When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae (23 page)

She flicked the inside latch to lock the doors just as a camper pulled on the passenger side handle.

“I can’t pull out!” Maisey said. She was parked directly behind Libby’s car. She needed to back up a bit to get around it. But there were campers pressing up against the rear bumper.

They weren’t going to let the car leave.

“Aw damn, damn—Maisey, you’re just going to do it—they’ll move if they see you’re . . .”

Maisey put the car in reverse and it started to move. The guy who’d tried to pull Libby’s door open banged on her window. “Hey, you can’t leave!”

“We’ll be back, you nitwit!” Maisey yelled.

“Just ignore him.” Libby noticed the campers were falling back as Maisey’s car nudged toward them. “Good, good, I think you’re clear.”

Maisey nosed out past Libby’s car and toward the road. A couple campers were in front of them now but they stepped aside, one of them waving frantically, the other pulling faces at Libby through the windshield.

“You got it, Maise, you got it.”

“Look. They’re going to their cars.”

“Aw, no.” But Maisey was right. Several of them were already to the road, running to where their cars were parked.

They were actually going to give chase.

“We can’t—we can’t take them to Dean’s,” Libby gasped. “Turn right, turn right!”

Maisey pulled out onto the road.

“Go, go!” And bless her, she hit the accelerator and they were off.

“How can we lose them?”

“You’ve got a good head start. I don’t know. Head toward the expressway, I guess. Maybe they’ll get bored. How are you on gas?”

“Half a tank.”

Libby had been turned around to watch them, now she settled into her seat and buckled her seat belt. Maisey was glancing into her rear view mirror as she drove. “Looks like four cars. Oh geez, one of them is passing the others!”

Libby hunched down so she could see in her side mirror. “Idiots.”

“Aunt Libby—look!”

Libby looked. Up ahead. Al, on his tractor. Driving down the middle of the road. And they were catching up to him because he was driving very, very, very slowly.

Libby unbuckled her seat belt. “Keep it steady, Maise,” she said as she rolled down her window. “Pull up as close as you can get.”

“Sure thing.”

Libby grabbed the Jesus strap above the door and stood up, hanging out of the window. “Al!” she yelled, waving with her free hand. “Hey, Al!”

Al had a radio in his tractor and it was on—a local talk show—but when Libby yelled his name the third time he heard her and turned around, staring. “Al! Do me a favor!”

“What?”

“A favor!”

Libby looked behind them. The camper’s cars had caught up.

They were yelling out their windows. Now they started laying on their horns.

Libby looked back at Al. He was leaned forward, presumably turning down the volume on his radio, then looked back again, the expression on his face making it pretty clear that he’d formed a not-very-positive impression of his neighbor.

How was she going to talk to him through that din?

She looked back again. The driver in the first car had leaned out of his window. “Libby! Wait for me!” he yelled, laughing.

Finally there was a break in the din and Libby had a chance. “Al! I’m trying to lose these guys. Can you block them?”

“This is a gahdamned circus.”

“Please?”

His mouth was pursed but he nodded, a quick single jerk of his head, and she slid back into the car, fumbling for her seatbelt.

“Okay. Watch him, Maise.”

A moment later he flicked his arm out to wave them by.

“NOW!”

Maisey veered sharply to the left just as Al pulled his tractor to the right. Libby grabbed the dashboard, her heart pounding as the car surged forward.

“We made it!” Maisey said. Libby turned around and sure enough, they’d done it—caught them off-guard, and now Al had the campers trapped behind him. Libby watched as the lead car swerved first left, then right, but Al swerved his tractor neatly at the same time, blocking him off.

“Man. I owe that guy. Big time.”

They were a quarter mile from the end of the road.

“What way should I turn?”

“Head down into the valley.”

“Got it.”

Maisey rolled her car past the stop sign and Libby cranked her head around again. The tractor was in sight, so for sure the campers could tell which way they’d turned, but the next second they’d rounded a bend. All clear. “We did it. Maisey, you did it.” Libby giggled. “Look, my hands are shaking.”

“Mine, too!” Maisey said.

“You were awesome, Maise!”

“Should I turn here?”

Main highway. North: toward Rochester. South: toward Dansville. “Go left,” Libby said. “We’ll circle back and get to Dean’s from the other side of town.”

“Got it.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Dean’s driveway was so narrow that tree branches whipped the side of Maisey’s car as they drove in. Libby noticed the piles of brush she’d helped him move after the ice storm. They were half-hidden now by brambles and, in the wetter places, tall pale clumps of jewel weed.

“I love Dean’s place,” Maisey said as she eased her car to a stop in front of the cabin. “It’s so peaceful.”

“Yeah,” Libby said, rubbing her temples.

Bo was on the porch. He stood up, ears pricked, watching them.

“There’s Dean.”

He was rounding the corner of the cabin, carrying a hacksaw. He set it on the porch and drew off his work gloves.

“Hiya, Dean!” Maisey called out as she got out of the car.

“Ladies.”

Libby stood up, and noticed suddenly that her feet were leaden. All she could remember was the look on Dean’s face the other night.

“Libby,” he said by way of greeting, and then, to both of them, “So, what can I do for you ladies today?”

“I hope we’re not . . . intruding . . .”

“Not at all.” But the expression on his face wasn’t exactly warm. “Have a seat.”

They followed him onto his porch. There were two Adirondack chairs at one end and on the other, a loveseat-style swing.

Maisey pushed past Libby and Dean and took the swing, calling Bo over to her as she sat down.

“This okay?” Libby pointed to one of the chairs. He didn’t answer so she perched on the front edge of the seat, her hands on her knees.

“So. What’s up?”

“I was hoping . . . well. You know this whole . . . situation.”

“Not sure I follow, no.”

Libby watched Maisey stroke Bo’s head. The teen was cooing at him.

“I mean, with the, uh, fairies and everything.”

“Okay. That situation.”

What other situation was there? She licked her lips. “Well, Paul—”

“Paul?”

“My boyfriend . . .”

He nodded.

“He is worried that I’m seeing them because I’ve got something going on, you know, medically.”

“Ah.”

“So, to make him feel better, you know, put his mind to rest, I’ve agreed to see a doctor. Only—I was hoping maybe you’d know someone here in town who . . .”

“Who won’t think you’re crazy.”

She nodded.

He stood up and went inside. Bo stood, too, walked over and watched Dean through the screen, his ears pricked forward. Maisey settled back in the swing. Her tiptoes just reached the floor of the porch and she pushed against it to make the swing move. “Gosh, it’s gorgeous here, isn’t it, Aunt Libby? So green. Hey, what’s that bird singing, just now? There.”

“A wood thrush.”

“It sounds like pipes, kind of.”

Libby nodded. “Yeah.”

Dean returned with a phone book, a piece of paper, and a pen. He sat down, flipped the book open to the yellow pages, and pulled the cap off the pen with his teeth.

A moment later, he handed Libby the paper. It had a name on it, Theresa Grande, and a phone number.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“Hey, Dean, can I use your bathroom?” Maisey asked.

“Go ahead. Here. Take this in, would you?” He handed her the phone book as she passed.

Libby and Dean sat, looking out over the clearing at the green of the forest. A slight breeze had come up, and the tree branches at the edge of the clearing moved slightly. The thrush had fallen silent but now an oven bird called from the undergrowth:
tee-cher tee-cher tee-cher
. . .

“Dean.”

He didn’t answer.

“I’m really sorry . . . . I shouldn’t have said what I said. The other night. About you and . . .”

“Don’t worry about it.” And then he sighed. She glanced up at him, but he was still looking off at the trees. “I shouldn’t have . . . interfered in your life, either. You know what works best. In your situation.”

No, I don’t
. But she didn’t say that out loud, and a second later Maisey had returned, and it was time for them to go.

♦ ♦ ♦

When they got home, Gina and Tyler and Alex were waiting for them.

Gina wanted Libby to look at a couple of website designs.

Tyler had coded them and he was so proud he even edged in on Gina’s turf, a bit, sitting at Libby’s office chair and leading the demo. “See?” he said, moving the mouse and clicking on links. “Here’s the FAQs. And this—this isn’t working yet, but it’s got a shopping cart and everything.”

“For your merchandise,” Alex said.

“I don’t have any—”

“Seminars,” Gina said. “Workshops. We’ll have guest lecturers, too, like at Findhorn. And you’ll write a book. You’re a writer.”

“Tyler did a fabulous job, didn’t he?” Alex said. “Tyler, show her the contact form.” She put her hand over Tyler’s on the mouse and moved the cursor up to a button that said “Contact Libby” and when she clicked on it—or Tyler clicked on it, hard to tell—a shower of sparkles cascaded over the screen and it melted into a screen with a contact form.

“Isn’t that cool?” Alex said, smiling at Tyler.

“Yeah. Look. I need to get to work. I have to make some phone calls. Would you mind if we discuss this later?”

“Libby, you’re not being very cooperative,” Gina said.

Alex and Tyler stopped smiling.

Libby took a deep breath. “Actually . . . actually, you are pushing me around, Gina, and I don’t like it,” she said. “I never agreed to a website.”

“You are in such denial. You won’t even answer people’s questions, so what’s wrong with a website—”

“You can’t do a website unless you have my permission.”

“It’s a free country,” Gina said.

Libby stood up straighter. “Gina, I mean it. I mean it. You’re not in charge here. I am.”

“You sure don’t act like you’re in charge of anything.”

“You’re right. I haven’t. But that’s going to change. Stop pushing me. I mean it.”

“I—we—have to look out for our interests, too, you know.”

“YOUR interests?” Libby stared at her sister in amazement. “Your interests? Look, Gina, if this is about us battling for our interests, you know what, let’s do it. I’ll start. By getting a lawyer. How’s that?”

“You don’t need to get a lawyer, Libby.”

“No? Well that’s not what Paul thinks.”

And for once Gina shut up. She stalked out. The kids following, not looking at Libby.

She sat down at her desk. She’d planned to call that doctor’s office right away, but she decided to wait until she could trust her voice to sound natural again.

33

It was overcast, but hot, and Libby noticed that the first cicadas had started whirring in the trees.

High summer.

She was weeding. Some campers had followed when they saw her leave the house but mostly they were leaving her alone, for which she felt both grateful and anxious. Anxious because no way could her luck hold.

Her little people were around when she first got there. Quite a few of them, as a matter of fact. She counted seven or eight. Two were in the hedgerow. The rest were walking the deer path that followed the stone wall. She’d never seen that many at once before. She didn’t try to talk to them, and they didn’t try to talk to her, and after a few minutes they had all disappeared.

She wondered if she was ever going to have enough privacy to speak to them again.

It was hot and the sky was white with moisture. Thunderstorm weather.

She was weeding the shell bean bed, using the technique her little man had taught her, or at least what she thought he’d taught her, feeling her way, trying to catch the rhythm. Leave three, weed two, leave four, weed three. That’s not it, exactly, but that’s the feel it had.

She was digging at the taproot of a dock plant when she noticed Maisey.