Connecting (Lily Dale #3)(62)
Calla watches Blue moodily rip the last couple of grapes from the bare stem and shove them into his mouth. Maybe he does want his father bugging him—or at least calling him— every day.
She remembers how strangely arrogant Blue acted the other day when she said she wanted to spend some time with her father instead of going out with him.
Maybe she had struck a nerve.
She thinks of her father. He always calls her every day when they’re apart. And when they first laid eyes on each other at the airport that night after weeks apart, they flew into each other’s arms as if it had been years since the last time they were together.
Maybe fathers and sons aren’t quite as demonstrative as fathers and daughters, but Blue and his dad sure didn’t have much of a reunion just now, after a week apart.
Suddenly, Calla spots the shadow again, out of the corner of her eye, and swivels her head to catch it. There it is, lurking in the far corner of the room.
“I guess he came in with you,” David Slayton says cryptically. “What are you talking about?” Blue asks.
Calla turns to see his father leveling a look at her. “You see him.”
“Excuse me?” she says.
He tilts his head in the direction of the phantom being in the corner.
Blue turns in that direction with a searching frown but says nothing.
He doesn’t see it, Calla realizes.
She asks David, “Who is he?”
He shrugs. “I have no idea. With shadow people . . . you never know.”
She digests that and nods.
“So you’re the real deal, then,” David Slayton says to Calla.
“No, she isn’t, Dad. Calla’s not into that. She’s just visiting her grandmother.” Blue is obviously thrilled to contradict his father, and something tells Calla it’s better for her not to contradict Blue.
“Who’s your grandmother?”
“Odelia Lauder. Do you know her?” Calla asks, though she knows the answer.
“Odelia Lauder.” David smiles faintly and rubs his chin. “I’ve known her for years.”
“How many years?” Calla wonders, suddenly, whether he knew her mother as well.
“Oh, fifteen . . . maybe twenty.”
“Did you know my mother? Stephanie?”
His answer is straightforward. “No.”
The microwave beeps and he turns to open it.
“She passed away over the summer,” Calla tells him, not sure why she’s offering the information. It’s not like she needs his sympathy—or Blue’s, for that matter.
His back to her as he stirs honey into his mug, David says only, “That’s hard. I’m sorry.”
She never knows what to say in response to that, other than, “Thanks.”
Blue’s father turns back to her, holding his mug.
“You’re an unusual girl.”
Disconcerted by his stare as much as the comment, she tries to make light of it, forcing a laugh. “Gee, thanks. I’ve been called worse.”
He doesn’t apologize.
“Dad, what the heck are you talking about?” Blue asks.
David doesn’t even bother to acknowledge his son’s question. “You’re gifted in a way that’s very unusual for someone your age—or any age,” he tells Calla.
“But . . . I feel like everyone around here is gifted. I mean, it’s Lily Dale.”
“Not this powerfully gifted. And not all of them.” At last, he flicks a glance in Blue’s direction, and it’s almost disdainful.
Calla expects David to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just looks at her again, so intently that she feels as though he can see right into her soul.
“Dad, can you . . . ?” Blue gestures impatiently toward the doorway.
“Get out of here and leave you two alone?” David Slayton’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
Carrying his mug, he crosses the threshold, then turns back. “Be careful, okay?”
“Careful with what?” Blue looks exasperated.
“Not you.” David Slayton looks directly into Calla’s eyes, and repeats, “Be careful.”
Her heart pounds. “Me?” she asks stupidly.
“Yes. Spirit is warning you.”
“But, why? What’s going to happen?”
He hesitates. “It’s not that something is ‘going to’ happen. Just know that you may find yourself in a dangerous situation.”
“Does it have anything to do with . . . that shadow ghost?” she asks nervously, noticing that it seems to have disappeared again.
“Oh, I don’t think so. Don’t let those bother you.” He waves it away like it’s a pesky mosquito. “Shadow ghosts buzz around the room being distracting, annoying, maybe . . . nothing more.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are we ever sure about anything, really?” he asks with an enigmatic half smile. “Just do keep your wits about you, my dear.”
With that, he leaves the room.
“Cripes.” Blue lays his own hand over Calla’s trembling one, brushing against the emerald bracelet. “Don’t let him bother you, okay?”
He’s making a big effort to blow off what just happened, but Calla can tell he’s rattled, too.