Believing (Lily Dale #2)(29)

His familiar black eyes might not be bloodshot and red rimmed anymore, but they’re not twinkling at Calla the way they used to, either.

“My trip was a breeze,” Dad says, and she can tell he’s trying to sound upbeat. “Everything went right on time, no problem making the connection in New York . . . it makes me feel like you’re just a hop, skip, and a jump away from me, instead of a whole continent.”

She sees him turn his head, looking at something over her shoulder, and follows his gaze to see her grandmother standing on the porch. It’s not like her to hold back, but she seems to be keeping her distance, giving them some space.

She gives a little wave.

Jeff waves back.

Then Odelia comes slowly down the steps, and they share a slightly awkward-looking hug.

“It’s good to see you, Jeff,” Odelia says with affection. “How have you been?”

“Hanging in there,” he replies as a door slams next door.

Calla spots Ramona stepping out onto the Taggarts’ porch, bathed in a yellow glow from the overhead light fixture.

“Hi, everyone,” she calls cheerfully, breezing down the front steps with her car keys in hand.

“Ramona, hi . . . come meet Calla’s dad,” Odelia invites.

Uh-oh. Not such a good idea. But Calla does a quick scan and is glad to see that the shingle above Ramona’s door is cast in shadows from low-hanging boughs. Dad can’t possibly read it from way over here.

“That’s my friend Evangeline’s aunt,” Calla tells her father as Ramona comes toward them, jangling not just from the keys she’s carrying but from the jewelry she’s wearing. Calla decides she looks like a pretty gypsy, with her hoop earrings, stacked bracelets, long gauzy skirt, and brown ringlets that fall past her shoulders.

“Hi—Jeff, right?” Ramona says easily, arriving in front of them and holding out her hand. “I’m Ramona Taggart.”

“Nice to meet you.”

As Calla watches her father shake Ramona’s hand, a crazy vision flashes through her brain. So crazy she decides she must be losing it. Seriously.

There is absolutely no way on earth her father and Ramona Taggart could ever possibly have any kind of . . .

Connection.

Romantic, or anything else.

Ramona is a total free spirit, as much a gypsy on the inside as she appears to be on the outside. She’s the exact opposite of Mom, a level-headed, conservative, ultraorganized businesswoman.

Anyway, Dad was crazy about Mom. Now that she’s gone, Calla can’t imagine him with anyone else.

Especially Ramona, of all people.

So much for my “intuition.”

“I hope Odelia told you that you’re welcome to stay at our place,” Ramona is saying.

“Thanks, I mean, she did mention it—and that’s really nice of you—but I couldn’t do that.” Dad looks flustered.

I don’t even know you. That, Calla realizes, is what he’s thinking. He doesn’t yet understand that the people here in western New York are pretty much the friendliest, most welcoming people Calla has ever met anywhere, including down South.

“Are you sure?” Ramona asks. “I’ve got plenty of room.”

“I’ve already got a hotel room booked. But . . . thanks again.”

“Well, if you change your mind . . . I’ll be home late, but the front door’s open. Literally.”

“Hot date?” Odelia calls after her, and Ramona just laughs and heads toward her car.

Again, Calla wonders if there might be a glimmer of something between Dad and—

No. No way. Impossible.

“Brrr . . . it’s chilly out here,” Odelia comments. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

“Okay,” Dad agrees, “but I just want to grab my contact lens solution and my glasses out of my bag in the trunk. My eyes are burning from all that dry air on the plane.”

“Go ahead. I’ll get dinner on the table. I made fried chicken.”

“That’s my favorite,” Dad says. “I haven’t had it in years.”

Calla meets her grandmother’s gaze and knows that she, too, is thinking of her mother.

Suddenly, she longs to tell her father that fried chicken was once Mom’s favorite, too. That, and all the other things she’s learned about her mother since arriving in Lily Dale. But she can’t just start blurting information. She has to wait until the time is right.

Odelia disappears into the house, leaving the two of them alone together on the shadowy street. Calla tries to think of something to say. Something casual and conversational.

Funny, she still isn’t used to having a one-on-one relationship with her father. They were always a family of three. Dad was there, but Calla talked more to her mother—even if she’s more like her father in temperament and attitude.

Standing beside her father as he rummages through his small duffel, she thinks of her mother’s frequent business trips and the fancy rolling luggage she always packed full of her sophisticated clothing. Mom and Dad really were different in so many ways.

Ramona toots the horn as she drives past on her way toward the gate.

“She seems nice.” Dad tucks a small leather pouch under his arm and closes the trunk.

“Yeah. She’s great. She knew Mom,” Calla tells him, and seeing the troubled look on her father’s face, is instantly sorry.