Evan lifted her foot onto the pillows. It was twice the size of her right ankle and beginning to bruise already.
"Thank you. Of all the luck," Libby groaned in dismay.
Marcie walked into the living room. "What did you do to your ankle? It looks painful!"
"Evan thought it would help build character if I couldn't walk," Libby explained.
Marcie's eyes widened as she looked to Evan then back to Libby. "He did that to you?"
Evan piped up, "There was a misunderstanding about the ladder."
"Don't worry. It wasn't on purpose." Seeing Marcie's confused look on her face, Libby explained further. "Evan thought there was a thief in the garden shed. And when he came into the shed, I thought he was a thief. I tried to run away, but then I got caught in the ladder."
Marcie nodded sympathetically. "Sounds like a regular old case of bad luck. I'm sorry, dear. I guess I should have warned you that Evan was coming tonight."
Libby narrowed her eyes at Marcie. She had known that Evan was coming tonight and still hadn't told her. Libby was starting to get a suspicious feeling about Marcie's finagling.
"I'll go get you some ice for that ankle. You poor thing; I feel like this is all my fault," Marcie said before she disappeared down the hall.
Evan was sitting in the recliner next to the couch now and had the footrest kicked up and was looking ready to fall asleep. Somehow, his whole body was tan. Looking down at her legs, Libby realized she had a farmer’s tan from her shorts, and it was painfully obvious when she was wearing spandex.
"You can't win them all," she muttered to herself.
Stealing another glance at Evan, she asked, "Are those Batman boxers?"
He sat up — although, with a certain amount of struggle — and looked at her through half-mast eyes. "They're collectible."
Then, he flopped back again and threw an arm over his eyes to block out the lamp light.
Libby wasn't sure if she should laugh or be concerned. He was joking, but it was becoming more apparent he walked a very fine line of sanity. Considering who his grandma was, crazy could be a genetic disorder.
Marcie entered the living room with a carafe of coffee in one hand and three mugs in the other.
"Don't worry, Libby," Marcie said as she mixed some cream into the cups. "This is made with my French press. No mold involved."
Libby smiled that it was necessary to clarify if there was mold in the coffee.
Marcie poured the coffee into each cup. She carefully handed a mug to Libby before taking one to Evan. As he sat up to grab his mug, Marcie leaned over and kissed him on top of the head like he was still a little boy.
"I'm so glad to see you, sweetie. I haven't seen you since Christmas.”
"Hi, Grandma," he said as he leaned up and kissed her wrinkled cheek. "I thought I'd come by and see how the two of you are holding up. Good thing I came when I did, too, or you might have ended up with a broken neck," he said with an admonishing tone.
"You know very well that it was my year for it. I couldn't very well pass the torch," Marcie told him.
"Pass what torch? What year?" Libby was starting to think someone forgot to tell her something important.
Evan laughed hard enough to shake the recliner he was sitting in. It was apparent she had somehow been the butt of the joke, but she wasn't sure how yet.
"Why, it was my year for the neighborhood prank! This was the annual Neighborhood High Jinks tradition. You don't think I normally go around toilet papering my neighbors' homes, do you?" Marcie asked in a surprised voice. Her feigned look of innocence didn't fool Libby one bit.
"Um, yeah, I did," Libby replied. "I thought it was better than being a toilet paper hoarder. Besides, what was I supposed to think when you dragged me out of the house in the middle of the night?"
"I thought I'd told everything to you, but it slipped my mind." Marcie's mischievous smile told Libby that nothing had slipped her mind. "It all started about ten years ago when the homeowner’s association was put together. We decided we wanted to be a different type of neighborhood. And so we began the annual pranking. Nothing mean, but just some small, harmless prank. Each year, we draw names to pick the prankster. It's up to the prankster to determine the prank, but then they are required to help return whatever it was that they did back to normal. And so started the Neighborhood High Jinks."
Marcie sighed then continued, "The Saturday after the prank, we have a neighborhood barbecue, and everyone tries to name the prankster. Ironically, the barbecue is always held here at my house. And on that note, I plan on going to bed. We have a lot to do tomorrow. Goodnight, kids."
Marcie left the room with her swift walk, leaving Libby there to think about the fact that it was perfectly normal to prank a neighbor in Colter.
"Here, I'll help you upstairs," Evan offered as he stood.
"No thanks, I don't want to move. So tired. Blanket? G'night." Her incoherent mumbling trailed off as Evan turned off the lights. By the time he returned to her side with the Sherpa blanket, she was nearly asleep. He tucked her in, careful to not jar her swollen ankle.
The next thing she remembered was an alarm ringing shrilly at six the next morning.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FIRST thing Saturday morning, Evan scooped Libby off the couch and drove her to the closest urgent care a half hour away. He was worried she had broken her ankle. After a relatively short wait by urgent care standards, they took her back for an X-ray and discovered that it wasn't broken. She was given instructions to ice it, rest it, and keep up on the ibuprofen.
Evan helped her hop into the kitchen when they got home. Marcie was in the kitchen pulling things out of the fridge. She tossed some boxes into the trash and set out the ketchup and mustard on the counter.
"The barbecue is at three. Evan, do you mind grilling?"
"Sure, Grandma. Where did you get all this meat?" Evan and Libby stared at the mountain of ground beef packages piled on the counter next to the sink.
"I've got that extra freezer in the garage."
Libby purposefully never set foot in Marcie's garage. She was too worried she'd find a body in there and then be accused of being an accessory to murder. If she never found the body, she would have plausible deniability.
"Now, I need your help. I have to throw together some food for the barbecue this afternoon."
"You're cooking?" Libby asked a little incredulously.
"Not really, I'm buying most of it. Potato salad, coleslaw, fruit salad, and some dessert — probably brownies."
Libby elbowed Evan in the side, trying to get him to say something to stop Marcie from cooking.
Evan elbowed her back, and Libby would have toppled over since she was only standing on one foot, except Evan snagged her by her arms and settled her back upright.
"Quit drinking so much," he whispered so only Libby could hear. "You wouldn't be so tipsy."
"I'll make the potato salad from scratch. I looked it up on Pinterest," Marcie said as she rummaged around in the cupboards. She pulled out a dusty jar of mayonnaise that looked like it had already been opened.
Evan leaned over and whispered, "She never remembers what to refrigerate."
"She'll kill us all."
"Maybe she's trying to."
Libby's eyes widened as she watched Marcie spoon a glob of discolored mayonnaise into a large silver bowl. It was so simple it was brilliant. Of course the woman wouldn't use a gun or a knife. She enjoyed sneaky things — like toilet papering her neighbor's house in the dead of night.
It made sense that she would try to kill someone via moldy mayonnaise.
"Here, I made you guys a list." Marcie set down the spoon long enough to pull a piece of paper from her jeans pocket and thrust it in Evan's direction.
"A to-do list?" Evan asked.
"No, a grocery list."
"Okay, Libby's probably better at that than me." He grinned and passed the list to Libby.
"Libby's hurt. She'll need you to be her
legs."
"Great." His tone suggested it was anything but great.
Libby shoved the list back at him and hopped down the hall to the door where she slipped on sandals — complete with socks.
"That's disgusting."
"Go cry me a river."
"Do you want to walk?" he asked as he slipped on his running shoes.
"Ha. You and your warped sense of humor. Find me a scooter. Or better yet, let's drive one of those new inventions. I think they're called an automobile. You drive. I can't shift with this ankle."
Evan held her arm with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist to help her hop down the sidewalk to his car. She was going to have one strong leg by the time her ankle healed. The swelling was already going down, and it would probably only feel like a bone bruise for the next few days. But right now, it still hurt to put weight on it.
"So, what's on that list?" Libby asked once Evan sat behind the wheel and closed the door.
Evan unfolded the list once. Twice. A third time. The list was scroll-length. Someday, an archaeologist would unbury it and believe they'd found an ancient manuscript.
Libby and Evan sat there quietly, almost reverently.
"It looks like we'll be spending our fiftieth birthdays together. In the grocery store. Still trying to complete that grocery list," Libby said.
"You know this hurts me to say this, but you're right." Evan let out a low whistle and finally laid the list on the middle console. "What kind of cake do you want for that birthday?"
"Cake? Who said anything about cake? Gross. Give me ice cream any day."
By the time he parked in front of the market, Libby was preparing to sit in the car and take a nap while he did all the shopping. She told him so.
"Oh no, you don't. You're not leaving me with this list by myself."
"Um, bum ankle? Hello? If I hop into that store after you, I'll probably knock over every display I pass."
"Wait just a minute," Evan told her with a little smile.
Libby was pretty sure she didn't like that twinkle in his eye. It always promised something embarrassing – for Libby, at least.
Half a minute later, Evan stood next to Libby's door with a shopping cart. Libby locked the door the minute she realized what he had in mind. He grinned and pulled out the key fob and unlocked the car before quickly opening the door. He leaned over Libby and unbuckled her seatbelt. She tried to cling to the dash, but there was nothing to hold on to. Evan scooped her into his arms and plopped her into the basket of the shopping cart, her legs resting on the side.
He thrust the list in her face. "Keep us on track, will you?"
"I don't like you right now."
"You'll get over it. This will be way more fun than sitting in the car." He lightly flicked her ear, reminding Libby of his annoying habit of turning into a ten-year-old whenever it suited him.
Evan jolted the cart up the sidewalk and into the store.
After the first ten minutes, they realized they would need another cart, so Libby leaned forward in the basket of the cart and pushed a second cart that Evan promptly loaded with soft drinks.
"Can people drink that much soda? How big is this neighborhood barbecue?" Libby asked.
"Trust me; it won't just be the neighborhood. It'll probably turn into a town event. Besides, tonight is the retirement party for Vince at the senior center. Ellie told me the whole town is going. They'll probably make it a day event: barbecue at Marcie's, then off to the senior center for Vince's retirement dinner."
Libby stretched her arms that were getting a little numb from pushing the cart at such a strange angle. "Hmm, so you and Ellie, huh?"
She knew she was fishing. She wasn't sure what she was hoping to catch other than information and jealousy. And she didn't know why jealousy would pop into her mind when it came to Evan. She didn't have a right to be jealous. They were just friends.
Evan didn't answer for a minute but continued filling the cart, box after box. "Ellie's pretty great, isn't she?"
That wasn't the answer Libby was looking for. Now that she thought about it, she hoped he would friend-zone Ellie, maybe even claim her as a distant relative — cousins, maybe. And definitely not kissing cousins. But no, he thought she was “pretty great.” Don't people date other people they think are pretty great?
"She's nice." Libby didn't mean to sound snarky. She liked Ellie. Only, it made her sad to think of the day her and Evan wouldn't be grocery shopping together and taping her car back together. Life was moving on. Evan would find that special someone he planned on spending the rest of his life with. And Libby would still be stuck on Evan.
Sure, she liked to lie to herself and say that they were friends. That's what a person does when they don't want to get their heart broken. But they had spent more time crossing those clearly evolved lines in the past month than they had in the three years they had known each other. Libby didn't know what they were anymore. They weren't neighbors, they weren't exactly friends, but they weren't dating. Yet Libby was getting upset that he might be moving forward with his life and dating other girls. She could try to lie to herself and say it was simply because she didn't want to be the single friend left behind, but it was more than that. It was the fact that she didn't want to see Evan dating Ellie — or any other girl besides her.
Evan stopped loading pop into the cart. He looked at Libby, and it looked like he was trying not to smile. "Yup, she's nice. Too nice for me, though. I think I have a thing for short, ornery brunettes."
Libby gulped and turned her attention back to the scroll. She was going to have to save those words to think over later that night when she had time to devote to it.
THE barbecue was a success. Everyone came but Helen, the victim of the previous night's pranking. Evan had been right. The entire town came and ate the hamburgers that he grilled.
Libby had bought a coleslaw mix and dressing, hoping to keep Marcie from making something else from scratch. Risking the potato salad had been bad enough. Luckily, Marcie had only made one bowl, and no one had died on the spot.
Marcie, Evan, and Libby did a quick cleanup in the yard and house before meeting at the front door so that they could head down to the senior center for the retirement party that started at seven. The fire chief was retiring, and the town of Colter was planning on honoring his years of service with an award ceremony.
"Look what I got you." Marcie proudly wheeled a chair into the hallway. It looked like it came straight from a 1920’s horror asylum.
"What is that for?" Libby asked but was afraid she already knew the answer.
"This is so that you won't hurt your ankle by walking on it. That caregiver Charlene sent left this. Pretty sure she charged Charlene for a brand-new wheelchair for me but bought this at an estate sale for a fraction of the price."
Libby glanced over Marcie's shoulder at Evan standing in the doorway. She tried to telepath a signal for help to him, but he didn't seem to understand what her waggling eyebrows were saying. Rolling her eyes, she stood up from the entryway bench but carefully kept her weight on her good ankle.
"See? I can walk just fine. All fixed. If I just keep walking on it, it'll work out the bruising faster." Similar to walking on a broken leg, Libby added to herself.
"Nonsense. I've always wanted to push someone around in a wheelchair."
"No really, I'm capable of walk-"
Libby didn't get to finish. Evan walked past Marcie with a twinkle in his eye — that twinkle that Libby was coming to despise — and picked Libby up off her feet and set her in the wheelchair. Libby was really, really tired of getting picked up all the time.
"I'll drive her, Grandma," Evan said with a huge grin.
"I would rather live to see my next birthday, thank you very much. Marcie can drive me." Libby shook her finger at Evan. He stepped away and let Marcie take the handles.
"Come along then. The party starts at seven, and if we're not there on time, we'll miss all the embarrassing stories they
tell."
Libby grabbed the armrests as Marcie pushed the chair forward with a jolt. By the time they got out the front door, she was sure she'd be seasick.
Seasick in a wheelchair. What a way to go.
Now, it was looking like the staircase would get the best of her, because Marcie was marching straight toward it, not slowing at all.
"Hang on, Grandma. I'll get her down the stairs," Evan said from behind her on the porch.
Evan half-lifted, half-dragged the wheelchair down the steps. Between the motion sickness and the bouncing, Libby was ready to plan her escape. Too bad her lame ankle kept her from running away.
After Evan got the wheelchair to the sidewalk, Marcie stepped up behind Libby. "Hang on, dear. We don't want to be late."
Ten minutes later, Libby was sitting in an empty hallway at the senior center. Evan and Marcie had pretended like they were competing in a speed-walking race. It hadn't taken them long to reach the senior center, where Evan pushed her up the cracked wheelchair accessible entrance.
Marcie had gone into the dining hall where dinner was being served, and Evan had stopped by the restroom, leaving Libby sitting in the wheelchair to wait in the empty entry hall.
She was busy contemplating how to get out of the chair when it happened.
Libby felt the chair start to roll forward.
She leaned back a little, hoping to slow down the movement. It rolled farther forward. She tried to counteract the movement by slamming her body against the backrest. It didn't help. In fact, it jolted the chair farther forward. It started rolling steadily along the linoleum floor. She frantically felt around for some kind of brake system on the chair. There was none. This must have been an original model from the 1800's. She tried setting down her good foot on the ground to act as a brake, but she was too short to reach.
The Perfect Plan Page 14
