When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae (31 page)

“Enough, enough!” Libby hadn’t meant to say that so loudly, either. But Paul was putting too much wine in her glass. She’d only wanted a splash, really.

Her outburst didn’t bother Gina a bit. “Really,” she was saying to Dean. “And didn’t you? Fight for her?”

“No, I didn’t,” Dean said. “She’d made her decision. She knew what she wanted. I had to trust that.”

“Well sometimes that’s how it works, with couples,” Paul said. “Libby here, she’d agree with that, wouldn’t you, Libby?”

Libby stared at him. Then realized she was staring and laughed nervously. “I guess so. Depending on, unh, the circumstances . . .” Because she was thinking,
trust each other? From the guy who pushes me around every second. About my farm . . . about my seeing fairies . . .

Dean lifted his wine glass, looked at it, and set it back down on the table. “Well, it’s all old history now, anyway.”

“You’ve moved on,” Gina said.

Libby glanced at him again. She couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, something like that,” Dean said.

Gina sighed. “It’s really a romantic story though, isn’t it?”

Ty had fetched the second wine bottle from the kitchen. Maisey stood up when he re-entered the room and said, “Here you go, guys,” taking the bottle from him and putting it on the table. Then, as she went back toward her seat, she asked Ty if he wanted anymore taquitos. “Nah, just more Maisey,” he answered and pulled her in for a kiss.

Libby wondered if Dean realized how happy he’d made them. He was picking up the wine bottle to open it and his eyes met hers.

She looked away. The last thing she needed was to start choking again.

♦ ♦ ♦

The line of thunderstorms had passed through by the time they finished dessert, and the air outside smelled like wet pavement.

“Mmmmm, that cooled things down,” Maisey said. She and Ty had come outside with the rest of them. They were going for a walk.

Maisey was so happy. She linked her arm in Libby’s and grinned.

Libby, on the other hand, had her eye on Gina, who had picked up her pace to catch up with Dean, walking out in front.

“Dean,” Libby heard Gina say in a breathy voice, “would you give me a lift home?”

Libby clenched her teeth. Gina had ridden to town with Libby and Paul.

“His car”—she tilted her head at Paul—“is a two door and, you know, I’m in heels.”

“What does wearing heels have to do with it,” Libby muttered. She probably ought to have kept it to herself. But the wine had kicked in by then and she was just about fed up with her sister’s . . . garbage.

“Sure,” she heard Dean say. “Heading that way anyhow.”

Maisey tugged at Libby and stretched her neck to whisper into her ear. “Is Mom making a pass at Dean?”

Yes. But Libby just shrugged.

Maisey giggled. “Like that’ll work.”

“What do you mean?”

She giggled again. “He’s totally crazy about you, Aunt Libby.”

Libby stopped walking, tightening her arm so Maisey would stop, too, and waited for Paul and the others to get a bit further ahead.

“Maisey! You shush. In the first place, that’s not true. And in the second place—” She didn’t have to finish. Maisey knew what she meant. Paul might hear.

“Okay. I get it.” They started walking again. “But speaking of Dean. Ty and him and me were talking, and we really think you’re making a mistake, selling your place.”

“No, I’m not,” Libby said. But she was thinking
they’d talked about this . . . with Dean.

It didn’t matter. She knew her mind . . .

“But Aunt Libby!” She pulled at her aunt’s arm again and looked at her earnestly. “It’s your dream. Isn’t it your dream?”

“It may have seemed like my dream, once. But it’s not. Not really. It was—it was something I kind of veered off into, after my divorce.”

“You once told me that it was the only way you could make any sense out of your divorce—by taking what was left of your marriage and using it to do something you love.”

She’d said that?

“I love Paul. Loving him is what makes sense.”

“But don’t you love Dean?” Maisey said in a low voice. “That morning when you were there—”

Libby felt her face redden. Paul had reached his car. He’d opened the driver’s side door and was leaning in, out of earshot. “That’s different, Maisey. Someday you’ll—”

“Hey, guys!”

They turned around.

Alex.

Maisey’s arm was still linked in Libby’s, so Libby could feel her tense.

“Whatcha doing? Hi, Tyler!”

“Hey, Alexia.”

“Ty and she were just going for a walk, right, Ty?”

“Can I come, too? I’ve got something to tell you guys!”

“Coming, Libby?” Paul called from the car.

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay,” Libby whispered quickly in Maisey’s ear.

Gina had gotten into Dean’s truck.

He’d pulled away from the curb.

Libby stood for a moment on the sidewalk, watching as Alex stepped between Maisey and Tyler and the three of them headed down the walk.

“Come on, let’s go,” Paul said.

♦ ♦ ♦

Three hours later and Gina still wasn’t home.

Libby laid in bed, listening to Paul snore until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Got up and went downstairs, turned on a light and opened a paperback.

Where could they be?

♦ ♦ ♦

3:12 by the clock on the kitchen stove when she finally heard the low roar of a pick-up truck engine in the driveway.

3:22 by the clock on the mantel in the living room when the front door finally opened and Gina tumbled in.

Gina didn’t notice her sister at first, but Libby stood up to intercept her before she got to the stairs.

“Well, hiya Libby.”

“You guys took a detour on the way home.”

“We went out for drinks. That man is . . .” She licked her lips and leered conspiratorially.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea, Gina? What would Farley think?”

“Oh, Farley!” She laughed. “Farley is fine. He’s always got his wife.”

“His
wife
? Your boyfriend is
married
?”

“Oh Libby, you’re such a prude.”

Libby followed her into the living room. Now she stood, shaking, as Gina dropped her purse on the couch and kicked off her sandals.

“So, first we went to this college bar in Geneseo. He told me the funniest story about one time when—”

“I want you out of here, Gina.”

Gina looked at her. Libby doubted she comprehended what she’d just heard—between her habitual self-centeredness and the alcohol fog, the actual words were probably gibberish.

It was Libby’s tone of voice that had gotten her attention.

“Libby, are you okay? You seem upset.”

“Tomorrow morning. I want you out of here.”

“Out of here?”

“I will not have you living under my roof. Not one more day.”

“What is your problem?”

“What is my problem? What is my problem? You are my problem, Gina.”

“I don’t—”

“Has it ever occurred to you what you’re doing to Farley’s wife?”

She stared at me. Still no comprehension.

“Farley’s
wife
, Gina. The woman who is
married
to your
boyfriend
.”

“I don’t understand what that’s got to do with—”

“You slept with WALLACE.”

That got through. Her mouth dropped open, then clamped shut, and for several long seconds Libby had her pinned with her eyes. Squirming slightly. But pinned.

And then Gina broke away. “So what?”

“How dare you answer me that way.”

“It was a long time ago. I’m tired. I need to get to bed.”

But Libby sidestepped to keep Gina from walking past her.

“How dare you do that to me, Gina.”

“Do what?” She met Libby’s eyes again, this time cocking her chin. “How did it hurt you? You didn’t know. Besides, you weren’t right for him. You didn’t love him. You weren’t giving him any.”

“I was giving him plenty.” Libby’s voice was rising but she didn’t care anymore, if she woke Paul. Waves of anger were passing through her, so violently that her teeth chattered. “You bitch.”

”You’re overreacting, Libby,” Gina said uneasily. “Anyway, what does he matter anymore? He cheated on you. What do you want with someone who cheats on you?”

“EXACTLY!” The last wave broke and the words were almost a howl. “And the answer is NOTHING. Which is why you are OUT of here, Gina. Tomorrow morning. And you’re not my sister anymore, do you hear me? You’re not my sister ANYMORE.”

“You’re just saying that, Libby—”

Libby bared her teeth. She couldn’t believe Gina was still trying to weasel her way out of it. “If you don’t get out of my sight right now,” she hissed, “I swear, I will hurt you. I will beat you to a pulp.”

Gina glanced down at her sister’s hands, which were clenched, and finally something broke through that thick skull of hers. Fear, probably.

She slunk past—this time, Libby stepped aside to let her go—oh, how tempted Libby was to slap her face as she passed—but she didn’t. She didn’t. She listened to Gina’s footsteps as she climbed the stairs.

And then she went all weak and rubbery and collapsed onto the couch.

43

“What’d you say to Gina last night?”

Libby should have felt marvelous. When you finally confront the demon, when you finally wrestle the demon and cast him out, you’re supposed to feel freed, light. You’re supposed to feel empowered.

But she didn’t. She felt shattered. She felt like she’d swallowed a bomb and it had gone off and shattered her insides and now there was nothing left except shards and grief. And she felt, even more than that, like she needed sleep, hours and hours of sleep. The rims of her eyes stung and her muscles ached and her brain felt like mush.

At least Paul had made the coffee. She poured herself a mugful.

“Is she gone?”

“Yeah. She was leaving when I got up. Maisey picked her up. What happened?”

So he’d slept through their fight. That was okay by Libby.

She took a deep breath. “I just got tired of her crap, is all.”

“Yeah, I could see that. She can be a bit hard to take. But she is your sister.” He’d been buttering a piece of toast but now he put down the knife and came over to Libby and pecked her on the cheek. “You okay, though? You look like hell. No offense.”

“I didn’t get much sleep.”

He frowned slightly. “You going to be able to work?”

“Yeah. A cup of coffee, and I’ll be fine.”

His brow smoothed again. “Good. We can start primering today. We’ll have this baby sewn up by Saturday, easy. Sooner, maybe, if that Dean guy comes back.”

“You think sooner? Like, how soon?”

“Friday. Thursday, even.”

“Uh, well. That would be nice. Give you a chance to, um, work one day this week if you wanted. Or take some time to relax, or whatever.”

“Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.”

She suppressed an anxious sigh and carried her mug upstairs to drink her coffee while she got dressed.

♦ ♦ ♦

She’d just finished tying her sneakers when Dean’s truck pulled in, and she heard him and Paul “hey!” each other.

So. Dean
was
going to show up.

Which meant there was a chance the painting would be done in time . . .

Libby’s mind flashed back to the previous night . . . to the sight of Gina, climbing into Dean’s truck.

“It doesn’t matter, Libby Samson,” she muttered aloud to herself. “He can stick his dick wherever he wants to.” And at least today, she figured, he’d leave her alone. None of this malarkey about following her around, continually making some pretense to work near her.

She sat on the edge of her bed, listening, waiting for them to decide who was going to work on what.

It sounded like Dean had volunteered to finish the last bit of scraping on the north side of the house.

She went outside.

“I want to primer,” she said to Paul.

“Dean’s here,” he said.

“Yeah, I heard him pull in.”

“Here’s a brush.”

She pried open a can of primer and started working.

On the south side of the house.

♦ ♦ ♦

Her luck held for a couple of hours. But by 11:00 or so, Dean had finished the scraping, and began to help with the primer. Only Paul was up working on the eaves, and Dean started primering next to Libby, on the ground.