Believing (Lily Dale #2)(14)

“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.