Ever Lost (Secret Affinity Book 2)

by Melissa MacVicar

  Noemie nods at me. “Jade, please call to her. Bring her forth.”

  What? I wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot, but I can play along. I have done this before. I close my eyes and reach for Noemie. She grasps my hand.

  “Miriam,” I say softly. Somehow, I know her name is Miriam.

  I feel her arrival in a rush of air. Snapping my eyes open, I find her floating beside me, peering at my face.

  “Who are you?” she asks. She speaks with an accent. Irish, I think. She wears a long, coarse-looking skirt and a thick tan blouse. Her face bears cuts and scrapes, as do her gnarled hands.

  “We are here to help you, Mrs. Lockwood,” Noemie says. “You must join your children.”

  Miriam shudders, her battered face wrinkling with scorn. “I don’t care about those ungrateful little buggers!”

  “You need peace, ma’am. Peace for a weary traveler,” Noemie says.

  Veronica is watching the spot where our attention is directed, but she obviously doesn’t see Mrs. Lockwood in all her nastiness. A gust of wind blows out all the candles at once. Veronica gasps.

  “This is my home! I will not go!” Mrs. Lockwood screams.

  Noemie stands. “Enough anger, Miriam. Enough sadness. They await you. Your everlasting family is there, not here.”

  Miriam takes off and shoots up to the cathedral ceiling, making a loop around the chandelier. She becomes only a disembodied head, howling at the top of her lungs or wherever the dead get their noise.

  Noemie relights the huge pillar candle that stinks the worst. This must be the most important one. Then, she begins praying in French. It sounds like a rolling chant.

  Je demande au divin et les anges pour enlever toute la terre à terre, démonet d’autre sentités,

  Les boucliers sombres énergies sombres, des appareil set des connexions sombres sombres de ce corps, cette aura, cette âme et cette corde.

  Veronica cries out, “Oh God!” and covers her face with her hands.

  Noemie remains calm. Her eyes are open, but she seems to be in a trance. She sways from side to side and raises and lowers her arms repeatedly. I hear the rumble of voices, the same ones from Lydia’s banishment, the ones I tried to call for Mr. Avery. The voices get louder, sounding like a bunch of people talking at once in a crowded room. They slowly overtake Miriam’s howl. The ball of light and sound that is Miriam seems to be pulled to Noemie by her hand motions.

  “Listen,” Noemie says. “They will help you find serenity.”

  Miriam reforms into a sheer white mass. Her face is free of all blemishes. She shakes her head as if she’s just resurfaced from underwater. “Who is that?” She gazes toward a glow emanating from the corner of the room.

  “Your kin. You must go to them. They want you to be with them,” Noemie says. She’s still now, no longer swaying.

  “They’re there? You’re sure?” Miriam asks.

  “Yes. Travel through. You will find peace.” Noemie begins praying again in French.

  Veronica removes her hands from her face and looks up. “What’s happening?” she squeaks.

  “Watch,” Noemie says. “She seeks her peace.”

  The light sparks brighter. Veronica and I raise our hands to shield our eyes. I remember the light and the vision of the spirit cast in the brightness of it from my last banishment.

  Noemie says, “There she is, ma’am. You see?”

  Veronica’s mouth falls open. “Dear God!”

  And as fast as the portal or whatever it is arrived, it vanishes. The door to the other side is shut, and we are left alone, with only the candles and the potions. Veronica still looks like a fish sucking air on the deck of a boat. Noemie sits back in her chair with a sigh. I sense her exhaustion. I’ve experienced the same fatigue.

  “It is good with us, Veronica?” Noemie asks. “You are satisfied?”

  Veronica turns to look at Noemie. “She’s gone? What I saw was her leaving?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She will not be haunting you anymore.” Noemie begins gathering her candles, using a rag to wipe off the excess hot wax.

  “I can’t believe it.” Veronica gapes at the corner again. “I saw her. Thank you. Thank you so much.” She stands and walks over to hug Noemie.

  Noemie smiles at me over the rich lady’s shoulder. And I smile back because Noemie is really quite amazing.

  Jade

  Chapter 23

  “That was awesome,” I tell Noemie in the car. “How you brought her back from the tantrum. What was that prayer? I gotta learn that.”

  “A conjuring prayer from Haiti. It was not just the prayer, though. It was my energy. My understanding of her needs.”

  I consider this, and I think I know what she means. Lydia needed me to feel her pain, too. She wanted to connect with me before she left. “I know what you mean.”

  When we stop at a light, Noemie fiddles with her GPS. “Yes. Good. That is good. That is the only truly necessary part. You, the medium, must aid the transition with all your heart and mind. Now tell me this address again. Your Nana.”

  “Nana? 252 E Street, Apartment A, South Boston.” My mom sends a card every Christmas, and I always help with the labels. I memorized it because, sometimes, when I was upset with my mother, I dreamed about running away to live with her. Maybe Nana was really a fairy queen and my mother an evil witch who’d kidnapped me. “I’m not sure we should go, though. It might be weird.”

  Noemie stops tapping on the GPS. “Whatever you want, chou chou, but you must decide.”

  My leg jiggles as I drum my fingers on my thigh. “Is it close?”

  “Yes. About five minutes.”

  “And we could just drive by?”

  “Yes. If that is what you’d like.”

  I pause and pull out my phone. I check it for the time—a quarter to five. We should get on the road, but I also can’t resist this opportunity. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  Ten minutes later, we turn onto E Street and locate the building. Noemie parks right in front of it, beside a fire hydrant. Clapboards cover the exterior, but they aren’t real clapboards like the ones in Nantucket. They’re some sort of cheap imitation, maybe vinyl siding. No shutters or flowers soften the look as they do for some of the neighboring houses. I notice three black mailboxes nailed beside the front door. They are labeled A, B, and C for the three apartments.

  “Are you sure this is the one?” Noemie asks. She hasn’t turned off the car, yet, and the radio plays softly.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to knock?” Noemie asks.

  “No. I can’t.”

  The front curtain of the first-floor apartment moves, and I hold my breath. An old woman peers out, looking directly at our car. Even though I haven’t seen her in forever and she’s much older than I remember, it’s definitely Nana. The face is seriously wrinkled and aged, but still Nana with her poufy, bleach-blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

  “Is this her, chou chou?” Noemie asks.

  “Yeah.”

  She leaves the window, and I wonder what will happen next. Nana looked angry. She knows we don’t belong here. I barely have time for this thought to fly across my mind when the front door opens and she steps out onto the stoop. She wears a pale-blue polyester track suit. The top zips up the front, and the pants are hideously baggy with elastic at the ankles.

  Nana points at us. “There’s no crack here! Now move along!” She makes a shooing gesture.

  “Would you like me to drive away, Jade?”

  “No,” I murmur, staring at my grandmother. I couldn’t believe she had just accused me of being a crackhead, probably because I’m black.

  “Whatchya staring at?” she shouts. “Get outta here!” Her Boston accent is strong.

  Som
ething surges in my chest. Maybe it’s courage or maybe it’s righteous indignation, but I reach for the door handle. If I get out, Nana might recognize me. I exit the car and stand beside it.

  Nana tilts her head to the side. “Jade?”

  I nod. “Hi, Nana.” Hot tears spring to my eyes, blurring my vision.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, looking confused. She glances up and down the street, maybe looking for Mom. Or perhaps she was checking for TV cameras, thinking we were in some reality TV show.

  Unfortunately, I don’t know how to answer her question, so I just say nothing. Noemie gets out but stays on her side of the car.

  Nana glances at her and then turns back to me. “Well, come here then. Let me give my granddaughter a hug.”

  Nana opens her arms. I swipe at my tears and look both ways before scurrying across the street.

  Nana smiles and pulls me into a hug. “Look how tall you are! You must tower over your mother.”

  I nod but can’t speak past the lump in my throat.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks. “Did you run away?” The smell of scotch floods my senses.

  “No. I live with my dad now. In Manchester.”

  “And who is this? Your stepmom?”

  Even though she reeks of booze, she doesn’t appear drunk, at least not that I can tell. I’m not a drunk expert, though. My parents are only social drinkers, thank God.

  “No. She’s a friend. I was just going to drive by. We were in Charlestown, and I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” I clasp my hands together tightly and look down at my feet.

  Nana smiles, revealing oversized dentures. Her frosted-blue eye shadow crinkles above her tired blue eyes. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Can you come in for a minute? Or does your friend have to go?”

  I glance across the street where Noemie is standing, sunglasses off, eyes squinted.

  “Yes, but only for a few minutes. We must get on the road,” Noemie says. She shuts the driver’s door and crosses the street. She extends her hand to Nana. “Noemie. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Nana O’Neil shakes Noemie’s hand. Despite her racist views, she can be polite. “Judy O’Neil.”

  I’m glad that Noemie is coming in with me. I’m fearful of this wrinkled, hunched woman who’s so bleached and blue and odorous, even though she’s never given me any cause that I can remember. I only know the things my mother has told me. However, a small part of me feels weird that Noemie will be intruding on my family reunion.

  “This way. Watch this step.” Nana shuffles inside the door.

  We follow her into a moldy-smelling lobby then through her apartment door. The living room is powder blue and mauve pink.

  “Have a seat. The couch or that chair,” Nana says, pointing. “I’ll get you some water. Sorry, but that’s all I got.”

  “It’s fine, Nana. We don’t need anything,” I tell her.

  “No, no. I’ll get it.” She disappears into what must be the kitchen.

  Noemie and I sit on the couch. Faux-wood paneling stretches halfway up the wall. The hardwood floor is covered with a blue, pink, and mint-green Oriental rug. Prints of flowers, sunsets, and quaint cottages decorate the walls. On an end table are some photos in silver frames—me smiling in my first-grade picture, Mom and an eighth-grade me standing in front of Brant Point Lighthouse, and my school picture from sophomore year.

  Nana returns, clutching two tiny juice glasses filled with water. My eyes start to sting again.

  “Thank you, Mrs. O’Neil,” Noemie says. She accepts her water with a kind smile.

  “You’re welcome.” Nana settles into a recliner. “So how was the wedding?”

  I’m surprised she knows about Mom’s wedding, and I wonder why she didn’t attend. “It was nice. Really nice.” I keep my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

  “She sent me an invitation, but I knew she didn’t really want me to come. Not with that guy as a husband.” Nana makes a harrumph noise. “I didn’t want to embarrass her. Plus, I don’t travel real well. You know, being so old and crotchety.” She takes of sip of some brown liquid in a short tumbler—more alcohol?—then sets the glass back on the round table beside her recliner.

  I’m not sure why she doesn’t like Mike—maybe because he’s rich—but I know she didn’t like Dad because he’s black. I wonder what sort of man would make her happy. My thoughts swirl in a whirlpool of pastel blue and scotch. I shouldn’t have come here. Mom is going to kill me when she finds out.

  “So why you livin’ with ya father now?”

  “Um, it’s a long story. Please don’t tell Mom I was here, though. She doesn’t know.”

  “Of course she doesn’t.” Nana cackles. “She’s been trying to keep you away from me forever. Her daddy died last year, by the way. She didn’t come to his funeral.”

  Paulie the Joker? My mobster Grampy? “Oh,” I say and start wringing my hands again.

  Noemie takes a sip of water. “We can’t stay much longer, Mrs. O’Neil. But thank you for the hospitality.” Noemie is my savior. She knows this is getting weird.

  Nana picks up her glass again. “I know. I know. Go ahead.” Nana waves her drink in the air then takes another swig. “If you ever want to meet your uncle Donny, you can come back. He’s Paulie’s youngest son. Paulie told him to take care of me, so he’s my handyman. The nicest one of all Paulie’s boys. Donny has nice kids, too. Yer cousins… sort of.”

  “It was really great seeing you, Nana.” I jump to my feet. “I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

  “Not your fault. Come again. Let me give you my number so you can call first. I’ll get you some treats if you do.” She fumbles on her side table with a pen then tries to rip a scrap of paper off a small notepad.

  “Here.” I take out my cell. “Just tell me, and I’ll put it in my phone.” I scroll to my contacts.

  “Okay. That might be easier.” She rattles off the numbers, and I get them plugged in, simply naming the contact Nana.

  I bend down to hug her awkwardly. This time, I smell her cheap perfume mixed with the eau de Scotch.

  “You take care of yourself now,” she says into my neck.

  “I will. Don’t get up. We’ll make sure the door is locked.”

  I follow Noemie back out to the car. Looking back, I can see Nana through the window, where she’s sitting in her recliner. She must sit there all day, sipping her liquor and watching what goes on outside.

  Noemie starts the car and turns on the GPS without a word. She turns the radio to a pop station and sings along to Kelly Clarkson in low, soft tones that are more humming than singing.

  I appreciate her giving me time because I have a lot to think about right now. I ponder whether Nana has maybe gotten better in her old age, nicer. Perhaps my mother should give her another chance. Seeing Nana there in her sad little apartment with only her booze and her pictures for company made me kind of sad.

  I look over at Noemie. “That was weird. You must think my family is really weird.”

  Noemie glances at me before shifting her eyes back to the road. “I see nothing weird about your Nana, Jade. She is just an old lady, all alone with her liquor…”

  “It’s weird that she’s my grandmother, though. We’re nothing alike. I don’t have anything in common with her, not like with Grandma Irving.”

  Noemie sighs. “This might be true, but it also might not. If you spent time with your Nana, you might find that there are ways in which you are alike. I can see why your mother kept you from her. I am glad that she did, but now that you are older, you will have to make your own decisions. And what to do about your Nana will be one of them.”

  “What would you do if you were me?”

  “Oh, chou chou, I will not tell you this. It is not my decision to
make. But I do know that people who use drink like your Nana can cause a lot of hurt. They are very sad, but they can hurt others, and you should be careful with your heart.”

  I know Noemie is right. Noemie always seems to be right. Thinking about Nana, all alone in that tiny apartment, might be too much for me to bear, never mind going there and spending time with her. That’s just what I don’t need—one more person who needs me. But despite my fears, I know I should try to find a way to be there for Nana.

  Jade

  Chapter 24

  This day is dragging. Fraser drones on about a medieval painting depicting the Black Death. Then his lesson devolves into a science lesson about its gruesome nature.

  “Bubonic plague was spread through saliva from coughing and sneezing. People lived in very close quarters with poor sanitation. The custom of saying ‘God bless you’ after a sneeze began during that time period because a sneeze was often the first symptom.”

  He closes out the lecture by saying, “I am meeting with the headmaster today after school to work out the details of the winter wrestling schedule, so I won’t be available for after-school help. Email if you have any questions.”

  Bingo! I’ve been looking for an opportunity to snoop in his office or even at his house for the datebook. This may be my chance.

  A week and a half has passed since my visit with the Averys, and even though I was worried, no one seems to know that I went. Life at Layton has gone on with relative normalcy, with the exception of Avery continuing his haunting of Fraser. Yesterday, during Fraser’s lecture, Avery shut off the projector again, and when Fraser went to turn it back on, he got shocked enough to make him yelp. Then Avery turned on his imaginary faucet and somehow made it so both Fraser and I could hear it.

  “Does anyone hear that?” Fraser barked, whipping his head back and forth like a person watching the fastest Ping-Pong game on earth.

  Most students stared at him blankly. A few glanced at each other and rolled their eyes because those incidents were getting to be everyday occurrences. Fraser was starting to look like a mental case.