Connecting (12 page)

“I know she said she wants to do that, but really, all I need is to get a haircut. I’ve needed it for a few weeks now.” She shoves her overgrown bangs off her forehead.

“You should have told me. I don’t notice that sort of thing—on my own head or anyone else’s. It drove your mother crazy when she was your age. Sometimes I don’t think she wanted to be seen with me in public.”

Calla can’t help but grin at the thought of Mom, always so meticulously put together, next to Odelia, with her wacky wardrobe and wild red hair, which usually does need some attention—from a hairstylist or even just a brush.

The smile fades when she realizes that she never did get to see the two of them together—not that she really remembers, anyway. She was too young the last time Odelia visited them in Florida to recall much of anything.

For all she knows, Mom and Gammy’s falling out started over something really minor—like Gammy dropping and not rinsing red gobs of Close-up from the bathroom sink after brushing her teeth, which would have driven Mom crazy and drives Calla crazy now.

Yeah, and maybe they never screamed at each other about a secret Mom promised someone never to tell, and dredging the lake to find out the truth about . . . something.

Calla’s not even sure anymore if she actually overheard the argument—the one that keeps coming back to her in her dreams.

Maybe she was just channeling something that happened in the past, something she didn’t witness. Mediums do that all the time.

But you’re not a medium,
she reminds herself.

Or is she?

What would she call herself, if not that?

A psychic? That’s what she told Owen Henry. It seemed less . . . threatening.

Medium
is just such a strong label. Even here in Lily Dale, where everyone and their brother is one.

Calla isn’t registered with the Assembly, and she doesn’t have a shingle or a business card, but . . .

But you do what mediums do.

Deal with it.

Deal with the fact that your “normal” life ended the day Mom
died.

“Anyway,” Odelia goes on, “it’s very sweet of Ramona to want to take you to the salon on Saturday. I’d take you myself, except I’ve got a Thought Exchange meeting that afternoon.”

“It’s okay, Gammy.” Calla wonders if that’s why she’s here, to apologize for not doing girly things with her.

“Ramona also mentioned that you got a few things at the Gap when she took you to the mall on Friday, and that you tried on some dresses at Lord and Taylor, but you didn’t buy one.”

“No. I didn’t really find anything I loved.” Which is a lie, and one Calla repeated to Ramona and Evangeline at the mall, too.

In reality, there were a couple of dresses she loved, and they did look good on her. But she simply didn’t have enough money, even with Ramona’s coupon, so she returned them to the rack.

Ramona kept asking if it was because of the money, and she wanted to lend some to Calla for a dress, but Calla wasn’t comfortable doing that on top of the haircut. It’s not like Ramona’s rolling in cash, with two kids to support and an old house to maintain, all on a Lily Dale medium’s modest earnings.

There was no way she was going to ask her father for the money, either. He probably spent his last dime just getting here for the weekend and treating Ramona and Evangeline to dinner Friday night.

Poor Dad.

Poor me.

Maybe she should have told Owen Henry she’d take his thousand dollars after all.

Odelia’s gaze is sharp behind her purple cat’s-eye glasses.

“I know you need something to wear to the homecoming dance, Calla. And I’ll be happy to buy you—”

“No, Gammy,” the recently reclaimed childhood nickname spills so easily from her lips, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. You need a dress. And I know you need other things, too. Like warm clothes—winter’s coming.”

“I’m fine.”

“You can’t parade around here in flip-flops and T-shirts. The snow will be up to your waist before the year is out. Trust me.”

Calla laughs. “I’ll get boots and gloves and stuff. I promise.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t notice any of this before now. It’s not like I’ve never had a teenage girl in the house.” Her smile is bittersweet. “I guess I’ve been wrapped up in other things, as usual.”

Other things . . . meaning the Other Side. Even off season, Odelia is one of the most sought-after mediums in the Dale, constantly busy with readings for regular clients, conducting home message circles, participating in healing services, going to various meetings . . .

Even so, it’s not as though she’s much better off, financially, than Ramona.

In fact, only one local medium seems to be raking in a hefty income: David Slayton, Blue’s father.

“The homecoming dance is a pretty big deal, Calla . . . and I know you really like Blue, don’t you?”

“Um, sure.” But it’s suddenly Kevin’s face that’s flitting through her mind.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Gammy! Of course I like him. I’m going to the dance with him, aren’t I?”

The way her grandmother is peering at her through those glasses, Calla could swear she’s trying to read her thoughts.

Can she tell Calla is thinking about her lost love?

She hurriedly tries to push Kevin from her mind and winds up picturing Jacy instead.

He hasn’t necessarily been avoiding her at school, but he’s definitely kept a polite distance. There were a few times when she thought she could feel him watching her. But whenever she turned her head, he quickly looked away.

Whatever.

No—not whatever! You need him.

She really wanted to tell Jacy about the map indicating that spot in Leolyn Woods. So far, she’s been too busy—and all right, too chicken—to check it out.

Jacy’s the only one who could possibly understand and maybe have some insight. Calla was planning to corner him in the cafeteria at lunch, but he spent the whole time playing chess with Donald Reamer—whose father, Calla had noticed, was looking on, pleased.

“Listen, Calla, about the dance . . .”

She looks at her grandmother. “What about it?”

“Ramona had a suggestion. And it’s a good one. If you’ll go for it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s . . .” Odelia hesitates. “Come on. I’ll just show you.”

Curious, Calla follows her across the small second-floor hallway to her own room, which, like the rest of the house, is cluttered with belongings. Odelia’s packrat habits probably didn’t thrill Mom, either.

Watching Odelia open her closet door—and immediately duck as something topples off a shelf—Calla suppresses a smile and wishes, not for the first time, that she’d had the chance to discuss her grandmother with her mother. But Mom didn’t like to talk about Odelia, and she certainly never mentioned that she was a medium, much less that her hometown was filled with them.

Odelia’s closet is, not surprisingly, crammed from floor to ceiling. She’s wedged herself halfway inside and appears to be hunting for something.

“Here they are!” a muffled voice announces, and a moment later, she emerges with several plastic-shrouded hangers.

Calla eyes them dubiously. “What are they?”

“Your mother’s fancy dresses. Ramona told me all that vintage stuff is popular again, and she thought you might be interested.”

“In wearing one of Mom’s . . . ?” The room swims beyond Calla’s tears and her throat is once again clogged by that hard, painful lump that makes it almost impossible to push the words out. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“Oh, honey.” Odelia hugs her, hard. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s not—I mean, I’m just . . . I miss her.”

“I know. Let it out.”

She sobs on her grandmother’s shoulder, and Odelia strokes her hair and murmurs all the comforting things Mom used to say to her:
It’ll be all right
,
go ahead and cry,
and, most importantly,
I love you
.

Finally spent, she blows her nose, mops her eyes, and sighs.

“I didn’t mean to fall apart.”

“Everyone needs a good cry now and then.” Odelia picks up the hangers and carries them back toward the closet.

“Wait—what are you doing?”

“Putting them away. I’m sorry I—”

“No, wait, Gammy. Let me see them.”

“Are you sure?”

Calla nods. The dresses are another little piece of her mother. She’ll take what she can get.

Together, they lay the dresses out on the bed and look them over: a sleeveless ice-blue gown, a black velvet sheath, and a copper-colored iridescent taffeta dress with a full skirt that would be perfect, Calla realizes, for a fall dance.

“This one.” She holds it up. “Can I try it on?”

Odelia nods, clearly moved—and caught up in a memory.

Calla carries it across the hall to her bedroom, passing Miriam in the hallway. This time, she isn’t even all that startled to see her.

In her room, she strips off her jeans and T-shirt and pulls the dress over her head. It smells a little musty but not bad.

She checks the mirror and isn’t surprised to find that it fits perfectly. Mom was a size 6, just as she is, and they have the same slim, long-waisted, long-legged build.

“You look gorgeous. Just like her. She wore that to a dance when she was about your age. Or maybe it was a prom, now that I think about it.”

Calla turns to see Odelia standing in the doorway, looking misty.

“I think there’s a picture of her in it around here somewhere,” she goes on, gazing around the room.

There is.

Calla knows it well: it’s the framed photograph of Mom—all dressed up, with big eighties hair—and her boyfriend, Darrin Yates.

She goes over to the dresser, picks up the frame, and hands it to Odelia.

“Oh, yes.” She studies it for a minute, then hands it back wordlessly.

“Was he her boyfriend?” Calla asks, as if she didn’t know.

“Yup. Darrin Yates.”

“Didn’t you like him?”

“Why do you ask?”

Calla shrugs. “It doesn’t sound like it. The way you said his name.”

“You’re right.” Odelia shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. But it is. Calla can tell. “I didn’t like him. He was trouble from day one.”

“Why? What did he do?” Drugs, Calla knows, were a part of it. Ramona told her about that.

Odelia looks at her for a long moment, then shakes her head. “Some people just have negative energy. He was one of them.”

“But why? What did he do that was so bad?”

“He did some things I didn’t like.”

“Drugs?”

“Some things are better left in the past, Calla.”

“Where is he now?”

“I have no idea, and I don’t care.”

Frustrated by her unwillingness to talk about him, Calla blurts,“Well, I think he was at Mom’s funeral.”

Odelia’s red eyebrows disappear beneath her hairline. “He
what
?”

She shouldn’t have said anything. She never intended to get into this with her grandmother.

Well, it’s too late now.You put it out there.You can’t take it back.

“He was at Mom’s funeral,” she admits reluctantly. “You must not have seen him. Or maybe you did, and you forgot.

You were really upset.”

“We all were. But believe you me, I wouldn’t have forgotten running into Darrin Yates again after all these years.” Odelia shakes her head darkly. “I guess I just didn’t see him. I cried so much that day I couldn’t see my own hand in front of my face, and anyway . . . I didn’t know any of the people who were there, so I wasn’t really looking. People who were in Stephanie’s life now . . . they were all strangers. I wasn’t a part of it.”

Her grandmother looks, and sounds, like she’s going to cry.

“But she always loved you, Gammy. No matter what happened between you.”

“I know. And I always loved her, no matter what she had done. I never meant to—” She breaks off, looking as though she just realized she’s said too much.

No matter what she had done.

“Did Mom do something you didn’t like, too? Is that why you two didn’t get along?”

“She did a lot of things I didn’t like, and vice versa, I’m sure. Mothers and daughters . . . you know how it is.”

But it’s more than that. The way Odelia said it—
no matter
what she had done
—obviously, Mom did something specific that drove her and Odelia apart.

“Are you sure Darrin Yates was there? At the funeral?” Odelia asks again, almost sharply.

“Pretty sure.” Realizing there’s only one way she’s going to draw more information out of her grandmother, Calla admits reluctantly, “He was at our house, too, a few months before Mom died. On Saint Patrick’s Day.”

“What?!”