“You know what’s weird?”
“Besides you making peace with the insect kingdom?”
“I think I might miss her,” Libby confessed.
“Hildy?”
“No. Well, yes, but I was talking about Lillibet.”
Jean gave a low whistle. “How the turn tables.”
“I know. But there was something freeing about being her. The total confidence. She thinks it, she says it. Zero self-doubt.”
“See? For an uppity hobag, she wasn’t all bad. Nothing is ever completely black-and-white. Except old movies.”
“I think maybe on some level I wish I was more like that.Fearless.” Instead of timidly tiptoeing around theideaof being brave.
“Definitely not afraid to take up space.” Jean shot Libby a significant look.
“Yeah.” She was starting to realize that was part of putting yourself out there: Having the courage to want things and then reach for them, regardless of the consequences. For Libby, it had never been the “no” she dreaded so much as the possibility of pissing people off by asking in the first place. Which was not a super-healthy way to relate to other humans. “I’m not saying I’d ever go full Lillibet, but there might be times when a little of that energy could be useful.”
Jean pointed at her. “Like Bruce Wayne and Batman. Your secret alter ego.”
“Minus the crime-fighting and the rubber suit.”
“And the butler.” Jean sighed. “We could use one of those.”
“I’m afraid we missed our chance.”
“We’re back to that one-bathroom life.”
Libby’s molars ached, possibly because of how tightly she was squeezing her jaw. “You don’t mind? That I pulled the plug?”
In retrospect, those first anti-Lillibet posts might have been her way of lashing out, like she was kicking over the block tower they’d built together. But they’d morphed into something else. Self-examination. Apology. Emotional purge. Probably other stuff Libby wasn’t even aware of yet.
“Art is ephemeral. We’re always going to be growing and changing. Trying new things.” Jean looked at her toes, which were painted her signature bloody red. “Closing the casket on the past.”
“Um, ominous much?”
“Speaking of doom and gloom, I saw them.”
“Who?”
“Hildy. And Mr. Freeze.”
It was like that poem about fire and ice, only inside Libby’s gut. “Where?”
“The resort.”
Another stupid mistake: Assuming they’d gotten on the next plane home. Libby made a mental note to bang her head against the wall later. She had more pressing concerns now. “Did you talk to them?”
“I thought about it. But I was already hiding behind a planter, and it seemed weirder to jump out and be like,Hey, remember me?”
“Yeah. I can see how that would have been strange.” Libby hesitated, not sure she wanted to know. “Are they still there?”
“They checked out this morning.”
It was amazing how things could hurt all over again, even when you thought you’d felt the worst. “So, they’re probably gone.” For real this time. On a plane, off the island, across an ocean.
