The Reason (7 page)

As I'm about to finish an expert-level sudoku puzzle, my phone buzzes out a text message. It's Jason.

> U c Tay?

> I'm in study hall.

> Can't find her anywhere.

> So?

> Worried @ her!

> She's ok

> U don't no that!

It's obvious that Jason's overprotective gene has kicked into double overdrive. I can't blame him, though.

When the bell rings, Jason's at my locker, concern painted across his handsome face. "I still can't find her," he proclaims.

"Calm down. She's at school. What can happen to her?"

He begins to pace. "You don't understand, Kendall."

"Sure I do. I'm the one who listened to her cry all night."

He stops and turns. "Why didn't you tell me that? Why didn't she tell me that? I haven't seen her all day."

I try to reassure him. "She's here. We came to school together in my car."

Not knowing any better, Celia jumps into the convo. "I didn't see Taylor in chemistry class. Maybe she ditched to have some time to herself."

Behind Jason's back, I mouth at Celia,
Not helping!

Jason whips out his phone and dials his sister's number. "Straight to voice mail."

"Jason, it's going to be..." I trail off. Is it really going to be okay?

He glares at me like it's my fault that he can't find his sister. "I'm going to the office to see if she's counted as absent today."

I grab at his shirtsleeve. "Don't do that. What if she is cutting? You want to get her in trouble?"

"Damn right I do!"

Good Lord.

Fortunately, the bell for last period sounds out and we all scatter to our respective classrooms, like cockroaches taking cover in a suddenly lit-up room. Gross analogy, I know, but it works here. Jason storms off toward the gym with cell phone in hand. He's
not
a happy boy right now. My intuition tells me that Taylor's okay ... she just needs some space. It's not every day that a teenager has to deal with what she's juggling. I'm not going to tell her what to do.

When school's over for the day, I gather my weekend homework and head out to the parking lot, where I see Taylor leaning against the Fit.

"Where you been,
chica?
" I ask, trying not to sound like a concerned parent.

She raises her shoulders and then lets them slump back into place. Her Nikon D40 camera hangs from her neck, and her right hand rests on top of the lens cannon as if it's a life preserver for her. "I needed some space."

"I understand."

"It was such a pretty day, I just sort of ended up walking around and taking pictures of Radisson. There's so much to see when you look through the camera. So many angles and views you never imagined. I even went to the cemetery and took some shots that I'm going to convert to black-and-white. They turned out
très magnifique
and will make a great addition on the Ghost Huntress website and my portfolio."

We rest against the side of my car and scroll through the many digital images that Taylor took today. She really is an amazing photographer and I know she'll be able to do something with it in her future. The way she frames the shot, it's almost like she's got a psychic eye and can see the result before she snaps the button.

I'm about to comment on a wicked angle of a grave marker with sun flares when Jason comes storming across the parking lot bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"Where the
hell
have you been, Taylor? I've been looking for you everywhere!" She staves him off with her hands, but he's not having any of it. "It's not bad enough that Mom's laying in the ICU fighting for her life—you have to pull a disappearing act like you're some sort of toddler who's run away from home."

She arches up defensively like I've never seen before. "How dare you talk to me like that?"

"I'm your older brother and I'll say what I want. You had me scared shitless."

Taylor flattens her lips. "Well, get over yourself. You're not in charge of me."

He reaches for her upper arm. "I am when Mom is incapacitated and Dad is halfway across the continent."

Stupidly, I comment, "Your dad will be here soon, right?"

Jason's blue eyes darken to a near navy color as he tells me nonverbally to butt out.

"You're not my keeper, Jason Tillson," Taylor shouts. Tears begin to escape her eyes. "And you're not the only one hurt and upset over Mom. Was it
you
who found her? No! Was it
you
who had to call nine one one? No! Was it
you
who rode in the ambulance with her? No! It was me ... all three of those things. So, I think you need to just ... just...
ne me dites pas quoi faire!
"

Jason is stunned, as am I. I don't have to be psychic—or French—to know that Taylor just told him to back off and leave her alone, and how!

"Taylor!"

It's too late. She spins on her heels and runs off toward the gym, no doubt looking for Ryan.

I feel I need to help. "The more you push her, the more defiant she'll become. Just let her handle this in her own way, Jason."

"What do you know, Kendall?" Jason doesn't mean to snap at me, I'm sure, although I'm the target of his pent-up frustrations. "You have two parents that are still together. You have a mom that's okay. One that hasn't been seeking plastic surgery to change herself and psychotherapy to deal with the desertion of her husband."

"I know that, Jase—"

"Don't tell me how to deal with my sister and we'll be fine." He follows in Taylor's wake and I choose
not
to follow.

At home, later, Taylor decides to join us for dinner. Dad's working late and Kaitlin's spending the night at Penny Carmickle's, so it's just us girls and Mom. It's a quiet dinner with questions of how the day was, how Taylor's mom is doing (still unconscious), and what our plans are for tonight.

"We have a bunch of movies from Netflix," Mom says. "Why don't you girls stay in tonight? You can pop some popcorn and turn the lights off."

"That sounds like fun. What do you think, Taylor?"

She pushes her butter beans around on her plate—which I don't blame her for—and gives a half smile. "Sure. Whatever."

This is not the Taylor I know. Then again, her life was drastically altered yesterday.

We help Mom clean the dirty dinner dishes and then retire to my room with a bowl of freshly popped Orville, gigamonic Diet Cokes, and the red envelopes full of movies. I slip in
Moulin Rouge
—a favorite I can never get enough of—and settle into the pillows propped at the foot of my bed.

Taylor, however, changes into a fresh pair of jeans from her suitcase and pulls a brush through her long hair.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I have to get out," she says in a huffed breath.

I sit up. "Is it something I did? Something I said?"

"No, Kendall! You're amazing. It's not you. Anything but. I just ... I need to—"

Just then, a small rock pings on my window. WTF? I bound out of bed to see what the deal is. When I look down, there stands Ryan MacKenzie in his letter jacket, waving for me to open up.

"Is Taylor ready?" he asks in a loud whisper.

"Are you kidding me?"

She brushes past me. "Don't hate me, Kendall." She gives me a European goodbye, one kiss on each cheek like we've just met at a café in Paris for a latte. "Whatever you do, don't tell Jase, okay?"

"Ummm..."

"Promise!" Then she climbs out the window onto the awning and shimmies over to the post that holds the front porch. Has she been practicing to be on
Survivor
or something with moves like that?

"How will you get back in?" I call down as quietly as I can.

"Leave the door unlocked. I'll be in before dawn."

And then she and Ryan are off into the darkness. Son of a bitch. What the hell am I supposed to do? Make a fake Taylor to stuff into my bed in case Mom comes in to check on us? My friend has made me an accomplice, whether she realizes it or not.

I say a quick prayer requesting protection for Taylor, that Mom doesn't come a-knocking, and forgiveness if I have to lie to her or Jason. Mostly, I pray that we can all just get through this. That Mrs. Tillson comes out of her coma. That Mr. Tillson can bring his family back together when he finally gets picked up from the frickin' wilderness tundra of Alaska.

And most of all, I pray that I can avoid the Tillson drama and not be drawn into the middle.

That's a lose-lose situation.

T
HANKFULLY,
T
AYLOR IS SOUND ASLEEP
next to me when I rise Saturday morning. I don't want to know where she's been or what time she slipped through the back door to return to my bedroom undetected. No questions asked when she wakes up, yawns, and stretches next to me and my cats Eleanor and Buckley. The kitties could care less that there's an extra person in bed with us as long as they still have room to spread out.

Taylor scratches Eleanor behind her tabby ear and asks, "Did you tell Jase anything?"

I shake my head into my pillow. "We talked briefly last night and texted a little. I told him we were watching movies and having a girls' night. That seemed to appease him."

Taylor closes her eyes and sighs. "Thanks, Kendall."

"What are friends for?"

We dress, grab a quick snack that Mom left for us, and then head over to Radisson Memorial Hospital.

"Any change?" Taylor asks when we approach the nurses' station.

A tall, slender black woman turns and smiles at us. Her nametag reads
Lucinda.
"You must be the Tillson girl. Your mama was asking for you a little while ago."

"She's awake?" Taylor exclaims and grabs for my hand. Tears immediately squeeze from the corners of her eyes as her grin spreads across her face. "Oh my God, Kendall! She's awake!"

I grip her hand tightly in support of the good news.

"Well, she was awake earlier," Lucinda explains. "She's gone back to sleep, though."

Taylor slumps next to me, all of the joy momentarily spent. "Oh."

"No, sweetie," the nurse says. "Don't fret. Her vitals are looking good and her heartbeat is strong. The doctor checked on her a little while ago and was pleased with her progress."

"Thank God," I say. "Can we see her?"

Lucinda nods and points us toward Mrs. Tillson's room.

We enter the darkened room as silently as we can and Taylor takes a seat in the middle of her bed. She reaches for her hand and weaves her fingers through the still ones of her mother.

"Oh, Mama." Taylor speaks in a whisper. "Why did you do it?" When her mother doesn't move or respond, my friend lifts her eyes to me. "Can you tell me? Do
you
know?"

I reach over and take Mrs. Tillson's hand and concentrate. I breathe through the sliver of knowledge being shown to me. Rachel Tillson got a phone call from her Delta Air Lines pilot boyfriend. He wanted to make a clean break with her because he had decided to reconcile with his wife for the sake of their four kids. Mrs. Tillson felt used and unattractive, seeing as how she'd lost
two
men, and she didn't think she had anything to live for anymore.

As the vision clears, my resentment amplifies. Didn't have anything to live for? Are you kidding me? How about two "things" named Jason and Taylor? I bite down my anger toward their mother, trying only to be a reassurance to my friends. But come on! Damn ... sometimes being psychic and knowing things that others don't know is a real frickin' burden, 'cause you can't just blurt out the truth. That saying about sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you is total bullshit. Words are forever ... and they sting. I will not hurt my friend or kick her when she's down.

Instead of sharing the info, I look at Taylor and say, "It's not really clear to me. I'm sure your mom will tell you everything when she's doing better. The important thing is to be here for her. Let her know you're around and that you love her."

"I do love her. So much," Taylor says.

There's movement at the door. It's Jason. His hair is mussed and he doesn't look like he's slept much. His RHS sweatshirt is inside out, and his face seems long and sad. He steps into the room, joins Taylor at their mother's bed, and takes his sister's free hand.

His beautiful blue eyes lock on mine. I smile, trying to let my love for him shine out. He winks back.

"Talk to her, Jason," I say softly.

"She's asleep," he says.

"She'll wake up again. She needs to know that
both
of you are here."

He turns back to his mother. "I love you, Mom. Don't leave us. Whatever's wrong, we can work through it. We always do."

Rachel Tillson's eyelids flutter open and her soft blue eyes focus on her two children in the room with her. I watch as she swallows hard and weakly licks her lips. "J-J-Jason. Tay-baby."

"Mommy," Taylor says in a childish squeak.

Jason moves to the head of his mom's bed and runs his fingers through her hair.

With that, I quietly sneak out of the room, leaving the siblings with their mom. Whatever happens, they'll make it ... together.

"Is it okay to admit that I'm happy
not
to be investigating the mayor's house tonight, crawling around God knows where trying to capture EVPs or get infrared pictures?" Celia says to me over the roar of the crowd.

"I'll second that," Becca says and then crams a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

"It's good to be out of Radisson for a little bit," Taylor chimes in.

The four of us drove in my car from Radisson to Felcher's Point, where RHS is taking on the Felcher Falcons in round-ball—a term Jason and his buddies use for basketball. He and Ryan are both on the team, so we're riveted to the action.

I have to agree with Celia, quite frankly. It's been a hell of a week and I'm mentally exhausted. My heart's not into ghost hunting at the moment, although I do still want to find out what's going on inside the mayor's mansion. Right now, some mindless spectator sporting is what does the body good. Plus, any opportunity to gawk at Jason Tillson in his basketball uniform is time well spent.