Moon Spun (8 page)

Then, I held the phone a good six inches away from my ear. Wait for it . . . Faye’s horrified screech was so ear-piercing, so shrill, I swear I could hear it reverberating across the entire upper Columbia basin.

One small step for Allie. One giant leap for faeries in denial.

When she spoke, her voice was ominously quiet. “You’d better be there when I get home. We’ll talk about it then.”

I hung up the phone. Time to figure out a plan to keep from getting grounded for life. 291

Chapter Ten

Faye’s and my relationship rarely chugged along smoothly. With us, it was all about peaks and valleys. Atop the peaks, life was good. We staked out territory and each did our own thing. The valleys were the worst. Faye, in the grip of depression, could and would cry for days. When I was a little kid, her down days scared the crap out of me. I’d try everything I could think of to snap her out of it. I’d sing “I’m a Little Teapot” complete with hand motions. Ditto, the chicken dance, snapping my fingers and flapping my wings until, finally, I’d give up in exhaustion.

Pretty lame, but, hey, I was seven years old. Cut me some slack!

Bottom line: I didn’t know what to expect when Faye came home. I had no plan, other than to tell the truth. I’ve heard that’s supposed to work. My biggest decision was how much of the truth to tell.

I was sitting at the table doing homework when the pickup rolled to a stop outside the trailer. I heard a door slam as Faye exited the truck. My heart started beating triple time, and I clamped my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking. Mad Faye or sad Faye?

I jumped when the door to the trailer opened. A quick glance over my shoulder told me nothing about my mother’s mood. Her face, though paler than usual, looked like it always did when she came home from work. Tired. She walked to the dinette and stood over me. Before I knew what was happening, she reached out, grabbed my pony tail and yanked.

“Ouch!” I glared up at her.

Faye slid into the dinette across from me and folded her hands on top of the table. “That was for seeing your grandfather without my permission.”

I waited for the storm to hit. “That’s it?”

Faye stood and crossed to the refrigerator. She snagged a can of Diet Pepsi, popped the top and took a big swallow. When she sat back down, she said, “I know you, Allie, so I knew this day would come.”

Shock does not begin to describe how I was feeling. Faye being calm and reasonable was not even in my play book.

“So, what did my old man tell you?” Her tone was casual, but worry lines creased her forehead. I decided not to hit her with the faery stuff right away.

For some reason, I couldn’t look into my mother’s eyes, so I stared at the table. “He told me about your mother. Melia. He said she wasn’t dead.”

When I glanced up at her, Faye’s eyes were huge. Her hand tightened around the soda can. When she spoke, her voice was shrill. “What the hell is he talking about?

Of course she’s dead. Wouldn’t I know if my own mother was dead or alive?”

Whoa! Not quite the reaction I was expecting. Then, I remembered what Grandpa Claude said about Faye being locked in the room full of iron, how it made her forget. I put my hand on her arm. “It’s possible you were told she was dead. You were just a little kid. Maybe your dad didn’t want you to know that Melia is a . . . a . . . ”

Faye jerked away and slammed the soda can down. Brown froth spurted out of the opening and splattered onto the table top. “A what? Spit it out, Allie!”

I grabbed a napkin and wiped up the spill. “A faery.”

Faye leaned across the table. “I didn’t quite hear what you said.”

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“A faery!” I shouted, tired of the game. “Your mother is a faery, and she went back to faery land or whatever you call it, because she couldn’t live as a mortal.”

Faye clamped her mouth shut and studied my face. Suddenly, she lifted her hands and covered her face. Oh no, here it comes. Her shoulders began to shake, and a high-pitched sound whistled through her cupped hands. I folded my arms, sighed deeply and waited for the storm to pass. When she lowered her hands, I gaped in surprise. Yeah, she had tears rolling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying. She was laughing her butt off! Confused, I bit my lip, ticked off she’d found my surprise. Yeah, she had tears rolling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying. She was laughing her butt off! Confused, I bit my lip, ticked off she’d found my announcement so hilarious.

Faye wiped her eyes. “Don’t tell me you believed that crap! He was pulling your leg. That’s the way he is. Why tell the truth when it’s so much easier to lie?”

I needed to choose my words carefully. According to Chad, my mother glowed because she had faery blood. And, my built-in truth-o-meter told me Grandpa Claude was being straight with me. On the other hand, Faye likely had no memory of the events surrounding her separation from her mother. So, she would assume her father was lying.

I nodded. “I suppose that’s possible. Strange he should go to all that trouble, though.”

“Faeries!” She spat the word and then shook her head in disgust. “I wonder how he came up with that one.”

I took a deep breath and took a baby step forward. “What do you know about faeries?”

“You mean, like Tinker Bell?”

“Do you think they exist?”

“Oh, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “Along with elves, pixies and leprechauns.”

I knew it wasn’t my job to convince her, but I said, “Think about it, Faye. Take me, for example. I can do things other people can’t do. And then there’s Beck and Nicole.

You know they’re, well, different. It seems like you, of all people, would at least be open to the idea that faeries might exist.”

Before she could answer, the phone rang.

Faye pointed at the phone and declared, “Beck.”

I slid out of the dinette, hoping she was right. I hadn’t heard from Beck since he left for Seattle. Faye rose and headed for the back of the trailer. “When you’re off the phone, I want to hear the whole story . . . how you contacted your grandfather . . . every word he said . . . the whole ball of wax.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, remembering I hadn’t told her about my conversation with Dennis McCarty. I snatched up the phone.

“Hey, Emerson, how’s the ride?”

Not Beck. Junior. A tsunami of emotions swept over me as I stammered out a greeting. Disappointment—not Beck. Guilt—I hadn’t thanked Junior for the car. Relief

—awkward conversation with Faye postponed. Curiosity—why the heck was Junior calling me? And yes, excitement—because Junior was calling me.

Unfortunately, when I get flustered, I have a tendency to babble. “Hey, yourself, Junior! The car’s great! Thank you so much. I meant to call or write and tell you how much I like it, but I didn’t have your phone number or address. I probably should have called your mother and . . . ”

Junior chuckled.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“Guess you haven’t got pulled over by the cops yet.”

“What? Of course not. Why?”

“Cause if you had, you’d have to show your registration.”

“Well, yeah. What does that have to do with anything?”

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Junior said, “That little case clipped on the sun visor that holds the registration?”

“Uh huh.”

“If you’d looked in there, you would a found it.”

“Found what? The registration?”

“My cell number and calling card.” He let his words hang in the space between us for a moment before he said, “Get it, Emerson? Then, you could a called me!”

I laughed. “I get it, Junior. So, I really have no excuse for not thanking you.”

“Aw, forget about it. Not why I called. How’s the boyfriend?”

“Okay, I think. He’s going to college in Seattle.”

“Long distance relationship, huh?” Junior said.

I couldn’t resist saying, “Kinda like the one I thought we had.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to make ours a little more up close and personal.”

I jerked in surprise. “Junior,” I said with exaggerated patience. “We don’t have a relationship. You’re thousands of miles away. I’m in Peacock Flats. And, Beck’s my boyfriend now.”

“You sure about that?”

At his words, a shadow of doubt flickered through my mind. Beck usually called me every night. Today was Friday. I hadn’t talked to him since last Saturday night. He left for Seattle the next day. Busy with homework or something else?

“Of course I’m sure,” I insisted. “Besides, why do you care?” Okay, that sounded a little harsh. But, I didn’t want Junior to think he could run my life because he gave me his car.

“I care because I’m going to be back in Peacock Flats soon.”

“Did your show get cancelled?”

“No, I’m moving on.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Coming back to Peacock Flats is ‘moving on?’”

“Naw, it’s just that I’m doing movies now. No more soaps. That means I’ve got more time for myself.”

“Wow, so now you’re a big movie star?” I didn’t know much about Mexican movies, so I pictured Junior with a black cape and mask and astride a rearing white stallion.

“Not so big,” he said. “But, this way, I can get home more often. My mom needs something to do. When I started making money, I made her quit her job at the warehouse and she’s bored. Remember Cholo’s Bar and Grill out on the highway?”

“Yeah, it’s been empty for a while.”

“I just bought it. We’ll do some remodeling and my mom will run it.”

I tried to process the above information. Junior . . . a movie star. Junior . . . new restaurant owner. Junior . . . back in Peacock Flats. My mind was reeling.

“Wow,” was all I could manage.

Junior continued. “I want to get my GED. But it probably wouldn’t be the best idea to go back to John J. Peacock High.”

I pictured Junior fighting off hordes of admiring high school girls and smiled. Some things never change. That was his life before he got famous.

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” I said.

“Count on it.”

After we hung up, I took a deep breath and attempted to focus my scattered thoughts. I needed to get ready for the grilling I was about to receive from Faye. But, when the bedroom door slid open and my mother stepped out, my heart sank. Now, I knew why she’d been so easy on me. She was wearing her “first date, gotta look hot dress.” Faye had a new boyfriend. 294

Chapter Eleven

“My Mr. Hostetler?” I asked, unable to believe my ears. “Principal Hostetler?”

Faye smiled and nodded. “Yes, your Mr. Hostetler. He dropped by the diner today and said he’d like to take me out for dinner and a movie. I knew you’d be happy because you always say I date losers. You are happy for me . . . right?” Her words held a hint of threat, as if I really had no choice but to be delirious with joy I made a noncommittal sound as the wheels and cogs in my brains began to spin and whir. I really hate it when Faye uses perfect logic. It throws me off my game. Was I happy? Uh, no, more like horrified. My mother and my principal? What if they got serious about each other? What if they . . . eewww! Don’t go there, Allie. You’re life is complicated enough. Faye peered out the window and then turned to beam a smile at me. “Here he comes.”

I stifled a groan. “What about Chad?”

“Chad’s with him. I told Leon you’d be glad to take care of him.”

I blew off the fact that she’d offered my babysitting services without asking me and repeated,

“Leon? You call him Mr. Hostetler Leon?”

Faye folded her arms across her chest and stared down at me. “Well, that is his name, Allie. Am I supposed to call him Mr. Hostetler?”

I shrugged my shoulders and tried to look non-judgmental. Now was not the time to get all hostile with Faye, especially since I’d just dropped the faery bomb, which was bound to have further repercussions.

Faye threw open the door and chirped, “Hi, you two.” She stepped aside so Chad could enter.

“Ready to go, Leon? I’d invite you in but in this place, three’s a crowd.”

Thank you, God. At least I wouldn’t have to make small talk with Mr. Hostetler who, I suspected, might be lusting after my mother’s bod. Beyond awkward!

“Bye, Allie,” Faye said. “We won’t be late.”

I waved goodbye while Chad gazed around the trailer, taking in the tiny dinette table, our mini fridge, my couch bed and single chair, my clothes folded and stacked inside plastic crates.

“Cool,” he said. “It’s like camping out year round. You’re so lucky.”

His comment made me smile. During the past week, I’d discovered ten-year-old boys were fun to hang with. At least, in Chad’s case. “You might not think it’s so great during the winter, when you’re stuck inside.”

Chad grinned back at me. “Wanna go outside? Can I go in the barn? Is that farting bull around?

Does your uncle have a tractor?”

I followed Chad out of the trailer. “Uncle Sid’s tractor is parked over by the barn. You can sit on it if you want, and Blaster’s probably around somewhere. He doesn’t like me, though.”

Chad looked up at me, his eyes wide and serious. “That’s because you have faery blood.”

“Oh, puhleeze!”

“It’s true. I read about it online. In the old days, people thought faeries made cows’ milk turn sour, so they put bells around the cows’ necks to keep the faeries away.”

I couldn’t resist an eye roll. Chad didn’t notice because he was racing toward the barn as fast as his skinny little legs could carry him. I trailed behind, enjoying the fresh breeze sweeping down from the foothills of the Cascades. The sun was slipping behind the apple tree next to our trailer as the hot 295

August day faded into twilight. The moon would rise soon.

Automatically, my hand rose to clutch the moonstone, checking to make sure it covered the silver cross I wore on the same chain. With the help of the Bradford family, I’d found a way to keep the moonstone safe. Turned two clicks in its setting—to six o’clock—and worn next to a silver cross, the moonstone was surrounded by an impenetrable force field. If anyone tried to take it off me, that person got a painful zap, like when you stick your finger into an electrical socket. I wore it in that setting most of the time, in case some badass Trimarks were hanging around Peacock Flats. I watched Chad sitting on Uncle Chad’s tractor, cranking the wheel and making the sounds little boys make when they’re pretending to drive. Vroom, vroom, e rrr, errr, with an occasional screech of brakes thrown in. I guess even faery boys like big rigs with powerful engines. I sat on a straw bale and watched a red tailed hawk soaring high in the evening sky, his high-pitched scree scree blending nicely with Chad’s motor noises. After a single flap of his powerful wings, the hawk fluttered earthward and perched on top of the old cistern next to the pasture.