The Perfect Plan

by Carina Taylor

  Wrapping toilet paper around the porch swing and draping it along the railing, she quietly stepped off the porch and tiptoed toward the front of the house. She felt like she had been unrolling toilet paper for hours.

  She was certain it was more work to toilet paper someone's yard than it was to clean it up.

  "Psst. Pssst!"

  Libby thought she heard someone whispering, but it sounded like it was coming from up above. Maybe it was just a bird flying overhead. Continuing her tiptoe journey, she stopped when she heard someone say, "Hey!"

  Looking upwards, she felt her heart drop to her cold toes. Marcie was leaning precariously over the edge of the top of Helen's two-story home.

  "Marcie! What are you doing up there?" Libby sharply whispered. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

  "Of course not. I was taking care of the roof, but now I can't get down."

  "Well, how did you get up there in the first place?"

  "I climbed up the ivy on the side. I'm not as light as I once was, and I could hear the vines breaking as I got onto the roof. I figured I better not climb down the same way."

  "You think?" Sarcasm cut through Libby's voice. "Well, do you want me to call the fire department? Because I'm pretty sure you don't want me to catch you."

  "Don't be ridiculous. The fire chief doesn't work Friday nights. Get my big ladder from the garden shed and bring it back."

  "That's it. Next time, I get to pick what we do for freaky Friday!" Libby shook her pointer finger at Marcie.

  "Don't be grumpy!"

  "Says the woman on the roof." Libby shook her head. Who climbed up ivy at midnight when they were in their eighties? No one that Libby had known before. She jogged all the way back to Marcie's garden shed.

  Opening the door, she felt along the wall for a light switch. When she couldn't find one after a couple minutes, she abandoned the search and began feeling along the walls for anything that could possibly be a ladder. Dragging her hand along the side of the first wall, she found an array of shovels and hoes hanging up that clanged together like chimes. Crouching down, she knocked something made of metal off of the lower shelf. She was louder than the New York Symphony at this point.

  Cautiously stepping toward the next wall, she continued her search. All she found was something soft and moist, a bucket filled with some type of liquid, and a hose. The next wall had pots hanging from the ceiling that she banged her head into. That was going to leave a mark.

  At last, her feet bumped into something that felt like aluminum. She traced the shape with her hands. It was the ladder. Now, she could carry it over to Helen's and get Marcie off the roof. No fuss, no mess.

  She bent down and attempted to pick up the ladder. It wasn't as light as she was expecting. She really needed to get back to the gym and start lifting again. Running wasn't cutting it. She dropped the heavy ladder back down so that she could get a better grasp. She managed to drag it outside the garden shed before she attempted to pick it up again. This time, she was able to lift it all the way off the ground.

  Grunting, she tried to adjust her hold to make it easier to carry.

  "Hold it right there," a voice growled.

  As if she could hold the giant thing still...

  Libby jerked her head around to find the owner of the voice. The movement nearly toppled her over with the ladder.

  A man stood not five feet away. The back porch light shone brightly behind him, making it impossible to define his features.

  Why on earth would there be someone in Marcie's backyard?

  That was when Libby realized. . . this wasn't just any man. This was a burglar.

  He was going to murder her where she stood: straining under the world's heaviest ladder.

  Could this night get any stranger? Well, if he was here for Marcie's secret mix of fertilizer, she wasn't going to stand in his way. She would gladly help him pack it up into the old pop bottles as long as she got away alive. A garden show wasn't that important to Libby.

  The only problem was how to get out of the yard. He had her cornered right now. She couldn't make out his face, but he was bigger than Libby. The porch light silhouetted him perfectly, so she could see where he was standing, which was right in her way.

  Scrambling to think of a way to get past the man, she realized she was holding the answer. A ladder this heavy could knock almost anyone over if they weren't expecting it. Throwing it was out of the question. If she did that, she would never walk again. Instead, she leaned her whole weight into it and slowly swung it around.

  "I said don't move!" The voice was louder this time and sounded panicked.

  With all of her might, Libby stood the ladder up on its end and shoved it toward the man. She could see the man put up his hands in an attempt to catch it, but with it coming at him in the darkness, his hand slipped right through the holes. It knocked him flat on his back with a thud and trapped him beneath its considerable weight.

  Adrenaline kicked in, and Libby bolted toward the house. She had taken down a burglar, and now she would be a responsible citizen and call the police. Trying to jump over the end of the ladder was her fatal mistake.

  She misjudged the distance.

  Catching her bare foot in the last ladder rung sent her sprawling face first into the grass. She quickly pushed up onto her elbows and started spewing blades of grass out of her mouth when she felt something hard slam into the back of her calf, trapping her foot in the ladder. Glancing back, she saw that the ladder was the sliding kind, and the burglar had shoved his end upwards to get out from under it.

  Libby began shrieking at the top of her lungs. The man was free now and walking straight toward her. Frantically shoving at the ladder, she tried to free herself, but it was no use. Her ankle was smashed between the ladder rungs.

  This was it. The end was here: killed outside of a garden shed while trying to rescue a woman from a rooftop.

  What a way to go. Marcie wouldn't even get the chance to murder her.

  At least her death would give the town of Colter something to talk about for the next few years. It would be the biggest thing to happen in thirty years.

  Giving one last blood-curdling scream, she figured she might as well give up. No one would hear her calling for help anyway. They turned their hearing aids off at night, and the fire chief was off duty.

  "Would you shut up already?" a very familiar voice said. It was coming from the direction of the man. "If you're not careful, you'll break something, kicking like that."

  Libby opened her eyes to look at the burglar. He was half facing the light on the back porch. It was bright enough that she could see his face.

  "Evan!" Her heart pounded in her ears as she realized who the burglar was. "You owe me a pacemaker for scaring me so bad."

  "What was that you said? I couldn't hear you over the ringing in my ears from your screaming." He stood there staring down at her trapped predicament, hands resting on his hips. His hair was wet, and he was wearing nothing but boxers, his running shoes planted on either side of her face.

  "Didn't have time for pants but managed to find his shoes." Libby shook her head.

  "Shut it, you whiner. I had just gotten out of the shower when I heard you pounding around in the shed like an elephant. Not my fault I thought you were in there stealing something." He rested one hand on his hip while the other one held something long and hooked.

  "Why would anyone steal a five-hundred-pound ladder? And why are you holding an umbrella?"

  "I didn't see you go in there, so I didn't know it was you. I'm holding this umbrella," he waved it at her, "because I didn't want to come out unarmed. What do you need a ladder for? And where is Grandma?"

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Libby grumbled. Evan knelt down beside her and helped slide the ladder back so she could pull her leg free. "Come on. As long as you are here, you can grab an end of the ladder and help me get Marcie off the roof."

  Evan sighed as he lifted her to her feet and brushed h
er hair away from her face, his thumb lingering against her cheek. "Whose roof is she on this time?"

  "Helen's," Libby replied automatically as she leaned into his touch. "Wait, what do you mean 'this time?'"

  Surely this wasn't a regular occurrence. It shouldn't be. It just wasn't normal to be on someone else's roof in the middle of the night.

  Pain shot through her ankle as she put weight on it. That wasn't a good sign, but she would have to worry about that later. Marcie was probably busy building a parachute to get off of Helen's roof by this time.

  "Come on, Sherlock. You get to carry that ladder."

  Evan snorted but didn't argue as he bent down to pick up the albatross of a climbing instrument.

  Libby felt justified in her weakness when she heard him grunt as he hefted it onto his shoulder — and he lifted weights.

  "I'll follow you," he whispered.

  "Oh sure, now you're quiet," Libby teased. "You might as well have announced yourself with a foghorn."

  "Me? You're the one who decided to start screaming," he shot back.

  "Well, if it hadn't been you, I'd probably be dead right now." She glared over her shoulder as she stumbled toward the front of the house. "So excuse my wanting one last scream before I died. I could be dead."

  "You might still be, at this rate." He gave her ponytail a light tug.

  "You keep touching my hair," Libby said.

  "It's so soft, I can't help it."

  Libby faced forward to hide her grin.

  Every time she took a step, pain shot up from her ankle, but it was becoming much more rhythmic. They made it to the sidewalk amidst gasps of pain from Libby and grunts from Evan under the weight of the ladder. The short journey came to an end when Evan finally stopped beside Helen's house and began to extend the ladder. He locked the sides in place before carefully leaning it against the wall.

  "Gram? Gram, are you up there?" he whisper-shouted.

  "Are you insane? You'll wake Helen," Libby whispered as she smacked his arm.

  Evan leaned toward her. "No, I'm not insane — no more than usual, anyway. Helen turns her hearing aids off at night."

  Libby had been right about the neighborhood not hearing her if she called for help.

  Evan's cheek brushed next to hers since he was so close to her. The first thing she noticed was that he smelled wonderful– he always did. She barely refrained from sniffing, but she did take a moment to thank God that personal hygiene wasn't dead among all men. The second thing she noticed was Marcie's feet dangling over the side of the roof, searching for the ladder.

  Quickly pushing Evan aside, she scrambled up the first few rungs of the ladder, fearing that Marcie was about to fall to her death. Libby realized her mistake when she became immobilized with pain just two rungs from the roof. She sucked in air on a silent scream.

  Praying that she wasn't doing permanent damage to her ankle, she grasped the sides of the ladder tight until her knuckles turned white. The sharp pain reduced to a dull throb. Resting her forehead against one of the ladder rungs, she blindly reached up to grasp Marcie's foot and guide it onto the ladder.

  She ground out, "Follow my arm down, and you'll be on the ladder."

  The woman moved swiftly, albeit stiffly, onto the ladder. Libby guided her with an extended arm. Marcie continued scrambling down the ladder and climbed around Libby, causing her to teeter precariously on her good foot that was holding her up. She clung to the side of the ladder, hoping to avoid another fall.

  Tenacity paid off. By the time Marcie reached the bottom, Libby had regained her balance. She glanced down the ladder and decided that climbing back down on her ankle didn't sound very nice. Maybe she'd just stay up there for the indefinite future.

  "You two go ahead; I'll catch up in a little bit," Libby called from her perch.

  "What's wrong?" asked Marcie.

  "Nothing," she grimaced. "Just catching my breath. I'll see you guys at the house. I'll even bring the ladder."

  "We can't leave you here. Come on down with us," Marcie coaxed.

  "I'd rather not," Libby stated.

  "Evan, have you been scaring off my guest?" Marcie teased as she packed up her small stepladder. "Well, I'm going home to make us all some coffee. You make sure she gets down and back to the house before the neighbors see her."

  With that, she gathered up her bag of tools that was stashed at the base of the house and headed down toward home.

  "Don't be long," Marcie called softly from the sidewalk.

  "Did she just say she was going home to make some coffee?" Libby asked.

  "Yes," Evan answered with a questioning voice.

  "Oh no, go stop her. The world doesn't need any more of her coffee."

  Evan laughed. "Alright, come on. I'll carry the ladder, and you make the coffee when we get back."

  Libby put a little weight on her left foot but instantly regretted it. The floating stars came back. Gripping tight to the ladder, she waited once more for the pain to pass.

  "Are you planning on spending the night up there?" he called.

  That did it.

  "Yes, yes I am. I thought to myself how nice it would be to be stuck on this ladder in my pajamas and bare feet when a bunch of strangers come out of their houses to get their morning newspapers!" She was surprised the sarcasm didn't drip onto his head from this height.

  "Then come down. I'll make the coffee when we get back."

  She swallowed. A tempting offer. Too bad she couldn't take him up on it. Her ankle hurt more now than when it had first been smashed between the ladder rungs.

  How to get down was the question. She still had one good foot, and she wanted to keep it that way. If she tried to jump down, she would risk twisting her good ankle.

  "Just give me a minute."

  "You're hurt." She could hear the concern in his statement. A couple seconds later and he was standing behind her on the ladder.

  "It's my ankle. When it got smashed in the ladder."

  Libby turned to look at him. It was too dark to see his green eyes, but she could imagine them.

  "Trust me?" he asked.

  Libby nodded. "Yes."

  She felt his arm reach around her waist. He lifted her from the ladder and pinned her to his side as he made his way back down to the ground.

  Stooping down, he carefully felt her ankle, but even the soft pressure of his fingers made her want to cry. Libby rested her hands on his shoulders to keep from falling.

  "I can't see much since it's so dark, but it feels swollen to me. I don't blame you for not wanting to put any weight on it." Evan stood up and ran a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you say anything? I'm so sorry I hurt you. Why don't you sit down a minute, and I'll hide the ladder so I can help you home first."

  He kept rubbing her shoulder as though he could rub away the hurt in her ankle. Libby involuntarily leaned toward him. His warm breath fanned against her forehead. She couldn't make out his eyes, but his lips parted, and he leaned closer still.

  Libby couldn't drag her eyes away. Evan licked his lips and leaned closer, as though he might kiss her.

  Libby cleared her throat, and the spell was broken. They were back to being Evan and Libby. He pulled back and smiled.

  Libby swallowed and slowly lowered herself to the ground before she fell over. She wasn't sure which had made her more shaky: her injured ankle or that moment between them.

  Evan collapsed the ladder then slid it behind the rhododendron bushes that lined Helen's house. Coming up behind Libby, he grasped her under her arms and lifted her to stand on her right foot.

  "Hey, at least I still have one good leg," Libby laughed, slinging her left arm around his shoulders. They hobbled back toward Marcie's. Evan had a good five inches on her, making it difficult to lean on him for support while they walked across the yard.

  "Maybe it would be easier if I crawl the rest of the way," Libby suggested. And it would also alleviate the awkwardness of being pressed up against a naked-chested Ev
an, she added to herself.

  "I've got a better idea," Evan replied as he lifted her arm from his shoulders. Still holding her arm, he turned to face her before grasping her around her legs and lifting her over his shoulder.

  Letting out a squawk of surprise, Libby didn't react fast enough to stop her face from slamming against his bare back.

  "Well, this is definitely less awkward. Said no one ever," she told him as he started forward at a brisk pace. "You know, I'm not opposed to piggyback."

  He just laughed.

  Libby wanted to make another comment but decided against it.

  First off, he was helping her, so she didn't want to complain. Secondly, if she opened her mouth, she might accidentally lick his bare back. Things didn't need to get weirder than they already were, especially after that moment where she mistakenly thought he might kiss her.

  She felt the jarring as he climbed the steps to Marcie's. His tennis shoes thumped across the front porch just before the screen door creaked open, and he carried her inside. He was a quick mover but not fast enough to save Libby from the whiplash of the screen door slamming against her head.

  "Ouch!"

  "Sorry."

  Libby wondered when her life had taken a wrong turn. What choices had she made that found her here, dangling upside down with a sprained ankle? Her life plan had been so solid. Go to college. Get a job. Work for the rest of her life. It was simple, and that was the brilliance of it.

  Yet, here she was, hanging upside down over Evan's shoulder with a sprained ankle, thinking that she didn't ever want to leave Colter. And that was the crux of the issue. This was not how she had pictured her life being, but she was happier now than she had ever been.

  The fact was that she - at twenty-two years old - had snuck into a neighbor's yard, toilet-papered the house with a woman sixty years her senior, and yet, Libby was the one who ended up getting injured. There was no good way to explain a sprained ankle when it involved a half-naked man, his grandmother, and a large amount of toilet paper. But she would have chosen to do it all over again.

  Evan bent down and laid her on the hideous purple couch. He turned to grab a few pillows from various chairs to help prop up her ankle. Marcie was banging around the kitchen, probably looking for her evening snack of frozen burritos. The grandfather clock in the corner of the living room chimed that it was midnight.