Page 121 of Summer People
“Yeah.” He nods, spinning his beer on the island. “They wanted their kid to be happy and loved. Don’t you remember how they talked about being mainlanders during the school year once Sutton started first grade?”
Yeah, but when Marissa changed her mind about bringing Sutton to Boston, my brother thanked me for understanding, and all that talk seemed like just that: talk.
“Dude.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to be morbid here, but if something happened to you, what would you want for Sutton?”
Fuck. The girl can’t lose anyone else. My gut twists. Because if we stay here, won’t she be losing Libby?
Wilder sighs. “Just work with me.”
The words slip out easily. “I’d want her to be happy and loved.”
“Exactly. That’s all your brother wanted.” He gives me a long look, his expression far too serious for his always easy-going nature. “And he wanted you to be happy too.”
I shake my head.
“And I’d bet my boat that he’d love for Sutton to have a dadanda mom.” He tips his beer in my direction. “Even if that means living in Boston.”
I take a slow sip of my beer and mull over everything he’s been saying, knowing, deep down, that it’s all true. Marissa and my brother were wonderful parents. Putting myself in their position now, looking at Sutton as my child, makes it all so obvious. So easy.
Fuck, Wilder is smarter than he looks. And maybe a little smarter-looking now that the damn beard is gone.
Hunter and Marissa would want Sutton to be happy. They’d want her to be surrounded by people who love her. But there’s one thing I’m still not 100 percent sure of. “I don’t even know if Libby wants that kind of responsibility.”
Wilder breaks into a wolfish grin. “You won’t know if you don’t ask her.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
libby
Returningto the place I called home for nearly all my life felt like anything but a homecoming. The sterile scent of washed floors and scrubbed bathrooms hit me the second I stepped inside, instantly making me miss the musky, sweet smell of Fisher’s house. On the island, I usually woke to the aroma of coffee and bacon, maybe something sweet. Here, it’s nothing but cleaning supplies and a killer view of the ocean.
Even the panoramic view has nothing on the one I’d find each morning on Monhegan. There’s nothing more beautiful than the sight of Sutton curled up on the couch watching cartoons and Fisher leaning against the counter, arms wide open, waiting for his morning snuggle. Even Bing. What I’d give to watch him dance around my feet again.
LA is no longer home, and I can’t wait to get this last part of my life over with so I can return to the family I found back east.
Step one: get through the next few hours.
I study my reflection, appraising the work my stylists have done, and second-guess my plan another four times.
The Emmys are tonight. Win or lose, I’ll face all kinds of questions on the red carpet.
And I haven’t figured out exactly how I should handle it all. Should I tell my story? All of it? It’s unlikely Brad will be there. He’s not nominated, and I can only imagine he’s in hiding after so many of his transgressions have been leaked. Maybe allowing Fisher’s punishments to be enough is the right thing to do.
But there’s a part of me—and it’s not even the petty part, though that’s surely there too—that believes that if the world finally knows the whole truth, then maybe my story will open eyes and remind people that monsters like Brad exist. If I don’t come forward, I worry the cycle will just continue. Maybe it’s naive to think that what I have to say will even matter. I wouldn’t be the first Hollywood star to speak up, but damn do I wish I could be the last.
Either way, my biggest fear is that if I don’t use this opportunity, the production company will get away with dismissing me, dismissing my truth, and sweeping the controversy under the rug. If that happens, then who’s to say another child won’t be hurt under their watch?
After all, it’s entities like the production company that allow men to continue to do these things. They provide the cover-ups. The money. And they’ll gladly destroy anyone who speaks out against them.
They can try to destroy me. I couldn’t give a fuck. Hell, they already did. They used gossip rags to convince the world that I’d had a mental breakdown. They killed off my character and blamed my mind.
What they didn’t count on was that I no longer care about that career.
My identity in Hollywood as Elizabeth Sweet doesn’t matter nearly as much as the Libby I’ve discovered during my time on the island. The Libby I’ve come to be to Sutton. For her, I want to be stronger. I want to do the right thing.
I want to be someone she can be proud of. I want to love her the way my mom loved me. Even though I didn’t have my mother for long, she left the most astonishing impression. My mother’s strength in those last few months of her life still inspires me. The big moments aren’t what I remember about her. It’s the little ones. The smiling through the pain. The way she always showed up for me.
I want to show up for Sutton. And I intend to do it with a smile on my face.
