“No,” she said at last. She saw Angela eyeing her tattoo where it showed on her arm below the pushed up sleeve of her sweatshirt, and said, “I didn’t have any tattoos back then. I didn’t dye my hair. After you were born, I guess you could say I went through a rebellious phase.”
“And you never tried to find me?” Angela asked.
“I couldn’t. You have no idea how hard it was not to, though.” It had taken years of drug use followed by years of self-imposed banishment on this island, she thought, but she didn’t think this was the right moment to get into all of that.
“I keep trying to picture what my life would be if he hadn’t died,” Angela said.
Casey understood that feeling perfectly. But the thing was, he had died. Hypotheticals were no good for anybody, and however much Deb and Rich had messed Angela up with their lies, she and Ryan would have messed her up in other ways. All parents mess up their kids.
“It’s no good to think that way. Believe me, I know,” Casey said. “And anyway, if Ryan hadn’t died, we would have had a tough road ahead of us. We were so young. Who knows how we would have managed.”
Angela nodded, but Casey could see she wasn’t convinced.
“Seriously think about it. We didn’t even have high school diplomas yet. We would have had to support ourselves and you. Life is hard. Who knows if our relationship could have stood up to it? How many people stay together with their high school sweethearts?”
For some reason, Angela started to laugh.
“What’s funny?”
“I was thinking something like that myself, about me and Randy, that’s all.”
“So it’s pretty serious with you two?”
Angela nodded and said, “But we aren’t high school sweethearts. We’ve only been dating a little while.”
“Well, as long as he’s good to you,” Casey said.
“Do you think that you would want to see me again? Do you want us to get know each other?” Angela asked.
“More than anything.” In fact, the idea that she might never see Angela again was so painful, that Casey’s throat constricted at the thought of it and she had to swallow a sob.
***
Randy, Brett, and Rosetta came back with food and a heap of blankets and the five of them went upstairs to the empty apartment. Casey spread out a blanket on the floor like they were going to have a picnic. Angela struggled to see how Casey, who looked like a grunge goddess, could possibly be dating such a bona fide adult as Brett with his well-pressed preppy clothes, but from the way Brett looked at Casey, his adoration of her was obvious.
The five of them sat on the floor telling stories and laughing like long-lost friends. Casey wanted to know all about the things Angela had done as a little kid, and Rosetta was more than happy to chime in with embarrassing stories about Casey. Randy and Brett’s main contributions were to laugh at the right moments, and they did that quite well.
Eventually, the truth came out about how a ghost hunt had led Angela to Casey, and as she and Randy told the story, Angela couldn’t tell if Casey’s expression was one of disbelief or concern or fascination.
“See that, Casey,” Rosetta said, when they had finished their tale. “Runs in the family, like I always told you.” She turned to Angela. “Casey was terrified when she first starting getting messages from the spirit world. Thought she was losing her mind.”
“So y’all both have it, too? The gift?” It was as Calliope had said, Angela thought. Her supernatural ability had been passed down from her mother.
“Oh yes, runs in the family,” Rosetta said.
“When it first happened to me, I thought it was a sign that I was mentally ill, like my mother,” Casey said. “It was Rosetta who taught me how to deal with it. There are ways to shut it off.”
“And ways to learn to use it,” Rosetta said, nodding.
“I’ve been learning from a medium on St. Nabor,” Angela said.
“I’m sorry, what’s happening?” Brett asked.
“Oh, they’re bonding over their shared ability to talk to ghosts,” Randy said.
“Have you all been drinking when I wasn’t looking?” Brett asked.
“I have a question,” Randy said. “If y’all can communicate with spirits, then y’all know all of this,” he pulled the brochure from his pocket, “is bogus, right?”
Rosetta shrugged. “People like it.”
“If more people could communicate with ghosts, they’d understand that there is nothing fun about hearing a spirit speak,” Casey said. The Greeks, with their understanding of frightening spirits who only spoke after drinking an offering of blood on the banks of the River of Ocean, had a better sense of what ghosts were like than any modern ghost hunter.
“Randy is a ghost investigator,” Angela said. “That’s how we met.”
Angela saw Brett catch Casey’s eye and raise an eyebrow, which at first Angela interpreted as disbelief, but then he said, “What’d I tell you? There’s more than meets the eye in this life.”
“Did Ryan’s spirit ever talk to you?” Angela asked quietly.
Casey sighed. “I didn’t really believe Rosetta that the voices in my head were ghosts until Ryan died. And then he started talking to me. The meditations Rosetta taught me couldn’t keep him out.”
Angela’s eyes were rimmed with tears.
“He wanted you to keep me?”
Casey nodded.
“And you didn’t listen.”
“I was alive. I had to make choices in this world, not in whatever space he exists in now.”
Angela wiped a hand under her nose and then said, “Do you still hear him?”
Casey shook her head. “For a long time, I used alcohol and drugs to keep myself numb. When you’re numb, the dead leave you alone. Then I came here and I made a choice to be part of the living. I don’t talk to ghosts. Not his or anyone else’s. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have anything of his anymore. There’s no connection.”
“You have me,” Angela said.
Casey opened her arms, and Angela fell into them in an embrace that was twenty years in the making.
“He watches over me,” Angela said, as she pulled away.
“I know he does.”
***
Somehow Angela managed to bring up the topic of wanting to meet Casey’s family, which caused a moment of awkward silence, before Casey explained that her mother had also recently died, and then Rosetta dragged Casey off into the kitchen where some tense whispering took place, before the two of them came back and sat down, looking grim and subdued.
Angela listened to Casey explain the possibility that she had inherited a BRCA1 genetic mutation that would dispose her to certain types of cancer, and that if she had inherited it, she might have passed it on to Angela, too. The fact that the end of her quest involved more bad news struck Angela as hilarious, and she started to giggle as Casey finished her explanation. Her giggles turned to laughter, which turned to gasping, uncontrollable cackling, and everyone was staring at her like she’d lost her mind, but if she didn’t laugh, she was definitely going to cry. It was honestly like she was cursed. After a few minutes, her laughter subsided, and she apologized.
“It’s okay, there’s no right way to react to news like this,” Casey said gently.
“There’s probably a wrong way,” Angela said, and she stifled another giggle.
“Yeah, it’s not really that funny,” Casey said, but she smiled.
“Does it ever get easier?” Angela asked.
“What?”
“Life.”
“Not in my lengthy experience,” Rosetta said.
Eventually Rosetta announced that she had to go make sure everything was all set at the festival and Brett helped her up while she complained about how old ladies weren’t meant to sit on hard floors. As she turned to go, she said, “And Angela, I’m very sorry dear, but actually there aren’t any rooms at the inn, so I hope it’s not too inconvenient for you to stay here. Free of
charge, of course. I’ll send your bags over.”
“She’s interesting,” Randy said, after Rosetta had gone.
“I like her,” Angela said. She liked that she was related to such a feisty woman. Rosetta was her aunt. Her great-great aunt. She and Rosetta were linked. Just as she and Helen and Marilyn were linked. She’d grown up on a small island, and far away Rosetta and Casey were on another small island. Marilyn was on the island of Manhattan, and Helen—well, she wasn’t on an island—but it was the same idea. There were invisible bridges between them all, and now the bridges had been made visible, and the world had become so much smaller and so much bigger all at once.
As the night wore on and they all began to yawn, Brett suggested they use the blankets Rosetta had sent over to make the floor into a bed, but it wasn’t as if any of them were going to sleep anyway. All night, they talked and laughed and cried and laughed some more. Angela felt like she’d been reunited with a long-lost sister. She’d always wanted a sister. She couldn’t think of Casey as her mother any more than she could think of Ryan as her father, but that might be okay. What she needed was family, and she had found it here.
In the wee hours of the morning, Angela closed her eyes and offered up a prayer of thanks for all the moments that led her to that cold, gray October day in Maine, and for her big, crazy, unexpected family. It was as if, at twenty years old, she’d been reborn. A new life was beginning for her, full of adventure, full of love, full of laughter.
***
In the morning, Casey lay on her side watching this beautiful, sleeping woman who was her daughter. They had stayed up nearly all night, but Casey wasn’t tired. She’d never felt more awake in her life. She was so happy that she could hardly trust her emotions. Something was going to go wrong. Something always went wrong. The universe did not give her happiness without snatching it away.
She knew now she had to go get the genetic test, otherwise she would spend every day waiting for the sickness to begin. Now she could understand how knowing her risks could bring peace of mind, and beyond that, could help her make sure her life was long and full and healthy, because she had so much to live for. She rolled over and snuggled into Brett and her eyelids began to droop when she heard the door of her apartment open.
The next thing she knew, Bentley’s wet, slimy tongue was on her face, and Rosetta was standing over her, saying, “We aren’t done yet!”
Of course. One last day. She had to get up and make coffee and muffins and spend one more day behind the counter at the Beach Plum Café. Today the last of the guests would leave and the next chapter of her life would begin.
“Let the kids sleep,” she said, pushing Bentley off and getting up. What strange words to come out of her mouth. Let the kids sleep. She’d never been happier to have an early wake up after a sleepless night.
THE END
Acknowledgments
I am indebted to so many people who helped me in the process of writing and publishing this book.
First, my kind friends and family who read earlier versions: Stephanie Monahan, who patiently read several drafts and who keeps me sane at our weekly writing sessions; my mother Dorothy Vanaskie, the best first-reader and cheerleader a girl could ask for; my sister Laura O’Neill, who found time in her truly insane schedule to read and offer feedback; Caitie Huppert-Dwyer, who always knows how to reassure me in my moments of doubt; and Michael Smith, whose literary expertise I value.
Second, my devoted proofreaders: My father Thomas Vanaskie, my proofreader since high school; and Laurel Dile-King, a friend, mentor, and sharp-eyed reader.
Third, all of the people who supported my Kindle Scout campaign. Although Kindle Scout did not choose my book for publication, your generous support in nominating my book and in sharing the news with your friends made that effort feel positive, encouraging, and productive.
Last, but certainly not least, my husband Todd and all the family and friends who patiently put up with the ups and downs of dealing with a writer. The process of making a book is an emotional roller coaster, and one I couldn’t survive without the best of friends. Particularly, Shannon, Kristen, Lisa, Glynis, Dina, and Sarah—thank you for believing in me even when I don’t believe in myself.
About the Author
Diane V. Mulligan is the author of three novels. This is her most recent work. Her first novel, Watch Me Disappear (2012), was a finalist in the Kindle Book Review's Best Indie Book Awards in the Young Adult category in 2013, and her second, The Latecomers Fan Club (2013), was named a 2014 IndieReader Discovery Award winner. In 2015, she released a brief guide book to self-publishing called The Sane Person's Guide to Self-Publishing.
What She Inherits Page 32
