Page 37 of Summer People
“I don’t need help.” Her voice cracks, belying her statement, and her throat bobs as she swallows. “I’m not anyone’s business. And with the way gossip works here, if I tell you, then the entire island knows. And then the tabloids do. So I’ll pass.”
My heart splits wide open. Damn. The loneliness in that statement is one I relate to deeply. Maybe not the part about the tabloids, but I understand island gossip.
Growing up, I was the weird kid, and people were always whispering about me.
“What do you think he does in that room with those computers?”
“I heard the mainland police were out because he broke into something.”
“Poor boy can’t make friends.”
“I think the screens are messing with his brain. All he does is grunt.”
“I hope he doesn’t come over here. He’s so weird.”
Since moving back, I’ve kept my night work quiet. Only a select few have ever even seen my office. And no one knows what I do.
“You can trust me, Libby.” The words are like sandpaper, painful to get out.
Finally she looks at me, a war raging behind her blue irises. She opens her mouth and inhales, and I take a step closer, eager to be the holder of her secrets.
But rather than speak, she shakes her head. “Thanks for the ride.”
She spins and darts for the schoolhouse. The building where my niece is currently hanging out with her friends. And I have no idea if that is something I should worry about or not. I made a promise to my brother to always take care of his little girl, and I have to do that.
Fuck. I feel guilty about what I have to do, but not enough to even hesitate.
I head back down the hill, eating up the distance in quick strides. After a quick stop at the grocery store to chat with Doris, I go straight home and don’t stop until I’m sitting in front of mycomputer. Normally hacking into an email account is a mindless task. One small item to check off a list. I don’t think about whose inbox I’m accessing or care what they think. But knowing it’s Libby’s, knowing that she will care, makes it a painful process. For a moment I question if I’m making a mistake, but the first email changes my mind quickly.
As I scan its contents, my jaw locks and anger pulses up my throat. All my plans for the day shift. I’ve gotta borrow a boat. It’s not the only thing I’m taking from someone today, but it is the only thing I plan to return when I’m done.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
libby
Hollywood Star Brad Fedder donates one million dollars to women’s shelter in Los Angeles.
My jaw dropsas I read the alert that popped up on my phone. I’d rather not ever see that man’s name again, but if I have to, then I suppose I prefer this over anything else. God, now what is he trying to cover up? It must be bad to warrant such a big donation. There’s no way he did this willingly. The man’s only friends are the figures in his bank account, and he hates women.
Or maybe he just hates me.
Either way, he certainly doesn’t respect women. That was clear every time he touched me despite my obvious disdain for him and the many, many times I begged him to stop.
I focus on breathing, willing the anxiety that clutches my throat and threatens to swallow me whole to abate. It’s the way my body reacts every time I think of that man and his touch.
Instead, I focus on how good yesterday afternoon was. Despite the run-in with the spider and Fisher, practice was everything I needed.
Community theater is nothing like being on a television show. Every moment I spent with the group yesterday reminded me of why I fell in love with the stage. The instant gratification is a high I haven’t felt in forever. There’s no waiting for some critic—or thousands on the internet—to react to my work. The dopamine hit that comes when a scene goes right is instantaneous.
While I’m only helping with the production, the way the kids listen to my suggestions is far more satisfying than any part of acting has been in a long while.
A round of applause from the kids or an overjoyed smile from Maggie are all it takes to make my day. Maybe it’s pathetic that such minimal affection has this kind of effect on me. Hell, just thinking about practice makes warmth bloom in my chest. Yeah, maybe it’s sad that I’m so starved for kindness, but I won’t worry too much about it. I’m happy. That’s truly all that matters.
Though I’d be a tad bit happier if I had some of the items from the grocery order Doris still won’t fill.
God, that woman makes me angry.
But I refuse to be labeled as difficult.
