Discovering (8 page)

There are lots of tall trees to cast dappled shade around her as she walks.

Nearby, she can see clusters of cottages. Victorian- style, with shutters and fish-scale shingles; cupolas or mansard roofs; porches with gingerbread trim.

There are flowers everywhere. The air is heavy with their perfume; they bloom in crowded garden beds, spill from window boxes and hanging pots.

They’re even here, beneath her feet, growing in a clump on the grassy shore.

These flowers have short, slender, sturdy stems fringed with tiny bell- shaped white blossoms.

Lilies of the valley.

She found a photo in a horticulture book months ago, when the dream first began to haunt her.

As she bends to pick one of the fragile blooms, the sun slips behind a cloud. Thunder rumbles in the distance as she raises the flower to inhale its fragrance, and all at once, she can hear voices. Female voices.

She can’t see them, and she can’t hear most of what they’re saying, but what she does hear is disturbing:

“. . . because I promised I’d never tell . . .”

“. . . for your own good . . . don’t know how you can live with
yourself . . .”

“The only way we’ll learn the truth is to dredge the lake.”

She gazes out over the lake to see that the water has turned black, churning ominously beneath a stormy sky.

Now the women are crying, eerie wails that echo until the storm blows in to drown them out.

Who are they?

Where are they?

Why are they arguing? Why are they crying?

And why, Laura wonders, every time she wakes from the dream, chilled to the bone, do I keep having the same strange dream, over and over?

SEVEN

Lily Dale
Tuesday, October 9
7:50 a.m.

“Morning, Calla!”

Startled to hear a voice as she slips out her grandmother’s front door with her backpack, Calla spins around to see her father over on Ramona’s porch.

“Dad!”

“That was some storm last night, huh?”

She nods. “When did the power come back on?”

“Around midnight.”

“Oh.”By that time, she had eaten herself into Coffee Heath Bar Crunch–induced oblivion, too zonked out to even dream.

Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, she turns and spots a translucent little boy perched in a tree beside Ramona’s porch. He’s wearing a 1930s-style newsboy hat and knickers, and she’s pretty sure she’s seen him hanging around before.

“Are you wearing that to school?”

She looks down at her jeans, long sleeved T-shirt, and sneakers. “Um . . . yes?”

“Really.”

“It’s a public school, Dad,”she reminds him. As opposed to a private school: at Shoreside Day back in Florida, she had to wear a preppy uniform every day.

“So everyone dresses down for school? Is that it?”

“Pretty much. Why?”

The little boy in the tree crosses his eyes at her and giggles.

“I just want to make sure that with your mother gone you’re not . . . you know . . .”

“Letting my fashion sense go down the tubes?”she asks her father dryly. “That would be tragic.”

He snorts.

“What are you doing out here, anyway, Dad?”

“Guess.”

She descends a few steps and peers closer at him across her grandmother’s unkempt hedges, still glistening from last night’s rain.

Dad is sitting on a wicker rocker, clasping a coffee mug in both hands. His hair stands straight up, he’s got a face full of razor stubble, and he’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a rumpled T-shirt, looking like he just rolled out of bed five minutes ago.

“I have no idea what you’re doing. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Nothing.”He grins. “I’m doing absolutely
nothing
but relaxing. Enjoying the beautiful morning.”He waves a hand at the sun slanting down through the misty treetops, a rare sight around here. “And I get to see my daughter off to school. What do you think about that?”

“It’s . . . uh, great.”

“You know, Cal’, I don’t know what I was thinking. Why have I just spent the last few months alone, on the opposite end of the country from the one person I care about? It doesn’t make sense.”

Ramona. Is he talking about Ramona?

Is that what he’s trying to tell me?

Are he and Ramona in love?

Has he been having a secret affair with her since they met?

“I don’t know why I didn’t figure out until now that the two of us belong together, after all we’ve been through lately.”

Dad has been tragically widowed, but Ramona . . . her latest boyfriend dumped her for a Buffalo Jill. How does that compare? Clearly, he’s lost touch with reality.

“Dad, are you okay?”

“I will be now that I can start every day by saying good morning to my girl in person. . . .”

His
girl
?

Jealousy streaks through Calla.

Ramona
is his girl now?

That’s what he always used to call . . .

Oh.

You idiot.

“That’s great, Dad,”she says with a relieved grin. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”

How could she even think he was talking about Ramona, when they barely know each other?

I’m his girl. I’m the one he belongs with after all we’ve been
through.

Of course that’s what he meant.

Duh.

How could she have thought otherwise? Just because Dad and Ramona are staying under the same roof now . . .

The screen door squeaks next door and Calla looks up just in time to see Ramona step out onto the porch. Her long, curly brown hair is tousled and she’s carrying a coffee mug. And wearing a snug- fitting pair of pink pajamas that look awesome on her.

“Morning, Calla!”she calls, waving. Then she turns and says something to Dad that Calla can’t hear, and he laughs.

Hmm. They do look pretty cozy over there.

And Calla can try all she wants to ignore it, but her sixth sense is telling her that Folgers isn’t all that’s brewing next door.

“I’ve got to get to school,”she announces, and heads down the walk toward the street.

The little boy is now dangling from his knees on a branch high above her head, gleefully swinging back and forth.

You’re going to get hurt doing that,
she tells him silently.

He sticks out his tongue.

Whatever. How hurt can he get? He’s already dead.

“Hey, Calla, wait for Evangeline. She’s right here!”calls her father, who obviously hasn’t heard the news bulletin about the two of them not walking to school together in over a week.

Before Calla can fill him in, Evangeline pops out the door, dressed almost identically to Calla and carrying a backpack.

“Calla! Hi!”

She looks almost pleasantly surprised, so Calla dares to say, “Hi—want to walk to school?”

“Sure.”

“Great!”

As Evangeline joins her, Calla can’t help but note that it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s oozing with forgiveness. After all, they’re both going in the same direction at the same time. What was Evangeline supposed to say?
No, I want to walk a few
steps behind you?

Which, incidentally, is pretty much what she did all last week.

They head in silence down the road toward the gates. The moment they’re out of earshot, Calla says, kicking a pebble along with the toe of her sneaker, “If you don’t want to walk with me, it’s okay.”

“It is? You mean you won’t, like, collapse in a heap on the ground and cry?”

Startled, she looks up— and is relieved to see Evangeline’s familiar, crinkly grin. “I don’t know, I might collapse, but I’ve cried so many tears over you I think I’ve run dry.”

Evangeline laughs.

“I’m kind of not kidding, actually,”Calla tells her. “I’m really sorry about everything, and I’ve totally missed you since . . .”

“Since you stole my boyfriend and faked a date with him to homecoming?”

“It wasn’t like that, I didn’t—”

“Gotcha.”Evangeline pokes her in the arm. “I know he wasn’t my boyfriend. He never will be. He’s not into me, it’s obvious. I guess I just wanted to pretend there was a chance, you know? And you totally ruined my delusional fantasy romance. I so hate when that happens.”

Calla laughs. Hard. Then she impulsively hugs Evangeline. Hard. “You’re a good friend.”

“So are you.”

“Really? Even though I ruined your delusional fantasy romance?”

“Happens to the best of us.”

They walk on.

Calla watches a phantom stagecoach pass them on the road, with a filmy driver wearing a top hat and a female passenger in a frilly bonnet.

Turning her head, she sees a Native American maiden with an infant in her arms watching from a thicket of lakeside cattails.

Tune out.

She focuses on Evangeline again, telling her, “I just want you to know that I really am sorry.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry, too, for acting like such a jerk about the whole thing. Do you forgive me?”

“Are you kidding? Of course.”

“Good. You know, the whole time you were away, I wanted to call you and tell you that. Plus, I was kind of worried about you.”

“You were? Why?”

“I don’t know . I just had this feeling . . . you know? Like something might be wrong. So I was really glad to see you yesterday and hear that the trip was fine.”

Far from it, but before Calla can tell her that, Evangeline asks, “So, are you and Jacy . . . ?”

“We’re really good friends.”

“Oh, please. That’s what celebrities tell nosy reporters when they’re madly in love with someone who’s married or their kids’ nanny or thirty years older and filthy rich.”

Calla can’t help but laugh at that. “Jacy is none of those things.”

“Yeah, but you two are more than friends. I’ve seen him looking at you, and you said he kissed you.”

“Okay, we are more than friends. But only if it’s okay with you.”

Why did I say that?
Calla wonders as soon as it’s out. Is she really prepared to sacrifice her relationship with Jacy on Evan-geline’s say- so?

“Well, it’s not okay with me.”

Great. Here they go again. Now what?

“Gotcha!”Evangeline pokes her in the arm again. “God, you’re gullible.”

Calla grins, relieved. “Good, because I have to say . . .”

“What? You’re head over heels with Jacy and wouldn’t give him up just because I asked you to?”

“That, and it seemed like you and Russell were into each other yesterday, so I don’t know why you would.”

“Oh, Russell. Yeah.”

“Evangeline, are you blushing?”

“No.”

“Yes. You are. Your face is like a tomato. What’s up with Russell? Tell me everything!”

“Got an hour?”Evangeline sighs. “It’s kind of a long story.”

That’s fine with Calla.

Because she has one that’s undoubtedly even longer, but she’s not in the mood to share it—not even with one of her closest friends.

“Before I tell you about me and Russell,”Evangeline says, “I have to ask . . . what do you think about your dad and my aunt getting together?”

“If they do, then I just hope nobody gets hurt.”

“Well, I hope the same thing, but . . . they already are.”

“Hurt?”

“Together.”

Calla raises her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Last night after I went to bed, I realized I forgot something downstairs, and when I came down, I saw them kissing. They didn’t see me, so I snuck back up.”

“They were kissing?”Calla tries to digest that, but it isn’t easy.

Dad kissing a woman who isn’t Mom.

Then again . . . did she ever see Dad kissing Mom?

Not in a long, long time.

“I wasn’t sure if I should tell you. I don’t want to freak you out or anything.”Evangeline pauses. “Are you freaked out?”

“Pretty much. Aren’t you?”

“Heck, yeah. But, I mean, your dad is so great, and my aunt has been so lonely, and she’s stuck with us. . . . I can’t help thinking that it would be nice for both of them to have someone. Don’t you think?”

“I guess . . .”

“And the other thing is, if your dad falls in love with my aunt, he’ll never want to leave Lily Dale, and you won’t have to, either.”

Calla can’t help but smile. Not because she’s thrilled about her dad and Ramona— because she isn’t sure how she feels about that— but because her friendship with Evangeline is definitely back on solid ground.

“It wouldn’t be the same here without you, Calla.”