Taylor wants to speak her mind all the same. "Life isn't one big party, ma'am. Neither is the dynamics of one family or another la fin du monde. The only thing that actually is the end of the world is ... well, when the world ends." Taylor wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Jason moves to her side so he's within hugging reach if necessary. "See, my mama tried to escape the pain she was going through. She took too much medication—we have that now in our time—and she ended up only hurting her children and herself more. She's now being put in an institution where she can be monitored and counseled so she doesn't do any harm to herself or anyone else again. With that, though ... my brother and I are losing everything that's important in our lives."
Sherry nods. "I'm sorry for your mother, child."
"The point is," Taylor emphasizes, "that you're not alone, Sherry. Everybody hurts ... sometimes. It's part of life."
"Thank you, REM," Becca says quietly.
Celia elbows her hard in the rib cage.
"May I?" Father Mass asks.
"Of course."
He crosses himself and closes his eyes in prayer for a moment. When his dark orbs land on our ghostly visitor, he says. "You're a woman of God, Sherry Biddison. I feel that about you."
"Aye, I am."
"Ask God for forgiveness. He will heal you and make you whole in his holy fellowship in heaven. All you have to do is let go and accept your death. Vengeance is not something that belongs to us. Let go of the confusion and hatred, Sherry. Go in peace and may the grace of God be with you. Now, and forevermore."
"Amen," we say as a group.
Immediately, the air becomes lighter; the scent of aged wool and mustier times recedes. Sherry is no longer before us and no longer with us. I know she has crossed into the light.
"We did it," I say to everyone.
"No, baby girl," Mom says. "You did it."
Sherry Biddison is now at peace. This house is at peace. Mayor Shy and Shelby-Nichole can continue living here and going on about their lives as usual. Most everyone can. Well, Jason and Taylor have to adjust to their new lives, but they're both smart and resilient. They'll do fine.
If only it could be that easy for me. Where do I go from here?
Mom wraps her arm around me as if she knows of my hesitation and internal doubt. Without question, I am loved and cherished by the Moorehead family—the only family I've ever known. Out there, somewhere, though, there are people who are part of me. People who I come from.
And like Sherry Biddison and most of the spirits the ghost huntresses have encountered, I will need answers.
Chapter Twenty
MONDAY MORNING, I AWAKEN surprisingly early, considering the late hour our investigation ended.
There's no Emily there to rouse me with her motherly ways, and my own mom chose to let me sleep in.
However, in just a few hours, Taylor and Jason will be off to Alaska. As much as I hate it, it is what it is. It's reality.
I shower, shampoo, and shave my legs, and then take an extra long time blow-drying my hair and running the curling iron through it to get some body at the ends. I wand my eyelashes with a fresh tube of Lashblast and paint a smattering of lilac soufflé shadow on my lids. I dress in my cutest pair of Seven jeans—the ones with the sparklies across the butt pockets—and a red spaghetti-strap tank underneath a cropped black sweater. With one last glance in the mirror, a dusting of some gloss, and a slipping on of my Steve Madden mules, I'm ready to see my first boyfriend off on his new adventure.
Outside my house, Celia leans against my Honda Fit concentrating greatly on whatever she's manipulating on her BlackBerry.
"Word Mole?" I ask.
Her waggling tongue slips back into her mouth. "No. Sudoku."
"You still can't beat me," I say with a laugh.
"Yeah, well, that's why I practice."
I unlock the car doors and nod to the passenger side. "You coming with?"
"To Casa Tillson?" she asks.
"Where else."
We ride in conversational silence as an old-school best of Earth, Wind, and Fire CD spins out for us. I power the windows down, and we pace ourselves through the streets of Radisson, past the school and through the square over to Hancock Street. Number 305, to be precise. Ironically, just this morning, I looked up the meaning of this combination of digits in my Angel Numbers book:
God and ascended masters are guiding you through this Divine transition. All is well, and you are safe.
I don't know whether that speaks to Jason and Taylor or to me—perhaps to all of us. It's a good message that warms the cockles of the heart and gives me a sense of peace.
In front of the simple Colonial-style house, Taylor drags a rather large Louis Vuitton bag behind her. I had no idea they even made suitcases that large. Hope she knows that airlines charge for each piece of luggage these days.
Mr. Tillson relieves her of the load and swings the behemoth valise into the back of his rented SUV.
"Y'aaaaaaaaaalllll," Taylor squeals when she sees us. The two of us are barely out of the car before our friend attacks us with a goodbye hug. Massive tears are shed by all of us. And you wonder why I didn't put on eyeliner this morning when I was fixing up.
"I'm going to miss you so badly, Tay-Tay," I say affectionately. Never have I ever met someone as popular and pretty as Taylor who is also as genuine and real.
"Me too," she says into my shoulder.
"You have our e-mails and cell phones," Celia says, like a mother sending her kid off to summer camp. "We can also IM and chat online just like we're across town from each other. Nothing has to change."
Tears shimmer in Taylor's eyes. "Y'all are the best friends I've ever had. Becca came by a little while ago and gave me this." Taylor tugs up the left leg of her jeans to reveal a tattoo of a small ghost on her ankle.
"You did not!" I say. "Becca did that?"
Taylor laughs heartily. "It's totally done in henna. But I think we should all get a real one. A symbol of our time together."
Celia's eyebrows lift. "Now that's an idea."
"I'm even thinking of starting my own ghost-hunting team once I get to Alaska," Taylor announces. "The one rule will be that nobody wears Uggs."
I laugh, knowing there's a pair of those ugly things in the way back of my closet.
Jason exits the house hauling a gigamonic duffle bag on his shoulder. He looks just as gorgeous today as that first time I saw him in the school cafeteria after dreaming about him. No one on the planet has blue eyes to match his, and I'll never forget the way they stare at me with such affection.
"I think that's it," he says, hefting the bag into the vehicle.
"Are you bringing the kitchen sink too?" his dad asks.
"Humor me, Pop," Jason says. Then he turns to me and holds out his hand. "Come here, you."
I fall into step next to him as we walk to the other side of the car. Taylor and Celia continue to chat so that Jason and I can have a moment together.
He wraps his long arms around me and holds me so closely it seems like I'll be behind him at any second. His heartbeat strums in his chest that's pressed up against me, and I realize this is as hard for him as it is for me. This guy truly digs me.
"I love you so much, Kendall."
"I love you too, Jason. I always will."
His cool lips warm as they touch mine, parted slightly for the exhilaration of our final moment together as official girlfriend-boyfriend. The kiss deepens and intensifies to match the tumultuous emotions we're both feeling. For the first time, I sense Jason's thoughts directly. He's afraid to leave me at such a critical juncture in my life although there's nothing he can do about it. It feels to him like he's abandoning me.
I withdraw from the kiss, but not from him. "You're not abandoning me. You're keeping your family together. You and Tay need your dad right now. Your mom will get good medical care, and who knows what will happen. We have to stay positive, Jase."
His thumb brushes across my bottom lip in
a whispered reverence. "You are always Ms. Susie Sunshine. That's one of the things I love about you, Kendall."
Yeah, well, it's all an act right now. I'm anything but positive about my own future. I just can't let on anything to Jason. He has to be assured that I'm okay so he can get on that airplane and fly off to the farthest reaches of our country. Family first—for both of us.
I lift up on my tiptoes to kiss him again. Soft and quick, over and over. "You'll always be in my heart, Jason Tillson."
"You too, K."
"You two done macking on each other over there?" Taylor calls out.
"Probably not," Celia remarks. "Anyone got a crowbar?"
"Har-har-har. Very funny," I say, still gripping Jason's hand.
"Like you and MacKenzie didn't make out for two hours last night," Jason says to his twin. "I should have broken his face."
Taylor punches at him. "Get over yourself."
"Right, Jason," Celia says. "All of those dogsledding boys are gonna loves them Miss Southern Belle."
We all laugh together and then fall into one giant embrace.
Mr. Tillson clears his throat. "I hate to break this up, kids, but Air Alaska waits for no one. Especially at the Atlanta airport."
One more hug. One more kiss. One more goodbye. And then the Tillsons are backing out of their former driveway and disappearing around the curve.
"Hmm..." Celia says, deep in thought.
"What?"
"Just wondering who we'll get to do photos for us now."
Now might not be the best time to tell her—although I owe her my honesty. "You may need to find someone to do the sensitive work as well."
"WTF? You can't ditch me too, Kendall! Are you moving back to Chicago?"
"No, not at all. I just need to ... step away from the ghost hunting for a while."
"What about Emily?" Celia asks.
"She's gone," I say with a wistfulness in my voice.
"Like gone gone?"
I bob my head. All that time Emily and I spent together and I never realized she'd actually given birth to me. Wow ... some psychic I've turned out to be. "She said she finally saw the light. For the first time since I was born. She had to go. I wanted nothing more than for her to stay, especially now that I have so many questions left unanswered."
"I'm sure." Celia reaches into her back pocket and pulls out some folded papers. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be interested in this. It's from my cousin Paul, with the GBI."
"About Emily?"
Celia's turn to bob her head. "Go ahead and peruse it."
My hand shakes as I read the report on missing person Emily Jane Faulkner, daughter of John Thomas and Anna Wynn Faulkner of St. Germain, Wisconsin. Last seen on December 21, 1993, at a Mobil station in Rockford, Illinois. Driving a Pontiac Grand Am registered in her name. Thought to be traveling from Wisconsin to St. Louis, Missouri, with Andy Caminiti...
I let my hands fall to my sides. "This has the names and locations of my real grandparents. And this Andy person—he could be my ... father." The lump in my throat migrates down to my heart, causing it to beat like a locomotive. "Celia, do you know what this means?"
"We've got more investigations to carry out?"
"I do. I've got to find a way to get in touch with these people. I can't waste my energies anymore on strangers, Celia. Ghost hunting means nothing to me when it's possible there are people out there who can tell me about where I come from."
Seemingly confused, Celia asks, "Why is that so important to you?"
My mouth drops open. "It'll explain why I am the way I am. Why I'm ... afflicted with this sixth sense. Why it's happening to me."
With hand extended, Celia says, "Anything I can do to help—count on me."
"Thanks. Maybe one day we'll get back to the ghost hunting."
Celia drops her chin into her chest; her dark hair covers her face. She digs her booted shoe into the gravel of the Tillsons' driveway and lets out a sigh. "All good things must come to an end."
With a snicker, I say, "So we've switched from Shakespeare to old English proverbs, eh?"
"Actually," she starts, "I was thinking of Jean-Luc Picard's final words on the last episode of Star Trek:The Next Generation."
I toss my head back and laugh like crazy for the first time in weeks. At least since my run-in with Sherry Biddison and her staircase of death. The jostling makes my side hurt where my surgery stitches have just been removed, but it's the best feeling in the world.
"You are such a geek. That's why I love you."
She flashes me a toothy grin and we begin walking back to my car.
"Besides," I say, "I much prefer Captain Kirk and the original series."
"Purist," she mutters.
"I call 'em as I see 'em."
"Why don't we start a Star Trek club at school," Celia suggests. She loops her long legs into my small car and buckles up. "We could have a convention and people can dress like their favorite character—you know, like cosplay. Or we could debate certain topics, like Romulan aggression versus Klingon independence. Maybe we could even try to do some timetravel experiments to see if we indeed need portals or if the slingshot around the sun works."
As Celia Nichols, queen of the science geeks, prattles on, I shift gears and smile. Sure, our ghost-huntress team is in a little disarray, but nothing will stop girls with a mission.
That we are!
* * *
Epilogue
I SIT AT RADISSON'S CENTRAL PERK CAFÉ stirring my chai soy latte—I know, how pretentious-sounding of me—and let out a long sigh. God willing, I've just aced the last of my midterms and am almost done with calculus in my life ... forevah.
Spring break is coming up in a few weeks. Celia, Taylor, Becca, and I were going to drive down to Destin, with Loreen and my mom chaperoning, and do a little ghost hunting. That's off the table now.
I got a text from Taylor yesterday telling me how gorgeous Alaska is and how she's never seen so many people wearing plaid, which she finds goes well with her American Eagle jeans that make her butt look cute—her words, not mine. Leave it to Taylor Tillson to take the lemons and not only make lemonade but have enough left over for lemon teacakes and lemon chiffon pie.
Mmmm ... pie. Maybe I'll get a piece to celebrate finishing my tests.
If only life were so simple that a mere dessert could assuage all aches.
And I am sadly hurting. A dull throbbing daily that has me tossing and turning in my sleep. It's more than just losing Jason and seeing him and Taylor move off. It's the uncertainty of so many things. My existence, for starters.
I stare at the foam in my cup as if it's an apparition of my past. I wish it could answer my questions. Before, I was just Kendall Moorehead, daughter of David and Sarah, from Chicago, Illinois. Now, I'm the adopted daughter of a kind nurse and a dedicated city planner. They're still my parents; that's a no-brainer. However, deep down, in a crevice of my stomach, that groaning sensation gurgles, stirring up the endorphins in my brain, which has more questions than a Trivial Pursuit game.
Sure, looking back at the past few months of my life, see I've experienced more than most "normal" teenagers do. My psychic awakening is now nothing compared to having a near-death experience and then finding out I'm adopted.
I miss Emily terribly. At times, it seems she's still watching over me, but I know that's just a pipe dream. She finally found her peace where she belongs. When will I find mine, though? I've stared at that piece of paper Celia gave me from her cousin a hundred times. The names write out in cursive in my mind's eye.
Emily Jane Faulkner.
John Thomas and Anna Wynn Faulkner.
Andy Caminiti.
Significant players in the movie of my life.
My dreams are fraught with myriad images of strangers. A gray-haired woman sitting on a back porch, watering flowers. An older man with a hearing aid casting for fish on a lake. A woman making breakfast for a large group of people in a mountain resort. Mountains, too,
color my dreams. Beautiful, majestic rocks shooting high into the vast blue sky, as if reaching to heaven. Waterfalls of misty streams fall between boulders casting off prisms of rainbows. It's a gorgeous place, but I have no idea where it is or why I'm seeing visions of it.
And then there's the guy. The one I've dreamed of before. Dark blackish brown hair with streaks of gray or white at the temples. Jet-black eyebrows and eyes the color of coffee before it's diluted with cream. He bores those chocolate eyes into me as if there's hatred or resentment between us—which is wicked sad 'cause he's wicked cute. Who he is, I haven't a clue, but knowing how things are for me since my awakening, I'm sure I'll meet him soon.
Mom's Volvo pulls up to the curb and she honks the horn as she waves. I nab my Styrofoam cup, book bag, and purse and head out.
"Calculus?" she asks when I open the car door.
"Ninety-seven."
Mom holds up her hand, wanting a high-five. Since she's not aware that kids my age fist bump instead, I humor her. "I'm so proud of you, Kendall," she says.
"Thanks, Mom. I'm proud of me, too—considering all the crap I've been through."
She places her hand lovingly on my knee and squeezes. "That's something I wanted to talk to you about. Dig into my purse and pull out that stuff I printed."
I bend and find several pages stapled together. Enlightened Youth Retreats? I read. "What's this for?"
Mom glances over and then back at the road as she drives through Radisson toward our house. "I called Dr. Ken Kindberg in Atlanta, remember him?"
"Sure." Dr. Kindberg was the psychiatrist who confirmed that I do indeed possess the psychic skills I claim to have. "Why did you call him?" Probably a stupid question, considering ... everything.
Mom rolls her eyes at me and snickers. "Annnnnyway. I filled him in on all you have been through lately and he directed me to this website that can help you."
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