When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae (35 page)

Then they were both silent for awhile.

“I talked to Maisey this morning,” Libby said finally.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s okay. She’s going to apply to a couple of colleges, see if she can matriculate in January. She’s thinking maybe special ed. And she’s probably going to come stay with me until she starts. She says Gina’s going back to Hawaii.”

“Good for her. Maisey, I mean.”

They sat a bit longer.

“So,” he said finally.

She waited.

“Sorry I punched your friend.”

“We were all upset.”

A couple passed by. They were walking a dachshund on a little red harness and they smiled and nodded as they passed.

“Libby.” He was looking at his hands. “I don’t really want to do this. But my boss—”

“I’m off
Skin Tones
.”

“It was bad enough before. But now that this has happened . . . well, you know how important credibility is. In this game . . . we can’t risk that people will think the articles are bogus. Josh was saying—”

“Paul, I’m not a fraud.”

He didn’t answer.

“I really do see them.”

A couple of kids flew by on skateboards and a robin landed on the grass nearby and began hopping about, cocking his head at the ground to look for worms.

“Anyway, I’m awfully sorry about everything,” Paul said finally.

Me too, she thought. “I know.”

Next order of business.

“So. What about you and me?”

He was looking at his hands again. “Yeah. Well, you know. It would probably be best if we took a little break.”

The robin hopped out of sight down the hill.

“No,” she said. “No, Paul, I think it would be best if we just called it quits, you know, for good.”

He sighed. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

They sat for awhile more, and then made their way back down the hill to her car, hugged, and she drove off, leaving him standing there on grass on the side of the road.

49

She was moping around the next morning when somebody banged on her door.

She opened it and it was a flower delivery guy.

“Libby Samson?”

She took the bouquet, and when he’d left she set it on her counter and opened the card.

No message, just Dean’s name.

She tossed the flowers into the kitchen garbage can in the corner.

But then, a little while later, she fished them back out and put them in water.

After all, it wasn’t really the flowers’ fault.

♦ ♦ ♦

Next morning.

Same time.

Delivery guy was back with another bouquet.

By Friday she’d run out of vases.

By the middle of the next week, she had flowers in canning jars and pitchers and drinking glasses in every room in her house.

50

It was nice to have her place to herself.

Yeah. And talk about understatements.

She’d started hiking up to her gardens again, for no particular reason. Just to be outside, and smell the air, listen to the cicadas. Feel the sun on her face.

It was September, now, and the nights felt almost frosty but the days were still summery. The golden rod and wild asters were in full bloom, and the leaves of the sugar maples, always the first to turn in the fall, were already tinged with orange.

She hadn’t seen her little friends since that last time, when Paul had found her after she’d sneaked away. But she wasn’t really looking for them, either.

She sat on the straw covering one of her beds and lowered her eyelids against the brightness of the sun.

And then she opened her eyes again and suddenly it was as if the colors had all doubled in intensity—tripled in intensity—the yellows and purples of the wildflowers, the shimmering horizon, the azure sky deep as infinity overhead. And she suddenly felt how much she was part of it, so that somehow the intensity was inside her as well as outside, and she realized also how much bigger it was than her: the pulsing energy of nature and of life, and how much bigger it was than the petty failures people mourn, our silly failures that we snatch to our hearts from the teeth of our silly fears and our silly angers.

“So that’s it, then,” she murmured.

And then in a moment it faded back again, and everything looked the same as it had before—beautiful enough, and crystal clear through her tear-cleansed eyes . . .

She shivered, stood up, and walked back down to her house.

51

“You can stop sending me flowers,” she said.

Dean stood on his porch, and the look in his eyes is one she’d never forget, the relief and the longing and the love.

“Libby.”

He put his arms around her and held on like if he let go, she might vanish into thin air.

###

Kirsten Mortensen is a professional writer residing in Rochester, NY. Her published works include the novel
Can Job,
a humorous look at life and love inside a dysfunctional corporation, and the non-fiction books
Outwitting Dogs
and
101 Dog Training Tips
(both Lyons Press). Please say hello to Kirsten at
www.kirstenmortensen.com
or on Twitter @
Kirstenwriter
.

WIN FREE STUFF!

I’m SO excited about my upcoming romantic thriller,
Loose Dog
, that I’ve gone a little nutsy! I’m planning some neat launch promos – I’ve even started buying prizes to give away to people who read it :-)

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MORE TO READ BY KIRSTEN MORTENSEN

Loose Dog
(forthcoming romantic suspense!)

Animal Control Officer Paige Newberry doesn’t know what’s worse. Her man problems, or her dog problems.

First she opens a package from her ex-
fiance
and finds The Ring. That can only mean one thing: the guy she never really got over is about to walk back into her life.

Then she stumbles on evidence of a dog fighting ring—and realizes that unless she breaks it up, a pit bull she’s tried to help is doomed to die.

Clearly, Paige needs to take control of her life, even if that means reinventing herself as a schemer. And when her sexy lawyer friend agrees (maybe a little too quickly?) to pretend to be her boyfriend, she thinks she’s found a way to save her botched engagement.

Little does she know, she’ll soon need another scheme—this time, to save her life.

Coming soon for Amazon Kindle!

And AVAILABLE NOW:

Can Job
(full-length novel)

A crack team of marketers is launching a product that will save their company.

At the biggest trade show in the universe.

Their careers are at stake.

Heck, the future of the entire CITY is at stake.

Then they discover that the product doesn’t actually exist . . .

Can Job.
Like your job. Only funny.

What readers have said about
Can Job
:

Well-written satire.
“I think this is a winner. I wondered how much time Kirsten spent in corporate life, because just as Scott Adams does often with his Dilbert comics, she has just NAILED some big-company patterns and practices in perfect satire in this work . . . Good conflict, timing, story line and humor. I give it two thumbs up. Good stuff!”

A great read.
“Can Job is a cleverly-written, plot-driven tale; anyone who has worked for a large company will relate to this story and its characters . . . [A]n enjoyable spoof . . . I had to keep reading to see how it ended. I look forward to more fiction by this indie author.”