Page 10 of The Fae’s Treasure

You have the money from Dad. That put a big chunk down on the house. That put a big chunk of your worries about a tiny salary—but still a livable wage—aside.

Yes. When I was single, not a single mom. Yes, when I was “co-habiting” with Aaron, who had a decent paycheck and who said all the right, comforting things about me working part-time.

All the right, comforting things. So good on paper. Just not in love. Either of us.

He would have been a good dad.

If he finds out, he’ll think he is the dad.

No, no, we cannot do that. Okay, new story.

Once upon a time, there was a perfectly competent organist named Deanna, who had a perfect mother and a dad who was much better than perfect; he was amazing. He was funny. He took her out on the lake, and sat up with her late at night when she had a broken heart after prom, and he took her to all the big cathedrals and churches and always asked if she could play the organs there—and sometimes he even got a yes. He made the mother’s perfection much more bearable, and Aaron’s good-but-it’s-still-not-quite-right-ness seem bearable.

And then he ignored all the warning signs, and got diagnosed with stage four colon cancer right after her thirtieth birthday.

And died right before her thirty-first.

I can hear my breathing now, not just feel it. Wet. Shaky.

I don’t want to wake the baby.

Slower. Calmer.

Think forward, not backward.

Dad, you never got to meet your grandson.

And Rory doesn’t have a dad. Or a granddad.

And Aaron is great, but he’s not going to be this kid’s dad if he couldn’t be my husband.

No. I can do this myself. Maybe I never wanted to do this myself, but I can if I have to.

I even start to work out a story, and I hear it and rehearse it as though I’m talking to my mother, my mother who is still not close to me as she wishes, even when grief should bring us together.

Mom, when Aaron and I were having a rough patch about... nine months ago, I went out with a mutual friend of a friend and... whoops. I never knew. I had one of those ‘surprise’ pregnancies with no symptoms.

Yes, Mother, that can happen. I’ll send you the Facebook videos.

And, well, right after I moved to Pine Ridge, he arrived. Rory Robert. Yes, the middle name is for Dad. He looks just like him, just like me. Same sunburn-magnet fair skin and bold red hair.

No, no, I don’t need help, Mom. You don’t need to come down. You stay with your sisters and Grandma, and keep being the unshakeable leader of the Methodist Ladies League and the Independent Party Telethon organizer every May and November.

No, I’m not moving there.

No, I’m not going to quit my job.

I will figure this out. All of it.

Why are his eyes red? Why does he have wings?

I gulp, even in an imaginary conversation. Pastor Fortnum didn’t mention the eyes, and I know Rory had them open at one point.

Am I losing my mind?

Maybe. Stress, grief, lack of sleep... I rise from the chair and leave the room. I’ll set a timer. Just thirty minutes in my own bed. That might help.

The second I lie down, I spring back up like someone catapulted me.