“If only the poor wee bairns could talk,” Jean said on a sigh.
Libby ignored Jefferson’s raised eyebrows.Off limits,she reminded her brain.No staring allowed.It made a desperate grinding sound in response, like the fan in her ailing laptop.
“Live. Laugh. Love,” Jean went on, when no one responded. “That’s what I reckon they’d tell us.”
“And find beauty in the unexpected.” Hildy’s eager expression clued Libby in that this was another of Lillibet’s greatest hits.
“Right.” She forced a smile, making a mental note to slap herself later.
“Is the no-ring thing a choice, or did you take it off to go gathering?” Hildy nodded at Libby’s left hand.
“Um.” They’d talked about this, agreeing that no wedding band was better than any fake they could afford, but the ready-made excuse flew straight out of Libby’s brain.
A sharp poke in the kidney returned her to the present. “’Tis about hands, tisn’t it?” Jean prompted. “Touching hands. Reaching out. Touching this and that.”
Thank you, Neil Diamond.
“Yes! I don’t like anything to block that connection. Between me and the earth. Or the sea. Sand. Grass. Flowers.” Libby looked for something to demonstrate her point, but it was tricky indoors. In a moment of desperation, she stuck her hands in her hair. It probably looked like she had a splitting headache.
“Likes touchin’ herself, too,” Jean said.
The silence felt like an empty swimming pool Libby was aboutto topple into. Somebody needed to say something. Like maybe the hostess of thisTitanicof an evening.
“Cocktails will be ready in a jiffy.” And won’t that be peachy keen? At some point during her programming, Lillibet must have been fitted with the 1950s housewife chip.
The door to the kitchen swung open. Keoki emerged carrying a tray laden with drinks. Libby sent up a silent,Hallelujah.
“Who’s this?” Hildy asked, looking him up and down. “The mysterious Mr. L?”
Keoki froze, shooting Libby a panicked look. He didn’t share Jean’s terrifying flair for improv, largely because it was hard for him to be anyone but himself. That was reason number one they’d never considered having him play Libby’s husband, even before Mr. L leaped at the chance to fulfill his thespian dream. The second was the borderline-incest squick factor.
“Ha! Not at all. This is my… old friend,” Libby stammered, at the same time Jean said, “Cousin.”
They glared at each other.
“A cousin-friend,” Jean amended. “Doon ya ken.” She plucked a glass from the tray, draining it in one go. It looked like an excellent idea to Libby, who was headed in that direction when Jefferson’s voice brought her to an abrupt halt.
“Is your husband joining us?”
She smoothed damp palms over her hips. Talk about a loaded question. Had anyone else picked up on the subtext of,The one you failed to mention when you were making eyes at me on the beach?
“Uh, yes. He’ll be here soon.” It sounded like a death sentence.
Keoki approached with a glass, having already handed one to Hildy. Jean grabbed it before Libby had a chance.
“Beg pardon,” Jean rasped after sucking down half of Libby’s drink. “I’ve always had a terrible thirst. Curse of me ancestors. The demon liquor in our blood!”
Libby made a throat-slitting gesture but was forced to play it off as fixing her hair when she realized Jefferson was watching.
“Aye,” Jean continued, like a car sliding off the road. “Both of me grannies drank like there was nae tomorrah. I was named for them, you know.”
“Oh?” Hildy said politely. “I didn’t catch your first name, Mrs. O’Malley-Gilligan.”
“Jean. Er, Jean-Colleen, that is.”
Keoki pried the glass out of her hand. “Save some for the fishes.”
“Shall we have our drinks on the lanai?” Libby said brightly. It seemed like something a hostess would propose, especially if her jailbird housekeeper with the dodgy accent was too busy getting loaded to do her pretend job.
