Awakening (Lily Dale #1)(49)

He’s asking her on another date, she realizes—if you can call this a date. “Sure. Why not?”

As Blue pays the check at the register by the door, she stares absently at several posters taped in the window and wonders why she told him she’d consider staying in Lily Dale. She can’t do that. Her father would never let her.

Then again, she never would have expected him to let her come here at all. And it would solve his housing problem. The only affordable, livable place he’s found so far, with a good public school, is that place he checked out by the beach—but it turns out it isn’t even available until November.

Wait a minute—what if Calla stayed here for a few more months, started school in Lily Dale, then finished in California with Dad? That way, he could stay where he is for now and save money, and they could rent the beach house in November.

Excited about her plan, Calla is about to mention it to Blue. Then she blinks, startled to realize that a familiar face is smiling out from one of the sun-faded posters on the window.

It’s the girl she first saw in the garden at Odelia’s house that first night, and again, more clearly, the next morning in her kitchen. And watching the house from the street on yet another night.

Plastered above her photo is the word MISSING. Beneath is a phone number to call with information—1-800-KIDFIND— along with the details: Kaitlyn Riggs was last seen at a shopping mall near Columbus over six months ago.

But . . . that doesn’t make sense. She was here with her mother just a few weeks ago.

It’s an old poster, Calla tells herself, heart racing. She must have been found since then.

But what about Mrs. Riggs’s tearful reaction when Walter brought up her daughter?

All at once, it hits Calla, so hard she clutches her stomach as if it were a physical blow.

When they were at Odelia’s that night, and again the next day, Calla never saw the woman even glance in her daughter’s direction, much less speak to her. It was almost as if she didn’t know she was there.

But I saw her, Calla thinks, followed by, Maybe I’m the only one who did—or could . . .

Because she’s a ghost.

Lying awake in her bed, Calla almost wishes she hadn’t thrown away the clock. She has no idea what time it is, but it feels as though she’s been tossing restlessly for hours, wondering about Kaitlyn Riggs.

She called the toll-free number that was on the MISSING poster and found out that the case is still open. Kaitlyn hasn’t been found. When the man who answered asked if she had a tip to report, she almost blurted out that she’d seen Kaitlyn in Lily Dale, New York. But she couldn’t do it. If Kaitlyn were really here, in the flesh, her mother would, of course, have seen her. She couldn’t.

So either Kaitlyn is dead, or she has a lookalike sister, an identical twin. There are two ways to find out: call Elaine Riggs—she’s listed; Calla called information in Columbus to make sure. Or she can check with Odelia, who will be able to tell Calla whether Mrs. Riggs was here alone or had a companion. A visible one, anyway.

Which is going to sound like one strange question. And might tip off Odelia that she isn’t the only one who can see dead people around here.

I’m not ready to admit that to her, Calla thinks. I’m not even ready to admit it to myself.

But if Mrs. Riggs’s daughter is dead, she deserves to know. For closure. People need that.

As horrific as it was to have Mom die, it would have been far worse if she had just vanished . . . wouldn’t it?

Maybe not. If she had vanished, there would still be hope.

Who am I to take away Mrs. Riggs’s hope?

Who am I to get involved at all?

Suddenly, there’s an explosive slamming sound nearby. Calla gasps and bolts from the bed, clutching herself.

What on earth was that? She fumbles for the lamp, terrified. Finding the switch at last, she blinks in the blinding light. It takes a minute for her eyes to adjust, and she feels trapped, heart racing, wondering if she’s even alone in the room. At last, she looks frantically around and sees . . .

Nothing.

Not at first, anyway. Everything is as it should be, not a thing out of place or even disturbed.

Except . . .

Oh.The picture.

One of the frames on the dresser has toppled forward. She knows they were all upright earlier because she looked at them all, right before she went to bed. It’s become a habit; she’s comforted seeing her mother’s face, even though she’s so young in the photos.

But how could it move? The window is closed. There’s no fan, nothing stirring in the room. There’s no reason the picture would topple over in the middle of the night. No earthly reason.

As she listens to her own breath, coming hard and fast, she begins to sense that she isn’t alone in the room right now.

“Are you here?” Calla whispers—to whom, she doesn’t know. But someone’s here. For some reason, the realization isn’t frightening. Unnerving, yes. The skin on the back of her neck is prickling. But there’s nothing menacing about whatever—whomever—is here.

“Mom?” she whispers, looking around, hoping to catch a glimpse of . . . someone.

There’s nothing. This ghost, if there is one—and there is— isn’t going to materialize.

“Mom? Are you here? Are you trying to tell me something?”

Her breathing growing more shallow, Calla reaches a trembling hand slowly toward the frame. She knows even before she turns it over which picture it is.