When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae (18 page)

Maisey nodded in agreement. “That’s what we were saying.” She was carrying a plastic grocery bag and began taking things out of it and setting them on the counter.

It occurred to Libby the kids had become a bit protective of her. Kind of cute, really.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t let it bother you, Maisey.”

“Oh, Mom called me today.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s flying back.”

Oh, really? “What happened?”

“Nothing. I don’t think. She wants to talk to you.”

Libby began helping Maisey put her groceries away. “Talk to me. You mean, like, on the phone.”

“No, she’s coming here, I guess. She’s flying into Rochester and I’m supposed to pick her up and everything.”

Ah. How like Gina. Don’t bother telling anyone. Pass the news along through a third party. Probably worried Libby would tell her not to bother. “Did she give any hints? About why she’s coming?”

Maisey shook her head. “No, she just said she needs to talk to you.”

Libby thought “she probably wants a loan” but she didn’t say it out loud. Gina had been dropping hints ever since Libby’s divorce. Mentioning how family members should stick together, share the bad times, share their windfalls. Of course, in Gina’s mind, Libby’s divorce settlement was probably in the multi-millions. She’d been reading too many tabloid headlines, Wallace had blurred into a Jack Welch or Donald Trump or somebody.

“It’s okay, right? That she’s coming here?”

“Yeah. Sure, Maisey.” It occurred to Libby that it was kind of early, on a Saturday night, for Maisey to be home. “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Decided to make it an early night?”

“Tyler—he said he wasn’t feeling very good. I guess he and Alex kind of tied one on last night.”

“Oh.” Libby searched Maisey’s face. “I thought Tyler didn’t drink?”

“He didn’t—doesn’t.”

Libby nodded slowly. “So. . . did Alex—”

“She went to bed already. Before I left.” Maisey put a couple of yogurts in the refrigerator and stuffed the emptied grocery bag in the box Libby kept near the door.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Nah, Aunt Libby. I don’t think so, tonight. I think I’ll have a cig and then go to bed. I’m kinda tired.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t worry about this meet-up thing, Aunt Libby,” Maisey said from the stairs. “Tyler posted, saying it was called off. And nobody would probably show up, anyhow.”

“Right. Goodnight.”

27

Right, Libby thought to herself again as she watched Maisey lift the corner of the bedspread they’d duct-taped over the front windows in the living room.

“Twelve,” Maisey said.

That’s how many tents there were. On Libby’s front yard. In a little over a week.

“So that’s down from yesterday. One of them is pretty big, though. I think there might be, like, eight people sleeping in it. Oh, they’ve got the fire going again.”

Maisey let the bedspread drop. It had been her idea to tape bedding over the downstairs windows. They’d seen someone standing outside the living room window two nights ago, cupping his hands against the glass to look in around the edge of the shades.

Because of the bedding the room was dim as the two sat, drinking their morning coffee, even though it was past eight in the morning. It was also pretty stuffy.

“Got to hand it to them,” Libby said. “Sticking it out. In this rain.”

Maisey nodded.

Speaking of rain, Libby noticed the staccato clank of water against metal. That meant that the downspout on the northeast corner of the house had fallen apart again—the noise was from the water hitting the fallen piece where it lay next to the foundation. Which meant her basement would be wet.

Normally Libby would just throw on her poncho and go out to reassemble the spout.

But now she was in hiding. In her own home.

Maisey had been scrolling through her cell’s sent text messages. Now she dialed a number. Held the phone to her ear a moment, then shut it.

“He’s still not picking up?”

Maisey shook her head quickly.

“I really appreciate you staying in last night.” Libby guessed, now, what a big sacrifice Maisey had made. Not that her niece had confided in her. But Libby had a pretty good idea where Maisey wished she’d been. In town. Keeping an eye on Tyler and Alex.

The problem was that anytime either of them tried to leave the house, they were collared by a camper. Or gang of campers. So yesterday afternoon Libby decided they had to try something new. “If we just don’t go out, maybe they’ll lose interest and go away,” she’d said.

And so Maisey had agreed to stay in.

Libby wondered now if it had been fair to ask her to do that.

Probably not. This wasn’t Maisey’s problem. It was Libby’s problem . . .

Libby watched as Maisey peeked under the bedspread again. “Hah! They’re passing a joint now. I told you I smelled pot yesterday.”

Libby sighed and considered, for the umpteenth time, whether she should just call the police. Only, if she did that, it might hit the papers, and if it hit the papers, Paul might find out. And she really didn’t need that complication right now.

“Dean says you should call the cops.” Maisey had dropped the corner of the bedspread again. “Or get a dog.” She looked at her aunt hopefully.

“I don’t want a dog.” She tilted her coffee mug and looked inside. A little coffee left, didn’t look very appetizing. “So you guys have been to see Dean again?”

“I did.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve gotten kind of close,” Maisey said, then added quickly, “but don’t worry, I think he likes you. In
that
way.”

Libby laughed a nervous little “heh” and stood up. “I seriously doubt that, Maisey. I’m going to fix some breakfast. Want some eggs?”

“Nah. Is there anymore coffee?”

Libby crouched a little low as she moved into the kitchen. The windows there weren’t covered. She peered—nobody. She relaxed and checked the coffee. “There’s a little.”

“I’ll take it if you don’t want it.” Maisey had followed Libby into the kitchen.

“Help yourself.”

“Don’t you like Dean?”

Libby pulled the egg box from the fridge. “Of course I do.”

“He’s over that Iranian.”

“The princess?”

“Turns out she wasn’t exactly a princess. Dean says Alex can get overexcited sometimes.” Maisey made a face. “Don’t you like him?”

“I just said I did.”

“Why don’t you invite him over?”

“Why would I—I have a boyfriend, Maisey.”

“Paul.” She made a face again.

“There’s nothing wrong with Paul. When I was going through the divorce . . .”

Libby set the carton of eggs on the counter. When she was going through the divorce, Paul had been her rock. Of course, she’d admired him before that. Admired his dedication, and he’d been a damned good biologist, too. For some people, lab work is all in the method. Paul was careful, of course, he wasn’t sloppy, but he had a knack for anticipating where research was going to lead. He’d get in the zone. Yet if the results weren’t there, it never bothered him. It was never about ego with Paul.

“Anyway,” Maisey said. “The story was still true, other than the princess part.”

Libby cracked an egg into a dish. “You know . . . maybe it—maybe you shouldn’t be prying into Dean’s private life.”

“Oh, we talk about everything. He says he’s been living alone for so long, he forgot how nice it was to talk.”

Libby remembered the night they’d drunk the wine together. How easy he’d been to talk to. “Darn it. Pay attention to what you’re doing, Libby.” Broke the yolk on the second egg. Guess she’d have scrambled instead of poached.

Maisey was dialing her cell again. Libby glanced over and saw Maisey’s mouth tighten before she gave up and flipped the phone closed.

“Maisey,” she said. “Why don’t you just go ahead into town?”

“But the campers—they’ll figure out you’re here.”

“They already know, probably. This was a dumb idea—it isn’t fair to you. You need to see Ty.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup. I’m sure.”

Maisey set down her mug. “Okay.”

“When’s your mom’s flight getting in?”

“5:45.”

“So we’ll see you here for dinner then, seven-ish.”

“Okay.”

“Tyler, too, right?”

“Yeah, as far as I know. Yeah.”

As soon as Maisey was visible around the side of the house, a couple of the campers trotted over. Libby could hear their voices although she couldn’t hear what they were saying. Maisey paused to talk to them near her car. She shook her head—telling them Libby wasn’t home, maybe? A couple of them thrust notes in her hand. That’s what they did, since Libby wouldn’t talk to them—they asked Maisey to ask her questions, or gave questions to her in writing. The same sort of questions she got in the emails. Some of them were directed at the little people themselves. “Why have you come?” “What is your message to mankind about our destruction of the environment?” Some were addressed to Libby. “I need to talk to them. Please arrange it, please.” “Do you meditate? Is there a practice I can do that would make it so I can talk to fairies, too?” There were requests for gardening advice—“my delphiniums keep turning yellow and dropping their leaves.” And most poignant at all, the ones from people who were hurt or sick. Asking for medical advice. Asking to be healed. Asking for help finding love.

Maisey stuck the notes in her pocket, then got into her car. The little clump of campers turned and looked back toward the house and Libby thought for a minute they might come up and bang on the door again—they’d done that, too—but instead they began straggling back toward their tents.

The rain had picked up again. She supposed it would be pretty damp and cold and miserable to sleep in a tent in all that rain. Which made her feel a bit sorry for them. But then again, if they got damp and cold and miserable enough, maybe they’d all go away.

28

“I am
totally
pissed off at you.”

That’s how Libby’s sister greeted her. And they hadn't seen each other now, in how long? Three years? At least?

One thing Libby had to admire was the effect Gina had on the campers. About eight of them had flocked over to Maisey’s car when she’d pulled into the driveway, but they parted and let Gina through the second she emerged from the front passenger door. Unlike Libby, who tended to be on the invisible side, people noticed Gina.

Maisey and Tyler trailed behind, but nobody crowded around them or blocked their path to the house either. Amazing.

Libby took her sister’s duffel bag and asked her about her flight.

“The airplane cabin was freezing cold. How long is this rain here for?”

“It’s supposed to be nice tomorrow.”

Gina wrinkled her nose. “You don’t know nice. You should try Hawaii.”

If Libby was put off by that comment, she didn’t show it.

“Something smells good, Aunt Libby,” Tyler said.

Libby smiled at him. “Vegetarian,” she said. “A bean casserole.” Gina didn’t eat meat. Or anyway, she didn’t the last Libby knew.

“I’m dead tired,” Gina said. “Where am I sleeping?”

“Maisey’s room.”

Maisey led her up the stairs. Fortunately, Libby had an extra air mattress. It was the best she could do on such short notice.

♦ ♦ ♦

“I can’t believe you’re hiding from them.”

It was the next morning and now Gina had joined the morning routine. Drinking coffee and spying on the campers. And of course she had an opinion. Gina always did.

“I don’t want to talk to them. If I avoid them, they’ll lose interest and go away.”

Gina rolled her eyes.

“Well, they will.” Libby slumped down in the couch.

“How has it worked so far?” she asked.

Libby didn’t answer, because the answer was that it wasn’t working particularly well. In fact, there might even be a couple more tents out there than there had been yesterday.

“I’ll organize them,” Gina said. “It’s just a matter of organization. Maisey and her friends can help me.”

Maisey was sitting on the back of the couch, combing Gina’s hair. She twisted around, now, and peeked outside. “I don’t think Aunt Libby wants them organized, Mom.” She straightened up and started splitting her mother’s hair into thirds with the tail of her comb, getting ready to rebraid it.

“If you want to do something for me, you could try going out there and telling them to leave,” Libby agreed.

“You’ll never get rid of them,” Gina said. “Look at this. It’s a movement.”

Libby looked mournfully into her coffee. “How can it be a movement? I don’t even speak to them.”

Gina gave a “my but you’re incredibly dense” sigh, then suddenly changed the subject. “I need you to ask your contacts about our pineapples.”