Patricia flopped the open magazine on the desk. “I wouldn’t have picked that pose, but you look awfully good.”
Patricia had seen all the photos soon after they’d arrived at the house. Libby saw only Santos. She bit her lip to stifle the threat of tears. “Deadly is the perfect slogan. It has a vampire touch to it, don’t you think?”
Marcia came into the room. “Hi, Patricia. Watcha got?”
“This is how Libby spent the summer. Did she tell you about Santos?”
Marcia picked up the magazine to study the ad. “Oh my God, you spent the summer with him?”
“A few weeks,” Libby admitted reluctantly. “He’s Maggie’s half brother.”
“Wow. We’ve got to put this on the bulletin board.”
“That’s my magazine,” Patricia said. “Go buy your own.”
“All right, I’ll go right now,” Marcia agreed. “Do you want me to buy one for you, Libby?”
“No, I’ve got the photos at home.”
“If I had photos of him, I’d plaster the walls here with them.”
“It would be too distracting,” Libby responded with a forced laugh. Patricia left with Marcia, and she slumped back in her chair. Now the whole house would tease her about Santos, and she wouldn’t be able to shrug it off for long. “Damn.” Things were already bad enough without everyone asking about Santos when no words would do him justice. As for the way he’d treated her, all she’d need was a creative string of expletives.
Her mother called later that afternoon. “There’s a big package here for you from Santos. It has Aragon stamped all over it. Do you want me to open it and see what it is?”
Libby cursed under her breath. “It has to be Aragon cologne. Open it and give it to any homeless men you see.”
“Libby, really. We’ll save it for Christmas gifts.”
“Fine. How’s Dad?” He’d helped transfer Santos’s money back to his account without asking her reasons. Her parents could see how unhappy she was, but she wouldn’t worsen her situation by crying through a humiliating confession of how abruptly, and rudely, Santos had sent her home. After telling her mother good-bye, she grabbed her coat and left her room for a walk. She pulled on her mittens and cap. This was her last semester at the university, but as she lengthened her stride, the familiar landmarks passed by in a blur.
“Hey, watch out.” A young man in a University of Minnesota football jacket caught her arms seconds before they collided. “You stare at your feet, no telling who you’ll run into.”
Libby recognized Brad Matthews as one of the stars of the football team. He had curly dark hair and warm blue eyes, and there were girls who attended the games just to see him. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“So do I. Let’s walk in the same direction and avoid another near collision.”
Last year she would have flirted with him and gone out for a beer, but today, she was dead inside. “That was a great game last week. There are plenty of girls walking around who’d follow you to the moon. You’re sure to find one.” She took a step away, but he caught her elbow.
“I like a spicy lack of interest in a girl. Now where are we going?”
He was tall, good looking with a charming smile, but she wasn’t playing. “I’m seriously considering becoming a nun.” Her family wasn’t even Catholic, but he didn’t need to know the details. “I wouldn’t want you beating on a convent door.”
He laughed. “I like a great sense of humor too. Let’s go get some hot chocolate.”
“I thought you’d be more of a beer man.”
“You don’t know everything, do you?”
She sighed sadly. “You’ve got that right.” She let Brad do all the talking, as men loved to, but, seated across from him in Starbucks, she concentrated on her hot chocolate and heard every other word.
Libby and Patricia came home for Thanksgiving dinner. They helped their mother with the cooking and decorated the table as they had since they were small. The house was warm, had a luscious spicy smell, and a classical CD provided the perfect background music. It was a wonderful dinner as always.
“This is our best turkey ever!” Peter exclaimed.
“You say that every year,” Patricia responded with a teasing giggle. “But this is especially good.”
Libby took another bite of stuffing. “Yes, it really is.”