Opening my eyes, I look at Miss Evelyn. "This woman on the porch. She's related to you?"
"Possibly," she says.
"I'm hearing the name Larry. No ... Harry. No ... Airy?" I shake my head, tossing my hair about with frustration. "Why can't I get this?"
"There's a p sound that I'm getting," Loreen chimes in.
I nod my head. "P-P-P..."
"Could it be Parry?" Evelyn asks.
"Yes! That's it. Not Larry or Harry. Parry. Is that a name in your family?"
Evelyn's smile brightens. "It is indeed. My great-great-grandmother. She was—"
My hand lifts to stop her. "Please. Don't tell me anything. Let me see what I can get." I concentrate again, squeezing the keys even tighter in my fist. "I'm getting an A name and I'm getting"—I listen for it, waiting for the sound to come to me—"Ada? The name is Ada," I say with much confidence.
"Amazing," Evelyn shouts out. "How did you know that?"
It's sort of hard to explain. I could see Adam Bostwick from my calculus class up at the chalkboard. He'd written "No m" over and over and over again for me to see—which leaves Ada. Not that Adam ever did that in class, just in my vision. I can't really tell Evelyn how I came to learn the names. "I just knew" seems the easiest explanation.
Following several more minutes of deep breathing and concentrating, I see this Ada Parry standing on the front porch, speaking to many people. "Ada was important in Radisson. A lot of folks really liked her and thought she was smart and pretty and the kindest person ever. Took good care of her sick father ... and her little ... sister?"
"All true," Miss Evelyn says.
Then the vision morphs. "I see she's very sad, though, while she's talking to a Union soldier. He's powerful, 'cause he's got a lot of bling on his shoulders."
Loreen snickers. "They didn't call it bling back then."
I scrunch up my nose. "I don't really know rank and stuff, but he's got to be one of the guys in charge. He's not General Sherman, is he?" I ask Loreen.
"I can't see what you're seeing, sweetie," Loreen tells me.
Evelyn points a finger in front of her. "Ada was around when General Sherman and his troops were here. She and several of the ladies in town did all they could not to fight the Yankees; actually, they rolled out the red carpet and welcomed them like the fine Southern women they were, hoping Sherman wouldn't burn Radisson as he had other towns," she explains.
Celia had told me a similar tale. In fact, the mansion that she and her family live in was the mayor's house back during the Civil War. And it was a woman who kept Sherman from burning it to the ground. Girl power, baby! Even back then.
"I think this guy is a major or something. At least, that's the impression I'm getting. He's dressed in Union blue and he's got that little cap on."
It's at this moment that the keys literally heat up in my hand. At first, I think it's just my palms sweating over the on-the-spot reading. But no. It's not just a warm sensation. The keys suddenly seem fiery against my skin, scorching so much that I have to let them drop to the floor. That's when I see the face of the Union soldier, and the look in his eyes nails me to the seat.
"Kendall?" Loreen prods. "Are you all right?"
I turn to her, sure that my face is ashen. "I swear, he looks familiar to me."
"Have you seen him somewhere in your investigations?"
I bend down to retrieve the keys, which are a normal temperature now. He could be one of the soldier apparitions I saw in the Radisson cemetery a couple of months ago. Heaven knows, they all sort of look alike to me with their scraggly beards and war-worn faces. There's just something so, so ... sinister about him. Talk about the heebie-jeebies.
My right eye begins to twitch, and my stomach hurts like I ate dinner too late and then went straight to bed. The nausea rolls around, making me dizzy, when I begin to hear the sinister laugh that I heard last night at the Lockhart house. Is that same ghost appearing in my current vision just to mess with me, or was he actually around during the Civil War?
"Kendall, you've gone pale," Evelyn says. "Maybe you should stop."
"I guess I kind of overdid it or something," I say weakly. I don't want to scare Evelyn if it's only a spirit mucking around with me. But it did seem like this soldier was in that time period.
Loreen hands me a bottle of water. "Very good, Kendall. You'll get better and better with more practice."
I give Evelyn her keys back. "Thanks," I say to both of them. "I'm sorry I couldn't get more."
"No, that was very impressive," Evelyn says. "You got my great-great-grandmother's name, Ada Parry, you described her house—which is my house—and you knew she was involved with Sherman and his troops. Very impressive indeed, young lady."
Gulping the liquid into my parched throat, I smile and again say, "Thanks."
Miss Evelyn returns the keys to her bag and stands up. "Well, I should get going. Loreen, it was a pleasure, as always. Thanks for the advice."
"I'll be praying for you, your mom, and your sister," Loreen says.
Nodding, Evelyn turns back to me. "And Kendall, if you want to visit my house, I have a lot of memorabilia from Great-great-grandmother Ada. You're welcome over any time."
This may be just the research I need to nail down who this laughing soldier spirit is.
"That's totally awesome," I say exuberantly. "I mean, thanks."
She smiles at me, a brilliant white smile. "That's okay. I have a teenage daughter. I'm used to the lingo."
I listen for the tinkle of the front-door bell to let me know that Loreen and I are alone, and then I sprawl out on the chair. "God, that was exhausting. And I barely got any information!"
I feel Loreen tug on my hair. "You're still learning, Kendall. I'm so glad to see that you're testing new things and trying to help people with your skills."
Suddenly, the rush of anxiety over the Courtney situation floods back. My apprehension picks up, as does the crazy rhythm of my overanxious heart. I'm short of breath, and I can't stop replaying the ridiculous scenes with her over and over, like it's some sort of sick DVR recording that won't delete from the queue. Her words are like pinpricks, each one taking a nip at my psyche, at my soul. It's like being pecked to death by baby ducks. Evil, devilish, bitchy baby ducks.
Loreen reaches for her ceramic teacup and then takes a seat on the couch. She folds her jeaned legs up underneath her and looks at me worriedly. "Tell me what this Courtney person has done to you," she says.
I love that I don't have to bore her with a lot of the backstory of my high school drama. She simply knows it.
I give Loreen the 411 on what happened in the caf today and also how Courtney and I got matched up to work together in physiology in some kind of weird after-school non-High School Musical way.
"I'm telling you, Loreen. The things she has said to me. No one has ever talked to me like that in my life." I scratch at my eyelid, feeling the sting of a fresh tear that wants to escape. I won't let it though. "She's accused me of all sorts of terrible things, like being a fake and a liar. I'm not either. She said I stole Jason from her, but they were already broken up!"
"What does your intuition tell you?"
"Are you kidding me? That she's an effing bitch."
Loreen snickers. "Besides that."
Sitting up, I wave my arms about. "That she thinks I'm a ... a...freak. That I need medical attention. That I need medication."
Loreen shifts on the couch to make room for me. I slog over to her and collapse on the cushions, resting my head on a crocheted pillow. "This is more than merely some snotty-ass cheerleader at school with an eating disorder. This has to do with your mom too. Am I right?"
"You didn't have to be psychic to figure that out," I say with a harrumph.
There's a twinkle in Loreen's hazel eyes. "Two years of child psychology in college helped."
"It's just that Mom's still convinced that I have a chemical imbalance or a medical condition. She thinks I need medication as well, s
o to hear some shithead—sorry!—like Courtney say the same thing, it kicks my feet out from under me."
Loreen puts her tea down and takes my hand. "You know your mom has seen a lot of cases of people suffering in her career, especially when you lived in Chicago. Didn't you tell me she was an ER and ICU nurse before working in a doctor's office? Besides, you're part of her. She doesn't want her baby to turn out like those unfortunate people she wasn't able to do anything for. I can see it, Kendall. They were lost, confused, no friends or family. Sarah's only trying to protect you because she loves you so much."
In reality, I know this is the case. In actuality, I still have to go through the motions of making my mom happy by going to the doctor. I promised I would when she allowed me to begin ghost hunting. "I've put it off as long as I could."
"I know."
"Can you go with me?"
Loreen shakes her head.
"Yeah, that was a stupid question."
"I'll be with you in spirit though. And I'll send Reiki energy your way."
"What if..." I play with the zipper on my hoodie, running it up and down on the track. Then I glance at Loreen. "What if this battery of psychological tests shows that I'm a big schizo and I need considerable amounts of medication? They're going to poke and prod me and I won't be—"
"Okay. Enough of that. You're working yourself into a froth for no reason, Kendall." She shifts in the seat and stares off at a faraway place for a moment. Then she turns back to me. "You know, I underwent the same thing ... when I was younger. I was twelve years old, and my parents were scared shitless over my awakening, reacting in a crueler manner than Sarah is reacting to you."
"How so?"
"Well, they didn't believe that my headaches were from visions or that I was hearing things that they couldn't. They told me to stop pretending at first, but after a while, when I continued to tell them about the people and pets parading through our house wanting my help, my stepmother and Daddy were convinced I had a tumor. You know, that it was pushing against my brain and making me have these hallucinations."
Hand to my mouth, I say, "Oh, Loreen, that's so terrible!"
I can see into her mind, how she's living this over again. "I had blood tests and X-rays and you name it. They even had me so doped up on meds, I could barely function. I was hardly able to get out of bed, get dressed, and go to school."
That's just wrong on so many levels. "That's no way for a little kid to live."
"Certainly not. Or even an adult."
"What happened?" I ask anxiously.
"I refused medication and then eventually started keeping my visions and sightings to myself. I played the perfect teenager for them because I knew they didn't want to hear it." Loreen closes her eyes for a moment, and I hear a little catch in her throat when she begins to speak again. "I kept my true self hidden until I turned eighteen and left home. They never accepted me as I was ... as I am."
I reach over and hug Loreen tightly, letting a few tears slip out.
"Did you ever see them again?" I can't imagine leaving home and not going back.
"About ten years ago, I wrote them a letter, filling them in on my college studies and travels. I worked my ass off to pay for school, and I wanted them to see how I'd succeeded."
"You have."
She agrees. "One day, my daddy walked into the store and hugged me like I was still his normal little girl. We cried our eyes out and I could see he was genuinely remorseful for not supporting me more. It was probably my stepmother's influence over him. He was sorry that he didn't stand up for me when I got picked on by kids at school." She sets me away from her. "So you see, the world is full of Courtneys. They don't matter. Your family, that's what matters. And your mother loves you so much, Kendall. Humor her by going through the tests. You'll just prove yourself in the end, which I wasn't able to do."
"I'll do it, Loreen," I say with a sniff. "For you, for me, and for people like us ... everywhere."
Chapter Four
This day has sucked ass.
It's Wednesday afternoon, and I'm sitting on the bumper of Jason's Jeep, waiting for him to finish playing basketball.
I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry.
I look down at the front of my light blue Billabong T-shirt that's stained and still a bit wet and sticky with the Mott's pomegranate-flavored applesauce that Courtney "accidentally" spilled on me in the caf. Sure, pomegranate is a great source of antioxidants (I pay attention to advertising); however, it's going to take a whole bottle of detergent to get the color out of my shirt.
It didn't help that Courtney said, "It looks like you've been slimed by one of your little ghosty friends, which you should be used to since you enjoy crawling around cemeteries on your hands and knees like the freak of nature you are, looking for dead things to talk to. As if!"
I had no comeback in the caf because I was too dumbstruck by the fact that I had purple applesauce cascading betwixt my boobage. Of course, her minions cackled, pointing at me and high-fiving Courtney for making me look the fool. Too bad Becca was home from school today with cramps. Otherwise, I'd have had her kick a little cheerleading badonkadonk for me.
"Hey, you been waiting long?" Jason shouts out. His sneakers squeak on the pavement as he comes to a stop in front of me, arms spread for a hug. His usually short blond hair has grown out these last months into something resembling an Ashton Kutcher shag. It's all plastered down on one side, obviously from running his hands through his hair. He flashes those amazing, hypnotic blue eyes my way and beckons me forward with a sexy little wiggle of his eyebrows.
"Not that long."
I should push him away 'cause he's covered in boy sweat, but I needs me a little Jason time, which I have been greatly lacking of late. I nuzzle a bit on his T-shirted chest, taking in the odor of Right Guard and salt mixed together. I try to stuff down the tears that threaten to fall. You shouldn't cry in front of your boyfriend, especially when he technically remains a new boyfriend. We're still in that stage where he hasn't seen me without my makeup—although I only wear a little bit, on my eyes—nor has he heard me burp (or worse!), and we both get those crazy roller-coaster climbs and dives whenever we're with each other. At least, he told me he does. What can I say? I'm waaaaaaay smitten.
He lifts my head with a finger on my chin. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just a long, ridonkulous day."
His blue eyes crinkle with laughter. "Huh?"
"It means being ridiculous to an exceedingly preposterous degree. Like today."
"Good word. I'll have to use that."
Jason steps away, unlocks his Jeep, and then tosses his gym bag and books into the back seat. "Sorry I missed lunch today. I heard from Roachie that it was quite a show."
Roachie would be Jim Roach, one of Jason's best buds. I spread my hands out in Vanna White fashion to show off Courtney's handiwork. "This is nothing compared to what she did in physiology class."
Jason raises an eyebrow. "Do I even want to hear this?"
"Oh yeah," I say, almost with a laugh. "We got our fetal pigs and were supposed to come up with a game plan for the dissection and everything, right? Well, Courtney takes the poor pickled little thing and holds it like it's a puppet or something and says, 'Nooooo, I don't want no crazy beeyotch touching me!' Can you believe that?"
"Did you pop her one?"
This time I do laugh. "I wish. Fortunately, Ms. Pritchard saw what she was doing and gave her the stink eye. After that, we worked on the to-do list the teacher gave us. Do you know how hard it is to sit with someone you're supposed to be teamed up with if she won't even carry on a decent, normal convo with you?"
"I'm sorry, Kendall." Jason hugs me again, crushing me to him with his protectiveness. "I'm sorry I can't do anything other than stand up for you."
Jason's definitely the shielding type. Alpha male, all the way. He does this for his sister, Taylor, because their dad left them and moved away to Alaska to be a park ranger.
I can see why Jason wants to take care of Taylor so much; their mom is sort of reliving her twenties, and it's left Jason as the unofficial head of the household. A lot to ask of a seventeen-year-old guy who just wants to play basketball, run track, and hang with his girlfriend. I admire the hell out of him for all he's doing to keep his family knit together.
"You don't need to fight my battles for me," I say. "Even though Courtney is your ex and I'm sure most of her hatred stems from the fact that we're together." The tears well in my eyes again, blurring the image of Jason before me. God, when did I become such a weak female? I lean against the driver's side of the Jeep, not wanting anyone to see me. I'd be totally ripped if Courtney or any of her flock witnessed me close to tears. I don't ever want that little bitch to know she's gotten to me.
"Hey, y'all." I hear a familiar voice from behind us.
Jason moves in front of me, then relaxes and waves. "Yo, Nichols, Price."
Celia Nichols bounds up with Clay Price in tow. He's a cutie pie in his own right, and he and Celia make the most adorable couple. They're both nerdy and geeky in a completely endearing way.
"What's up?" Clay asks.
"Oh, you know," I say, steadying my voice. Sure, Celia's my best friend, but I know she'd read me the riot act for getting upset over Courtney. "I've barely seen you today, Celia. How ya doin'?"
"I'm hangin' in like a hair in a biscuit," she says, her grin stretching from ear to ear.
I can't help but screw up my face. "A what? Eww..."
Clay hugs her to him and ruffles her bobbed black hair.
Jason squints into the glaring sun. "What are y'all so happy about?"
"I just saw Principal Trumbell talking to Courtney in the office," Celia reports. "He had a finger in her face. I think he was giving her what for about the applesauce incident."
The Guidance Page 4