Discovering (Lily Dale #4)(60)

“So, these spirits that you see . . . are they all around us?”

She glances around the pizzeria. In a nearby booth, she sees a 1940s-era G.I. cuddling his girlfriend, who has pompadour bangs and dark lipstick. In another, she sees a grunge musician–type in a flannel shirt and combat boots. And hovering behind the busboy is a worried sixty-something woman— his grandmother, probably.

“Yeah,”she tells Kevin. “They’re all around us.”

“And you see them all the time?”

“Sometimes I have to look for them. But other times, they’re there whether I want to see them or not. I’m trying to learn how to tune them in and out.”

“They’re teaching you that in Lily Dale?”

“Yes.”

“You should stay, then. It sounds like you’re in the right place.”

“I am. And there’s a state university a few miles away. I’m hoping I can go there next year.”

“Does your dad know that?”

“No. But I think I’d better tell him.”





THIRTY

Geneseo

Saturday, October 13

3:16 p.m.

Walking slowly toward Center Street, Laura can hear church bells ringing, as they do every hour on the hour.

Is it four already?

Surprised, she checks her watch.

Nowhere near four.

That’s strange.

Even stranger, she feels compelled to head in their direction, toward the church in the heart of town.

Father Donald.

She needs to see Father Donald.

She covers the few blocks to the church in just a few minutes, and goes directly to the side door . . . then pauses, frowning.

The stained-glass window—her window, the one that led her here all those years ago— is gone.

It’s been replaced with a regular one.

Why?

Maybe someone broke it, she decides as she rings the bell. I just hope they can find another one just like it.

It takes Father Donald much longer than usual to come to the door.

When it finally opens, though, for the first time ever, he’s not the one who answers it.

An unfamiliar woman stands there, wearing a house keeper’s apron. “Yes?”

“Hi. I was wondering if Father Donald is in?”

“Whom?”

“Father Donald,”she repeats, wondering if the housekeeper is new here.

Still, no matter how new, you’d think she’d know the name of the parish priest.

“Father Donald?”

“Yes. Father Donald.”Maybe she’s hard of hearing.

For a long moment, the woman just looks at her.

“Come in,”she says at last. “Have a seat.”

Laura perches on a chair in the waiting room, her luggage at her feet, and wishes she hadn’t come. There will be plenty of time for her to see Father Donald now that she’s back.

The housekeeper reappears. “Follow me,”she says tersely. “You can leave your bags there if you like.”

Laura does, gladly. They’re so heavy, she’s dreading carrying them up Center Street. And now that she’s detoured here, she’ll have even farther to go.

“Here she is, Father,”the house keeper announces, and gestures for Laura to step through an open doorway.

But the priest who greets her in the small study is a stranger. He’s a much younger man, with dark curly hair, and he’s wearing street clothes—jeans and a long-sleeved polo shirt.

Laura looks around for Father Donald, but doesn’t see him anywhere. The room is spartan, with a few tables and chairs, blinds on the windows, a crucifix and some framed pictures on the walls.

“Hi,”says the young man. “I’m Father Luke.”

“Hi. I’m Laura.”

“Why don’t you sit down?”He gestures at a wingback chair and sits in one opposite her. “I understand you’re looking for Father Donald.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Laura, but he passed away.”

She gasps in horror. No. Oh, no. Please, no.

Looking confused, Father Luke reaches out and touches her hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You couldn’t have known him, so I didn’t think—”

“Yes, I knew him. When?”Laura manages to ask. “When did he die?”

“A long time ago, but—”

“Over the summer?”

“The summer!”The young priest looks startled. Then he gestures up at the wall behind him. “You’re talking about Father Donald, right? The one who was once the parish priest here?”

Laura looks up. Yes, there he is, smiling down from a portrait, wearing his familiar black shirt and collar.

“Yes. Father Donald,”she agrees, hardly able to grasp that she’ll never see him again.

“Laura, like I said, you couldn’t have known him. He died more than thirty years ago, before you were even born.”





THIRTY-ONE

Ithaca

Saturday, October 13

3:17 p.m.

“Maybe I’ll drive over and visit sometime,”Kevin tells Calla as he gives her a hug, standing on the sidewalk beneath the pizzeria’s dripping awning.