Discovering (Lily Dale #4)(33)

Dad seems to weigh that before saying, “I never believed that anyone can know about them before they happen.”

Believed.

As in . . . past tense.

“So you do now?”Calla asks him.

“I don’t know what I believe. If it’s true that a psychic’s vision led you to Geneseo and Sharon Logan—”

“It’s true.”

“Then how can I argue with reality?”

Calla’s hand relaxes on the car door handle at last. “Right,”she says softly. “That’s how I saw it when I first got here.”

“Look, I’m a scientist. I’m always open to new theories. I just wish you had told me from the start what was going on.”

“I was afraid you’d make me leave.”She hesitates. “You’re not going to do that, are you?”

There’s a long silence.

Uh-oh.

“I don’t know what to do about all of this, Calla. But I don’t think uprooting you again is a good idea. We shouldn’t go back to Tampa—at least not for a long time. Too many bad memories there. And there’s no reason to go to California, either, now that I’ve taken a leave of absence. I suppose there are other places we could visit . . . settle. Uncle Scott and Aunt Susie have offered—”

“No!”Calla says sharply. “Please, Dad.”

Her father’s only brother asked her to come stay with them in Chicago after Mom died. Calla probably should have been grateful for the offer, and they probably meant well, but she suspects they saw her as a built-in babysitter for her four young cousins.

“They’re family,”he reminds her.

She knows they are. But they don’t feel as much like family as Odelia does. Or even the Taggarts, and the Yorks, and—

“Don’t worry,”Dad says. “We aren’t going to Chicago. Not anytime soon, anyway. You’re in school here. You have friends, and . . . I kind of like Lily Dale.”

“Really?”

He shrugs. “It’s a beautiful place. And I like the change of seasons. And the people are . . . interesting. Friendly. I enjoy them.”

“Like Ramona?”

“Sure. Like Ramona.”He pauses. “Calla, she and I are . . . well, I’m kind of rusty at this kind of thing, so I’m not sure what you call it these days. Hooking up?”

Calla wrinkles her nose. “Dating?”she suggests.

“They still call it that?”

Calla shrugs. “Nobody really wants to hear their dad going around talking about hooking up.”

“Point taken. So anyway, if it bothers you that Ramona and I are . . . dating . . . then . . .”

“Then you’ll break up with her?”

He looks vaguely alarmed.

She can’t help but laugh. “Relax, Dad. It doesn’t bother me, as long as you don’t get your heart broken— and as long as she doesn’t, either, because I really like Ramona.”

“I wish I could make that guarantee, sweetie, but it doesn’t work that way. Relationships are tricky.”

Calla thinks of Jacy, and of Kevin, and nods.

She sees her father glance up at Ramona’s house. The lights are on and there are silhouettes in the living room window.

“Why don’t you go over there, Dad? She’s probably seen that we’re back from dinner.”

“She probably has. But I’ll stay here with you until Odelia gets back from . . . where is she, again?”

“She’s doing a message circle.”No longer any reason to mince words.

“A message circle,”he repeats. “What is that?”

“It’s . . . it’s, like, a gathering where a medium brings spirit messages to people.”

“Spirit messages. From the dead.”

“Right.”

“So—let’s just say I were to buy into this stuff,”he says cautiously, “and I went to a message circle. Then . . . what?”

“Then you might get a message from the Other Side.”

“From whom?”

“From the medium.”

“No, I mean—the medium delivers the message from. . . ?”

“From anyone. Your great aunt Tillie, or, I don’t know, Abraham Lincoln, or . . .”

“Or Mom.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Dad. It’s not like a telephone line to the Other Side, where you can just place a call to someone you want to speak to.”

How many people said pretty much the same thing to Calla since she arrived here, desperate to connect with her mother?

Far too many.

But that hasn’t stopped the longing.

Yes, there have been a few incidences—like the other night, in her room, when Calla glimpsed a younger version of her mother. . . .

And last week, when she felt a fleeting embrace and knew, somehow, without a doubt, that it was Mom’s spirit there with her.

But that wasn’t enough.

She needs . . .

I need to see her one last time, speak to her one last time.

I need to understand her.

I need to know how she could have done what she did.

How she could have let Darrin do what he did.

“Dad,”she says abruptly, “you should go over to Ramona’s. I’ll be fine here on my own.”