Free Moon Spun by Marilee Brothers Page A

want you to know that Melia is a . . . a . . . ”
    Faye jerked away and slammed the soda can down. Brown froth spurted out of the opening and splattered onto the table top. “A what? Spit it out, Allie!”
    I grabbed a napkin and wiped up the spill. “A faery.”
    Faye leaned across the table. “I didn’t quite hear what you said.”
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    “A faery!” I shouted, tired of the game. “Your mother is a faery, and she went back to faery land or whatever you call it, because she couldn’t live as a mortal.”
    Faye clamped her mouth shut and studied my face. Suddenly, she lifted her hands and covered her face. Oh no, here it comes. Her shoulders began to shake, and a high-pitched sound whistled through her cupped hands. I folded my arms, sighed deeply and waited for the storm to pass. When she lowered her hands, I gaped in surprise. Yeah, she had tears rolling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying. She was laughing her butt off! Confused, I bit my lip, ticked off she’d found my surprise. Yeah, she had tears rolling down her cheeks, but she wasn’t crying. She was laughing her butt off! Confused, I bit my lip, ticked off she’d found my announcement so hilarious.
    Faye wiped her eyes. “Don’t tell me you believed that crap! He was pulling your leg. That’s the way he is. Why tell the truth when it’s so much easier to lie?”
    I needed to choose my words carefully. According to Chad, my mother glowed because she had faery blood. And, my built-in truth-o-meter told me Grandpa Claude was being straight with me. On the other hand, Faye likely had no memory of the events surrounding her separation from her mother. So, she would assume her father was lying.
    I nodded. “I suppose that’s possible. Strange he should go to all that trouble, though.”
    “Faeries!” She spat the word and then shook her head in disgust. “I wonder how he came up with that one.”
    I took a deep breath and took a baby step forward. “What do you know about faeries?”
    “You mean, like Tinker Bell?”
    “Do you think they exist?”
    “Oh, yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “Along with elves, pixies and leprechauns.”
    I knew it wasn’t my job to convince her, but I said, “Think about it, Faye. Take me, for example. I can do things other people can’t do. And then there’s Beck and Nicole.
    You know they’re, well, different. It seems like you, of all people, would at least be open to the idea that faeries might exist.”
    Before she could answer, the phone rang.
    Faye pointed at the phone and declared, “Beck.”
    I slid out of the dinette, hoping she was right. I hadn’t heard from Beck since he left for Seattle. Faye rose and headed for the back of the trailer. “When you’re off the phone, I want to hear the whole story . . . how you contacted your grandfather . . . every word he said . . . the whole ball of wax.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” I said, remembering I hadn’t told her about my conversation with Dennis McCarty. I snatched up the phone.
    “Hey, Emerson, how’s the ride?”
    Not Beck. Junior. A tsunami of emotions swept over me as I stammered out a greeting. Disappointment—not Beck. Guilt—I hadn’t thanked Junior for the car. Relief
    —awkward conversation with Faye postponed. Curiosity—why the heck was Junior calling me? And yes, excitement—because Junior was calling me.
    Unfortunately, when I get flustered, I have a tendency to babble. “Hey, yourself, Junior! The car’s great! Thank you so much. I meant to call or write and tell you how much I like it, but I didn’t have your phone number or address. I probably should have called your mother and . . . ”
    Junior chuckled.
    “What’s funny?” I asked.
    “Guess you haven’t got pulled over by the cops yet.”
    “What? Of course not. Why?”
    “Cause if you had, you’d have to show your registration.”
    “Well, yeah. What does that have to do with anything?”
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    Junior said, “That little case clipped on the sun visor that holds the