Connecting (Lily Dale #3)(48)

“Come on, Evangeline . . . you’re not ‘in love’ with him.” Calla tries to keep the edge out of her voice, but she’s still upset about last night, and she just doesn’t have the patience for this. “It’s just . . . a crush.”

“Ex-cuse me?” Her friend sounds indignant.

Which, Calla realizes, is pretty unfair.

“Love,” after all, is a strong word.

Maybe if Calla weren’t so exhausted—physically, emotionally—she’d be able to go along with it. But the lack of sleep and all the stress are catching up with her, and she finds herself pointing out, “It’s not like you and Jacy are—or even were—you know, going out.”

For a moment, Evangeline is silent.

She must realize how ridiculous it is for her to expect Calla to stay away from Jacy because of her own crush—unrequited, at that.

“Well, it’s not like you and Jacy are, either . . . is it?” Evangeline asks, not exactly sounding as if she’s seen the light.

“I told you . . . we’re friends.”

“I know what you told me, but I’m not sure I believe you. In fact, maybe I don’t. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you and Jacy really just friends, and that’s it?”

Guilt twists Calla’s stomach into a leaden knot. “Evangeline . . .”

“I’m right, then?” she asks shrilly. “There’s something going on between you two?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I don’t even know what I think. What is it? Tell me.”

Calla wearily examines her options, which are pretty straightforward.

You can lie again . . .

Or you can tell the truth.

Not the whole truth, though.

She can’t risk telling anyone about Geneseo. If it ever got back to her grandmother, well, Calla hates to think of how Odelia would react to that.

All Calla can share is the truth about herself and Jacy: that they have feelings for each other.

But if she does that, her friendship with Evangeline might crash and burn.

Might?

Evangeline’s made it pretty clear where she stands on this—fairly or not.

“It’s not like you think,” Calla tells her. “I mean, it’s not like Jacy and I are going out or anything like that. We’re just . . .”

“You said you were just friends.”

Calla says nothing.

“You’re more than that, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Frustrated, Calla starts to rake a hand through her bangs, then encounters the hardened mass of goo that remains from last night’s hairdo.

“Did you kiss him?”

She can’t answer that. It will be too painful for Evangeline to hear it.

But she doesn’t have to.

She can hear the tremor in her friend’s voice as she says, “Whatever. I have to go.”

“Evangeline—”

There’s a click in her ear, followed by a dial tone.




Hearing the groan of old pipes upstairs, Calla knows that Odelia is running water for a morning bath.

Good.

Time to escape the house and check out Leolyn Woods, even if she has to go alone.

She doesn’t have much choice, with Jacy at a track meet and Evangeline apparently no longer speaking to her. There’s no one else she can ask.

But if what happened last night in her room was just a nightmare—and she’s almost convinced now that it was— then there’s no reason, really, for her to be wary of going into the woods alone.

And even if it wasn’t a nightmare, even if Darrin really did follow her here to Lily Dale, she still has to go. She has to.

Maybe the circled X on the map has nothing to do with her, or her mother, or Darrin calling himself Tom Leolyn. Maybe it was pure coincidence that the book opened to that page when it fell. Maybe Aiyana wasn’t even responsible for the book falling off the table in the first place. Except . . .

There are no coincidences, remember?

Calla hurries up to her room and grabs a jacket and her iPod, along with the now overdue library book containing the marked map.

“I’m going out for a walk, Gammy,” she calls, knocking on the bathroom door.

“A walk? Right now?”

Hearing the water splashing into the tub, Calla is seized by a sudden, irrational flash of apprehension.

Huh? Where did that come from?

“It’s, uh, a beautiful day,” she calls back to her grandmother, disconcerted, “and I want to get out and enjoy it.”

Odelia’s cheerful reply is lost in the rushing water, and Calla wastes no time heading back downstairs.

The fear was fleeting, but so authentic that Calla wonders if she’s channeling some frightening event that happened in that spot where she was standing, or perhaps in the bathroom.

Probably.

Just another perk of my “gift,” she thinks wryly as she heads out the front door, where milky sunlight and a stiff breeze greet her. The sky isn’t anywhere near blue, but at least it’s no longer sodden with bruise-colored clouds.

Still, “a beautiful day” was stretching it.

Calla pulls on her jacket with a shiver, then descends the porch steps with a glance at the Taggarts’ porch. No sign of Evangeline, but Calla wonders if she might be watching from somewhere inside.