“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.”
“I’m sure she is, too. Kids have to go off, do their own thing. Tyler’s the one who’s upset about it.”
“Oh?” Now, this was news.
“Yeah. I can’t understand why, really. Maisey said he’s into Alex, and between you and me, I know Maisey’s my daughter and everything, but if I were a guy, it would be Alex. The more experienced one. Definitely.”
“I’m going to get dressed,” Libby said.
♦ ♦ ♦
Libby waited until Gina was in the shower. She could hear Paul bumping a ladder against the house—thank goodness he was starting on the west side. A minute or so later she heard the sound of a scraper against the house, which was her cue—not too likely he’d come down off the ladder now.
She slipped out the window and a second later she was trotting across the grass. She knew she was leaving a trail through the dew but, with any luck, the ground would dry before anyone looked out that way.
All she needed was fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes—to touch the dirt. Check on things. That’s all.
♦ ♦ ♦
Because her hill faced west, it sat in its own shadow in early morning.
The air felt cool although Libby could smell already that it was going to be hot later. She stood, listening to the distant murmur of highway traffic. Other than that, it was quiet—the chill had silenced the crickets, and since this year’s nestlings had long since fledged out, there wasn’t any birdsong. The first sunlight brushed the highest tree branches at the top of the ridge. And then came the titter of a little gaggle of chickadees as they flitted through the hedgerow. They were looking for insects, or maybe playing tag; you never know with chickadees.
She noticed how wet her feet were.
She picked her way through the pie pumpkins, taking care not to step on any of the prickly stems that crisscrossed the path between the beds. The pumpkins were baseball-sized, pale green amid the vines’ broad, dark leaves. And then, at the end of the bed, there sat the little man and the little woman, looking at her with bemused expressions.
Her heart pounded but she forced herself to walk calmly.
“Hi,” she said, and stood in front of them.
They nodded.
“It’s been awhile. I don’t get much privacy anymore.”
“You don’t have any now,” the woman said.
She turned around. Paul was on his way up the hill.
And toward her little people.
Nobody else could see them—nobody else had seen them. But what if Paul could? What would he do?
Somehow, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Libby!” he shouted at her.
She sprang into action, starting forward to intercept him. “Look out for the pumpkins!” she called out in a lame effort to pretend it was the gardens she was trying to protect.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Checking on my garden, is all.”
They looked at each other. Both of them breathing kind of hard. Him, because, frankly, he wasn’t in very good shape and it was uphill all the way to where they stood. Libby, for other reasons.
“You weren’t looking at your gardens,” he said sharply, and she couldn’t help it; she turned to see if they were still there. They weren’t. But at least this meant Paul hadn’t seen them.
And suddenly she was sorry he hadn’t. Because if he’d seen them, yeah, maybe he would have freaked out, maybe he would have snapped. But at least it would have made this whole thing a bit more fair to Libby, and she never knew, maybe he’d even be a bit kinder to her. If it happened once to him, too.
“You were looking for those—things, weren’t you?”
“No! No.”
So now she was lying. Great. Just great.
And it wasn’t even a successful lie. When she met his eyes again, she could see he didn’t trust it a bit.
“You snuck out of a window?”
She bit her lip.
“Libby, is this any way to live?”
“You don’t understand.”
“No. No, I don’t understand.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I can’t believe you crawled out of a window. How am I supposed to trust you, Libby? What else do you sneak around doing?”
She hung her head. Better not go there.
“Now, if you’re done doing . . . whatever it is you do when you’re up here, I could use some help. This is a big job, you know.”
She followed him down the hill. He walked kind of fast. She didn’t dare try to look back to see if her little people were anywhere, watching.
41
When they got to the house, she saw he’d moved around to the east side. The same side as her escape window. And she’d left the window open, of course. There was no way to close it from the ground, from outside.
So that’s how he’d caught her.
He handed her one scraper and carried the other as climbed back up the ladder. He began scraping, grunting slightly with each stroke. Chips of paint skittered and whirled down past the ladder like flakes of slate-blue snow.
When she moved down to the other end of the house, he paused and looked over and she thought, this is it. He’s going to watch me every second now.
She put her scraper blade against the siding where the paint looked a little loose and began to work.
One of the campers wandered over and watched them for a few minutes, then wandered away again.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Libby?”
Gina’s head poked around the corner of the house.
“Oh. There you are.”
They’d been at it a good 45 minutes. The siding was going pretty fast but the kitchen window frame was a different story.
Paul hadn’t said a word to Libby the whole time.
“Libby, I need to talk to you about something.”
Gina didn’t say what, which meant she didn’t care to have Paul in on the conversation.
“I need a drink of water,” Libby said to him. “Do you want one?”
He frowned but nodded.
She followed Gina into the house. “What’s up?”
“I just got off the phone with Simon. He wants you to do that Hey! America cable interview.”
“Simon says,” Libby muttered, taking a glass from the cupboard.
“The publicity is important, Libby. He needs the R-O-I.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“So you’ll do it, right?”
“They only called that one time. What makes you think they still want me?” Libby held her hand under the tap water, waiting for the tepid water that had been sitting in the pipes to give way to the good cold stuff.
“Simon knows the producer,” Gina said. “They want to do it. He’s talked to them.”
“You’ve talked to them, too, haven’t you?”
“Well, Libby. You were the only one who didn’t think the interview was a good idea. I’ve been for it all along.”
Libby had broken a sweat already, working, and the water tasted divine. So she didn’t drink, she chugged. Then she knelt to rummage around in the cupboard under the counter for a bottle to take outside to Paul. She could feel Gina looking at her, waiting for her to say “yes.”
“So anyway, it looks like it’s all set up.”
“I can’t afford to—where are they located? New York?”
“You don’t have to go to New York. You’ll go to the Rochester affiliate. They do it from there.”
“Oh.”
“So you’ll do it, right?”
“Do they have a date?”
“Friday.”
“Friday! Gina. I can’t—Paul. Paul said the painting would take all week. I can’t do this if he’s here!”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Libby. Why do you always let men run your life?”
Libby rubbed her forehead. It was upsetting enough for Paul that she’d done some local news shows. But national news? And so close to getting rid of the place, putting all this behind them . . . anxiety welled in her gut.
Gina was still glaring at her. “You have to do it. You promised.”
What could she say? She was right. She’d promised Simon she’d do publicity. “Paul’s not going to like this a bit,” she muttered.
Gina just snorted.
She finished filling Paul’s water bottle and headed back outdoors, and Gina followed her. She wasn’t going to leave it until she heard the word “yes.”
“I brought you some water,” she called up to Paul, and he backed down the ladder until he could reach it.
She watched him drink.
“So the answer’s ‘yes,’ right, Libby?”
“What we really need is a second ladder,” Paul said.
That would be for Libby. She suppressed a wince. At least he was speaking to her again. Sort of.
“We could get one at the Wal-Mart,” she suggested.
“Can’t you borrow one from somebody? Don’t you country people do that sort of thing?” He took another swig.
“Al’s probably got one. That farmer who plowed my garden this spring.”
“Just ask your next door neighbor, that Dean,” Gina said.
“I’ll call Al.”
“Libby, you haven’t answered my question yet,” Gina reminded me.
♦ ♦ ♦
Al wasn’t answering his phone.
“No answer.” Libby dropped the receiver back onto its cradle.
“You’ll do the interview, right?” Gina was still following her.
“Yes, I’ll do it, Gina. But if you don’t mind, let’s not discuss it around Paul, okay? I’d rather tell him in my own way.”
“Sure thing. Are you done with the phone now? I need to call Simon.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“I couldn’t reach Al, that farmer, about the ladder.”
Paul grunted. “Didn’t Gina say you had another neighbor?”
“He doesn’t have a phone.”
“Doesn’t have a phone? What kind of person—”
“He’s okay. He’s a . . . back-to-lander, sort of.”
“Oh. He’s the guy you camped with this spring. He’ll lend you a l
adder. Drive over there.”
“I don’t think—”
“The peeling is ten times worse up here. We really need you up on a ladder, too.”
If only he knew what a bad idea it was.
“Okay. I’ll go ask him.”
“Libby?” he called her back from around the corner of the house.
“Yeah?”
“How long will you be?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
She went inside to get her car keys. She knew why he’d asked that. To send her a message. Let her know if she wasn’t back when she said she’d be, he’d come look for her.
♦ ♦ ♦
Dean must have heard her car. He was standing on the porch outside his door when she got out.
“Hi. I, uh, wondered if I could borrow a ladder from you.”
“Step or extension?”
“Um. Extension, I guess.”
He folded his arms, looking at her.
Okay. This was awkward. She concentrated on appearing calm. “Where’s Maisey?”
“She’s moved out.”
“Oh! When? Where? Where is she?”
“Four, five days ago.”
“Where—”
“You’ll have to ask Tyler. I believe he’s putting her up.”
“Tyler!” Her heart jumped. “They’re back together?”
“How do you plan to get that ladder to your place? Carry it?”
She hadn’t thought of that. “Top of my car?” But of course that wouldn’t work. Compact car, no rack on top.
“I’ll bring it over in my truck.”
“So Tyler and Maisey—”
“When do you need it, now?”
“Dean, did you . . .” she wanted to know if he’d talked to Tyler. He’d been so adamant about not interfering. “How did Tyler find—”
“I’ll be over in ten minutes,” he interrupted, and turned to go back into his cabin.
Anyway, she thought to herself as she drove back to her place, the important thing was that those two kids were reunited. She’d felt more than a little responsible for their break-up. Now she had it off her conscience. So that was one bit of unfinished business that was taken care of, at least.
♦ ♦ ♦
When she got back, Paul was sitting on the ground eating a ham sandwich. Three of the campers were sitting with him and he had an irritated look on his face. He was also sweaty and red-faced—the forecast that day was for the low 90s, and it was already so humid that the sky was white at the horizon. There were paint chips stuck to his skin.
When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae Page 21
