Well Met(89)

“So come to Faire on Sunday,” Stacey said. “Bring April and let’s buy her a drink. I’d love to hang out with her.”

I liked that idea too. April meeting my friends and becoming part of this little group. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll talk to her.”

But I didn’t need to. Caitlin brought it up for me instead on Saturday night.

“You and Mom should come to Faire tomorrow.” A freshly showered, home-from-Faire Caitlin shoved a forkful of lasagna into her mouth before I could caution her that it was too hot.

“You’re gonna burn your . . . what? We should, huh?”

“Yeah.” She sucked in some air around the bite of hot pasta, then drank half a glass of milk in two gulps. “It’s the last day tomorrow. It’s supposed to be fun.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve heard that. Slow down. I didn’t spend the afternoon making lasagna for you to make yourself sick eating it too fast.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes, but cut a smaller bite.

“I don’t know,” April said from the other side of the table. “It could be fun.”

“Really?” I looked at her askance. “I offered you free passes at the beginning of Faire, and you didn’t want to go.”

“Because of my leg.”

I narrowed my eyes. “It wasn’t because of your leg. You said it sounded like a boring way to spend a day.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.” A small smile played around her mouth. “I should probably see what my daughter’s been up to all summer, don’t you think? I’ll bring some tomatoes, we can chuck them at Simon.”

Caitlin snorted, and I had to laugh at this show of sisterly support. “That’s okay.” After a week apart, anger and indignation had started to fade, replaced mostly by a dull aching sadness. I missed Simon. But calling him would be useless. When it came down to Faire or me, I knew where his priorities lay. He was stuck in the past, and until he could move on, there was nothing there for me.

“So you’re okay?” April asked.

“Yeah.” I sighed the word, which made it pretty unconvincing. “I will be.” Better.

“Good. Let’s go objectify men in kilts tomorrow.”

That brought a smile to my face. Mitch would be happy to oblige us, I was sure.

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s do it.”





Twenty-three




It felt strange to pull into the regular parking lot at Faire, where paying patrons parked. All these weeks I’d pulled into a dirt lot hidden off a side road, and Caitlin and I would forge our way in early-morning, watery sunlight to the Hollow. But this time we dropped Caitlin off, then killed time by caffeinating at a nearby coffee shop, where we fueled ourselves with coffee and bagels and stashed bottles of water in our bags before returning to Faire and parking in the front lot with the rest of the patrons.

The middle-aged volunteer working the ticket booth was named Nancy. I thought I’d seen her three times the whole summer and spoken to her once. Maybe twice. But her face lit up when she saw me, and she came around to give me a hug like we were old friends.

“Emily! So good to see you. And you must be April.” She reached over to squeeze April’s hand in an approximation of a handshake. “Your daughter has done such a great job this summer. You must be so proud.”

“I am.” April’s voice sounded the way her bemused smile looked. “I’m looking forward to seeing what she’s been doing all summer.”

“Well, you’ll usually be able to find her near—oh, I guess Emily knows where she tends to be. You’ve been here long enough, haven’t you?”

I nodded, because it was easier than explaining that I rarely left the tavern/chess field part of the grounds. But when I started digging in my purse for my wallet, Nancy waved that aside.

“You’re not paying for your tickets, are you crazy? Go on inside, enjoy the day!” She gave us a little wink. “The last day is always a little different.”

“Well.” April looked over her shoulder at Nancy as we went inside the main gate. “She was nice.”

“Nice how?” That could mean a lot of different things to April. Nice and nosy. Nice and overly friendly.

But this time April shrugged. “Just . . . nice.”

“Welcome to Willow Creek,” I said, even though she’d lived there for years. “Pretty much everyone is like that.”

She started to respond, but we passed through the main gate and walked into another world.

I shouldn’t have been awed by the sight of the Renaissance faire in full swing. But the sensory overload when you walked in was fantastic. Sunlight glowed through the bunting wound through branches above our heads. Near the front, a group of student cast members performed an intricate maypole dance to the accompaniment of prerecorded mandolin and flute. Vendors lined the lane where we walked, and every step showed me things I had never wanted in my life but suddenly needed to own. Leather-covered journals, flower crowns, handmade boots. One vendor had a booth shaped like a Romany-style wagon, selling crystals and tarot cards. My heart squeezed at the sight of the rose seller, but I was able to hustle April past her booth quickly.

“What are we checking out first?” April brandished the map we’d been given at the front.