"I don't think so."
Becca makes fun of me. "Just consider it. We could have an amazing summer. Oh, Dragon's here. Gotta go!"
"Love ya; mean it," I say and then click off the phone.
Great, my second offer to go to Europe in one day and I just don't see it happening. Even my psychic senses are laughing at the idea. It would be amazing to work with Oliver again, or to make some euros reading cards on the Seine. I rub at my nose, which is blazing with itchiness. Maybe Patrick's right: if I worked at Loreen's store every day after school, I could raise some serious dough. I crawl under my bed and retrieve the Aldo box that holds my best sparkly summer sandals. Underneath the tissue is my savings envelope, which has exactly ... twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven dollars. That won't even get me a cab to the airport.
I scrub at my nose again. Why is it itching like all get-out? Grandma Ethel always said when your nose itched you were going to have company.
Right. Who else is coming to tell me he or she is going to Europe?
Sunday evening, I pick at the spaghetti on my plate, pushing the noodles and sauce from side to side. The modest amount I ate is sitting in my stomach like a boulder. I'm trying not to pout, really I am, but a heaping serving of disappointment is the topping to my pasta.
"I just don't see how we can afford it, sweetie," Dad had said at the start of dinner. Now, he watches me with a long face. I know he feels like shit having to squash something this major for me. I understand, though, that times are tough, there's college to save for, and, again, they've spent a lot of money on me recently.
To ease the tension, Dad switches on CNN to watch the disaster reports, government crises, and political scandals du jour.
The front doorbell rings, and Kaitlin starts to bolt.
"Don't you dare, young lady," Mom says. "Eat your dinner. Your father will see who it is."
Dad puts down his fork and disappears into the hallway.
"It's probably Daisy or Penny bringing me the book of cheat codes to use," my sister says.
"Cheat codes? Great." I turn to Mom. "What is the point of letting her play all of those video games if she's going to cheat?"
"It's not cheating, Kendall," Kaitlin whines. "It shows you how to get more lives or more stones and stuff and powers to fight the bad guys."
"Right—cheating," I say firmly. "Thus the reason they call the book chea—"
My mouth falls open midsentence when I see the visitor Dad has brought into the house.
Andi Caminiti stands in my dining room in designer jeans, a loose red tank top, and a large purse slung over her left shoulder. How did I not see this coming? Stupid psychic abilities. They've been dormant all day because I've been working on my history project.
"H-h-hi, Ms. Caminiti," I manage to stutter out.
"I'm so sorry to have interrupted your dinner," she says sweetly. "And it's Andi."
Mom stands and pulls a dining-room chair up between her and me. "Won't you please join us? David makes fabulous spaghetti sauce."
Andi holds up her hand. "No, that's nice of you." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a large manila envelope, slightly bent at one corner. "I should have called you when this arrived in the mail yesterday. I just couldn't bring myself to open it alone. I closed the shop, packed a few things, got in my SUV, and, well, here I am."
"Oh my goodness," Mom says. "Please, come sit and let me get you something to eat and drink. How long a drive was that?"
"It's really fine, Sarah. Maybe in a little bit."
My heart is churning like a fan switched to high. Andi's is too. The energy humming off her tells me she's as eager for these results as I am. She wants me to be her brother's daughter. And I want her to be my aunt. I envision all the things we'll do together as we get to know each other and I learn every detail of Andy Caminiti's life. I push back from my chair and walk over to her. She reaches her hand out to capture mine and gives it a squeeze. "Shall we do this together?" she asks.
Words aren't a possibility for me right now, so I simply nod and smile.
We walk hand in hand to the formal living room, the one no one ever dares enter—not even the cats—because you don't want to mess up the curtains, smoosh the cushions, or get dirt on the pristine rug. However, this occasion calls for the most special room in the house, and Mom leads the way. She flicks on the antique hurricane lamp, flooding the space with warmth and light. Andi and I take a seat on the white couch with the large envelope balanced on our knees.
"Well?" she asks.
Without thinking twice, I flip it over and rip into it. I tug out the sea of papers and speed-read past the cover letter. My eyes blur when I see pages of charts with numbers, letters, and general gobbledygook all over them.
"Mom," I beg, "I can't make it out."
Mom the nurse takes the papers from me and retrieves her reading glasses from the top of her head. Her eyes scan the pages as she flips one, then two, then three of them. A few moments later, Mom removes the glasses, and her eyes are shiny with fresh tears.
"What? Tell me, please."
Andi pleads too. "Yes, Sarah, what does it say?"
Mom smiles at Andi and then at me. "Kendall, baby. You've found your father."
Chapter Twenty-two
"WH-WH-WHAT?" I squeak out.
Mom blinks and then says, "Andrew Caminiti is your biological father."
Hot, hot tears fill my eyes as my brain tries to reason and comprehend the words. Emotions line up one by one to spill over me in a waterfall of relief, joy, happiness, confusion, loss ... all at once. Even though I know who my biological parents are, I will never know them. A young man and woman so in love, yet they died tragically in a December car crash. I crumple a bit on the couch as the sensations filling my soul get the best of me.
"Oh, Kendall," Andi says. I glance up to see her arms open wide, inviting me into her family, into her heart. "I'm so sorry for doubting you and for being so rude when you first came to my gallery."
We hug tightly, clinging to each other as the tears overcome us both. Looking over Andi's shoulder, I see my mother is weeping as well. She's not upset, though. She's happy for me. Overjoyed, in fact. The nurse who helped me into this world and then took me on as her own when my parents died. I love her so much, and I mouth the words at her.
Mom blows a kiss at me as Dad comes to comfort her.
"I don't blame you for thinking I was wack," I say to Andi. "It was quite a story I came in with, but I was led to you through my visions."
Andi wipes the salty water off her cheek. "I should have known after taking one look at you that you were Andy's. You have his eyes."
"Yours too," I add with a smile.
She hugs me again. "I have a niece!"
"I have an aunt!"
My mom's tears continue, so I go to her. Hugging her with all of my might, I thank her for everything: my life, my home, helping me find out who I really am.
She squeezes me back. "I want nothing but happiness for you, Kendall."
"You're still my mommy," I say softly and she kisses me on top of my head. We stand like that for a moment and then Dad joins the hug-dom.
I push back and take a deep breath. "Okay, well—wow, what a day!"
"David, let's leave these two to talk more. Andi, I'll make up the pullout in the den for you. Please make yourself at home. You're family now."
Her hazel eyes shine up at Mom. "Thank you, Sarah."
We sit back on the couch and face each other. My aunt. I'm facing my aunt. My father's twin sister.
Reaching into her bag, Andi pulls out a small accordion file and then tugs out a thick photo album that's cracked at the binding. "I brought these in anticipation of the results. This one is a family album filled with pictures of Andy and me when we were growing up. I thought you'd want to see your father at all ages." She flips to the back to show a photo of the two of them in dark navy robes and mortarboards graduating from high school. "He was a rea
lly good-looking guy. All the girls thought so."
My own eyes gaze back at me from the handsome young man on the page. Yes, I do have his eyes. Hazel and warm and smiling so brightly at the future he had ahead of him. I well up again, thinking of all he could have done with his life, the family I could have had with him and Emily, things that would never come to be. But I have to be grateful for the opportunities I've been given, despite my troubled entry into the world. Things could have been sooooooo much worse for me. I could have died along with my parents and never have known the Mooreheads, Grandma Ethel, all of my friends, Loreen, Father Mass, and especially Jason and Patrick.
"Here, this is yours for as long as you'd like it," Andi says to me.
I run my hands over the worn leather of the family album. Slowly, I flip through the plastic-protected pages that show my father's life: a tiny bundle coming home from the hospital; a little boy riding his Big Wheel; a teenager in his Boy Scout uniform; a young man setting off to college. I'm sure I'll spend several hours poring over these pictures and trying to get any place-memory that may be attached to them.
My curiosity is piqued by the accordion file. For some reason, my nostrils are filled with the smell of rubber. Industrial rubber. Totally an odd thing to be picking up right now as Andi opens the folder.
"What's all that?" They look like the stock-report pages we studied in economics.
"When Andy disappeared, we put the money from his trust fund in a stock account, in case he came back. Over the years, we've donated some of it to charities for tax purposes, but I never imagined that he'd have an heir to give this to."
She hands me the stacked reports, oozing with dollar signs. "I don't understand."
"This is Andy's inheritance from our parents. My grandfather founded the Caminiti Tire empire in St. Louis and passed it on to my father. After Dad died, when we were thirteen, Mom sold the business and set up funds for both Andy and me. I used mine to get my gallery going and just monitored Andy's all these years. Now it's yours, Kendall."
"My father came from money?" Like the Celia Nichols kind of money? My eyes dart across the report. It's not a fortune, but it's muy substantial. I mean, like paying-for-college substantial. Money that's been earning interest over the last seventeen years. Whoa, Nelly!
I try to calm my excitement with a deep breath. "Can I do anything I want with this?"
"Sure," Andi says. "What were you thinking? A new car?"
I snicker. "Actually, no, I have a great car. I was thinking of going to Europe this summer with it. You know that TV show Ethereal Evidence?"
"Oh, sure, the one with the psychic guy with the mustache. He's amazing."
"Well, I know him and he wants me to help him out with some cases in Europe this summer, only I didn't really have the money for the trip."
Andi points to the bank report. "Now you do."
I call Mom and Dad back into the room to tell them of my newfound wealth. "May I use some of it to go with Oliver and the other kids this summer?"
My parents exchange glances, and then Dad says, "It's your money, Kendall. You can do what you'd like."
"I'd like to go to Europe." I turn to my aunt. "And I'd love it if you came with me. Can you? You know, to chaperone? We can get to know each other better and you can tell me all about my dad."
Tears sprout from her eyes again and a smile shimmers out. "I'd love to, Kendall."
We hug each other again. Suddenly, I feel that my world is righted and back on its axis.
***
Monday's a horrendously busy day at school. I turn in my Civil War report, help out with the yearbook, and fill Celia, Becca, and Shelby-Nichole in on everything that happened on Sunday. That was only yesterday? Holy cow!
"So, I can't believe that just like that, you're an heiress," Celia says as we're leaving school. This is the third time she's uttered this phrase today.
"Not an heiress like you, Cel." But enough.
"Any way I can go on this European adventure with you?" Celia asks, so innocently.
"Seriously? Your parents will let you?"
"Duh. Have AmEx, will travel."
"Of course! Let me call Oliver's assistant and tell her that we work together. With your artistic skills, you can definitely help on the cases if Patrick and I pick something up."
"That would be super-cool. I'll totally pay my way and I won't be a burden or get in your hair."
"I'm not worried about that at all," I say with a laugh.
She adds, "We can go to Paris too, and see Becca in her competition."
"Oh, you know it." What a difference twenty-four hours makes in a person's life.
We stop in front of the Radisson Historical Society. The gloom and despair that once encircled this structure seem to be gone. My psychic headache isn't alerting me to anything evil or dangerous; it's just a beautiful old house among the oaks now.
"Well, we're here," Celia says. "Are you okay with this?"
"Absolutely. Let's go."
Mr. Pfeiffer sighs when he sees us but reluctantly lets us in. We follow him through the hallway and into the great room, where Celia and I sit opposite from him on the couches. He seems different today, not as ready to combat us as before. I sense that his nerves have eased and he's not going to explode from the tension in his head. Slowly, I begin to relay all that happened Saturday night, including telling him about the secret passageway under the fireplace. He needs to know everything, even if the town doesn't.
"We cleansed the manor of the bad spirit hanging around and helped some slave spirits pass into the light. You shouldn't be frightened of the house anymore, Mr. Pfeiffer," I assure him.
He begins to tremble, and the walls of his defenses crumble right before me. "I always knew there was something here. Something watching me. I've been tripped on the stairs, pushed, had what little hair I have left pulled, and had a lamp thrown at me. I had my duty to the Farnsworth family, though." He wrings his hands. "I do thank you. Today has been different for me here. I don't feel like I'm being watched and I'm not hearing the moans and groans from the walls that I usually experience."
Concerned, I reach out to him. "You should have told us these things, Mr. Pfeiffer, instead of fighting us."
"I didn't ... didn't want to believe."
Celia speaks up. "As a historian, you have an excellent chance to do more research, open up this house, and really let the public delve into this part of Radisson's olden times."
"You're right, of course. I'll see what I can do."
"And, Mr. Pfeiffer?"
"Yes, Kendall."
"Xander the Doll is okay now. He's just ... a doll again. You can take him out of the case and display him wherever you want."
His eyes glance at me knowingly and he nods. "I'm sorry for my previous impatience, but I do thank you for changing the atmosphere here. I'll see what I can do to get it opened to the public."
I stand and offer him my hand. "Thanks for your help and for letting us investigate."
He shakes my hand and smiles.
Celia and I walk out. I have one more visit I want to make.
We cross town and go out to the old cemetery where I first saw the parade of Union troops. Now, on this blue-skied sunny day, a soft breeze blows through the trees with not a whisper of times gone by. Instead, there's peace in the green valley and I have a bundle of flowers to deliver to someone special.
I go over the river and down to the back portion of the cemetery, then I walk up to the freshly dug plot and kneel in front of the marble headstone that reads:
FARAH DARLIETTE LEWIS
BELOVED DAUGHTER
WHO NOW SINGS WITH THE ANGELS
I set the bouquet of pink spray roses at the foot of her headstone. Others have left things: pictures, stuffed animals, and musical trinkets. She was definitely loved, and the loss of her in our community will be felt for a while.
"Miss you, Farah. Rest in peace."
The only answer is the rustle of the leaves as the g
entle wind trips through the tree branches. Farah's not here to answer. She's found her final rest and truly is singing with the angels. For a moment, I can almost hear her voice floating through the air.
It's hard to accept when someone dies so young, like Farah, and like my parents, Emily and Andy. That life is stopped in its tracks. Dreams, hopes, and plans are no more. What's left is a marker like this one and the memory of their presence. With my parents, though, their families didn't even have that. It's the main reason I want to find the Faulkners. With Andy's parents both deceased, the Faulkners are the key to knowing everything about my birth mother and how I may have gotten these abilities. Sadly, we lose loved ones—or those we never had a chance to love—but everything happens for a reason. It's not for me to understand or question; it's for me to continue on my path, helping others, using my gifts as best I can.
And that's exactly what I'll do.
Chapter Twenty-three
"NO, YOU DID'UNT!" I shout two weeks later when I see the long, white stretch limo stop in front of my house on Saturday night. I release the curtain of my bedroom and turn one last time to check my appearance in the mirror. Mom helped me with my makeup—a little MAC shininess in the creases of my eyes—and I tried out a new curling iron to make finger curls all over my head. Man, that took, like, two hours, given how much hair I have. But it looks awesome. Like I went to the salon and paid a fortune for a custom do.
"What is it?" Celia asks, returning from the bathroom. She looks breathtakingly amazing with her freshly washed and curled short hair and the sleek black cocktail dress that shows off her miles and miles of long, slender legs. The girl could totally be a model if she set her mind to it.
"The boys rented a limo."
"How cliché," she says, peeking through the curtains. "Holy crap! It's the Hummer limo. That must have cost them a fortune. For what, a six-mile ride to the hotel ballroom?"
I smack her on the arm. "It's one of those rites-of-passage things, remember."
The doorbell rings and Mom calls out, "Girls, your dates are here."
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