house and light the pilot.
Then, finally, I’ll have that warm shower I’ve been itching for.
See? Today is already better than yesterday.