Page 64

LIBBY

“The plane is broken ?”

The flight attendant forces a patronizing smile. “As the captain said, we’re having a maintenance issue, but the plane is not broken.”

“But I still have to get off?” I eye the champagne he’s holding. The champagne I ordered. I want that champagne. No, I need that champagne. This is the beginning of my new life. At least it’s supposed to be. And yes, I’m aware that I haven’t yet left my old one. Nor can I just miraculously not be the Elizabeth Sweet , especially at LAX, where I’m currently taxiing on the runway.

If we could just get in the air, things would be better.

I would be better.

I should have flown private like my dad suggested.

“Yes. We’re required to deplane because the person who approves maintenance concerns is on vacation.”

A hiccupping laugh escapes me. “That’s absurd.”

“Yeah, man, that’s crazy,” the guy across from me says.

The flight attendant locks his jaw and glares at me. I was the first to question this ridiculousness, but one by one, the passengers in first class are getting rowdy.

“You’re telling me a commercial airline doesn’t have a person on hand to approve a maintenance problem when the guy goes on vacation?” the man in front of me jeers.

“It’s actually a female,” the flight attendant says, chin lifted but eyes still narrowed to slits in my direction.

I’m not the one who made the misogynistic comment. I’m not sure why he’s acting like I did.

“I say we all just stay on the plane. You can’t make us get off,” the sexist guy adds.

A low chorus of cheers breaks out, and I sink back into my seat and brace myself. It’s more likely that the flight attendant will throw the champagne at me than let me drink it.

I let out the breath I’m holding when he turns, champagne flute in hand, and explains as calmly (patronizingly) as he can why we cannot, in fact, refuse to get off the plane.

I’m already grabbing my bag from beneath the seat and standing. “How long until we can leave?” I ask, pulling out my phone and checking the time.

My father arranged for a helicopter to meet me in Boston. He’ll be really annoyed if I miss it. It’s the only part of my new life that I let him have input in, and if I screw it up, he’ll only want to meddle in other ways.

He’s less than pleased that I’m leaving LA and doesn’t think I should be running like this. Maybe if I told him the whole truth, he’d understand. But if I told him everything, I don’t think I could handle the fallout. Not right now at least.

Later. Once I’ve become the new me.

The flight attendant sighs. “The earliest they can be here is twelve.”

“Midnight?” someone behind me snaps.

I nod. Right. Definitely need another plan. It’s already nine p.m., and with the time difference and flight time, I was already cutting it close.

While the rest of the first-class passengers argue, I slip past the angry man still holding the champagne flute. Head lowered, I don’t stop until I’m standing across the desk from the gate agent. Turning on the charm, I rest an arm on the Formica between us and lean forward.

Before I can speak, her eyes light up. “Aren’t you?—”

“Shh.” I put my finger over my lips. “Let’s not draw a crowd.”

The woman nods. “Of course. How can I help you, Ms. Sweet?”

At least my fame is good for one thing. “I need to book a first-class ticket on a direct flight to Boston, and I need to land by six a.m. so I have time to catch my connection.”

Nodding like a bobblehead, she gets to work, her fingers flying over the keys of her computer. Her head tilts once, then again, this time her nose scrunching too. “Not possible.”

My stomach sinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

She still has that smile on her face. The woman is giving me bad news, yet she looks as cheerful as she did when she first recognized me. “It seems our entire network has gone down.”

“Your entire what ?” Teeth gritted, I lean over the counter so I can see her screen. That doesn’t sound like a maintenance issue.

I blink at the computer, then at her. I can’t make any sense of what I’m seeing.

The smile she’s still wearing is starting to look strained. “I can get you on another airline?—”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

She takes a breath and readjusts her smile, this time with much more effort. “But there are no first-class seats available that will get you there direct.”

Closing my eyes, I accept that I’m going to have to give in a little. “Fine. Then I’ll connect. What time will I land in Boston?”

“Oh, no. I mean there are no first-class seats available on any flights that get you to Boston tonight.”

I nod. It’s more like a bouncing of my head as I accept the inevitable. I won’t act like a princess. I’m no longer that person. Coach is perfectly fine. All I want is to get to the island to start my new life. It doesn’t matter how it happens. Everything will be fine. “Okay. Just put me wherever you can fit me.”

***

“Oh, we thought we’d have the whole row. Hunny, you’re going to have to take the baby. We have company.”

With a steadying breath, I survey the last row, where a couple is seated, one by the window and one at the aisle, along with their crying baby.

A glance in every direction tells me that this is the only open seat, as the gate agent told me repeatedly as she booked the flight.

I will not call my father and ask for help. I will not call my father and break down .

I can do this.

“She’s very cute. I’m guessing she’s tired,” I say, trying to affect a sense of calm. They’re the ones with the screaming child. It’s got to be stressful.

“She doesn’t sleep,” the mother mutters as she slides into the middle seat beside her husband. Then, as I settle beside her, she leans over and says, “I hate flying. Always get sick. Do you think you’ll need your puke bag?”

Fuck. My. Life.

***

Fifteen hours later, my Uber driver, who smells like marijuana and dirty socks, rounds the corner into Boothbay, and relief like I’ve never experienced before washes over me.

I missed the helicopter my father arranged by fifteen minutes, one of my bags was lost, and I haven’t made arrangements to get to the island, but just the sight of the ferry has my eyes stinging with emotion.

The last time I was here, I was just a little girl. Six years old and excited for the summer ahead and the time with both of my parents.

I know now that my father took that summer off because he and my mother knew it would be her last.

As I step out of the Uber and inhale the dewy spring air, I can practically feel my mother standing beside me. Her phantom presence is the reminder I need to straighten my shoulders and change my mindset.

She would have handled today’s string of nightmares with nothing but grace. I don’t remember a lot, more like snapshots of who she was, but she always wore a smile.

With that memory in mind, I force one onto my lips, thank the driver, who hands me the suitcase and carry-on I didn’t lose, and head across the street toward the ferry.

Two steps off the curb, I jump back, narrowly missing the car that swerves around me, horn blaring.

“Watch where you’re going, lady!”

My entire body sags. So much for Maine hospitality. I shake off the negative thought, look both ways, and continue forward. I will not let one person’s bad attitude get me down. I’m almost there. I can see the ferry… pulling away from the dock .

“No! Please, wait!” Dragging my suitcase behind me, I rush forward, waving my hand in a pathetic attempt to get the ferry captain’s attention.

It’s no use. The boat gives a loud blast of the horn, and then it’s spinning away from the dock and toward the horizon.

“You will not cry. You will be fine.” My words are a little less certain this time, but I’ve made it this far. I can hang on to my can-do spirit for a little longer. When I get to the cottage, I can scream into my pillow, but not a second before that.

As I approach the blue booth with a cheerful puffin and a smiling whale painted over the open window, another fragment of a memory flits through my mind—my mother, father, and me standing outside this very booth, huge smiles on our faces.

I take it as a sign and inhale all the positivity I can as I step up to the attendant. He’s got gray hair, a toothy smile, and ruddy cheeks.

“Hello, sir. I need a ticket for the next ferry to Monhegan Island.”

“One ticket for ten a.m.? Yes, ma’am.” He turns to the relic of a computer on the counter.

“Oh, no,” I say with a bright smile. “I need one for the next ferry leaving today.”

“You just watched today’s last one leave,” he replies, like he didn’t just steal my last bit of hope.

My stomach sinks. “That can’t be possible. It’s only three o’clock,” I force out, voice cracking. “Doesn’t anyone need to get there for the weekend? There isn’t a late Friday night?—”

He shakes his head. “Nope. The only boat going out to the island tonight is the one that’ll pick up the trash.”

I slap my credit card down on the counter. “I’ll take it.”

He frowns. “You’ll take what?”

“A ticket on the”—my voice wobbles—“trash ferry.”

“Oh, that wasn’t an option. I was just telling you—wait, aren’t you that?—”

I launch my upper body over the counter and grab the man by his suspenders, tugging him closer. “Listen, I need to get to the island. It’s a necessity. I need to disappear. Yes, I’m that girl. The one who spent her childhood and the entirety of her teenage years on Grady Party of Two . Yes, they killed my character off via drug overdose. Yes, everyone says I’m difficult and demanding, and I know I’m not helping my cause right now, but I need you to get me on that boat. I flew ten hours—in coach —next to a woman who got sick three times while her kid screamed bloody murder. I missed my helicopter over to the island after I swore to my father that I could do this on my own. I can’t fail at anything else. I just… can’t. I’ll do anything— pay anything —just, please, get me on that boat . ”

The man blinks and swallows, fear haunting his gray eyes.

I drop my hands immediately. “Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Head hanging, I turn away. Oh god, I can all but guarantee that the media will catch wind of my location within the hour and news of a supposed mental breakdown will run rampant.

They wouldn’t even be wrong.

For once.

“Well, ya coming?” a gruff voice calls.

Blinking back tears, I zero in on the man in the suspenders. He’s on this side of the counter now, fingers gripping the handle of my suitcase. “Just tell Cank that you’re my friend. They’ll take care of ya, kid.”

Relief washes over me with such intensity that it knocks loose the tears I’ve been holding back, and now I really am crying.

“Oh no. Don’t do that.” He reaches into his pocket, produces a grayish-looking tissue, and pushes it toward me.

Unable to be rude to someone who’s being so nice, I take it. Crumpling it in my hand, I try not to think about how long it’s been in his pocket or whether he’s used it before.

“Come on, now. We’ve got garbage to pick up. Just ignore Gus. Kid’s a bit weird.”

Who’s Gus?

Before I can voice the question, a gaunt-looking guy in a very dirty shirt with grayish teeth smiles at me.

Yeah, I’m going to ignore him.