The Perfect Plan

by Carina Taylor

  Libby bit her lip. "I think. . . I think that we could have a lot of fun in Belize together."

  "I think we could too," Evan said with a grin. "I'll see if I can get the time off."

  Libby's heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. He wanted to spend time with her. He had ditched out on a date to spend time with her. He had sabotaged her date with Lane earlier and hadn't felt sorry for it.

  Maybe they could become something more without ruining their friendship.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LIBBY had spent a couple hours Wednesday morning doing some bookkeeping. She sat on her bed with her laptop and was able to get some work done, uninterrupted, since Evan had taken Bebe downstairs with him.

  Earlier that morning, when she had opened her bedroom door to go for a run, she had tripped over a shoebox. There had been a note on it.

  For my runner girl. ~Evan

  Libby had opened the box and found a new pair of running shoes. It was a brand she had admired but never bought before. Evan had even gotten them in red. She put them on and felt like she had been running on air that morning — more so from Evan's thoughtfulness than the running shoes.

  Libby smiled as she remembered how embarrassed he had been when she tried to thank him. She stood up to stretch her legs for a minute before getting back to work. Libby watched from her bedroom window as a dark gray sedan pulled into the driveway. It was so clean that the sun reflected off of the top, temporarily blinding Libby.

  She blinked the floating black patches away from her eyes, and a woman materialized next to the car.

  "Oh no."

  The woman didn't straighten her clothes after she closed the car door. It was as though she knew her clothes wouldn't betray her by wrinkling in the car.

  The handful of times — very limited handful — Libby had worn a business suit, she had wrinkles on every possible stretch of fabric. She imagined there was a difference in quality between the outfit she had bargain-shopped online for and the tailor-made suit the woman in the driveway wore.

  Her hair was chestnut brown, she had pale pink lips, and she walked up the sidewalk like it was a catwalk.

  Charlene Garber.

  Evan's mother.

  Libby ran to the bathroom and began combing her hair. She let it fall around her shoulders, but there was a weird kink from it being in a ponytail all morning. She put it back up and quickly layered some mascara on her already dark lashes. She slathered on pale pink lip gloss and applied a little cover-up under her eyes. She traded her baggy t-shirt in favor of a sleeveless blouse with a ruffle collar that dressed up the jean shorts.

  After one last look in the mirror, she headed downstairs where Marcie was chatting with Charlene in the hall. Libby tried to make enough noise so that they could hear her coming.

  "Libby, this is Charlene, Evan’s mother. She's staying for a couple of days."

  "We've met before."

  When Libby reached the bottom stair, she was surprised when Charlene grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. No smile, no greeting, only a bone-crushing hug.

  "It's been a long time, dear," she said in a husky voice.

  Marcie looked at Libby with sharp eyes. "You didn't tell me you've met Charlene before."

  "Only briefly."

  Charlene released her and turned back to Marcie. "Have you been taking your pills? You've been resting? You've been going to your doctor's appointments, right?"

  "How about we go into town for lunch before you begin the inquisition? Evan's out back trying to fix the fence that Felicia broke."

  "Who is Felicia?" Charlene asked as she shrugged out of her jacket.

  Marcie and Libby caught each other's eyes and answered at the same time. "No one important."

  Thirty minutes later, the three of them plus Evan were sitting at FarmTable making small talk. It was only eleven, so they had beaten the lunch rush.

  Charlene turned to Marcie. "Evan tells me you're writing again."

  "Yes, my publisher wants me to go on a book tour when it's released."

  "Do prison transports let you stop at bookstores for signings?" Libby whispered to Evan who sat next to her on the bench.

  "If Grandma got sent to prison, she'd somehow end up running it," Evan whispered back.

  Libby nodded in agreement.

  "What's your book about this time?" Charlene asked.

  Apparently, Evan had failed to fill her in on that important piece of information.

  "It's a murder mystery."

  Charlene set her glass jar back on the table with a loud thump. "Marcie, I hope you know what you're doing."

  "I don't. Otherwise, the book would have already been written."

  Charlene lowered her voice but still managed to sound like she was yelling. "Marcie! You can't kill someone!"

  "Why does everyone assume I'm going to kill someone? What's the big deal?"

  "Because it's all you talk about," Evan and Libby said at the same time.

  "Tell me this, how do you expect me to write a thorough and detailed murder mystery if there's no murder?"

  "You know, Marcie," Libby said as she rearranged the raw sugar packets. "All the great mystery writers have never committed a murder."

  "How do you know?"

  "They were too busy writing fantastic books to murder anyone."

  "Name one," Marcie said with a devious smile.

  "Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, and Alfred Hitchcock."

  "Hitchcock was a director, not a writer. But I'm impressed someone your age has heard of Sayers."

  Libby waved her hand through the air. "I had to take a lit class. What I'm saying is, make another part of your novel something that you've experienced. Add Felicia to it or something."

  "But that's not my brand. It has to be a major part of the novel that I've experienced."

  Charlene butted in. "I agree. This has to stop. Promise me you'll be done with this novel."

  Charlene's phone started ringing, but she glared at Marcie until Marcie took a drink. Libby had never seen someone quite as scary as Charlene.

  "Fine, I'll change my novel," Marcie told her.

  Charlene answered the phone with a sharp hello just as Marcie added quietly, "Just as soon as I publish it."

  Libby furrowed her brow at Marcie and whisper-yelled, "Really?"

  Evan was shaking in the seat next to Libby. She glanced at him and found that he was shaking with silent laughter as his mom droned on over the phone about something business related.

  Marcie was looking at both of them with a small grin.

  "Marcie, she made you promise," Libby told her.

  Marcie narrowed her eyes and jabbed her fork at Libby. "Don't make me add you to the list."

  Libby leaned back in her chair. "I'm already on it."

  "I'll move you to the top."

  "Maybe I'll put you on the list."

  "At least then I would have some sort of challenge," Marcie whispered back.

  Charlene hung up the phone. "What is going on? I could barely hear over all your talking."

  Libby snapped open a menu and hid her face behind it. "This'll be an interesting weekend," she muttered to herself.

  "What was that?" Charlene asked sharply.

  Libby peeked over the top of the menu. "I said, ‘I wonder if this sandwich has leeks on the end.’"

  Charlene made a disapproving sound as she opened her menu.

  The rest of lunch was spent in stilted conversation. Charlene asked detailed questions about Marcie's health, and Marcie gave vague answers.

  The cure for arthritis? Apparently, her doctor told her she needed to start racing her dirt bike again. Carpal tunnel? More writing. Blurry vision? Faster driving. For each problem, Marcie had a disastrous solution.

  Charlene looked like she was going to be ill and had frantically asked for the name of the doctor who gave her the okay to do these things. Marcie shrugged and told her that she couldn't remember his name and that dementia mus
t be setting in more than they thought.

  Libby didn't say much for the rest of lunch or on the way back to Marcie's house. What could she tell them? That Marcie was as sharp as a tack but just wanted to see her family? Would they even believe her with all of Marcie's talk of murder? Probably not.

  Libby wasn't certain when she had discovered the truth about Marcie, but somewhere along the line, she had become convinced that Marcie was faking her memory problems. Despite Marcie's plans to kill someone, she was completely lucid. The way she handled people, the way she recalled details about conversations, and not to mention, the way she remembered where she kept every little thing in her crowded and cluttered house. Libby was probably closer to dementia than Marcie ever would be.

  If Libby could keep her out of prison, Marcie would have a long life ahead of her. The idea of leaving Marcie, and even Colter, behind was becoming harder to stomach. It would only be a little over a month before she needed to start actively looking for a place in Portland. The idea didn't hold as much excitement as it used to.

  Libby was glad to finally get back to Marcie's where they weren't all forced to sit there making silly small talk.

  "I'm glad Evan convinced you to stay the summer. I didn't want to handle another lawsuit. The last person I hired had to go to therapy for a month," Charlene told her as they stood in Marcie's kitchen, watching Evan and Marcie feed Felicia.

  Libby forced a smile, thinking that if she ended up being murdered, Charlene would have a bigger problem on her hands. "I like Marcie. I've never met anyone quite like her."

  The corners of Charlene's mouth twitched. "That's because there is only one Marcie in this world."

  "She makes me feel as though I've known her my whole life." Libby shrugged. "It's nice."

  "Yes, she's a very warm person," Charlene acknowledged. "And you're a very kind girl to look past her age and become friends with her."

  Libby snorted. "I had no clue that there were people like her at her age. I've only ever been around people my age. Now, I wonder if I've missed out on some of the best friends."

  Charlene nodded and began looking through the kitchen cupboards for some tea packets. "One of life's most undersold lessons: friends of different ages can enrich your life more than you can imagine."

  Charlene's impeccable dressing habits contrasted Marcie's cluttered kitchen. Libby couldn't help but compare the two. On the outside, Charlene had it all together, and Marcie looked like a hot mess.

  On the inside, Charlene was brittle while Marcie was filled with warmth. Marcie focused on people and experiences. Charlene focused on appearance and achievements.

  Libby swallowed as she realized she was looking at an image of what her future self could be. She was too focused on achievements — accomplishing the next thing, reaching the next level, being the best in sports, work, or classes. Libby hadn't made the time for experiences or people the way Marcie had. Marcie had made the time to invest in her grandson. A grandson that Libby was fairly fond of.

  "So. . ." Libby dragged out the word into a long space. "You get along with Marcie, right?"

  Charlene's shoulders jerked back before she relaxed them again. "Yes. Well, we used to. But life, grief, time, whatever you want to call it has changed us. Now, we talk about doctor’s appointments and my work hours. Life can be funny like that."

  "Circumstances have a way of pushing us away from people." Libby couldn't help but think that she should have gone home to see her aunt after her graduation instead of just texting her.

  That couldn't possibly qualify as a good family member. Maybe she was more like Charlene than she thought. Afraid of connections. Burying herself in work or whatever the next thing was. Keeping herself distant. Libby paced back and forth in front of the door. This wasn't what she wanted to be thinking about right now. She liked helping other people solve their problems, not figuring out that she had issues of her own.

  Libby glanced out the window to make sure Marcie and Evan were still by the garden shed. "Obviously, I don't know Marcie nearly as well as you guys do, but from what I've seen, she loves you guys and wants to spend time with you. You're her family. Sure, she likes to complain about how you hound her about doctor’s appointments and medications. . ."

  Charlene smiled slightly at that and Libby continued. "But she also likes to brag about how hard you work and how much you loved her son when he was here. She might like to pick on you to your face, but if anyone else asks, you can do no wrong."

  Silence filled the air like a tangible thing. Libby figured she had overstepped her boundaries and began pacing again. Even if she had, it had been worth it. Marcie had tried to get her daughter-in-law and grandson to visit using subversive tactics. Maybe they needed a healthy dose of the truth.

  Charlene sat down at the kitchen table with her cup of tea. "I've wondered before if some of her forgetfulness wasn't an attempt to get attention. That's actually why I'm down here today. I wanted to check in on her — and you, to make sure you were holding up fine too. I didn't realize Evan was already here. I feel guilty about not visiting, but I don't know what to talk to her about when I come down. It's easy for me to fall into the practical side of visiting and nagging her to eat healthier and to see her doctor more."

  Libby pulled out a wooden chair. "Bring her baked goods. Good grief, that woman is a horrible cook. She could use some baked something. If you came down to visit, bringing some good food, and didn't say a single thing, she would be happy to see you."

  Charlene took a long sip of her tea. "Noted. You know, I told Evan that I was afraid Marcie would run over you this summer. But I can see that I was wrong about that. You're able to confront a situation with a cool head. I can appreciate that, even if the situation is me." She finished with a small smile.

  "She didn't run over me; she was more like a bulldozer," Libby said with a grimace. "Have you seen the emu in the backyard? Because I definitely advised against that."

  Charlene's usually stoic face began to crack as she looked out at the emu chasing Evan back to the house. Marcie was running behind the emu with a china plate full of feed. Soon, Charlene was laughing a full-on belly laugh as Evan barreled into the house with a shriek.

  Libby grinned as he locked the door. Felicia stared at him through the glass pane, and he took a step back. Marcie called the bird. With the offer of food and no one else to chase, Felicia sauntered off the porch.

  Evan let out a big breath as he collapsed into a chair next to Libby. That set Charlene off even more, and she soon had tears rolling down her face as she laughed even harder.

  Evan looked stunned. "Mom, are you laughing?"

  Charlene tried to answer but couldn't seem to get enough air.

  "Glad that a killer emu chasing your only son is good entertainment." Evan's big grin negated his sarcasm.

  Marcie knocked on the door, and Evan jumped up to unlock it.

  "Coward," Marcie told Evan.

  "Grandma, have you seen the feet on that thing? She'd stamp me into dust."

  "What's wrong with her?" Marcie pointed to where Charlene was finally getting her laughter under control. "She looks like a deranged comedian."

  "We're today's entertainment, apparently."

  "No, no," Charlene managed to say. "Libby was saying that she didn't think having an emu was a good idea, and then that thing started chasing Evan across the yard. The timing was perfect."

  Marcie smiled as she sat down next to Charlene. "Evan, I've never seen you run so fast. Maybe high school track would have gone better if you had an emu running after you."

  "Without a doubt, Grandma. Without a doubt." Evan nudged Libby's knee under the table just as Libby was about to speak. "Not a word, Shorty. Track wasn't my best sport, alright?"

  "Fair enough. We all have our weak points. Choir was pretty awful for me."

  "I'm sure it was; I've heard you sing." He tried to dodge the fist to his shoulder but wasn't quite fast enough.

  Charlene spoke up. "I'm so glad yo
u'll be working at the office in the fall. It'll be nice to have someone young liven the place up."

  Libby swiveled her head so fast she thought it might pop off. "Did Evan tell you where I was working?"

  Charlene gave her a confused look. "But Evan said you wanted to work in the office. I was your reference."

  Libby was even more perplexed now. What did Charlene mean by “working in the office”? Libby had gotten a job at a brokerage firm. But Charlene was a — well, she was a lawyer at a brokerage firm, now that Libby thought about it.

  "Why don't we all head down to where they're prepping for the garden show?" Evan suggested as he stood. "Remember, we volunteered as manual labor."

  Libby grabbed his hand and tugged him back in his seat. She said through gritted teeth, "Just a minute, Evan dear. Your mother and I are having a conversation."

  Evan looked pained.

  "Now, do you mean you work for Simpson & Marks too?"

  "Yes, I thought you knew that. Evan told me that you were applying for the job, so I made sure to be a character reference for you. I was surprised to hear you had applied there since it's in Portland, but I'm glad you did."

  Libby turned to glare at Evan. "Thank you, Charlene. It's incredible how things work out, isn't it? How your application gets accepted, even if you didn't send it in."

  Evan began scratching at an invisible speck on the tabletop.

  "Evan," Libby barked. "A word outside."

  Bebe was wandering down the hall, so Libby scooped her up and snuggled her against her neck.

  Evan followed her like a condemned man forced to walk to his own execution. Libby made sure to go to the front porch because of Felicia in the backyard and a potentially eavesdropping Marcie.

  What she had to say wasn't for sensitive ears.

  Libby waited until Evan stepped out onto the porch before she closed the door quietly. Libby had thought she had received a spontaneous offer to the firm. She had assumed it was her college counselor who had recommended her for the position. Now that Libby thought about it, it did seem strange that they had never asked for her resume.

  Libby didn't turn around to face Evan. She was afraid she might lose her temper and say things she meant.