I glanced over to the caramel-apple stand, where Danny and Harley seemed to be wrapping their caramel-coated fruit in cotton candy. “Good call,” I conceded, sticking my finger in his face. “But for the record, this is not a date. You do not get credit for planning this.”
Wade snapped his teeth, barely clamping down on the tip of my finger. I yelped, laughing and yanking my hand away. He laughed and kissed my cheek. “You just wait, I’ma date the hell out of you.”
“That’s not a declaration or an answer of any sort.”
“Crazy girl,” he scoffed. “I gotta get goin’. I’m needed over at the cakewalk.”
“Better you than me.”
“Maybe later, I’ll win you one of those big stuffed elephants at the ring toss,” he said. “Come on, boys! Let’s go cheat some ladies out of some cakes.”
I laughed as Wade led our sons to diabetic crisis, but the happy expression on my face died quickly as Chelsea and Casey minced their way across the “fairway” toward me with matching “approaching an uncomfortable conversation” expressions on their faces.
What had I done now? PDA with Wade within view of their impressionable children? Or just walking while undead?
“Libby, hiiiiiii,” Casey intoned.
“You really need to learn to use fewer ‘i’s when you’re feeling awkward,” I told her.
Casey’s eyes went wide. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Chelsea cleared her throat and tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. “Libby, we’re just a little surprised to see you here, that’s all.”
“Why?” I asked. “I organized the raffle and the auction, and apparently, I’m the cleanup crew.”
Casey managed to look guilty for a second, or possibly scared. In truth, all of her expressions just read “vaguely gassy.”
“It’s just that your presence is making some of the other parents uncomfortable,” Chelsea whispered. “Safety concerns, you know.”
Casey added, “They’re afraid you’ll attract the wrong element.”
I glanced around at the other parents, who didn’t seem to be noticing me now that I wasn’t making out with Wade in front of their kids.
“Is it them I’m making uncomfortable or you?” I asked Chelsea. “Because it seems to me that you were plenty comfortable with me doing all your crap work, driving all over creation to pick up gift cards and gift baskets and two hundred pumpkins. Do you have any idea how long it takes to load two hundred pumpkins into a minivan?”
Chelsea stammered an answer, but I cut her off.
“Save it. It occurs to me that the best thing for me to do would be to just walk away from the PTA, to save us all this tension and discomfort. You don’t want me here. And honestly, this experience hasn’t been as rewarding as I’d hoped.”
Casey’s face brightened considerably. “Really? Oh, that’s a shame.”
“But screw that noise. If I want the PTA to change and be more friendly for parents with supernatural needs, I’m going to have to be that change. I’m going to have to run for PTA president.”
Chelsea’s cherubic cheeks went bone-white, and she made a noise that sounded like a choking giraffe.
“And given the number of people you’ve railroaded over the past few weeks for the sake of the Pumpkin Patch Party, I think I can get the votes.”
I turned on my heel, smirking to beat the band, and as I ducked behind the dunking booth, I ran right into my father-in-law, who looked downright smug himself.
“Libby.”
I hadn’t seen him face-to-face in months, on advice of the Council. The difference in his appearance was startling. He’d lost weight, especially in his face, where his cheekbones seemed more prominent, and his eyes were underscored by dark circles. He was grinning at me, but the smile didn’t reach his brown eyes. They were as flat and glassy as a shark’s. Frankly, the effect was creepy, and I took a step back from him. Predatory pride be damned.
“I was hoping to see you tonight,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. “Why would that be, Les? According to my lawyers, you’ve been pretty reluctant to talk with me in any rational, civil way.”
“Well, I just didn’t know how to communicate with you before,” Les said. “I think I’ve figured it out now.”
“Again, I say, really?”
“Sure. I’d like to meet with you and your Council rep on Monday to work out the details, but I think we can come to an agreement.”
I stared at him, long and hard. Was my father-in-law completely high? We’d spent the better part of two months going round and round over the very basics of a simple visitation schedule, and suddenly he had some sort of epiphany to go forth and be a proverbial thorn in my side no longer? Why hadn’t Marge mentioned this on one of her handful of secret visits to our house? Had one of Jane’s vampire friends fiddled with Les’s brain? Was that a secret vampire power, emotionally manipulating controlling old men? It was still cooler than my vampire power.