Believing (6 page)

She sinks into a chair at her grandmother’s kitchen table, glad Odelia is busy in the closed-off sunroom at the back of the house, doing a reading for a client. Suddenly, she longs for some time alone with her father, even if it is just over the phone.

“Did you make any new friends, Cal?”

“A few,” she says, thinking of Willow and Sarita. In gym class this afternoon, Evangeline introduced her to a girl named Kasey, who was a captain and chose Calla second for her team when she was sure she’d be the last one picked.

And then, of course, Jacy Bly was in her last period, math, with the dreaded Mr. Bombeck. He seemed strict and he ran a tight ship. To Calla’s disappointment, she didn’t get a chance to talk to Jacy during class, other than a brief hello.

Later, she spotted him up ahead when she and Evangeline were walking home toward Lily Dale, but she wasn’t about to call out to him. Not when her friend had just said, dreamily, “Ooh, look, there’s Jacy. I would so give my right eyeball to go out with him.”

“I’ve already been getting to know a few kids who live near Gammy,” Calla tells her father now, “so it was good to see some familiar faces around.”

“I’m glad it went well.”

“Oh, and guess what? I just talked to this lady who broke her ankle and needs a babysitter for a few weeks. So I told her I’d do it.”

Ramona’s friend Paula wasted no time calling this afternoon. Calla liked her so much over the phone that she agreed to take the job without meeting her or the kids in person. She starts tomorrow after school.

“That’s great!” her father says, but his voice sounds a little hollow.

He’s lonely,
she realizes.
He sounds as homesick as I feel.

Terrific. Now she’s getting choked up. Fighting tears, she reaches for the glass of iced tea Odelia had waiting for her when she walked in the door, along with a plate of oatmeal cookies warm from the oven, and a message from Lisa, who had called twice wanting to know how her day went.

She takes a big gulp of the tea, hoping to wash down the lump that threatens to clog her throat.

“Gammy, huh?” her father says quietly on the other end of the line.

For a moment, she’s confused. Then, after retracing the conversational path, she explains, “It’s what I used to call her . . . when I was really little.” Okay, now she feels uncomfortable and she’s not even sure why.

“I know that. I remember. I just haven’t heard it in a lot of years.”

Calla is silent for a moment, then finds herself blurting, “Dad, what happened between the two of them? Mom and . . . Gammy. Why did they drift apart?”

“Drift apart?” He snorts. “They were both forces to be reckoned with, Calla. There was no drifting where those two were concerned. It was more like a violent earthquake ripped a huge, gaping chasm between them.”

“So they had an argument, right? Because I kind of remember it.”

“They had a lot of arguments. They never got along very well—but don’t let that change how you feel about your grandmother,” he adds hastily. “She’s definitely headstrong and eccentric, and I can’t say I ever really understood where she was coming from. But she’s a good person. And like I said, your mother could be difficult, too.”

It’s the first time since Mom’s death that she’s heard her father say anything less than complimentary about her.

Looking back on their marriage, Calla knows it worked for them, but now she can see that her mother was in charge, and her father either went along with her or made himself scarce. Not always physically. Sometimes he just buried his head in a book or his research.

For the first time, Calla wonders if there was more than just ordinary tension between her parents. She never paid much attention. Never had a reason to.

Until she figured out the real identity of the stranger who visited Mom on Saint Patrick’s Day.

“I know Mom and Gammy didn’t get along,” she tells her father, “but there was one big argument that caused the rift, right, Dad? Because . . . I mean, I was there. I remember it.”

Silence.

“Dad?”

Calla decides his cell phone must have broken the connection and is about to hang up when her father asks quietly, “What do you remember?”

Oh. He’s still there. Well, he’s always been the kind of person who gets lost in thought, prone to long silences. That’s why it isn’t easy to carry on a long-distance father-daughter relationship. She needs to see him.

Longing, suddenly, to be face-to-face with him, she asks, “Dad, what do you mean, what do I remember?”

“Do you remember anything about that fight? Because your mother never told me what it was about. She wouldn’t talk about it. All I knew was that I got home from work one night and your grandmother had left with all her luggage, and never said good-bye. I never talked to her again until I called to tell her . . . about Mom.”

His voice cracks, and the aching lump again threatens to strangle Calla.

She longs to tell her father what she fears more than anything: that her mother’s death wasn’t an accident after all. But that would mean telling him about that man, the one who visited on Saint Patrick’s Day and called himself Tom—not his real name—and distracted Mom so that she burned the soda bread. If Calla closes her eyes, she can still see him standing at the front door, holding a manila envelope. He was whistling that strange tune, looking as though he wanted to appear totally casual.

Calla spotted him again in the crowd of mourners at Mom’s funeral in July.

That was the last she saw of him . . . until she got to Lily Dale. But her latest sighting wasn’t in person. No, he’s pictured in a framed photo on Mom’s dresser.

He’s her high school boyfriend. Darrin Yates.

Calla didn’t recognize him until the night the jewelry box opened by itself and she found the bracelet.

She knows now that his recent connection to Mom was about more than just old friends catching up. It had to be. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have introduced himself when Calla answered the door? Wouldn’t Mom have been happy to see him? Wouldn’t she have told Calla about their old times together after he left, instead of being so remote and upset? Definitely upset.

Ramona Taggart had known both Calla’s mother and Darrin. She said he was troubled, and that Odelia disapproved of her daughter’s relationship with him. Darrin disappeared not long before Mom left Lily Dale and was never heard from again.

Not by anyone here, anyway.

Mom obviously heard from him . . . not long before her unexpected death.

Okay, so what did he want?

And what was in the envelope?

I have to find out. It’s important.

Calla is certain of that. The message she’s being given by Aiyana—or whatever spirit is communicating with her—has something to do with Darrin’s connection to Mom.

Maybe even something to do with . . .

Mom’s death?

I have to tell Dad about this,
Calla decides . . . just as a chill drifts into the room.

Shivering, she realizes she isn’t alone. She looks around, expecting to see an apparition.

The kitchen is empty.

But the presence is as real as the goose bumps prickling the back of her neck.

Aiyana,
Calla finds herself thinking.

It’s her. She’s here.

She doesn’t know how she knows that. She just does. She can feel her.

And she doesn’t want me to tell Dad about Darrin. Because he doesn’t know. Mom kept it a secret.

Calla isn’t sure how she knows that; the thought seems to have been placed in her mind by the invisible presence.

“Calla,” Dad says, “you should know that your grandmother loved you. And your mother, too. Whatever happened . . . well, it was a terrible shame. All those lost years.”

“So Mom really never spoke to Gammy again?”

“Not that I know of. She was really upset. What did they argue about? Do you remember? Because at the time it didn’t seem that important, but lately . . .”

When he trails off, Calla prods him, “What, Dad? Lately, what?”

“I don’t know. There are just some things . . . your mom—” He cuts himself off. “I shouldn’t even be talking about this with you. And none of it matters anyway. I was just curious if you remembered what your mom and Odelia argued about.”

The only way we’ll learn the truth is to dredge the lake.

Should she tell him?

No. Aiyana doesn’t want her to say anything. Calla senses that somehow.

Anyway, his grief is as raw as her own; he doesn’t need to dwell on anything even more painful than losing his wife in an accidental fall.

“I don’t really remember,” she tells him, with only a faint prickle of guilt. It’s for his own good. She has to protect him. At least, for now.

Her father sighs heavily. “Yeah, well, like I said, it doesn’t matter. Anyway . . . the real reason for this call—aside from seeing how you did in your new school today—is that Jet Blue is running a weekend fare sale. I can fly to New York City and connect. What do you think about that?”

“You mean . . . connect to
here
?”

He laughs. “Well, Buffalo. That’s close enough. I need to hug my girl.”

His girl.

He used to call Calla and her mother his
girls
.

Now I’m all he has. And he’s all I have.

Well . . . she has Odelia, too.

Odelia—Gammy—does love her.

And she did love Mom. That’s obvious. No matter what happened between them, Odelia loved her.

So what on earth happened to drive mother and daughter apart?

Why don’t you just ask?

This time, the thought didn’t come from Aiyana.

No, Calla realizes, the presence—and the chill—have evaporated.

So . . .

Why
doesn’t
she just ask her grandmother what happened?

Maybe I will,
she tells herself. Meanwhile . . .

“I’d love to see you, Dad,” she hears herself say before it occurs to her that she just made a terrible mistake.

If her father comes to Lily Dale, he’s going to realize what goes on around here and haul her back to California with him on the next plane out.

“I know how busy you are, though,” she adds hastily, “and I’ll be out there soon enough, so I don’t want to make you spend all that money just to—”

“Calla, this is costing me less than two hundred bucks round-trip and I’ve already got my ticket. I’ll be there Friday.”

“Next Friday?” Okay, that’ll give her only a week to figure things out, but—

“No,” he says, sounding pleased with himself, “this Friday. Day after tomorrow.”

FIVE

Thursday, September 6
7:55 a.m.

“Oh, before I forget to tell you,” Evangeline says as they walk into school the next morning under surprisingly warm sunshine, “I can’t walk home with you today. I have to stay after.”

“For what?” Calla asks, running a hand through her bangs and wishing she could get a haircut.

“There’s a meeting for anyone who plans to run for student council officer. Hey, want to come?”

Calla smiles at the invitation. “Considering I’ve gone to this school for, like, twenty-four hours and I’m not even staying the whole year, probably not a great idea. Anyway, I’m going over to Paula’s to babysit, remember? But I promise I’ll vote for you.”

“Thanks. I really want to win, because if you’re an officer senior year, you’re an officer forever. You know . . . you get honored at the reunions and everything. My dad was class president when he went to school here.”

That makes Calla wonder about her own mom, and her smile fades.

As she and Evangeline part ways and she heads toward her locker, she thinks about how little she knows about what her mother was like in high school. Not just the stuff involving Darrin. But all of it. Like whether Mom was a class officer, and whether she ever had Mr. Bombeck for math.

It’s not earth-shattering information. Just everyday details. The kind you barely notice when they come up in conversation with someone.

Just like you never go around thinking that every conversation you have with someone could be your last, so you better pay attention, and get everything said.

Now I’ll never know about Mom in high school. Unless . . .

She can always ask Gammy. Or Ramona.

But that’s not the same.

And nothing ever will be,
she reminds herself glumly,
so you’d better get used to it.

“Calla! How’s it going?”

She turns to see Blue standing there, looking hotter than hot, as usual. He’s wearing a blue-and-red hooded Buffalo Bills sweatshirt, and his backpack is slung casually over one shoulder.

“Oh, hi. Listen, I have to tell you something,” she blurts, trying to gather her scrambled thoughts.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I can’t go out tomorrow night after all because my dad is coming to visit.”

“Yeah?” Looking completely unfazed, he asks, “How about next Saturday night then? I’ve got a soccer game on Friday, so . . .”

“Next Saturday? Uh . . . sure! Definitely.”

“Great. See you later, okay?”

“Sure.” Calla turns back to her locker, smiling as she twirls the combination lock.

She’ll have to remember to call Lisa back later and fill her in about school—and Blue.

So far, she’s off to a pretty good start, just as Lisa, the so-called psychic, predicted.

For the second day in a row, Calla stands in the cafeteria with a tray, looking around for a place to sit.

Only this time, she bought only a yogurt and a container of grapes instead of the hot lunch—baked macaroni and cheese. That smelled and looked good, but Odelia stuffed Calla full of zucchini frittata for breakfast, and she’s not that hungry.

There’s Blue, sitting with the same group of guys. She hesitates, wondering if she should go over there and talk to him.

Seeing him throw back his head and laugh at something one of the Ryans says, she decides not to approach him now. She’d feel too self-conscious with all the other guys there.

Not that she doesn’t feel pretty self-conscious anyway, just standing here alone with her tray.

She looks around for Jacy, thinking maybe she’ll work up the nerve to go over and talk to him about the stuff that’s been happening to her here. There’s no sign of him, but Sarita has spotted her and is waving her over. She’s sitting at a table in the far corner with a girl who has her back to Calla, but she can tell it’s Willow by the gorgeous mane of dark, shiny hair.