Believing (Lily Dale #2)(40)

Then she thinks of the nameless, faceless person who did that to her—and how he’s still out there somewhere—and her stomach churns. Dizzy enough to stop walking for a moment, she gulps a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Jacy doesn’t seem to notice. He’s up ahead, stopping and pointing to a massive fallen tree.

“This is a good spot,” he decides as she catches up. “Want to sit?”

“Sure.” She lowers herself onto the moss-covered log after checking only briefly to make sure she’s not about to sit on anything wet or muddy or . . . alive.

“It’s clean,” he says, and she looks up to see him watching her, almost looking amused.

“Oh, I don’t care about that. It’s just . . . I’m used to Florida. There, I’d be worried about poisonous snakes and spiders.”

“We have a few of those here. Poison ivy, too,” Jacy tells her, and she gingerly moves her bare lower legs out of the foliage.

“Which one do you want?” Jacy holds out a couple of brown bags. “One is peanut butter and jelly. The other is peanut butter and honey—we ran out of jelly.”

“It’s okay. I’m not big on jelly.” She takes the bag he offers her, deciding not to tell him she’s not big on honey, either. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He sits beside her, takes out his own sandwich and takes a bite.

Calla unwraps hers, finding it touching—and yeah, kind of romantic—that he actually thought to bring her a lunch. In the bag are a bottle of water, a napkin, and an apple.

She’d probably actually be hungry if she weren’t so caught off guard about being alone here with him—and so expectant about whatever it is he’s going to say.

She takes a small bite and listens to the birds chirp overhead, wishing he would talk.

He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry, though. Nor does he seem to mind the silence.

She wonders if he did, after all, bring her here to talk. Maybe not. Maybe he just thought it would be nice to have a picnic.

“I think you’re right.”

She looks up, startled. And confused. Did she miss something?

“Right about what?” she asks.

“Your mother.”

At those words, the hunk of sandwich turns to paste in her mouth and she has to gulp water to get it down.

“What do you mean?” she asks Jacy, her heart beating so loudly she’s sure he must hear it.

“I think that something happened to your mother. And I’m sure Darrin’s visit had something to do with it.”

She nods slowly. “What about Aiyana?”

“She’s your guide,” Jacy says simply.

“My spirit guide? How do you know?”

“I meditated on it. I asked my own guides. And that’s the answer I got,” he says, as though that’s an everyday thing. “Have you seen her lately?”

“At Evangeline’s the other night—I caught a glimpse of her.”

“What was going on? When she appeared, I mean.”

“Oh, nothing, really. Evangeline was making her brother get off the computer so I could use it. Aiyana popped up out of nowhere, but only for a few seconds.”

“And that was it? That was the only time you’ve seen her, aside from what you told me the other day?”

Remembering the disembodied hug by the lake on Saturday morning, she hesitates. Then she says, “Yes. That was it.”

After all, she has no idea if it was Aiyana who hugged her, or her mother, or . . .

Well, for all she knows, it could have been some other spirit.

What Jacy asked is whether she’s seen Aiyana any other time, and the answer to that is definitely no.

“If you think Aiyana is trying to tell me something about my mom’s death, what am I supposed to do about it?” Calla asks Jacy, feeling helpless. “I mean, I can’t go to the police in Tampa and tell them a spirit is telling me they need to look into what happened to her. I don’t have any proof.”

“No. You don’t.”

She thinks of the idea she had the other night and wonders if her mother might, indeed, have left some proof after all. But there’s no way of knowing that yet.

It’s a good idea to keep that on the back burner for now.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asks Jacy, deciding not to mention that to him, either.

“Start by finding out where Darrin is now.”

“How?”

“His parents still live in Lily Dale.”

“And you want me to . . . what? Knock on their door and ask them where their son is?”

“It’s a start.”

“I can’t do that,” Calla protests.

“Sure, you can.” He pauses. “I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” She considers that. “When?”

He shrugs. “Whenever you want.”

She nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll think about it. But . . . I have to figure out if I’m ready to do that.”

“I know.”

She smiles faintly. “You know an awful lot about me.”

Jacy tilts his head, and his expression is serious.

“Yeah,” is all he says, and she gets the impression he knows more about her, in some ways, than she knows about herself.