Discovering (Lily Dale #4)(12)
“That’s not what I meant. But, about last weekend, now that you bring it up . . .”
“Forget I did.”
“I don’t think so. We have a lot to talk about.”
“I know . But not now. You have an appointment.”
And I don’t feel like defending myself right now.
“We’re going to talk,”Gammy says, “because you lied to me, and I can’t—”
“I know, Gammy, and I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything. I promise. I just needed to know . About my mother, and . . .”
Darrin.
Gammy didn’t like him.
Ramona told Calla that.
Why not?
It was something about Darrin having negative energy, but maybe there was more to it. Maybe . . .
Surely she doesn’t know about the baby . . . does she?
Go ahead. Ask her.
But if Calla asks her . . . and she doesn’t already know . . .
You’ll be opening a whole new can of worms. Is that really what you want to do right now?
Thunder claps so near that it makes Calla jump.
Odelia glances up at the sky. “Come on. Let’s get inside. This is going to be nasty.”
I’m not ready, Calla decides, following her into the house. I’m not ready to tell her yet. Not until I know more.
FIVE
Lily Dale
Monday, October 8
5:13 p.m.
Calla steps around puddles that fill the potholes on Cottage Row, making her way down to the lakefront park beneath a canopy of fall foliage. Leaves and eaves drip pleasantly around her. The storm ended a little while ago, ushering in a tide of warmer, humid air, and she left her fleece jacket at home.
A week or so ago, she was expecting to see her first snow. But striding along in short sleeves with a gentle breeze off the water, as opposed to the usual stiff wind, she realizes that it almost feels like late summer again. Dad might even be able to last another day or two without having to buy a cold-weather wardrobe.
He had returned from Ramona’s porch just as she was walking out the door a few minutes ago.
“Hey, Cal’, where are you going?”he asked, bounding up the steps like a much younger man.
“I have to meet my friend. I won’t be long.”
“Jacy?”
“Right.”
He nodded. “Ramona said he’s a good kid.”
She did? Calla raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. He is.”
“She said he’s had a rough life.”
“Yeah. He has.”She shifted her weight uncomfortably, wondering why he was discussing her with Ramona—and what else Ramona said about Jacy.
“Be careful out there,”was all he said, then went on into Odelia’s house to gather his things to move next door.
She probably shouldn’t let it bother her—that Ramona was talking about Jacy. Especially since Ramona’s stamp of approval has obviously won over her father.
No, she shouldn’t mind.
It’s just that . . .
Well, she’s used to being her father’s only connection to Lily Dale. She’s the one who has— so far—been able to filter what he does and doesn’t know .
About Jacy or anything else.
This was just another reminder that Dad is once again part of her day-to- day business. It won’t be long before he knows everything about her life here. What then?
You’ll have to worry about that when it comes up, she tells herself. You’ve got enough on your plate right now.
The lake water has become a choppy blue-black in the wake of the storm. Calla can see Jacy waiting for her, leaning against the wooden railing in the pavilion where they usually meet.
A baseball cap rides backward over his short black hair. His running shorts reveal muscular legs and a weathered gray T-shirt exposes tanned biceps.
Wow. He looks good.
Um, no. He looks great.
Calla’s heart picks up its pace, and so do her feet.
Just before she reaches him, though, she stops short, suddenly feeling shy.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
They look at each other for a long moment. Then Jacy shocks her by grabbing her in a fierce embrace.
“Thank God you’re okay,”he says into her hair. “Thank God.”
Surprised, she asks, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t realize that I . . . until . . . I mean . . . I guess . . .”
Say it, Jacy, she begs silently. Say what you’re thinking. Tell me what you’re feeling.
He doesn’t.
That’s not his style.
She knows he’s learned the hard way not to reveal his emotions. Having grown up on the reservation with abusive parents, Jacy Bly doesn’t trust many people— if anyone at all. Maybe not even Peter and Walt, his foster dads.
Maybe not even me, she acknowledges as he pulls back, lets her go. But when she looks up at him, what she sees in his dark eyes startles her almost as much as the emotional greeting.
He cares about her.
A lot.
Not just as a fellow medium, or even just as a friend concerned for her well-being.
He cares the way she’s dreamed of him caring.
He doesn’t have to say it. She can see it and feel it. Words are unimportant.