Awakening (Lily Dale #1)(38)

“Sure, but . . . are you—?”

“I just . . . I need . . . to go home. I’m sorry.”

With that, she runs from the house. Outside, though, she falters at the foot of the steps. A cool breeze whispers in the boughs overhead. Calla looks up, blinded by the sun and her tears.

I need to go home.

But Odelia’s house isn’t home. Lily Dale isn’t home. Even Tampa isn’t home anymore.

She squeezes her eyes shut, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

Mom . . . help me, Mommy.Where do I go? What do I do? I’m so lost.

She spins around blindly, opens her eyes again . . . and finds herself looking at the lake.

Standing on the grassy shore, in the distance, she can clearly see the outline of a woman in the glare of the sun.





ELEVEN

Calla takes off running toward the lake, her eyes fastened on the woman standing beside the shimmering water. She doesn’t dare look away.

The person is too distant for Calla to make out more than her silhouette—she’s wearing some kind of long dress or robe— but there’s something about her that seems to beckon.

Mom! Is that you?

Calla’s sneaker hits a rough patch of pavement and she lurches forward. She looks down, sees that it’s a pothole—the streets here are full of them—and manages to regain her balance.

When she looks up again, her gaze darts ahead, toward the woman.

But she’s gone. It’s as though she’s simply evaporated into thin air.

“No!” Calla cries out. “Wait!”

She picks up speed, hurtling toward the lake, thinking she might spot the figure off to the side or slipping behind a tree. But when she gets to the grassy, parklike spot beside the lake, there’s no one around.

It probably wasn’t Mom anyway.

Calla sinks onto a bench overlooking the water. Of course it wasn’t Mom. It didn’t feel like her, and anyway . . .

Her mother is gone. Forever. Calla is alone.

No matter how bad it gets, no matter how alone you feel, you’ll get through it. I promise you. And I’ll always be here for you.

“Then where are you now, Mom?” Calla whispers . . . just as a shadow falls across the grass in front of her.

“Excuse me?” a voice says, and she looks up to see Jacy Bly standing there. His glossy hair is spiked on top today, and she has a feeling he didn’t gel it to make it spike that way. There’s a no-fuss, laid-back aura about him. He’s wearing a faded maroon T-shirt and dark jeans that bag around his bare feet, and he’s carrying a fishing pole and tackle box.

“Oh . . . hi. I was just talking to . . .” My dead mother. Here in Lily Dale, that wouldn’t necessarily raise an eyebrow. But Calla finishes the sentence with “. . . myself.”

He says nothing, watching her through eyes so dark they’re black. They slant a bit at the corners, almost seeming to squint a bit beneath straight slashes of brow. He’s got high, pronounced cheekbones and the fullest lips she’s ever seen on a boy. On anyone, really.

She drags her gaze away from his lips—and her brain from the crazy thought of kissing them. Where did that come from?

“Listen, did you see anyone around here a few minutes ago?” she asks him. “A woman?”

“Around here?”

She nods, gesturing at the spot. “She was standing right over there when I got here, but . . . she left.”

“I didn’t see anyone.”

“I didn’t think so,” Calla mutters. Jacy just looks at her.

“So, you’re, uh . . . going fishing?” she asks stupidly. After all, he’s holding fishing gear and heading toward a body of water.

He nods.

“Do you fish a lot?”

Another nod. “How about you?”

He’s so soft-spoken, she can’t help but feel like a blithering idiot.

A loud one, at that. “Me?” she practically shouts at him.

She tones it down with effort, asking in a near whisper, “You mean, do I fish?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I live in Florida,” she says, to prove that she specializes in moronic comments.

Jeesh, why can’t she get it together conversationally? You’d think she’d never spoken to a good-looking guy before.

“Florida . . . so there aren’t any fish down south, huh?” Jacy asks quietly, then those full lips of his part into a beautiful, white-toothed smile.

Calla breaks into a grin. “Nope,” she says lightly, “no fish at all.”

He gestures with his pole. “You want to try?”

“Fishing?” No, fencing. Idiot.

“How about it?” he asks.

She hesitates.

Don’t say anything stupid, she warns herself. For God’s sake, just say yes.

And, to her relief—and his, as far as she can tell—she does.

“There you are!” Odelia sticks her head in from the kitchen the moment Calla walks in the door. “Where have you been?”

“I went for a walk,” she says, not wanting to get into meeting Jacy. Which definitely took her mind off everything that’s been going on lately.

He’s the first guy she’s hung out with since Kevin. And as much as she tried not to notice how cute he is—well, she couldn’t help it. Sitting side by side on the pier, legs dangling over the water, they sat and fished for over an hour. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t—and for some reason, it didn’t matter when they didn’t.