The Reason

by Marley Gibson

  This is not the Taylor I know. Then again, her life was drastically altered yesterday.

  We help Mom clean the dirty dinner dishes and then retire to my room with a bowl of freshly popped Orville, gigamonic Diet Cokes, and the red envelopes full of movies. I slip in Moulin Rouge—a favorite I can never get enough of—and settle into the pillows propped at the foot of my bed.

  Taylor, however, changes into a fresh pair of jeans from her suitcase and pulls a brush through her long hair.

  "What are you doing?" I ask.

  "I have to get out," she says in a huffed breath.

  I sit up. "Is it something I did? Something I said?"

  "No, Kendall! You're amazing. It's not you. Anything but. I just ... I need to—"

  Just then, a small rock pings on my window. WTF? I bound out of bed to see what the deal is. When I look down, there stands Ryan MacKenzie in his letter jacket, waving for me to open up.

  "Is Taylor ready?" he asks in a loud whisper.

  "Are you kidding me?"

  She brushes past me. "Don't hate me, Kendall." She gives me a European goodbye, one kiss on each cheek like we've just met at a café in Paris for a latte. "Whatever you do, don't tell Jase, okay?"

  "Ummm..."

  "Promise!" Then she climbs out the window onto the awning and shimmies over to the post that holds the front porch. Has she been practicing to be on Survivor or something with moves like that?

  "How will you get back in?" I call down as quietly as I can.

  "Leave the door unlocked. I'll be in before dawn."

  And then she and Ryan are off into the darkness. Son of a bitch. What the hell am I supposed to do? Make a fake Taylor to stuff into my bed in case Mom comes in to check on us? My friend has made me an accomplice, whether she realizes it or not.

  I say a quick prayer requesting protection for Taylor, that Mom doesn't come a-knocking, and forgiveness if I have to lie to her or Jason. Mostly, I pray that we can all just get through this. That Mrs. Tillson comes out of her coma. That Mr. Tillson can bring his family back together when he finally gets picked up from the frickin' wilderness tundra of Alaska.

  And most of all, I pray that I can avoid the Tillson drama and not be drawn into the middle.

  That's a lose-lose situation.

  Chapter Seven

  THANKFULLY, TAYLOR IS SOUND ASLEEP next to me when I rise Saturday morning. I don't want to know where she's been or what time she slipped through the back door to return to my bedroom undetected. No questions asked when she wakes up, yawns, and stretches next to me and my cats Eleanor and Buckley. The kitties could care less that there's an extra person in bed with us as long as they still have room to spread out.

  Taylor scratches Eleanor behind her tabby ear and asks, "Did you tell Jase anything?"

  I shake my head into my pillow. "We talked briefly last night and texted a little. I told him we were watching movies and having a girls' night. That seemed to appease him."

  Taylor closes her eyes and sighs. "Thanks, Kendall."

  "What are friends for?"

  We dress, grab a quick snack that Mom left for us, and then head over to Radisson Memorial Hospital.

  "Any change?" Taylor asks when we approach the nurses' station.

  A tall, slender black woman turns and smiles at us. Her nametag reads Lucinda. "You must be the Tillson girl. Your mama was asking for you a little while ago."

  "She's awake?" Taylor exclaims and grabs for my hand. Tears immediately squeeze from the corners of her eyes as her grin spreads across her face. "Oh my God, Kendall! She's awake!"

  I grip her hand tightly in support of the good news.

  "Well, she was awake earlier," Lucinda explains. "She's gone back to sleep, though."

  Taylor slumps next to me, all of the joy momentarily spent. "Oh."

  "No, sweetie," the nurse says. "Don't fret. Her vitals are looking good and her heartbeat is strong. The doctor checked on her a little while ago and was pleased with her progress."

  "Thank God," I say. "Can we see her?"

  Lucinda nods and points us toward Mrs. Tillson's room.

  We enter the darkened room as silently as we can and Taylor takes a seat in the middle of her bed. She reaches for her hand and weaves her fingers through the still ones of her mother.

  "Oh, Mama." Taylor speaks in a whisper. "Why did you do it?" When her mother doesn't move or respond, my friend lifts her eyes to me. "Can you tell me? Do you know?"

  I reach over and take Mrs. Tillson's hand and concentrate. I breathe through the sliver of knowledge being shown to me. Rachel Tillson got a phone call from her Delta Air Lines pilot boyfriend. He wanted to make a clean break with her because he had decided to reconcile with his wife for the sake of their four kids. Mrs. Tillson felt used and unattractive, seeing as how she'd lost two men, and she didn't think she had anything to live for anymore.

  As the vision clears, my resentment amplifies. Didn't have anything to live for? Are you kidding me? How about two "things" named Jason and Taylor? I bite down my anger toward their mother, trying only to be a reassurance to my friends. But come on! Damn ... sometimes being psychic and knowing things that others don't know is a real frickin' burden, 'cause you can't just blurt out the truth. That saying about sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you is total bullshit. Words are forever ... and they sting. I will not hurt my friend or kick her when she's down.

  Instead of sharing the info, I look at Taylor and say, "It's not really clear to me. I'm sure your mom will tell you everything when she's doing better. The important thing is to be here for her. Let her know you're around and that you love her."

  "I do love her. So much," Taylor says.

  There's movement at the door. It's Jason. His hair is mussed and he doesn't look like he's slept much. His RHS sweatshirt is inside out, and his face seems long and sad. He steps into the room, joins Taylor at their mother's bed, and takes his sister's free hand.

  His beautiful blue eyes lock on mine. I smile, trying to let my love for him shine out. He winks back.

  "Talk to her, Jason," I say softly.

  "She's asleep," he says.

  "She'll wake up again. She needs to know that both of you are here."

  He turns back to his mother. "I love you, Mom. Don't leave us. Whatever's wrong, we can work through it. We always do."

  Rachel Tillson's eyelids flutter open and her soft blue eyes focus on her two children in the room with her. I watch as she swallows hard and weakly licks her lips. "J-J-Jason. Tay-baby."

  "Mommy," Taylor says in a childish squeak.

  Jason moves to the head of his mom's bed and runs his fingers through her hair.

  With that, I quietly sneak out of the room, leaving the siblings with their mom. Whatever happens, they'll make it ... together.

  "Is it okay to admit that I'm happy not to be investigating the mayor's house tonight, crawling around God knows where trying to capture EVPs or get infrared pictures?" Celia says to me over the roar of the crowd.

  "I'll second that," Becca says and then crams a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

  "It's good to be out of Radisson for a little bit," Taylor chimes in.

  The four of us drove in my car from Radisson to Felcher's Point, where RHS is taking on the Felcher Falcons in round-ball—a term Jason and his buddies use for basketball. He and Ryan are both on the team, so we're riveted to the action.

  I have to agree with Celia, quite frankly. It's been a hell of a week and I'm mentally exhausted. My heart's not into ghost hunting at the moment, although I do still want to find out what's going on inside the mayor's mansion. Right now, some mindless spectator sporting is what does the body good. Plus, any opportunity to gawk at Jason Tillson in his basketball uniform is time well spent.

  "Good shot, Ryan!" Taylor shouts, backing it up with a hearty clap.

  The cheerleaders, led by my former nemesis turned polite acquaintance Courtney Langdon, move from the front row of the bleachers o
ut to the middle of the court to do a pyramid during the time-out. I glance over at Jason kneeling on one knee and swabbing his drenched face with a white towel. The weight of the world is on his young shoulders, yet he's playing like a champion. He's already got twelve points, and RHS is up by three.

  When the action resumes, Ryan MacKenzie is fouled by the Falcons with only a few seconds left in the game. Stephanie Crawford, a friend of mine on the squad, begins to cheer, and we all join in.

  "Up in the air, round the rim, come on, Ryan, put it in! Sink it! Sink it! Come on, Ryan, sink it!"

  He nails the first shot, nearly stripping the net. All of us RHS faithful who traveled to the game are on our feet. When Ryan misses the second shot and it bounces off the rim, Jason snags the rebound and slams the ball home. Why am I not surprised? Not because I know what an awesome player he is—which he is—but because a minute before it happened, I had a bit of a déjà vu moment where I saw Jason move in for the slam-dunk kill. It's the first time I've ever really had a connection to something Jason based, and my soul tingles in delight knowing we've bonded on such a cosmic level. Of course, Jason would merely roll his eyes at me if I told him. So, instead, I join the rest of the RHSers in flooding the Falcons' floor to congratulate our team.

  When Jason sees me, he picks me up in his strong grip and holds me close to his sweaty body. He's got that boy ick smell to him, but I don't care. There's more to this embrace than the simple victory of a high school basketball team. Jason's thanking me for this morning as well. Words don't have to be exchanged ... I just know.

  "We're all headed back to Radisson after we change," he tells me. "After the team bus drops us off, I'll get my Jeep. Then meet up with us at Finnian's Restaurant, okay?" He leans in for a quick kiss that tastes salty.

  "Sure thing," I manage to say in my swoony state. I find my posse and ask if they're ready to go.

  "I'm gonna ride with Dragon," Becca says. Dragon's actually Brent Dragisich, her boyfriend, who decided to show up at the game even though he'd told her earlier that it was "lame."

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, no prob. Where are y'all meeting up?" she asks.

  "Finnian's."

  "See ya there."

  I turn to Celia. "Where's Taylor?"

  Celia points to an older couple. "She's with Ryan's parents, over there. He's not taking the bus back to Radisson, so she's gonna ride with them."

  I crinkle my smile. "Looks like it's just you and me, kid."

  Celia laughs and we head back out to my car.

  Fifteen minutes later, we're returning to Radisson on the winding back roads. "Why didn't we follow the team bus and take the interstate?"

  Celia looks at her cell phone. "The GPS said this way was quicker."

  I roll my eyes at her and keep driving. Such a techno geek. If it lights up, beeps, or connects to the Internet, Celia Nichols must have it in her possession. And I'm not convinced that the GPS is all that it's cracked up to be. Why in the world would it take us on County Road 215 when just twenty miles down the road there's a perfectly good interstate highway that President Eisenhower took a lot of trouble to have built for us.

  Whatev. "Crank up that Kaskade CD. I just got the new one and it's totally awesome."

  Celia inserts the disk into my player and we jam out as I concentrate on the dimly lit road with the thick yellow lines.

  "So, did I tell you about this new piece of equipment I've ordered?" Celia asks. "It's called the Ovilus and we can use it in our investigations."

  "A what?"

  "Ovilus. It's made by this guy who's a former engineer. It's got an array of sensors that detect various environmental conditions. It adds all of the data together and equates that value with a word from the dictionary."

  "Whoa, Geek Girl. That's way over my head," I say with a laugh. "In English, please?"

  Celia snickers. "It has a dictionary that will speak out, and supposedly it's spirits coming through. I had Loreen order one because the guy doesn't like to sell to underage people. She's going to learn how to use it and bring it on our next investigation."

  "Okay, that sounds cool. Just another tool in our ghost-hunting kit. Just like me," I say. Celia's always referring to me as a tool in her ghost-hunting kit.

  "Absomalutely," she says. "He's got a website called Digital-Dowsing.com—he's looking to make you and your pendulum obsolete."

  "Never," I say firmly.

  "You should check out his website. He's got this other thing called the paranormal puck that—oh my God, Kendall! Watch out!"

  Celia's bloodcurdling scream scares the holy shit out of me and I blink hard to focus on the road ahead. Out of nowhere, a deer has suddenly appeared in the middle of the winding road, its eyes shining with the reflection of my headlights. I jerk the wheel to the left and concentrate on keeping the Fit on the road and not in the nearby ditch as I try to avoid slamming into Bambi's mom and making her a permanent fixture on my hood.

  Celia's got the sissy bar firmly in her grip, and both of our seat belts lock up, pulling us snugly back into the bucket seats. I apply the brakes firmly, just like my driver's ed teacher taught me, and try not to panic as I bring the car to a stop. The road is deserted save for us and the near-roadkill. The deer eyeballs me with something resembling street attitude in her face and then scampers across the road to safety.

  My breathing is staggered and I find it hard to steady it. Tears sting at the back of my eyes, but I won't let them fall. I did everything I was supposed to do. I kept the car under control and no one was hurt. I've seen pictures of what deer can do to automobiles. We just dodged a huge venison-filled bullet.

  "Jesus, Kendall. That was close. Good driving," Celia exclaims. She peels her hand off the sissy bar and takes a deep breath.

  Before I can get my own breathing back to normal, I'm struck blind by a vision. White light flashes in my face like a thousand headlights. Screeches and screams fill my ears. "Jason! No!"

  "Kendall, what's wrong?" Celia shouts, trying to snap me back.

  I throw her arm off me. "I see it, clear as day. Oh God! Not Jason."

  Celia nearly begs. "Stop, Kendall! It's okay."

  It's not okay! "Jason's at the wheel of his Jeep. Something's wrong. Something's happened to him. I can't see it clearly, but I know I have to get to him."

  "Whoa, girlfriend." Celia reaches out to me again. "It's just a vision, Kendall. It'll be okay. Shake it off. We had a close call with the deer and nothing else. We both had on our seat belts and you're a damn good driver, so all is well."

  I blink hard, regaining my sight after the vision. Emily materializes in the back seat with a look on her face that I can only describe as relieved. I feel almost like her hands had been on the wheel with mine, helping me steer away from trouble.

  I thank her silently in my mind. She smiles and fades away.

  "All right. Let's get going," I say, feeling as composed as I'm going to be.

  "The GPS says we're twelve miles from Radisson."

  "Oh, the hell with your GPS," I say. "I'm following the road signs."

  We enter the city limits fifteen minutes later and pull into the parking lot of Finnian's Restaurant. Instead of a celebratory gathering of RHSers, there seems to be some sort of ruckus, and Jason Tillson's Jeep is the center of everything.

  Holy shit ... did my vision come true?

  I slam the parking brake on and jump out of the car, barely getting the key out of the ignition. Jason's standing outside of the Jeep, doubled over, huffing and puffing and gasping for breath.

  "Jason!"

  "Kendall! Thank God you're okay!"

  Kyle Kadish calls out, "Dude, good thing you're okay. That could have been gnarly!"

  I rush to Jason's side and we hug like nobody's business. "I saw something bad happening to you," I say quickly. "Tell me nothing's wrong."

  Jason looks me squarely in the eye, shock covering his handsome face. "No effing way. I almost got plowed by an eighteen-wheeler just n
ow turning into the parking lot. The guy totally ran the red light and almost slammed the Jeep."

  I'm on the verge of tears. This is too much for a seventeen-year-old to take. "I'm so glad you're okay."

  "It wasn't all the trucker's fault," Sean Carmickle chimes in. "Tillson, I was riding with you. Your mind was three counties away. What the hell?"

  On my tiptoes, I glance up at my boyfriend. "Jason?"

  "I couldn't help it, K. I was distracted because something told me that you were in danger. I don't know who it was or where it came from. It was enough to jar my attention away from driving and I almost didn't see that damn truck."

  "Good thing Kadish screamed like a twelve-year-old girl," Sean says with a snicker.

  Kyle reaches over and pops Sean on the shoulder, kiddingly, but I see nothing funny about any of this.

  "Celia and I almost hit a deer," I admit. "Like, it could have been bad."

  "Kendall..." Jason's face reads pure fright. I'm sure mine mirrors his. "What does this mean?"

  I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I suspect that there's a cosmic connection between Jason and me that's deeper than either of us realize.

  I don't have a clue what to do about it, so I just close my eyes and hold on tightly to him for as long as I can.

  Celia doesn't miss a heart beat. "That's some deep shit."

  "You said a mouthful, my friend."

  Chapter Eight

  THE MASS ENDS A LITTLE EARLY SUNDAY MORNING, so I hang behind in the church while Father Massimo talks to the exiting parishioners. His sermon was about total faith in God and not living in fear of the unknown. Geesh—was he preaching directly to me?

  "Hey, Kendall. How's everything going with the ghost hunting?" Father Massimo asks as he reenters the sanctuary. He's tall with jet-black hair and dark eyes to match. I can see why Loreen might be falling for him—he's cute, in an older guy sort of way. I mean, he's like in his midthirties!

  "Hey there, Father." Trying to keep it light, I ask, "How was your hot date with Loreen?"