The Perfect Plan

by Carina Taylor

  "Honey, your legs haven't stopped fidgeting since yesterday morning," Marcie chuckled as she tried to push her wayward hair behind her ears. "You'll get arthritis from all the knuckle popping you've been doing."

  Even now, sitting at the table, Libby was rapidly tapping one socked foot while bouncing her other leg. She realized Marcie was right. She had to make a conscious effort to keep her legs still.

  "I don't know what to do with myself," she said. "It feels so weird not to work or go to school. It's like I can't function without a deadline of some kind. I feel useless when I'm not getting anything done." She rested her head in her hand and took a bite out of the frozen waffle.

  "It's because we're wired to work. People find fulfillment in work. There are very few things in this world better than seeing a job well done that you had a part in. But it's okay to take breaks too, honey. Not everything good in life is measured by accomplishments. Some of the good things are the friendships you build and the memories you make."

  Libby wasn't sure she wanted to dwell on that thought too long. She had always felt driven to do more, accomplish more, be more. She didn't do friendships. She never had time for them. Vivian and Evan were the exception. Maybe Jax. "Oh, crap."

  "What's wrong?"

  "I don't like having time to think, you know? If I'm busy, I don't have to think about things. Like when you finally take the time to glance at yourself in the mirror at the end of a long day, and you realize you're actually just a hot mess and not the runway model you imagined. I'm pathetic," Libby laughed.

  Marcie started organizing the papers on the table. "I would not describe you as pathetic. Why would you?"

  "Because of what you said about having friendships." Libby took another bite of waffle. She didn't like to expose herself. She didn't like to talk about emotions. She especially didn't like to talk about her failures in life, and admitting she didn't have friends seemed like a mark against her character. "I have been so focused on school and work that I didn't even bother to try and make friends in college. I didn't even stay connected with any of my high school friends. I have two, maybe three, friends. That's it. And one of them is Evan, so I'm not sure that counts. Maybe I have one and a half friends."

  Marcie let out a belly laugh. "I'm pretty sure Evan thinks of himself as more than half a friend. I wouldn't know so much about you if he didn't consider you a good friend. He'd probably like to be more than a whole friend even."

  "What do you mean ‘so much you know about me’?"

  Marcie smirked and raised her eyebrows. "Evan might not visit me regularly, but he does call. He talks about you. I didn't make the connection that it was you until we got to talking."

  Libby started to ask if Evan talked about her as if she were the most brilliant person on the planet, or if he talked about murdering her, but Marcie continued. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at the people who live here in Colter. We have an interesting group of characters here. You won't be as bored as you think. And who knows, maybe you'll find someone else to add to your friend list. I know I would like to be considered as one of them."

  Libby wasn't sure if the description "group of characters" made her want to stick around or not. She had seen a lot of characters living in San Francisco, but she wasn't sure she wanted to live in a small town filled with them.

  "I think you and I are already friends. I mean, we survived lunch at the pub together, and we played bingo."

  Marcie laughed. "Playing bingo in Colter is no small thing. If you're still around after meeting Helen, then you're a true friend."

  Libby smiled when Marcie shuddered at Helen's name. Helen and Marcie got into a tiff about The Garden Show (that was the instigator of their disagreement on Friday night). It was the first time Libby had seen Marcie angry.

  "Alright. I survived Helen. I'm sure I can survive anyone else I meet in town." Libby smiled.

  "That's the spirit! Now, I have a favor to ask."

  Thirty minutes later, Libby walked through the neighborhood, looking for Monty Webber's house. She carried a large paper bag full of bottles of homemade fertilizer. Marcie had dragged her to the small, scary garden shed in the backyard and proceeded to pour some liquid fertilizer into empty pop bottles. The fertilizer was Marcie's special concoction and guaranteed to make one's plants look perfect — or so she claimed.

  She owed Monty a favor, and he was collecting via fertilizer. Marcie thought it would look less suspicious if Libby dropped off the bag of "liquid gold" as she called it. Libby vaguely remembered walking by Monty's the day before, so she figured it wasn't too far to go on foot.

  The fertilizer was heavier than it looked, so Libby was glad she only had six bottles in the bag.

  "Give it back!" a young voice screamed.

  Libby glanced at the yard she was walking past.

  "No, it's my turn now!" another voice answered.

  Two little girls stood in the front yard of a pale yellow house. They faced each other, hands on their hips. They wore swimsuits and were dripping wet along with being caked in mud. One had a squirt gun tucked under her arm. The other one had two fistfuls of dirt. They looked like mirror images of each other. Libby couldn't tell them apart with that much mud covering them.

  "If you don't give it back, you'll be sorry!"

  "No, I won't! It's my squirt gun anyway."

  "If you don't give it back, I'll tell Mom and-" the rest of what the little girl said was lost in translation while she was being squirted directly in the face with the squirt gun.

  A maniacal laugh erupted from the one doing the squirting. Soon, one girl was chasing the other with the hose and spraying relentlessly. It was unfortunate the hose had so much water pressure. Before Libby made it past their yard to Monty's house, the water sprayed Libby from the back of her head down to her waist. She turned around to glare at the culprit but instead received a face and front full of water.

  The girls never seemed to notice as they raced around the small front yard, shrieking and laughing. Libby rolled her eyes and trudged on with her walk. It was a warm enough day that her shirt would dry quickly.

  A man stood in the yard next door, watering the shrubs and flowers lining his walkway. His lean build was overshadowed by a big, white-and-gray beard. He wore suspenders and a hickory shirt. One gnarled hand held a hose and the other grasped a shovel. He glanced up at Libby. "Civilian casualties, huh?"

  "Um yeah, I guess so. Are you Monty?"

  The man chuckled and continued spraying his plants. "I'm Monty. Who are you?"

  Libby couldn't help but smile that he didn't know who she was. Finally, someone in Colter who didn't already know her social security number. Yesterday, when Marcie had introduced her to people around town, they had already known who she was.

  She walked over to the small man-gate in his white picket fence. "I'm Libby, and I'm living with Marcie this summer. She sent me over with this bag of fertilizer."

  Monty glanced around as though he was looking for anyone listening. He dropped the hose, leaned across the gate, and grabbed the now soggy bag from her arms. He glanced around one more time before he trotted up the walkway and into his house where he slammed the door. Libby heard a couple of deadbolts click into place.

  "Well, that was interesting." She reached down and wrung out the water from her soaking t-shirt. The man was paranoid someone would steal his fertilizer. Libby should have delivered it in a locked briefcase. Maybe he would have relaxed a little if it could only be accessed with a fingerprint.

  She crossed the street before heading back to Marcie's. She didn't want to walk by the feuding girls again. Her shorts were still dry, and she wanted to keep them that way. Sibling rivalry was something to behold.

  Growing up without brothers and sisters had seemed normal to Libby. She'd always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling, but she figured it wouldn't be too different from her and Vivian's friendship. The type of friendship where they enjoyed spending time together and loved telling th
e other one how annoying they were.

  Libby liked to tell herself that having siblings was overrated, since she didn't have any. The same went for parents. She'd turned out fine without either.

  Besides, she had Aunt Leanne. She had been loved, cared for, and given an education. And Aunt Leanne was just as bad at friendships and relationships as Libby. Without thinking, Libby pulled her phone from her pocket and called Leanne.

  "Libby, is something wrong?"

  It probably wasn't her best idea to call her aunt while she was at the office. "Um, no, I can call you back later, Leanne. Sorry, forgot you worked on Saturdays."

  "No, Libby, it's okay. I'm on my way to meet a client at a new property. I'm glad you called."

  "Business going well?"

  There was a pause. Darn it. Leanne could always tell when Libby was wasting time with small talk.

  "Business is fine. This real estate office is a great one to work with. I miss you. How do you like Oregon?"

  "Oregon is nice. It's weird — or at least this town is. I just hand-delivered a bag of fertilizer to a man who smuggled it into the house like we had done a drug deal. Other than that, it's pretty normal here."

  "That sounds interesting. So, are you an underground fertilizer dealer now? Given up finance?" Leanne teased.

  "Hah. Not hardly."

  There was silence on the other end of the call as Libby walked down the sidewalk, her sandals snapping a steady rhythm. "Leanne, why don't we do friends?"

  Leanne coughed. "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "I mean, you and I aren't necessarily the "friend type" of woman. We don't have good friends. Heck, we don't even have boyfriends. I can't go on dates without thinking they are a complete waste of time. And when it comes to friends, I never have the time to go do friend stuff."

  "Well, it sounds like you're not going on dates with the right men if you think it's a waste of time."

  "Okay, fair point there." Libby hadn't bothered to put any effort into her dating life while in college. She hadn't found anyone she would want to waste her time on. And then she began comparing all of the guys against one man in particular, and they never seemed to measure up.

  "And why don't you have time for friends?"

  "Time? Good grief, I've been going to college and working nonstop ever since I graduated high school."

  "Why?"

  "Because."

  "I've been helping you financially. I know you could have taken some time off. Because why?"

  "Because that's what I'm supposed to do: stay busy all the time. It's what you do. It's normal to be busy all the time." Libby let out a breath. "I feel like a failure if I have downtime. Is that weird?"

  Leanne sighed, and Libby heard when she switched her phone off speakerphone. "It's not weird, Libby. It's just... not how I wanted things to turn out."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I mean, I've kept you busy since the day you came to live with me, and now you're dealing with the fallout of being raised by an idiot."

  "First off, you're not an idiot. Second, explain the fallout. And how to fix it."

  Libby knew Leanne could fix it. Leanne was a fixer. Ever since she took custody of Libby when she was six years old, Leanne had been fixing and solving innumerable problems. She should have been a superhero. Her emblem would have been a tool belt.

  "Libby, I was struggling to make ends meet when I got you. That's why I kept you busy with school and after-school programs — even throughout the summer. I was working on finishing my degree because I wanted more for us than scraping by on a minimum wage job for the rest of our lives."

  "You were amazing, Leanne. You know I appreciate everything you've done for me. But I wish I hadn't put so much pressure on you."

  "Don't you dare feel guilty; I'm just trying to explain why we love being busy. Once we made it through that tough stretch..." Libby knew that Leanne was talking about that brief stint of homelessness. "I took a breath for the first time. And then I saw how much you enjoyed doing all those things. You liked the activities. So, I made sure to keep you busy with all the things you liked to do. I didn't think about how it would affect you as an adult. Being busy is normal to you. I've accidentally taught you to be busy all the time. I think, in a lot of ways, it's a comfortable thing for both you and me. Staying busy feels fulfilling to us, but, sweetheart, your self-worth should not be defined by how packed your schedule is."

  Was it as simple as that? A twenty-year-old kid raising a six-year-old and trying to keep her happy? And Libby had misinterpreted it as the only way of life? Now, as an adult, she couldn't sit still for longer than it takes to eat a protein bar. She needed the busy. She craved it. It made her relax knowing she had no free time. She didn't like having time for introspection.

  Maybe Leanne really had created a monster.

  Leanne's voice blared through Libby's thoughts. "Hey, my clients are here. I've got to go. Love you. I'll call you later."

  The call ended, leaving Libby with plenty of silence to contemplate why she had the crazy need to be busy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EVAN: Is Grandma dragging you to church today?

  Libby: I'm afraid I'll be struck by lightning.

  Evan: Tell Linda hi for me.

  Libby: Who's Linda?

  Evan: The pastor's wife.

  Libby: You would know her.

  Evan: She makes great cookies.

  Libby: I'm not talking to the pastor or his wife. This is gonna be a hit and run.

  Evan: Ha. Good luck getting out of there without saying hi to anyone. I bet you won't make it out of there without five hugs and at least two invitations to dinner.

  The church had a tall steeple with a cross perched on top, and Libby briefly wondered if she was in Georgia. Peonies lined the sidewalk leading up to the front doors. Rhododendron bushes wrapped around the building. It was clear someone spent an incredible amount of time on the upkeep — even the lawn was mowed diagonally.

  A middle-aged couple stood at the door, greeting the churchgoers. Libby managed to follow Marcie to their seat through a whirlwind of handshakes, hugs, and an overwhelming amount of names.

  On the opening chord from the pianist, people began finding their seats. Neighbors and friends continued talking until the first line of the song began. Libby was certain someone sitting close by was wearing an entire bottle of Chanel.

  The church service flew by, and before she knew it, Libby found herself leaning against the railing outside while she waited on Marcie. She rubbed her eyes and held a hand to her pounding head.

  Evan was wrong. There had been at least seven hugs and three invitations to lunch. People acted like they wanted to be there. It was a new experience for Libby. She hadn't been to church since early high school, and it had been a church of a couple thousand. Rarely did she ever see the same people twice. But here in Colter, everyone knew everyone. And they had all seemed to want to meet her.

  Libby had spent a good twenty minutes talking to one especially kind but persistent woman who had somehow wheedled out Libby's entire life history along with a promise to go walking with her and her walking club on Wednesdays each week. When she had found out Libby liked jogging around town in the mornings, she had insisted that Libby join her and her friends. And now she was a proud member of the WWW: Wednesday Walking Women.

  Marcie stepped next to Libby. "I hope you don't mind, but we have a meeting for The Garden Show at Leah's house. Hopefully, it won't last too long. Leah's hosting and she can be long winded."

  It was a short drive to the subdivision where Leah lived, and Libby had to sit through a long, boring meeting where they discussed all the rules and regulations of The Garden Show. It was as exciting as her astronomy class at college — the one that everyone slept through, including the professor.

  Marcie leaned over and whispered, "None of us like to lose."

  Libby whispered back, "I never knew how competitive gardening could be. It's a gardener-kill-garden
er world out there."

  Marcie chuckled, and Libby was glad someone else out there could enjoy her cheesy humor. Or maybe it would be considered dark humor. Marcie was still looking for a victim, after all. Libby was beginning to regret her little joke.

  "Good idea." Marcie pulled her phone out and made a quick note. "That'd be perfect in my book."

  "You're not going to kill another gardener, are you?"

  "We'll see. Besides, Leah might do it for me. We're about to pass out from hunger here."

  When the meeting was finally over, Leah served lunch in the backyard. The Garden Show arguments were still going strong, so Libby found a chair at the edge of the patio and sat down with her plate of food. She started searching on Craigslist for available apartments in Portland. Several ads were declaring "ROOMMATE WANTED," but Libby wasn't sure how she felt about being the next victim of a serial killer. She already had one of those kinds of roommates.

  Monty walked by her, his beard flopping with each step he took. Something dropped onto Libby's lap next to her plate of taco salad. She opened a wrinkled piece of paper.

  Thanks for bringing the fertilizer. Next week, bring it to the backyard. I'll leave a key under the birdbath for the garden shed.

  There was another card in the paper. It was a gift card to Cup of Jo.

  She was turning into a fertilizer mule, but at least she got free coffee out of the deal. Maybe someday she would write her memoirs of her dark days in the gardening community.

  She glanced up to find Marcie striding toward her, talking on the phone. Marcie shoved the phone at her. "Here, talk to Evan for a few minutes. I have to explain my compost tea to June Winters. I'll be back in a moment."

  Libby barely had time to catch the phone before it landed in her taco salad. She glanced at it before putting it up to her ear. She watched Marcie stride back to a tall, thin woman in her early fifties.

  "Hello?" The masculine voice filtered through the phone.

  "I wonder if Marcie realizes that her phone isn't one-sided. She could call you back."

  Evan chuckled. "She doesn't like to disconnect. Besides, you've been ignoring my calls."