When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae (28 page)

He hadn’t dropped the smile but she could smell how uncomfortable he was, and she marveled suddenly at how much they’d come to hate each other.

Why had it taken her so long to see that?

“I’ve got about two minutes.”

“Just tell me if you slept with Gina.”

He puffed out his cheeks. “Who?”

“Gina. My sister.”

“Libby, you called me out here for this?”

“Just answer.”

“No. No, of course not. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t do something like that if my life depended on it, Libby.”

He smoothed his moustache as he was talking, but she didn’t need a tell to know he was lying. Lying through his teeth.

Time to give Alex a turn, indeed.

“Thanks, Wallace. Because you’re lying. You
did
sleep with her. And I got exactly what I came here for.”

His eyes slid nervously toward the door, but he needn’t have worried.

She was done with him.

For good, that time.

39

She probably should have marched straight home and confronted Gina.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

She didn’t really know why.

She went to Mendon Ponds Park, is what she did. And wandered around.

She used to go there back when she was still married to Wallace, and hike the trails and think how nice it would be to have a place in the country that was all her own. Fantasize.

Funny how now she had her place in the country and it was less private than a county park.

Mostly what she thought about, as she wandered around, was Paul. And about how it was Libby, this time, doing the cheating. Not that Paul and she had ever officially declared ourselves a monogamous couple. But, you know. She knew he wasn’t seeing anyone else. And she knew he assumed she wasn’t, either.

So what. She was going to get on Gina’s case for sleeping with her ex nearly ten years ago?

It’s not like Libby hadn’t gone over basically the same ground again and again. There are relationships, and there is sex. And they’re two different things. Libby knew all about that. She’d lived it. And now she was living it again, that’s all . . . she was just sitting on the other side of the table this time . . . Paul had a good job and he’d stuck with Libby through her divorce and even, kind of, through her buying her farm. And what did she know about Dean? Nothing. Other than how good-looking he was. For instance, how could he afford that land and that cabin? He wasn’t working, obviously. He could be some kind of crook, for all she knew. Or a gold-digger.

People let their sexual drives make their decisions for them. Wallace did it. Gina did it. Tyler was doing it now, maybe.

She wasn’t going to do it.

Of course, she’d have to tell Paul what she’d done.

She wasn’t looking forward to that.

But he needed to know.

The afternoon had turned hot and humid and the air along the trail she’d taken smelled rich with a swampy pond smell. A deerfly buzzed around her head and she stopped once to watch a hawk circle the sky, and then again as a black lab on the other side of the pond waited for his human to throw a stick into the water. He stood on the bank, prancing back and forth and barking until the stick splashed in the water, then he jumped in to fetch it.

It wouldn’t be right to toss away everything she had with Paul just because Dean got her motor running. It just wouldn’t be right.

She trudged back to her car.

Besides. she was going to sell her place. Which meant the only thing she did have in common with Dean—that being that they were neighbors—would be gone. And then what? She couldn’t exactly see him driving up to Rochester to date her. Mr. holed-up-in-his-cabin.

No. Her future was with Paul. As it had been, ever since Wallace served her with the separation papers.

And if her relationship with Paul had been a little stressed, that was understandable—and it would be handled, as soon as she got rid of her property. See? It would work out fine. She’d sell her place, move in with Paul, and she’d never be around Dean’s temptations again. Problem solved.

♦ ♦ ♦

She hadn’t been home for an hour when she realized something was up. Got to her front door and a knot of campers were escorting a couple of people toward the house. Media, again. Had to be. And sure enough, about two nanoseconds after she stepped outside, Gina was introducing her to a reporter from an outfit that publishes weekly town papers in the Rochester suburbs. Slight, balding guy, last name Templeton. He had a microcassette recorder, and there was photographer in tow, too, whose name Libby didn’t catch. Woman in her mid-thirties, dark hair with a premature gray streak down the left side of her bangs.

Libby gave the interview. Why not? And then they walked out back so they could pose her as she pretended to work around her pie pumpkin plants. Then another set of pictures of her seated on one of the rocks from the tumbled-down wall.

“Are they around now?” the reporter asked for the umpteenth time.

“It’s not like that,” Libby said. “I can’t explain it, really. But I’m not in the right state of mind to see them. Not with—”

“If we move away, would that work?”

So the reporter herded Gina and the campers to the other end of the field, and the photographer switched lenses on her camera, and Libby sat on the rock feeling foolish and disgusted with herself for letting them turn her into a spectacle. She sort of went through the motions, looking around, but of course nothing happened. So after a few minutes she stood up.

The photographer was photographing her as she threaded around the growing beds.

She got a couple photos of Libby with Bo, too. Libby didn’t realize the dog was around until she felt his nose press into her hand.

Dean didn’t show himself, of course.

The photos with Bo didn’t make it into the paper.

♦ ♦ ♦

“Great news,” Gina said later. She’d been on the phone. Libby, on the other hand, had been wandering around, looking at her house, feeling melancholy.

“You found Maisey?” Libby couldn’t resist. She knew the answer. Maisey was still in hiding at Dean’s. Unless she’d made good on her threat to move to Florida.

“Nah. But I know Maisey’s okay. Jade did a reading, and Maisey’s fine. I told you she would be. And anyway, I did the same thing when I was her age.”

Libby stared at her. “No, you didn’t. You ran off with Mr. Jeffers. Maisey isn’t with her dad’s golfing buddy.”

“Well, she’s run off with some man, what’s the difference?”

“What makes you think she’s run off with some man?” Libby thought of Dean. But unless she was completely wrong about Dean, he was showing her a kindness. Not sleeping with her.

“Because that’s what women do.” Gina rolled her eyes. “You’re still a prude, aren’t you, Libby? A prude, so you can’t understand that it’s all about peoples’ sex drives.”

Libby gritted her teeth. “Gina, I suggest we change the subject. Now.”

Gina shrugged. “You’ll never change. Anyhow, what I wanted to tell you is that Jade found a backer. We can buy your place.”

“Oh.” They were in the kitchen. Now Libby turned her back on her sister and flicked on the water. There was a sink full of dirty dishes. As usual. She reached for the detergent.

“They met at Findhorn. He’s a multi-multi-millionaire. He’s going to turn this place into a resort. There will be, like, a clinic for alternative healing, and there will be seminars and retreats. He says it’s going to be huge, Libby. Bigger than Deepak.”

“That’s great, Gina.”

“So you don’t even need to list it,” Gina said. “He’s going to fly in, looks like week after next. We’ll get the paperwork ready and if he likes what he sees, we’ll sign.”

We.

“There’s just one thing.”

Libby rinsed a glass, flipped it over and set it on the drying rack.

“As far as the media goes, he wants you to keep doing appearances and stuff, okay? The more publicity, the better.”

Figures.

“That cable show that called before, he wants you to do an appearance on it.”

Libby rinsed another glass.

“He’ll make it worth your while, Libby. He’ll pay what this place is really worth—not as a farm. He’s having his lawyer draft a memo of understanding. With the stuff about you doing publicity.”

Fine, Libby thought to herself. That would make it all better. She’d take the guy to the cleaners, then.

40

“HEY. LIBBY. PAUL’S HERE.”

Libby froze.

What?

Gina was never up this early. It wasn’t even light out yet. Heck, Libby wasn’t usually up this early, only she hadn’t been sleeping too well lately, and she’d figured she’d try to sneak out to her gardens before the campers woke. Because it had become to her, all of a sudden, more important than ever to sneak a few minutes without an entourage trailing along. Now that she knew she only had a few weeks left.

“LIBBY!”

Had she said Paul? That couldn’t be right—what the hell would Paul be doing here? On a Monday morning?

Libby pulled her jeans back off, cinched a robe around her waist, and went downstairs.

And there he was. Standing inside the front door. Dressed in coveralls.

“Paul? Is everything okay?”

“Here I am!” He grinned at her.

“I see that. Paul, it’s 5:30 a.m. On a weekday—”

“Need to get an early start. I’m going to stay with you this week. To help you paint.”

“Help me paint?”

“Your house.”

“Oh . . . oh.”

“Hey, it will boost the resale value, right? And besides.” He came over and put his arms around me. “I’ve been thinking. I haven’t really been, you know, awfully supportive.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I’m taking the week off. Vacation. It’s been almost seven years, do you realize? Since I took any time. HR’s been telling me I need to use my vacation or I’ll lose it.”

“Ah. Well, Paul, this is all very nice, but—” But. Libby forced her tone of voice to be as casual as possible. “You think it will take, um, a full week?”

“Probably,” he said cheerfully. “Four or five days at least, I expect.”

A whole week.

“Wouldn’t it be better to . . . Paul, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, I think I already have a buyer—someone’s interested, I think.”

“Libby, have you signed anything? A contract?”

Libby shook her head. She had the letter, faxed to Gina from her multi-multi-millionaire. But that was it. “Paul, there’s something—

“No contract, no offer.” He smiled again. “No more arguing, babe. Anyway, I already bought all the paint. Primer and exterior latex. White. That’s okay, right? White? And blue for the trim, like it is now? You can put up with me for a few days, right? Babe?”

And he had such an anxious, please-let-me-please-you look on his face.

“Are you sure about this?” she said. “Painting houses . . . it’s not really your thing.”

“Hey, what’s a boyfriend for? Besides, you’ll help.” He pulled a painter’s cap out of his pocket and yanked it down over his head. “How do I look?”

“Dashing.” She stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“I’m going to go get started, okay? You have a ladder, right?”

The last owners had left one of those, too. “In the shed.”

“Cool.”

He’d started fumbling in his pocket for his cell phone, found it, and flipped it open, checking to make sure it was turned on. While she fidgeted.

How was she going to sneak out now?

“You want any coffee or anything?” Buying time while she figured out what to do.

“Nope. Stopped at Mickey D’s.”

“Okay. Hey. I was thinking. Do you need—I’ll be out to help you in awhile, but for now, I might just go back to bed and, you know, try to catch a few more z’s. If that’s okay. I was up kind of late last night—”

“Well, Libby.” He smiled indulgently. “You don’t look very tired to me. And this is a big job, you know. We really ought to get moving on it.”

It was just beginning to get light out. She watched him open the trunk of his car. He started unloading cans of paint. Then a big fat duffel bag of clothes.

“Well.” Gina had come over now, too, and stood, stirring the sugar into her coffee. It was a flavored coffee and smelled like oranges. “Well, well. That’s nice of him.” She licked her spoon and took a sip of coffee.

“Mmmmmm.”

“Hey.” She jabbed Libby’s arm lightly with the spoon. It was warm from her coffee. “What’s the matter, anyway? You’ve been acting strange.”

“I’m fine.”

“You blame me for Maisey, don’t you?”

I blame you for a lot of things, Gina.
“I’m sure Maisey’s fine.”