Connecting (Lily Dale #3)(54)

“The thing is, Jacy . . .” She trails off.

What if he doesn’t believe her?

“The thing is . . . what?”

“I think he was in my room Saturday night, and he was watching me in the woods yesterday.”

“What?” He gapes at her. “Who? Darrin?”

“Darrin. Tom. Whoever.”

“He was in your room?”

“After you brought me home, I was lying there in my bed, and he was standing over it, watching me.”

“Could it have been a dream?”

She sighs and toys with the emerald bracelet, still on her wrist. Maybe she’ll never take it off again.

“That’s what my grandmother said,” she tells Jacy. “I woke her up, but by the time I got her back to my room, he’d taken off. If he was really there.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“In the dream? Or whatever it was?” She shakes her head. “He just called me Stephanie again. He really thought I was her.”

“He thought you were her ghost. He knows she’s dead. You said he was at her funeral.”

“Yeah. And that stuff he said Saturday night . . . about a secret, and that he should have left things alone after all those years . . . and how sorry he was . . . what did you get out of all that?”

“Something obviously happened between the two of them years ago. It sounds like he took off without telling her something he should have told her, and then—”

“And then he e-mailed her last Valentine’s Day,” Calla cuts in, “out of the blue, and told her about whatever it was. Right?”

“Sounded that way.”

She nods, hugging herself against the chill—both outside and in. “I’m flying to Florida on Friday, Jacy. I’m going to get her laptop and find that e-mail.”

“How are you going to do that? Do you know her password?”

“I’m sure I can figure it out.”

He doesn’t look convinced, and frankly, she isn’t, either. But she has to try at least. She’s been making a list for a few days now, writing down every possible password that occurs to her.

“What if she deleted the e-mail?” Jacy asks.

“What if she didn’t?” she returns. “My mom was the most organized person you’d ever meet. She was really anal about keeping files, and copies of things. . . . I doubt she’d have deleted it if it were that earth shattering.”

“She would have if she didn’t want your dad to see it.”

“He would never snoop in someone’s private files. Ever. No way.”

“Even if he was suspicious that she might be up to something with another man?”

Calla pushes aside the stubborn memory of her father telling her that her mother had grown detached from their marriage in the last few months of her life.

“I just don’t know if you should be going to Florida and tapping into this on your own, Calla.” Jacy brushes strands of windblown hair away from her face, looking worriedly at her.

Why did she agree to go out with Blue again on Wednesday night?

Because she felt bad about his being on crutches, and his thinking she had gone to the dance with Jacy.

Maybe she can cancel. Now that she and Jacy have connected at last, she doesn’t want to be with anyone else.

Then again . . . maybe she’ll use the opportunity to tell Blue she just wants to be friends, and nothing more.

Blue doesn’t seem like he’s in the market for a serious girlfriend, anyway. Considering the way the girls were hanging all over him and his crutches this morning, Calla doubts she’ll break his heart if she tells him she’s involved with Jacy now.

“Listen, Jacy,” she says as his hand lingers on her cheek even now that he’s brushed her hair away. “I don’t have a choice about Florida.”

“Sure you do. Don’t go.”

“I have to go.”

“I keep thinking about you, flailing underwater . . .”

That does give her pause. “Can you tell if I am in Florida in your vision?”

“I don’t know where you are. It could be anywhere. Here, even.”

With a shudder, she thinks about the choppy black-gray waters of Cassadaga Lake, not so far from where they’re sitting now.

“Well, I can’t live my life not knowing what happened to my mother,” she says resolutely, “and I can’t live my life being terrified that something might happen to me around the next bend.”

“I get that,” Jacy says quietly, moving his hand away from her face at last. “I don’t blame you. But I can’t just let you go without warning you.”

“Thanks.”

“I wish I could go with you.”

Her heart flutters at the mere thought of it, but only for a few seconds. Then he adds, “I can’t, though. Even if Walt and Peter would let me—and could afford it, on top of the adoption expenses—I have a track meet on Saturday. I can’t miss it. The coach is down on me for missing practice yesterday as it is.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I know, but . . .”

She smiles. “I know. It would have been good to have you with me. We should get going, I guess.” She gets up, brushes off her jeans, and turns toward the school.