Discovering

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  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.”

&n
bsp; 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.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing about you,”she says, and together, they continue on to school on this beautiful morning after the storm.

  EIGHT

  Lily Dale

  Tuesday, October 9

  3:32 p.m.

  Evangeline had to stay after school for extra help in English, and Jacy had to run with the track team, so Calla walks home by herself beneath a gloriously blue, sunny sky. It must be eighty-five degrees out.

  Everyone at Lily Dale High was buzzing about the weather today, even the teachers. Last year at this time, the area was in the midst of its first snowfall.

  Calla—who has never seen snow and is looking forward to it—kept her disappointment to herself. She figures it will arrive soon enough, and when it does, it’s notorious for sticking around through late spring.

  “Calla! You’re back!”

  She looks up to see Paula Drumm waving from the front- porch steps of a gray two-story mansard- roofed cottage with scalloped shingles and green trim. A pair of crutches are propped beside her, and her right ankle— which she broke tripping over her sons’ toys—is outstretched and wrapped in a bandage.

  “Hi, Paula! Hi, boys!”she adds, spotting Dylan and Ethan poking little plastic shovels into the grass near the porch. Above their heads is a shingle that reads MARTIN DRUMM, CLAIRVOYANT. The yard, like so many others in the Dale, is crammed with fall- blooming flowers and lawn decorations ranging from garden gnomes to weathervanes.

  “Calla! Want to help us dig to China?”Dylan shouts, lifting his white-blond head.

  “China!”little Ethan echoes.

  She smiles. “Not today, guys. Some other time, though.”

  “I heard your dad came back with you,”Paula calls, shifting her heavyset frame to lean forward, “and he’s living in the Taggarts’ guest room.”

  Still unaccustomed to small- town living, Calla nods. “News travels fast around here.”

  “You know it.”

  Yes, she sure does.

  She wonders if the Lily Dale gossip mill is already speculating about a romance between Dad and Ramona. If they aren’t, they will be.

  “I heard something else, too.”Paula beckons her closer.

  Just like I thought. Calla sighs inwardly and crosses to the front steps, pausing on the way to hug the boys and inspect their hole to China.

  “Looks like you’ll be there pretty soon,”she solemnly tells them.

  Dylan nods. “Maybe not in time, though.”

  “In time for what?

  “In time to help.”

  Something in his expression sends a chill through Calla. She crouches beside him. “What are you going to help with, Dylan?”

  “I have to help all the people. They’re going to get hurt when all the buildings crash down.”

  Shuddering inwardly, Calla says, “You’re just pretending, right, Dylan? You’re just playing superhero again, right?”

  He hesitates. Then he nods. “Right!”

  “Right!”Ethan agrees, bobbing his blond curls emphatically. Calla stands, brushes the dirt off her legs, and goes over to Paula.

  “They’re so cute,”she says.

  “Yeah, they are. So, Calla, listen, a couple of detectives came to see Patsy Metcalf a little while ago.”

  Caught off guard, Calla manages to say only, “Um . . . really?”

  Already? is what she should have said.

  “I heard they were from Florida.”

  Lutz and Kearney. Wow. She’d known it was coming, but somehow, she had put it out of her mind.

  Calla feels like sinking onto the step beside Paula, but she doesn’t dare. She doesn’t trust herself not to spill the whole story—and in a town like this, that would be a big mistake.

  “I heard it had something to do with you,”Paula says, “and I wanted to make sure everything is okay.”

  She’s not being nosy—just concerned. And Calla can hardly blame her. After all, she’s Paula’s children’s babysitter. If Paula suspects she’s in some kind of trouble with the law, Calla can kiss her part- time income good- bye.

  “It’s kind of complicated,”she tells Paula, “but it’s about this woman who broke into my father’s house back in Tampa over the weekend.”

  “Really?”

  Paula seems to be waiting for her to elaborate.

  When she doesn’t, Paula asks, “What does Patsy have to do with it?”

  Calla weighs the truth and quickly decides to offer a version of it. “Someone in Patsy’s Saturday class had a vision involving the woman, and I mentioned that to the police. I guess they want to check it out.”

  “Oh, I see.”That seems to make perfect sense to Paula, who looks relieved. “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t anything serious.”

  Calla forces a smile. “Like me being wanted for bank robbery or something?”

  “Exactly.”Paula chuckles. “So, listen, now that we know you’re not a wanted felon, can you come babysit tomorrow after school? The boys have been asking for you.”

  Calla hesitates.

  The last time she was there, Dylan drew a picture of her scribbled over in blue crayon and calmly informed her she was under water. And a few weeks ago, he correctly foretold that a man with “a raccoon eye”was trying to hurt her.

  “Sure,”she tells Paula.

  After all, she can’t be afraid of a five-year- old. Even one who specializes in making dire predictions— involving Calla— between Candyland moves and story time.

  Calla arrives home to find her grandmother in the front yard.

  No surprise there.

  In Lily Dale, when the weather turns nice, people rush outside to enjoy it from their porches, yards, and gardens.

  Odelia—who frequently says her skin is fairer than a baby’s keister—is on her knees in a flowerbed, wearing a big, floppy Little House on the Prairie–style sunbonnet, enormous aviator sunglasses, and a patch of protective white zinc on her nose.

  “Calla! Is it three thirty already? How was school?”

  “Same as usual.”Calla dumps her heavy backpack on the steps, then sinks down beside it. She plops her chin in her hands and wonders whether to tell her grandmother
about the Florida investigators talking to Patsy.

  For all she knows, Odelia has already heard.

  If she hasn’t, she will soon enough. No need to bring it up now.

  “Same as usual,”Odelia echoes. “Sounds like that’s a bad thing?”

  “Actually, it isn’t.”On the contrary, it was comforting to go through a predictable school day after a weekend that was anything but.

  “Then why do you look so depressed?”

  “Because I stink at math, and I had it last period. Mr. Bombeck hates me.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he does. He wasn’t exactly loving when he handed back my test.”She sighs and leans both elbows back against the top step, legs outstretched to the bottom. “What are you doing, Gammy?”

  “Dividing my hostas. Want to help?”

  “Dividing?”She groans. “No more math today. Sorry.”

  Odelia laughs. “It can’t be that bad.”

  “I got a D.”

  “Minus?”

  “No. Just a D.”

  “Look on the bright side. That’s better than a D minus. Or an F.”Her grandmother hacks away at a stubborn root.

  “Somehow, I don’t think the college admissions boards are going to see it that way. My father won’t, either. I guess I’d better go tell him.”She hoists herself off the step, picks up her backpack, and starts to head inside.

  “Calla? If you’re going to go tell your father anything right now, you’re going to need a boat.”

  “Why? Where is he?”

  “Out on the lake.”She gestures vaguely at the patch of blue at the end of the road.

  “What?”

  “He’s fishing . . .”

  “He doesn’t fish!”

  “. . . with Ramona.”Odelia looks her squarely in the eye as if to ask, What do you think about that? “They took a picnic lunch and a lot of bait.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s nice.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”Her grandmother continues to watch her.

  “What, Gammy?”

  “Are you okay with . . .”She sweeps a dirty gardening glove–covered hand toward the Taggarts’ house, “all of this?”

  “You mean Dad sleeping in their guest room?”And the whole town buzzing about it?

  “That. And him maybe . . . starting to move on.”

  “Are you?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”