Now that the wound isn’t so raw, Calla finds herself curious about him and asks Lisa cautiously, “What has he been up to lately?”
“Mostly bugging my parents to buy him a car to take to school. And I think they might actually do it, too.”
“That would be good.”
“Yeah, only then he’d have to drive all the way back up north alone, and my parents don’t want him to do that.” Lisa changes the subject. “So listen, if you came back down here, you could sleep in our guest room and finish school at Shoreline like you were supposed to. We’d get to be like sisters, living in the same house and everything. Remember when we were kids and we used to pretend that we were?”
“Sisters?” Calla smiles. “Yeah, only nobody ever believed us.”
“I was hoping one day we’d be sisters-in-law, you know?” Lisa says unexpectedly, and quietly. “Then my brother had to go screw that up.”
“Lisa, don’t—”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I just miss the way things were.”
Yeah. She’s not the only one.
“And I miss you, Calla. I wish you’d come back and stay here.”
“How can I if Kevin’s around?” Calla stares at the overcast sky through the window above the kitchen sink. “Wouldn’t that be awkward?”
“I guess it would,” Lisa says reluctantly, “especially since— oh, never mind.”
“Since what?”
“I hate to tell you this, but I feel like you should know. . . .”
“Know what?”
“Kevin’s new girlfriend. He, uh . . . has one. And she’s coming down to visit.”
Ah, the sucker punch. How can Calla be caught off guard, though? She knew he was seeing someone else. Again, an educated guess. Or maybe a psychic vision. Women’s intuition or just plain old-fashioned logic.
When you’re suddenly dumped after two years, chances are you’ve been replaced.
“Look, maybe,” Lisa is saying, “you and I could go away somewhere while she’s here. We could, you know, visit Tiffany. She’s at her family’s house on Sea Island till school starts.” That means September. Shoreside Day starts late, for Florida—not until after Labor Day.
“No!” Calla’s tone is curt. She can’t help it. “No way am I going to visit Tiffany. And no way am I going to live under the same roof as Kevin. I just . . . I can’t.”
“I’m really sorry, Calla,” Lisa says softly. “I promise to hate her when I meet her.”
Good old loyal Lisa.
“So . . . who is she?” Calla hears herself ask, though she isn’t sure she really wants to know. “Does she go to Cornell with him?”
“I guess so. She’s from Vermont or New Hampshire or something. Her name is Annie.”
Annie. Only adorable, sweet, nice girls are named Annie. Everyone knows that. Well, Calla knows it, anyway.
So let Kevin live happily ever after with adorable, sweet, nice Annie. That’s fine with her.
She’ll just go on doing exactly what she’s doing, right here in Lily Dale.
If only I knew what it is that I’m doing here in Lily Dale. Yeah, that would help.
“Hey, Calla? Do you want me to hop on a plane and come see you this weekend? I feel like you need me. And that way, I wouldn’t have to be around to meet Annie.”
“I doubt your parents would let you come.”
“I’d make them let me if you needed me.”
Calla smiles. Lisa is pretty good at getting her way. She has her parents wrapped around her pinky—that’s what Kevin always used to say, anyway.
Kevin. Her smile promptly evaporates.
“Listen, Calla, I’m serious. Let me know. Because I’ll get on the next plane if you need—”
“Thanks, I’ll let you know,” Calla cuts in hurriedly as the door to the back room begins to open. “Lis’, I have to go.”
“Okay, but remember—”
“I’ll call you soon, okay? ’Bye.”
She hangs up just before Odelia emerges with the woman who was here last night. The one from Columbus, Ohio. Only this time, she’s alone. She looks like she’s been crying again.
“Well, good morning, starshine.” Odelia reaches out to give Calla’s arm a little pat as she passes her at the table. She again has on that pair of too-snug lemon-yellow capris and a lime-green shirt emblazoned with a glittery silver turtle. It all clashes with her red-orange hair, which also clashes with her hot pink lipstick and turquoise earrings. “I’m just going to show Mrs. Riggs out, and I’ll be right back.”
Calla nods, then does a double take. She could have sworn only her grandmother and Mrs. Riggs were there, but now she sees that there’s someone else. A girl—the same one who was standing in the flower bed last night.
Only now, Calla can see her more clearly—though it’s only a glimpse in passing before the three of them disappear into the hall. She’s about Calla’s age, pretty, with long blond hair and baggy clothing. She doesn’t glance in Calla’s direction, and she trails silently behind Odelia and Mrs. Riggs as they leave the room.
Calla shivers, then remembers that just a few minutes ago, she was thinking it was warm and muggy in here. She hears the front door open and close. Moments later, Odelia is back in the kitchen. “I didn’t peg you for a late sleeper, but I’m glad you are.”
“I had no idea what time it was when I got up. The clock is blinking again.”
“Oh . . . I still have to set it for you, don’t I?”
“I can do it this time. But thanks for doing it last night.”
“Last night?” Odelia frowns. “I didn’t set it for you last night.”
“You didn’t? But . . .”
But she woke up in the middle of the night, and the clock was set. She distinctly remembers that it said 3:17.
“I thought you must have come in and set it sometime in the middle of the night,” she says slowly, even as she realizes uneasily that it is warm and muggy in here after all. Or . . . again.
“Oh, I don’t do much of anything in the night. I sleep like a rock. Anyway, like I said, I don’t believe in opening closed doors on other people. I wouldn’t do that even if I thought you were sleeping.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs. “I just . . . wondered. About the clock. It isn’t set now, and—”
“Listen, you’re not on a schedule here, so relax. You’re on summer break—that’s what it’s for. Stay up late. Sleep in. I don’t get up till noon myself most days, if I can help it.”
“Noon?” Calla echoes, wondering if it’s possible that she imagined it all. Was the whole thing a dream, not just the clock, but the remembered—or manufactured—conversation about dredging the lake?
“Noon,” Odelia confirms. “And I like to take a nice long afternoon nap in my recliner if I don’t have anything scheduled.” She pours herself a cup of coffee and looks expectantly at Calla. “Want some joe?”
“Oh . . . uh, no thanks.” That would be the day Mom or Dad would ever offer her coffee. “So . . . you do readings every day? Walk-ins?”
“Sure. During the season, anyway. I’m pretty booked.”
“People just show up at the door, like just now? What do they want, specifically?”
Odelia mimes pulling a zipper across her sealed lips and shakes her head.
“You can’t talk about your clients?”
“I try not to. What happens in Vegas”—she tilts her head toward the sun-splashed back room—“stays in Vegas.”
“So that’s . . . what? Your office?” Calla asks her, pointing at “Vegas.”
“More or less. It’s where I see people when they come to me.”
It’s hardly a candlelit Victorian parlor, which would seem more fitting. As far as Calla can recall, there’s no crystal ball in there, no round table with a fringed cloth, no heavy draperies, not even incense.
“Sometimes,” Odelia continues, “I go to my clients, though. And sometimes I do my thing out at the stump, or the auditorium.”
“Did you say ‘the stump’?”
Odelia grins. “Inspiration Stump. It’s out in Leolyn Woods.”
“A tree stump?”
“It used to be. Now it’s encased in a concrete block. You’ll learn more about it if you stay.”
“If I stay?” Calla echoes.
Her grandmother walks over to the cupboard and takes out a loaf of Wonder bread, saying, “I know you’re having second thoughts, sweetie pie.”
How do you know? Calla wants to ask, but thinks better of it. Of course she knows. She’s psychic.
“And I’m not surprised you’re thinking of getting the heck out of Dodge,” Odelia goes on. “You were hit with a real wallop yesterday when you found out about me, and Lily Dale.”
Calla nods. A wallop. Yeah, you could call it that.
And what about the fact that her mother and grandmother never got along? Why didn’t they? Did it have anything to do with Lily Dale, and Odelia’s so-called occupation?
The lake. It was something about the lake . . . dredging the lake? Already, last night’s dream—no, nightmare—is beginning to fade.
“Look, I’m not going to try to persuade you to stick around”—Odelia opens the fridge and removes a carton of eggs—“but I’d like it if you would. It’s been nice, having you here with me. I get lonely sometimes.”
“Doesn’t Miriam keep you company?” Again with the sarcasm. But Calla can’t seem to help herself, and anyway, Odelia doesn’t bat an eye.
“Miriam can’t eat my cooking, and she can’t play Trivial Pursuit. How about you?”
“What? I, uh, liked your spaghetti and meatballs,” Calla admits with a weak smile.
“I hope you’ll like my French toast, too, because that’s what I’m about to make us for breakfast. Are you good at Trivial Pursuit?”
“That depends—which edition?” Not that it matters much. Sometimes, when she plays—rather, played—with Lisa and Kevin, she found that the answers would just come to her, even when she had no clue about the subject matter.
“Genus edition, of course,” Odelia says briskly. “Want to play after breakfast?”
Calla shrugs, unaccustomed to playing board games in the middle of a weekday—or eating breakfast at nearly noon. “Sure,” she says, “why not. But what about your schedule?”
“Unless I get another walk-in, I’m free for a couple of hours.”
“So you can’t even tell me why they were here?” she asks, curious about Mrs. Riggs and her daughter.
“Why who was here?”
“That woman, Elaine, and her daughter. From Ohio.”
Odelia is staring at her, looking surprised for some reason. Oh! She must think—
“They were the ones who were here last night,” Calla quickly explains. “That’s how I know they’re from Ohio. The mom told me. She told me her name, too.”
Just so you know I’m not some kind of . . . psychic.
Odelia is wearing an oddly thoughtful expression, watching Calla carefully. “Did her daughter tell you her name, too?”
“No. She didn’t say anything.”
Odelia nods. Still staring. Feeling uncomfortable, Calla changes the subject. “Um, I had to make a phone call to my friend in Tampa. I hope that’s okay. I’ll pay for the charges.”
“Hmm?”
“The long-distance charges. I would have asked, but you were busy with those people.”
“Right.” Odelia nods slowly. “The woman and her daughter. From Ohio.”
“Right.”
“Oh, don’t worry about the charges.” Odelia has finally snapped out of it. Whatever it was. “It was probably just a few cents. No big deal.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
Calla gets the feeling her grandmother wants to say something more, but she doesn’t.
SEVEN
A few rainy days later, in yet another lunchtime Trivial Pursuit tournament—now a tradition—Calla has four wedges of proverbial pie in her game piece. Odelia has five and is madly rolling the dice in an effort to gain the sixth.
“Roll again . . . four! History or roll again. I’ll roll again.”
There’s a knock at the door as she blows on the dice.
“Who is it?” she calls, shaking the dice in both hands, her gaze intent on the game board.
“It’s me, Odelia,” a voice calls through the screen door.
“Oh, Evangeline!” Odelia stops shaking, hands poised over the board. “I forgot all about you. Come on in!”
“Thanks a lot,” the voice retorts, and the screen door creaks open. “You tell me to come over as soon as I get back from camp, and then you forget about me?”
A moment later, a young girl with frizzy reddish hair appears in the living room.
Another client? Nah, Calla decides, taking in her rather plain, pudgy face and realizing they must be around the same age. Evangeline’s wearing a pair of baggy khaki shorts and an oversized orange Cleveland Browns T-shirt, and her sturdy, athletic-looking legs end in purple high-top sneakers worn without socks. Calla can’t tell if she’s truly heavy or just looks that way because of her clothes. Lisa the fashionista would love to do a makeover on someone like her.
“This is Evangeline Taggart, Calla. She’s our next-door neighbor.”
Though she’s still not sure about being in Lily Dale, Calla finds herself pleased when her grandmother says “our,” as though she’s genuinely part of the household.
“Evangeline’s been away at camp for a week,” Odelia says. “How was it?”
“Boring. As usual. But my brother liked it, so that was good. How do you like Lily Dale so far?” Evangeline asks Calla.
“It’s nice.” Not that she’s seen much of it. The weather has been lousy and her grandmother has had back-to-back appointments every morning, afternoon, and evening. She’s been encouraging Calla to venture out and explore on her own, but she hasn’t felt like it.
All right . . . maybe she’s still a little spooked.
Mostly, she’s been moping around, brooding about her mother and the school year that lies ahead, reading her way through Odelia’s stacks of novels or writing letters to Lisa. Real letters, not e-mail. Not that she has much to write about. Funny how it’s a lot easier to write an e-mail about nothing than a real letter about nothing. E-mail is less permanent, so what you’re saying doesn’t seem to matter as much. It’s all about the connection.
Never in her life has Calla felt so . . . disconnected.
“Game over.” Odelia sets the dice aside and checks her watch.
“Don’t quit on my account,” Evangeline says. “I don’t mind hanging out, watching.”
“I know, but that’s okay. We’re done. I’ve got a client coming in ten minutes.”
“Don’t you want to at least finish your turn?” Calla asks her grandmother.
“No, thanks. I was going to roll a three. That wouldn’t have helped me.”
“She’s hard to beat at Trivial Pursuit,” Evangeline comments, peering over the board. “But, wow, look at you! Four pieces of pie. You gave her a run for her money, didn’t you?”
“I know a lot of trivia,” Calla explains lamely.
She doesn’t miss the questioning glance Evangeline shoots at her grandmother, nor Odelia’s shrug in response.
Calla finds herself jealous of their bond, and disturbed by the unspoken communication between them. Evangeline was clearly wondering whether Calla, too, is psychic.
Odelia obviously isn’t sure. But why not? What would make her think Calla might be?
She doesn’t know about the apparition Calla saw in her mother’s room that first night, or about the premonitions she’s had in the past.
Maybe I should tell her, Calla thinks, not for the first time. Or maybe I should just forget about all of it, or I’ll start acting as crazy as Odelia.
She opts for the latter. At least for now.
“Evangeline, how about if you show Calla around this afternoon
?” Odelia suggests briskly. “The rain is letting up, finally.”
“Sure. Do you want to look around, Calla?”
There’s nothing to do but smile at Evangeline and say politely, “Sure.”
Well, it’s either that or announce that she has no interest in sightseeing in this spooky little town, which isn’t exactly the case, anyway. She’s curious about Lily Dale, she’ll admit that. Because her mom grew up here, and because . . . well, she can’t help but be intrigued by the idea of a town filled with psychic mediums.
For some reason, though, she hasn’t wanted to ask her grandmother much about it. Maybe because she’s afraid of what she’ll say. Or ask in return.
“So, what do you think about Lily Dale?” Evangeline asks as she and Calla stroll away from Odelia’s beneath a gloomy sky.
“I haven’t even seen it. We’ve been inside the house since I got here the other day.”
“Well, this is Melrose Park.” They’re crossing a grassy, tree-shaded green, heading away from the murky waters of the lake. There are people strolling here and there. Most of them seem to be women of all ages, usually in pairs or groups. Some are clutching pamphlets and stopping to consult them, as if they’re looking for something.
“I’ll show you where the Assembly office is first,” Evange-line decides.
“What’s the Assembly?”
“The Lily Dale Assembly. For spiritualism. Hang on a second, I’ve got to tie my shoe.” Evangeline stops and stoops over her purple sneaker.
Calla seizes the opportunity to look around at the quaint, close-set nineteenth-century gingerbread cottages. They’re architecturally similar to Odelia’s, some well kept, others rundown. Most have equally chaotic flower beds, and never in her life has she seen so many outdoor ornaments. Wind chimes, birdbaths and birdhouses, flags and banners, garden gnomes . . .
She’s about to comment about that to Evangeline when something else catches her eye.
Signs. They’re old-fashioned shingles, really, just like the one that hangs from Odelia’s porch. And they’re nearly as abundant as the wind chimes, which, in a sudden gust off the lake, are tinkling to life.
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