Awakening Read online

  But what about me? What good is this gift if I can’t even use it to find Mom?

  The next medium steps up quickly to take Debra’s place. As she begins questioning a section of audience members on the opposite side of the room, Calla begins to feel as though she’s being watched. Her breath catching in her throat, she turns her head slowly, expecting to see, once again, the shadowy figure of the woman who’s been haunting her.

  Instead, she spots Jacy Bly. He’s leaning against the door frame, arms folded, and he doesn’t look away when she catches him looking at her. She does, though, feeling her face grow hot. She hasn’t run into him since the other day, when they went fishing together.

  Then again, it’s not like she’s spent much time walking around Lily Dale. The weather has been crummy, and she’s pretty much been holed up in Odelia’s house.

  Feeling a jab in her shoulder from behind, she turns to see that Evangeline is motioning with her head in the boy’s direction. “That’s him.”

  “What? Who?” she whispers back, pretending to be clueless.

  “That’s Jacy Bly,” Evangeline hisses. “Remember I told you about him?”

  “Oh . . . right. We met,” she admits at last, and is relieved the moment it’s out.

  “You did? When?”

  “I ran into him at the lake the other day, and he, uh, showed me how to drop a fishing line.”

  Evangeline looks a little dismayed, but she says only, “What did you think of him?”

  “He’s so quiet. I don’t know . . . he was nice.”

  “Yeah. He is nice.” Evangeline shrugs.

  Does she think I’m interested in him? Maybe I should tell her I’m not. Only . . .

  Calla slips another glance in his direction and finds him still watching her, as though they’re the only two people in the room.

  Only maybe I am.

  Unnerved, she shifts her attention back to the medium doing the reading—at least, she tries to. Every time she sneaks a look at the doorway, she expects Jacy to be gone, like an apparition that may or may not have been there in the first place. But he’s still there. And he keeps catching her looking.

  I should stop, Calla thinks, but she can’t seem to help herself. Evangeline was right. There’s something magnetic about him.

  Once, when she hastily shifts her attention away from Jacy, she finds herself looking unexpectedly at another familiar face. It’s Elaine Riggs, from Ohio. She doesn’t see Calla, though. She’s focused on the medium onstage, and she looks hopeful. Calla wonders where her daughter is tonight. Hopefully she’s not casing Odelia’s house again, especially with the door unlocked.

  The next medium, a man named Walter, takes the stage. Calla remembers her conversation with Jacy and realizes he’s one of Jacy’s foster dads.

  Watching him in action is fascinating. He’s even more accurate and specific than most of the other mediums were, and he delivers his messages with an air of gentle, sympathetic concern.

  “I’m getting something for an Eileen . . . Ellen . . . something like that. It’s about a child, but . . . this isn’t her name. It’s the mother’s.”

  Nobody says anything.

  “I’m seeing a red Buckeyes shirt,” the medium goes on, and someone calls out immediately. Calla turns to see that Elaine Riggs is standing.

  “I’m from Ohio. But my name is Elaine—not Eileen.”

  The medium pauses, seeming to listen, then asks, “Do you have a daughter?”

  A sob escapes the woman as she nods.

  “I’ve got a male spirit here, and he’s telling me something about your daughter. He’s showing me a white paper shopping bag . . . the kind with handles. Like from a department store . . . do you know what this means?”

  “I think so.” Elaine’s shoulders are shaking with emotion and tears are pouring down her cheeks. Why is she so upset?

  Is her daughter really a thief? Calla wonders. A shoplifter or something? That would explain the shopping bag, she decides, pleased she’s getting the hang of how this works.

  “Spirit is saying you’ve been upset about something involving your daughter. He wants you to know he’s with you . . . this is not your husband, though.”

  “No, my ex-husband is alive.”

  “I feel like this is an older man. It could be your father.”

  “Yes. Daddy passed away last year.”

  No wonder she’s so emotional. Calla would be a wreck if her mother popped up here without warning. I wish she would, though. . . . I so wish she would.

  “He’s with you,” the medium assures the woman again. “He keeps saying that. He really wants to bring you comfort.” He pauses, his eyes closed tightly, like he’s meditating. “He’s showing me a rock.”

  “A rock? What . . . what do you mean?”

  “It’s just . . . a rock.” Walter frowns. “And there’s a house.”

  “What kind of house?” Elaine asks, almost sounding panicky. “What does it look like?”

  “No, it’s . . . not a real house. It’s a child’s drawing. One dimensional. Door in the middle, two windows, chimney with curly crayon smoke . . .”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  Walter appears lost in the vision, shaking his head slowly. After a minute, Elaine asks, “Is he . . . is he saying anything else? Is he showing you anything else?”

  “No. His energy is fading. I’m sorry . . . I’m being pulled over here now.” The medium is off to the opposite side of the auditorium, to someone else, leaving Elaine crumpled, disappointed, in her seat.

  Calla watches her uneasily. She can’t help but wish there were something she herself could do. Or, yes, she almost feels as if there’s something she’s supposed to do. To help Elaine. Which is odd, because she’s not even sure why Elaine is here.

  When the service is over, Evangeline taps her on the shoulder. “What did you think?”

  “I thought it was interesting.”

  “Yeah, there were some good readings tonight. So listen, I thought you might pop over to check your e-mail. You still can, you know.”

  “I know . . . and thank you. I’ll get there at some point.”

  “Anytime. And you can stay to hang out with me for a while if you want, too.”

  “Thanks. Hey, where’s your friend going?” Calla asks, noticing Willow York by the door.

  Evangeline rolls her eyes. “She said she was meeting Blue.”

  “Blue?”

  “Yeah. I hate to say it, but—well, he and Willow are supposedly broken up, but they keep finding reasons to see a lot of each other anyway.”

  “She’s his ex-girlfriend?” Calla asks in dismay, and Evan-geline nods.

  “Supposedly ex.”

  “So . . . you mean they might still be together?”

  “I think Willow wishes they were.”

  “You think? Aren’t you friends with her?”

  “Not good friends. I mean, there aren’t that many people our age around here, like I said, so we all sort of gravitate together. But I wouldn’t say Willow and I are friends. She can be kind of standoffish.”

  Yeah, no kidding. “So she’s still into Blue?”

  “Seems like it. How about you?” Evangeline asks with a gleam in her eye.

  “No!”

  “Well, just so you know? I don’t think he’s into Willow anymore. He broke up with her.”

  Evangeline looks pleased to tell her that, probably hoping to get Calla interested in Blue and distracted from Jacy. Calla is secretly pleased to hear it, too. Why, she has no idea. She’s not about to “hook up” with Blue Slayton, as he put it, if he’s seeing someone else. If she were interested, though, she’d think twice after seeing the exotically beautiful—and standoffish— Willow. If she’s Blue’s type, Calla’s not.

  Still . . . he did seem interested. But that doesn’t matter. She’s still on the rebound from Kevin, trying to get over him—and anyway, it’s not as if she’s staying here in Lily Dale. Nothing could come of ho
oking up with Blue even if it did happen.

  Jacy Bly, either.

  “Oops, there’s my aunt over there waving at me,” Evange-line says. “I’ve got to go.”

  Calla follows her gaze to Ramona. Beside her is an adolescent boy who has to be Evangeline’s brother. He has the same plain, round face and ruddy coloring, and he’s wearing a pair of Harry Potter–style glasses that do nothing for him.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” Evangeline asks over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll come over and we can, I don’t know, play a game or watch a movie or something.”

  “Sure,” Calla finds herself saying politely, “that would be fun.”

  It actually might be, she realizes in surprise. She’s getting tired of being alone.

  “Great. See you then.”

  She watches Evangeline walk away—and realizes Jacy is promptly approaching her from the opposite direction, as if he were waiting to catch her alone. Her heart beats a little faster as they lock eyes.

  “Hi,” she says nervously when he reaches her side. There’s something about him that unnerves her. Something other than the fact that he’s so good-looking. There’s a quiet but intense energy about him, and she feels almost helplessly drawn to it. She can’t help but remember the energy that zapped her arm the day he shook her hand, and wonders what to make of it.

  “This is the first time I’ve seen you here.”

  “Probably because it’s the first time I’ve been here.” Her flippant comment feels wrong.

  “What did you think?”

  “I think this auditorium could use some new seats, with cushions,” she says wryly, but he doesn’t crack a smile.

  Great. This is just how things began the first time she spoke to him, by the lake. They hit their conversational stride only when they were fishing and she stopped trying to flirt.

  “Seriously?” she adds. “I thought it was fascinating. Is this how it goes every time?”

  “Pretty much. Were you hoping for a message?”

  That question—and his straightforward gaze—catches her off guard. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe I’m wrong. I thought you hoped your mother would come through.”

  He isn’t wrong. She did hope that. But how did he know?

  “Calla?” She looks up to see Odelia beckoning to her from where she’s standing with a couple of friends. “Come here. I want you to meet some people.”

  “I’ll see you,” Jacy says, and slips away without another word or glance.

  Odelia introduces her to Debra, the medium, and to another woman, and to a man named Andy Brighton, whose name Calla recognizes from one of the shingles in town. She carries on polite small talk with them, watching Jacy head for the door with Walter.

  The two women leave but Odelia lingers, chatting with Andy about the Medium’s League meeting. They discuss it as if it’s a bridge club.

  “Oh, before I forget, I know you wanted to get the kitten this week, but she’s still too young to be taken away from her mother.”

  “That’s okay,” Odelia says. “I haven’t seen any mice . . . yet. But I’m sure they’re there.”

  A chilling memory stirs back to life in Calla’s head. Who was the woman hovering outside the window that day? Should she have confessed the truth to Odelia, instead of making up that stupid story about having seen a mouse? Now her grandmother’s getting a cat because of it, she thinks guiltily—though she has to admit Odelia seems enthusiastic as Andy describes the adorable little bundle of fur she can bring home in a few weeks. By then, Calla will be gone anyway.

  At last, Andy excuses himself and they’re free to leave. Darkness has fallen outside, but it hasn’t started raining again. As they head around the auditorium toward Cottage Row, Calla catches sight of the lake waters gleaming in the glow of a distant lamppost.

  The only way we’ll learn the truth is to dredge the lake.

  “Do you spend much time down there by the water?” she hears herself asking Odelia.

  “No,” Odelia’s answer is prompt, and so resolute that Calla knows instantly that she didn’t imagine the conversation between her grandmother and her mother.

  Their falling out had something to do with the lake. Dredging the lake, to be specific.

  Why do you dredge a lake in the first place? Calla asks herself, and the answer sends a chill slithering down her spine. You dredge it to bring something—or someone—up from the bottom.

  “Why not?” she persists, hoping to spur her grandmother into spilling whatever it is that she’s hiding. “If I were you, I’d hang out by the lake. It’s so pretty.”

  “It’s dangerous,” Odelia says ominously, quickening her footsteps as much as she’s able.

  “Why is it dangerous? It’s not like you have alligators up here like we do in Florida.”

  “No, but the current is stronger than you’d think for a lake this size. It pulls people out and under even if they’re strong swimmers.”

  Is that it? Did someone drown here? But what would that have to do with Calla’s mother? Why would she have been arguing so violently about it with Odelia that they never spoke again?

  “Did my mom like to swim in the lake when she was a kid?” Calla asks.

  Odelia’s answer is brief. “Sometimes. Listen, I don’t want you in the water here, okay?”

  “But why not? I’m a good swimmer.”

  “Just don’t go into that lake. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes.” Calla’s voice sounds almost meek in the wake of the inexplicable warning.

  What on earth happened out there?

  She gazes at the still water in the distance, wondering what secrets it might hold in its murky depths, and whether she’ll ever find out.

  THIRTEEN

  A few days later, Calla is putting away the Trivial Pursuit board in the living room when she hears a knock on the front door.

  Glancing out the window, she sees a blue BMW parked at the curb. It’s a convertible and the top is down on this rare, gorgeous summer afternoon.

  It occurs to her that this is the first upscale car she’s seen around Lily Dale, and it’s hard to imagine it parked in front of one of these worn little lakeside cottages. Must belong to a visitor hoping for a walk-in appointment with Odelia. Well, you’re out of luck, Calla thinks, heading into the foyer. Her grandmother just started a reading with a regular client, a widow who always books a double appointment.

  But it isn’t a walk-in after all. Blue Slayton is standing on the porch.

  Calla’s hand immediately goes to her hair, which is pulled back in a no-frills ponytail. She’s wearing cutoffs, a tank top, and flip-flops.

  “Hey, how’ve you been?” Not waiting for an answer, he adds, “Want to go for a ride?”

  Calla hesitates. “I’m not really dressed to go out.”

  “You look good to me.” His eyes flick over her, and she’s suddenly conscious that her tank top is pretty skimpy. “Come on, it’s a gorgeous day. We can get ice cream.”

  Ice cream is better than coffee, and it is a gorgeous day. It would be nice to ride around with Blue in the sunshine.

  “Is that your car?” she asks him, gesturing at the convertible.

  “No. It’s the maid’s.” He grins at her shocked expression. “Yeah, it’s mine. Come on.”

  “Okay,” she decides impulsively. “Just let me leave a note for my grandmother.”

  He’s already behind the wheel, engine running, when Calla gets to the car, but he jumps out and opens the door for her politely.

  “Thanks,” she murmurs, slipping past him into the sun-warmed leather passenger’s seat. He’s so close she can smell the clean cotton scent of the blue T-shirt that exactly matches the shade of his eyes.

  Okay, don’t go falling for him, she warns herself. He’s a player. That’s obvious.

  Blue steers through the narrow streets until they reach the entrance gate again. Seeing it for the first time since her arrival, Calla admires the charmin
g arched grillwork LILY DALE ASSEMBLYsign overhead.

  Then she notices the one beneath it that reads: LILY DALE ASSEMBLY . . . WORLD’S LARGEST CENTER FOR THE RELIGION OF SPIRITUALISM.

  She missed that one, somehow, on the first day. If she had seen it, she would have been a little more prepared for what met her within the gates.

  Funny what she’s quickly learned to take in stride. She’s read a lot about spiritualism, visited the Assembly office and museum, and even attended another message circle just yesterday, this time at Forest Temple, a tranquil little outdoor seating area.

  Again, she found herself hoping her mother might come through to her, but she was disappointed. This time, it was frustrating to watch one stranger after another get spiritual validation from their lost loved ones through the mediums.

  As long as she’s here, in the midst of all these people who seem able to talk to the dead—well, she wants to hear from her mother. All morning, she’s been toying with the idea of going for a private reading. She can’t seem to work up the nerve, though. Not just yet, anyway.

  Blue pulls out onto the main road, saying casually, “My house is up around the bend.”

  “You don’t live in Lily Dale?”

  “Not inside the gate anymore. We moved to this place last year after my dad had it built.”

  “This place” turns out to be a neo-Victorian home that is sprawled on a rolling green hill beside the lake. It has cupolas, fishscale shingles, and a gingerbread porch like the houses in the Dale, but it’s five or six times their size. No peeling paint or loose shutters here.

  Clearly, the Slaytons are a social notch above Odelia and her neighbors. Remembering the resentment in her grandmother’s voice when she talked about Blue’s father going Hollywood, Calla wonders if she might just be jealous of his high profile, and financial success.

  Maybe, but that doesn’t seem like Odelia’s style.

  Calla asked Evangeline the other day why none of the mediums appear to be millionaires if they’re psychic. “Don’t they know what the stock market is going to do? Can’t they just, I don’t know, make huge bets in Vegas or something and get rich?”