Believing

by Wendy Corsi Staub

  “No,” her father says evenly, “I don’t.”

  “He . . . helps people.”

  “By doing what?”

  “I don’t know.” That’s sort of the truth. “I mean, I’ve never seen him do it.”

  Her father looks around, rubbing his chin.

  Then he says, slowly, “Is it just me, or are an awful lot of people around here . . .”

  “New Age freaks?” she can’t help but say when he trails off. She’s feeling prickly—and defensive—so she clamps her mouth shut before she really shoves her foot in and ruins everything.

  “You said it, not me,” he tells her with a shrug, then admits, “this time, anyway.” He smiles faintly to show her he didn’t mean anything by it.

  Deciding to forgive him, Calla says, “Yeah, there are a few mediums around here.” Okay, dozens, but who’s counting?

  “That’s interesting.”

  He really does seem intrigued. So much so that Calla suddenly decides to take the opposite tack, thinking maybe it’s better to enlighten than obscure the facts.

  “Well, over a hundred years ago, Lily Dale was actually the birthplace of the spiritualist religion, you know, so . . .”

  “So these mediums have been hanging around here for, what, a hundred years?” he asks with a grin.

  She can’t help but smile back. “I guess so.”

  “What do they do? Have seances and read crystal balls?”

  Calla can’t help but notice that he sounds pretty ignorant . . . and exactly like she did on her first day here.

  Again, she realizes how far she’s come in such a short time. How Lily Dale’s extraordinariness now feels incredibly ordinary.

  To her father, aloud, she says only, “I haven’t had readings with any of them, so I don’t really know what they do.”

  Which is the truth.

  And he seems satisfied, because he changes the subject to what kind of fish are found in Cassadaga Lake.

  “I don’t know how long it’s been since I last went to a movie,” Odelia comments from the front seat beside Calla’s father as he drives along Cottage Row late Saturday night. “That was so good. Thanks for asking me to join you two, Jeff.”

  “You’re welcome. And maybe next time, I won’t have to practically drag you along.”

  “Well, you know, it’s past my bedtime.”

  Yeah, right. In the backseat, Calla smiles. She knows why her grandmother was so resistant to the invitation—she wanted Calla and her father to spend time alone together.

  But that’s the last thing Calla wanted tonight. By the end of the day spent walking around Lily Dale, eating lunch and doing some shopping together down in Dunkirk, she had run out of things to say to her father. He did think to ask if she needed any clothes when they passed a T.J. Maxx store, and she admitted she could use a couple of sweaters and a warm coat.

  But shopping with her father isn’t the same as shopping with her mother. Mom used to come into the dressing room with her and check out everything she tried on. Dad milled around looking bored while trying to be patient.

  In the end, Calla chose only one sweater and an inexpensive down coat, feeling guilty about making him spend any money on her though he kept asking if she was sure that was all she needed. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him she desperately needs more clothes and a haircut. Not that she thinks he’s so broke he can’t afford a haircut, but she dreads the thought of dragging him to a salon on the heels of shopping.

  She still isn’t used to being a twosome with him. It’s not that it’s awkward, necessarily. More just . . . depressing. And a little tense, at times.

  Maybe Dad feels the same way, because he was pretty insistent about bringing Odelia along tonight.

  First they saw a hilarious movie, then they went to dinner at Rocco’s, a cozy, crowded Italian restaurant in nearby Fredonia. The conversation flowed easily over calamari and fettucine. Odelia had them laughing as she told stories of her daily adventures—somehow managing to leave out any hint of what she does for a living. She was great company, as always.

  There’s another reason Calla wanted Gammy with them tonight: so Dad would see how comfortable she is with her grandmother. Plus, she figured she’d have an ally this time if they got into another debate.

  Not that the subject of her returning to California with him has come up at all since this morning. Still, it’s there, still simmering just under the surface, waiting to be resolved.

  “Oh, look, there are the Taggarts,” Odelia comments as Jeff pulls up in front of her cottage.

  Calla sees the flickering glow of a lit candle from the porch next door.

  Like most people around here, Calla’s noticed, Evangeline’s family likes to be outdoors whenever possible. At night, in the rain, whatever. Maybe it’s because the weather in Lily Dale is so harsh for much of the year, summer and early fall are the only times they can take advantage of fresh air.

  In Florida, it’s the polar opposite—that’s the time of year when people spend more time indoors, thanks to harsh weather in the form of heat, humidity, and ominous thunderstorms, not to mention hurricane season.

  “Dad, you have to come meet Evangeline,” Calla tells him, thinking that might make him more willing to see the advantages of her staying in Lily Dale. Here, at least, she has a friend.

  She expects an argument from him—he just mentioned how tired he is despite the time change from California, and that he’s looking forward to crawling into bed back at the White Inn.

  But he says, “All right,” and promptly turns off the car engine, and Calla has another illogical flash about him and Ramona. Which she immediately pushes right back out of her head.

  The beautiful day turned into a beautiful night: a fat white moon perched in an unusually cloudless black sky glittering with stars. Night insects chirp a steady rhythm, and somewhere in the distance, a dog is barking nonstop. It’s chilly, and Calla is glad she’s wearing her new sweater.

  “How was the movie?” Ramona calls as the three of them walk toward her porch, where she and Evangeline are lounging on wicker furniture, illuminated only by candlelight from a mesh-covered green glass globe.

  “How did you know we went to a movie?” Calla asks, and instantly regrets it. Maybe Ramona knew the way other people around here know things—and will say it in front of Dad.

  “Odelia told me,” is the reply, to Calla’s relief.

  Calla glances up, reassured to find that the resident shingle— RAMONA TAGGART,REGISTERED MEDIUM—is safely shrouded in shadow.

  “What’d you see?” Evangeline asks.

  “The new one with Steve Carell. I love him,” Calla tells her. “Hey, this is my dad. Dad, Evangeline. And you already met Ramona.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Delaney,” Evangeline says politely, reaching down over the railing to shake Dad’s hand— and automatically scoring some points, Calla sees.

  “Come on up and sit with us for a little bit,” Ramona invites. “It’s supposed to be freezing out by morning, and we can’t stand the thought of going inside yet.”

  Calla looks at her father, anticipating a “thanks, but no thanks.” Instead, he shrugs, saying, “Maybe for a few minutes.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Ramona tells him as they climb the steps. “I should have said that last night, first thing.”

  “Oh . . . thank you,” Dad says politely.

  There’s an awkward moment of silence until Odelia pipes up, “How was your date, Ramona? I forgot to ask you earlier.”

  “He was a jerk.”

  “Oh, no . . . again?”

  Calla really hopes they won’t get into detail. Ramona told her grandmother the other day that lately every man she dates runs screaming from her the moment he finds out what she does for a living.

  “Aren’t they all?” Ramona asks with a shrug, twirling the stem of her wineglass back and forth in her palms. She’s barefoot, wearing old jeans with tattered hems. In this light, her fa
ce looks really pretty. Calla finds herself wondering if Dad is noticing.

  “Someday you’ll find someone worthy of you, hon,” Odelia tells her.

  “I’m not holding my breath for that. So . . . have a seat. Can I get you a glass of wine, Jeff? Odelia? Calla, some pop?”

  “Pop!” Dad blurts out, and they all look at him.

  “Oh, sorry.” He grins. “That just caught me off guard. That’s what we always called it back when I was growing up—I’m from Chicago. And it’s what Stephanie used to call it, too . . . back when we first met.”

  Ramona laughs. “Must be a Midwestern thing.”

  “This isn’t the Midwest,” Evangeline protests.

  “Sometimes it feels that way, though,” her aunt tells her. “So . . . Jeff . . . wine? Pop?”

  “Nothing for me.”

  Odelia wants a glass of wine, though, and Calla agrees to a Pepsi.

  “I’ll get it,” Evangeline tells her aunt, and shoots Calla a look.

  “I’ll come with you,” Calla decides promptly. They haven’t had a chance to catch up since they found out about Erin last night.

  “While you’re at it”—legs draped over the arm of her chair, Ramona dangles her bare toes in the air—“tell your brother his time is up on the computer.”

  “It was up a half hour ago.”

  “I know.” Ramona sighs. “I swear, Mason would be online twenty-four-seven if I allowed it. Between these two kids, do I ever even get a chance to use my own computer? No.”

  Feeling guilty about her own intrusion on Ramona’s computer time, Calla follows Evangeline inside.

  “How’s it going?” Evangeline immediately asks in a whisper.

  “So far, so good. He hasn’t figured out anything yet. Make sure you don’t slip.”

  “I won’t. And my aunt won’t, either. She knows the deal. Did you hear anything else about Erin?”

  “No, but I’ve been out of touch all day. Have you?”

  “I checked online earlier and there was some stuff about her being found.”

  “Did they catch the guy who did it yet?” Calla asks breathlessly, and feels a stab of fear when Evangeline shakes her head.

  “They hadn’t when I last looked, anyway,” she adds, “but maybe something’s happened by now. Come on, let’s go kick Mason off the computer so we can check.”

  They cross the living and dining rooms with their comfortable household disorder and head into the den, where they find Mason.

  He shares his sister’s slightly frizzy reddish hair, round face, and hazel eyes, only his are more solemn, deeply set behind owlish glasses.

  “You have to get off the computer,” Evangeline announces.

  “In a few minutes.” Mason is fixated on the screen, not even bothering to look at them. He’s caught up in a game of RuneScape, as usual.

  “No, now. Aunt Ramona said.”

  “In a few minutes.”

  “Now,” Evangeline insists with big-sister authority. “Calla needs to use it.” Evangeline might as well add a sassy So there.

  Mason looks at Calla. “You need the computer?”

  She hedges. “Not right this second.”

  “But you can use it right this second,” Evangeline tells Calla, “because he’s getting off right this second. Like Aunt Ramona said.”

  Mason scowls, clicks the mouse, and shoves back his chair. “Whatever,” he grumbles, and leaves the room.

  Evangeline grins at Calla. “Sometimes I love being the oldest.”

  “And sometimes I’m totally glad I’m an only child.”

  “Really?”

  “Okay, not really.” Actually, it’s not something she ever thought much about until lately.

  If she had a sister or brother, she wouldn’t feel quite so alone since her mother’s death.

  For a moment, she imagines what it would be like to have a sister and is caught off guard by an almost overwhelming sense of longing. The ache is so acute that it’s almost a loss . . . almost as though she’s mourning not just her mother but a person who never even existed.

  My sister.

  Seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, Calla turns her head and there, standing beside her, is Aiyana.

  ELEVEN

  Aiyana’s solemn expression is almost . . . knowing.

  As if she’s telling Calla she can read her thoughts, and . . .

  And what? What’s going on?

  “So should we check the site they set up for Erin?” Evangeline’s voice seems to be coming from a great distance.

  What are you doing here? What do you want from me? Calla demands silently, but it’s already too late. The spirit’s presence evaporated as quickly as it materialized.

  “Calla?” Evangeline asks clearly.

  Calla blinks. “Yeah?”

  “Do you want to check Erin’s site first?”

  “Oh . . . yeah. Sure.” She sinks into the chair just vacated by Mason and reaches for the mouse.

  The only update on Erin’s Web site is that she’s been found alive, which is trumpeted in a bold, jubilant headline. A further search of regional newspapers reveals more of the same, as well as the news that the police are hoping to interview Erin about her attacker as soon as she’s up to it.

  “I’m sure they’ll find the guy who did it,” Evangeline says, hovering over Calla’s shoulder. “Or woman. I mean, we don’t know it was a guy.”

  “Yes, we do. Kaitlyn said.”

  “Oh. Right.” Evangeline sighs. “Look, don’t worry too much about it.”

  “Who says I’m worried?”

  “You don’t have to say it. You look it.”

  “Okay, I’m worried. What if he comes after me next?”

  “How can he? He doesn’t even know who you are.”

  “That reporter found me.”

  Evangeline falters. “That was a fluke. I’m sure you’re safe. Come on. Let’s go back out to the porch before it starts snowing or something,” she adds with forced cheer.

  “Wait—can I just check my e-mail for a second?”

  “Sure. I’ll go get the wine for your grandmother. Be right back.”

  Left alone, Calla quickly signs in to her screen name, clicks on the mailbox icon. It takes a moment for her to realize she’s looking at another e-mail from KZW88@cornell.edu.

  Kevin.

  Hey, what’s up? I was flipping channels on the tv last night and you’ll never in a million years believe what popped up. Remember that really stupid movie from 1982 or something, the one we watched at my house that day it was raining and we couldn’t go to that clambake at the beach . . . you know, when we both kept saying we couldn’t believe we were wasting time watching something so stupid, but we kept thinking it might get better? And it didn’t? In fact it got worse and worse and more and more stupid? Well, guess what? It was on again. And I watched the whole thing again. BTW, it’s not any better the second time, LOL. Still really really really stupid. So anyway . . . I couldn’t believe it was on AGAIN. Much less that I got sucked in AGAIN.

  Well, that’s my earth-shattering e-mail for today. Write back if you have time. Take care. I hope you’re doing okay.

  xoxo Kevin

  Calla impulsively clicks the Reply button, opening a blank e-mail addressed back to Kevin.

  How’s this for a coincidence? I saw it too. Last night, I mean. But I had the opposite reaction. I was able to find new and profound meaning in the plot this time around. The symbolism really blew me away. I can’t believe you missed it.

  JK. I thought it was just as stupid the second time. But yeah, I also watched the whole thing—AGAIN. What does that make us? LOL

  It’s good to hear from you. I’m hanging in there.

  xoxo Calla

  “Ready?” Evangeline pokes her head in the door, a glass of wine and two cans of soda balanced in her hands.

  “Yeah, in a second. I’m just checking my e-mail.”

  “Anything interesting?” She attempts to push a stran
d of hair back from her face. Impossible to do without spilling something.

  Evangeline spills everything.

  “Oh, geez.” She looks down at the spreading puddle of wine and Pepsi on the floor. “Am I a klutz, or what?”

  “Here, I’ll help you. Get paper towels.” As she pushes back her chair, she automatically hits Send . . . and immediately wishes she hadn’t. Especially since she signed her e-mail with hugs and kisses.

  Oh, well.Too late now.

  She and Evangeline mop up the floor, gather more wine and soda, and finally make it back out to the porch. There, they find Odelia dozing in her chair, head thrown back, mouth slightly open and making a whistling sound.

  “Uh-oh.” Calla grins. Odelia can’t sit down at night without snoozing.

  “Yeah,” Ramona says affectionately, “man down.”

  “Guess it really was past her bedtime,” Calla’s father comments, and she notices that for someone who’s usually pretty shy, he looks surprisingly relaxed, sitting out here with a total stranger.

  “Well, we can’t let her wine go to waste,” Ramona says. “You drink it.”

  “Why not.” He shrugs and accepts the glass.

  “I was just telling your dad what a great high school we have,” Ramona tells Calla, who promptly decides that if anyone deserves hugs and kisses, it’s Evangeline’s aunt.

  “Yeah, it is a great school,” Evangeline promptly speaks up. “The teachers are really challenging, but in a good way. And most of the kids are really cool.”

  “But not all of them?” Ramona asks wryly.

  “Well, Mason goes there, remember?” Evangeline cracks, and even Dad laughs at that.

  They talk a little longer about the school, and everything Ramona says is positively glowing. It’s almost as though she senses Dad needs some convincing, and is ready to step up to bat on Calla’s behalf.

  Almost as though?

  She does know, Calla realizes. And not because Odelia told her, either. Calla never even mentioned this morning’s conversation about her going back to California.

  Ramona knows because she’s, well, psychic. Thank goodness for that. She’s doing a hard sell on Lily Dale and Dad is eating it right up.

  Later, standing beside the rental car with her father, Calla realizes she isn’t ready yet to say good-bye. But he’s leaving for the airport early in the morning, so this is it.