Page 17 of Summer People
Once the girls are safely inside my house, where I’m hoping like hell Sutton can keep Libby out of trouble, I head the other way. Once again, I’m stomping down the stairs to her basement.
I was down here yesterday, and I could swear the pilot was lit, so I figure I’ll wait a bit to make sure it doesn’t go out again and that the tank heats.
With a sigh, I lean against the wall and pull out my phone. I’m replying to a text from Wilder when a new message comes in.
May Job 3: I want it done by Monday. At the very latest.
This is what I should be doing. My actual job. What I do may fall into a gray area, but it ensures that Sutton has the life my brother and his wife wanted for her. And it guarantees that I’m around for her and the rest of these damn island people every day.
But fuck, does it make the days long. Checking off all my duties around the island during the day, then doing the real work after Sutton goes to bed.
Me: Don’t worry, it will be done.
Before I can slip the device back into my pocket, the damn thing buzzes again.
Todd: The goat is back.
I sigh. I hate this island.
Me: I’ll be right there.
I stomp up the stairs and turn on the hot water. It’s only been twenty minutes, but right away, the water turns lukewarm. Good enough. I’ll swing by after I deal with the damn goat and check again.
With my hands shoved into my pockets and my head ducked against the cold, I hurry across the yard and into my house.
I’m instantly hit with the sound of the girls’ laughter, and when I catch sight of them on the sofa, a weird twist pulls at my gut. Libby’s hair is wet, and she’s dressed in my T-shirt and sweats.
She leans in and whispers into Sutton’s ear, and they fall into another fit of giggles. Without my permission, my lips tip up.
The second I realize what I’m doing, I lock my jaw and school my expression. I might want Sutton to be happy, but that’s as far as this could ever go.
“They go to the brewery at night. You should go too,” Sutton suggests.
Irritation shoots down my spine. The idea of having Libby at the brewery with Wilder, Maggie, Eddy, and me is too much.
I scowl. “We don’t invite summer people.”
Libby’s eyes dart to me, hurt flashing in them.
Regret washes over me, but I ignore the sensation. I can’t have her getting too comfortable here. We all know she’ll never last, and it’s better for her if she stays far away from us.
CHAPTER SEVEN
libby
“Didyou hear the princess asked for straws?”
“And what’s her obsession with white bread? Girl must eat a loaf daily.”
“I heard they killed her off that show because she’s difficult.”
“I heard it was because she had an affair with the producer.”
Lips pressed together, I back out of the grocery store, hoping no one spotted me. I’m not embarrassed. I’m angry.
It isn’t the small-mindedness of people here that bothers me. They’re simply parroting what they read in magazines and on the internet. I saw the headlines at the checkout counter with my own eyes. It’s the network I’m pissed at, because, apparently, they’re just going to let this story fester.
I left too quietly. I should have stood up for myself.
