Believing (Lily Dale #2)(50)

“No, honey, the energy is really gone.” Althea lays a chubby hand on her arm. “But you don’t need me to talk to her. You know that, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You can do it yourself. Anytime. You need to realize that.”

“It’s not the same if I don’t know she can hear me,” Calla says in a small voice.

“She can.”

“But I want to hear her, and see her.” And suddenly, she doesn’t know how she’s going to last until that class on Saturday morning.

“I know you do. But when—if—your mom does come through to you, it might not be in the way you’re expecting. Keep in mind that you have to be open to anything.”

“There have been a few times . . .” Calla gathers her thoughts, then goes on, “Lilies of the valley were my mother’s favorite flower. I’ve smelled that scent in a couple of places where it shouldn’t have been. Do you think that was her?”

“Maybe. Sometimes Spirit makes itself known in unexpected ways. We might receive signs through symbols we don’t even recognize because we’re so busy looking for whatever it is that we expect.”

“But if that’s how she makes herself known—through the smell of those flowers—why couldn’t I smell it right now?”

“I wish I could answer that for you, Calla, but this isn’t an exact science. I can’t say that every time you smell lilies of the valley for the rest of your life, it’s your mother coming through to you, or that she isn’t with you when you don’t smell it. Just know that sometimes that may be how she makes herself known to you.”

“But she made herself known to you by appearing.”

Althea shrugs. “I’ve been doing this work for years. It’s like anything else. You have to work at it.”

“I want to see her,” Calla repeats stubbornly.

“I know you do. Just remember, physical manifestations aren’t the only way our loved ones make themselves known. In fact, sometimes, their visits are so subtle we miss them if we aren’t entirely receptive. And sometimes, they even come to us in dreams because we’re most open to their energy when we’re asleep.”

“Dreams?” Calla echoes, her thoughts racing. She thinks about what Dylan said earlier, about seeing the raccoon man in his bed at night. Was that more than just a bad dream? And what about the recurring dream she herself has had about dredging the lake. Is Mom herself sending Calla some kind of message about the long-ago argument with Odelia?

“So if you have a dream,” she asks Althea, “how can you tell if—”

A door slams in the front of the house, and Calla clamps her mouth shut. For some reason, she doesn’t want Willow to walk in on this particular conversation. It feels too . . . private. Which is kind of ironic, considering she met Althea only about ten minutes ago.

“Here you go, Mom.” Willow breezes into the kitchen carrying a white paper bag. “Calla! You’re here. Have you been waiting long?”

“No.” Just long enough for a crash course in mediumship.

“Good. The pharmacist is always slow, but I swear he took forever tonight.”

Calla watches Willow hand her mother a receipt and a bag. Medication, obviously. For Althea.

Because she’s sick, Calla realizes with a pang of regret. Really, really sick.

Again, the thought makes no sense. For all she knows, Althea could be taking antibiotics for a sore throat, but . . .

That’s not it.

She feels Althea’s serious illness as suddenly and as surely as she’s felt other things she couldn’t possibly know. Things that turned out to be true.

Watching mother and daughter exchange a smile, she’s overwhelmed by a sweeping, inexplicable sadness. She knows with a sickening certainty that Willow York is going to be in Calla’s shoes someday. Maybe not long from now.

“So let’s get to it.” Willow turns to Calla. “Did you bring your stuff?”

“I’ll let you girls do your thing.” Althea begins moving with obvious physical effort toward the next room. “I’m glad we met, Calla.”

“So am I,” she says as casually as she can manage around the aching lump in her throat.





It’s late, past nine thirty, when Calla leaves Willow’s. Her head is spinning, filled with mathematical formulas and everything Althea told her—and then, of course, there’s what happened just now, when she remembered to ask Willow if she could check her e-mail before leaving.





Calla, It was so good to hear from you. I really miss you and I’m glad you wrote back. Maybe if the weather’s nice one of these weekends I’ll come visit you in Lily Dale. It’s not that long a drive, and any excuse for a road trip in the new car, LOL

Let me know.

xoxo Kevin





She didn’t answer it.

Partly because she wasn’t sure quite what to make of it. Any excuse for a road trip? Is that vaguely insulting? Or just a sign that they’re now merely casual, buddy-buddy pals?

And . . . let me know? Let him know what? If she wants him to visit?

Does she want him to visit?

The truth is, she longs to see Kevin again . . . but the old Kevin. She wants, more than anything, to go back to the way things were.