"Kendall!" Jason and Taylor both fly at me; Celia and Becca follow.
"Shit, Kendall," Celia says. "You look like death on a cracker."
I snicker and then laugh harder until I start to cry for no reason. I succumb to the gripping sobs that shake me. Jason sits and pulls me against him for strength. I don't want to cling desperately to him like some sort of weak woman, but let's just say my energy well is refilling, thanks to his warmth and concern. Taylor winks and takes a picture of us together.
"Oh, great," I say with exasperation. "Take a candid of us when I look like—death on a what? A slice of bread?"
"A cracker," Celia says with a smile. It's all I need to know that she's okay with this whole thing between Jason and me.
"I don't have any freakin' clue what just happened, but I'm glad you're okay," Jason says.
A dot of sweat rolls down my back and into the waistband of my jeans. I'm totally drenched after this, although mentally, I'm stoked. "Believe that I can talk to spirits now?"
The corner of his mouth hitches. "You were talking to something. Whether it was a spirit or just something in your imagination, I don't know. Is it really for me to say?"
Becca looks around. "Where's the ghost dude?"
I wipe the perspiration off my forehead and try to steady my rapid breathing. "He's gone."
"Back down to the courtroom?" Taylor asks.
"No, he's not there either. I think he's crossed over." I crane my head around and gaze into Jason's eyes that are analyzing me so intensely, so sweetly. He places a chaste kiss on the top of my head. Nuzzling into the safety of his strong chest, I let out a long sigh and close my eyes. "In the words of Lady Macbeth, 'What's done, is done.'"
It seems like I slept a millennium, but in reality, it was only what was left of Saturday night and most of Sunday.
I wake up and stretch my limbs under the covers as far as they'll go. My right foot hits something. Or someone.
"Kaitlin?"
She's holding my brown bear, Sonoma, and looks genuinely concerned. "Are you okay, Kendall?"
Sitting up against my pillows, I say, "I think so. Although I feel like I was hit by an eighteen-wheeler."
Kaitlin smiles faintly. "Mom said you were really sick. Like, 'might have to see a special doctor or something' sick."
I reach forward and snag Kaitlin's fingers to weave through mine. "I'm not going anywhere. I just had a long night and needed to ... sleep it off."
"Oh. Okay. 'Cause I don't want, like, anything to happen to you," she says with her eyes down.
Awww ... what an adorable non-brat, I think with a chuckle. "Come here, you."
She crawls up the bed and plops down next to me. I wrap my arm around her and Sonoma and we just lie there for a while, listening to nothing. The little sis comforting the big one.
When I decide to make my appearance in the kitchen downstairs, around three in the afternoon, Mom quietly puts a plate in front of me with a fried chicken breast, a waffle, and a side of homemade mac 'n' cheese. I think it's a bit odd, but she tells me the Nicholses' maid, the gray-haired Alice, brought it over for me. Apparently, it's a soul food tradition, called, aptly enough, chicken and waffle, that comes from the original jazz days back in Harlem when musicians would play all night and then show up at a restaurant in the wee morning hours. They didn't know whether to feed them breakfast or dinner, so they served both. Works for me! As does the salty chicken and the maple-sweet waffle. The mac 'n' cheese is to die for!
As I sit here wolfing down food like I've never eaten before, Mom doesn't hassle me too much about not getting up for Holy Eucharist. In fact, she doesn't really say much at all, other than telling me that Father Massimo called this morning to check on the success of our ghost hunt. Damn, word sure does spread fast in this town. Then again, I already knew that.
Around three thirty, I take a ridiculously long, hot shower that probably drains the water heater of its supply, and then get dressed in jeans and my Bobby Hull Blackhawks jersey.
When I reappear downstairs, Mom's Pledging our living room furniture. "Your father is over at the Nicholses' and would like for you to come over as soon as you're dressed."
I spread my arms wide to indicate my outfit. "Is this appropriate?"
"I'm sure it is," she says, not looking up from her task.
Buckley's sitting on the couch with one leg hiked up straight into the air, cleaning himself. I don't see Natalie and Eleanor around, but I sense that they're near.
"Are we okay, Mom?" I ask delicately.
"Just go to your father, Kendall."
Walking into the living room, I take away the dust rag she's using and then I sit on the arm of the chair. Buckley stops washing and jumps off the couch to come over to me. He hops up into my lap and starts purring. "Look, Mom, I know you're not happy with me. I don't completely understand what's going on with me either, but you've just got to give me some time to figure it all out. Okay?"
Mom nods, and her thoughts aren't masked at all.
I stroke Buckley's gray and white head. "You're a mother. You want to protect me. You want to keep me from harm. I understand all of that. I'm okay, Mom."
She lets out a sigh so long I wonder if it'll ever end. "You slept for twelve hours, Kendall. You were worn out."
"I still am," I say.
"Dr. Murphy came over earlier because he'd heard about your ordeal. He thinks it would be a good idea for you to come into the office for a full physical exam."
"I don't need that. It's the psychic energy, Mom. And dealing with the ghost of Charles Stogdon."
Hurriedly, she reaches for the dust rag and begins cleaning again with great fervor. "Your father explained what happened at city hall last night. I can't say I believe it, though you obviously do."
"I do." I wish I could make her understand.
Her eyes meet mine and I can see a sheen of tears just above her bottom lids. "I know you're growing up. I'm going to have to accept that sooner or later. You'll always be my little girl, though. I will never quit worrying about you or stop trying to protect you. And I'm still going to do all I can to understand what's going on with you."
I fling my arms around her waist and hug her tightly, jostling a still-purring Buckley in the process. Mom combs her hands through my freshly washed and dried hair. We stay like that for a few moments until Kaitlin bursts from the den to the front door to let in Penny Carmickle. Moments later, we hear Guitar Hero roar to life in the other room, and we both laugh.
"You know, I think she's the one who'll end up in therapy," I say.
Mom swipes the cloth at me. "Go see your father."
I scoop up Buckley, kiss him on the head, and then place him on the floor.
"Love ya! Mean it!"
I walk out through our backyard and over to Celia's house. She answers the door and pulls me in by the arm before I can even say hello.
"We're in here." She tugs me through the massive front corridor into a large dining room. There sit Becca and Taylor on one side of the table and my dad, Mr. Nichols, and an African American man I don't know on the other. Between them is a computer monitor and Celia's laptop.
"What's going on?" I ask.
Celia ushers me toward the empty chair next to Taylor. "We didn't want to bother you since you were, like, passed out and stuff. We've been going through the tapes and pictures from last night all day, analyzing everything. Now we're debriefing our clients."
I snicker at the thought of my dad being a "client."
"Dad, you know Kendall," Celia says to her father.
Mr. Nichols stands. "Sure, sure. Have a seat, Kendall. Are you feeling better?"
I step over a stretched-out—and snoring—Seamus to take a chair. I scoot it up closer to the table. "Yes, sir. Sleep was the best thing for me to get my energy back."
"Good to know," he says. He gestures to the man sitting next to him. "I want you to meet my friend and associate Dawson Edgars."
"Kendall." The man smiles and extends a hand acro
ss the table to me.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Edgars."
"Call me Daw. Mr. Edgars was my father."
We chuckle together. Then I realize this is Thomas Edgars's descendant. "It's you!"
He cocks his head at me. "It is?"
"Charles told us all about your ancestors. How cool that you and your family still live here in Radisson?"
He folds his hands together. "Celia, Taylor, and Rebecca have been telling us all about your investigation last night and I'm just amazed at the information. The fact that you knew my ancestor's name and that he was once a slave of Mr. Charles Stogdon—that's phenomenal."
"Thanks Mr., err ... Daw."
Daw continues. "My grandmother has long been the keeper of our family history and she gave me this scrapbook." He hefts a big red book up onto the table. There's gold embossing on the cover that reads "Edgars." He turns to the front and then spins it around to me. "This is the only picture our family has of Charles Stogdon. It's not really a photo at all but something called a ferrotype or a tintype."
I reach my hand out and pull the book toward me. Sure enough, there's a metallic sheet with a black-and-white etching of Charles Stogdon. He's wearing an outfit quite similar to what he had on when he appeared to me last night. "That's exactly who I saw at city hall."
Daw looks to Dad and Mr. Nichols. "Fascinating."
"That's my girl." Dad grins proudly at me. "Your team got a lot of interesting sound clips and photos last night."
Taylor points at the screen. "I got some great shots, Kendall, when you were talking to Charles. None of us could see him. However, if you look here," she says, "you'll see the outline of a shadow."
"Pretty cool," I say. "That's definitely where he was."
Celia winks at me. "The EVPs indicate that Charles Stogdon indeed wanted everyone off his land. Temperature readings correlate with the timing of his apparition and appearance to you, with the digital readings sloping down into the mid-forties."
Becca sees my look of wonder and adds, "Don't worry, K. We've already told them about the terminology."
"Oh, okay."
Daw speaks out. "We've agreed that as a result of your findings, it would be a wonderful idea to honor the memory of Charles Stogdon in the Mega-Mart development."
"We're going to name the main street into the distribution center Thomas Edgars Boulevard," Dad says. "And the whole development area is going to be referred to as Stogdon Landing."
A smile breaks wide on my face. "That would mean a lot to him." I know it would.
Dad pulls off his glasses and flicks at a spot of dust. "I'll admit this idea of ghost hunting sounded a bit off the charts, Kendall; that is, until I was assaulted. You girls have worked hard and researched and brought this entity under control. Seems you've got a good team together and you're serious about what you're doing."
"We are, Dad."
"Are you going to continue?" he asks.
I know what the right thing to say is. "Only if you and Mom approve."
He sets his glasses back on his nose. "I can't speak for your mother, but I'm all for it. You have an ability that you need to use. Although I swear you didn't get it from me. Don't worry, I'll work on Mom."
I get up and go around the table to hug Dad.
Mr. Nichols laughs. "So this is what you spend all of my hard-earned money on, Celia? Equipment and computers and software?"
"Umm, yeah." She tosses her bangs out of her face. "A girl's gotta have a hobby."
Taylor folds her hands in front of her. "Let me just say that I'm honored to have been chosen to join this group. I can only hope that my photography can help us bridge a gap to the other side."
Celia and I exchange smiles. "She's really into this," Celia says.
"We all are," I add. "Especially if it helped make Dad's office safe and allowed Charles to move on."
Daw stands. "For all of your work, I want to invite you ladies to the groundbreaking at Stogdon Landing. I'll let David know the details, and you can all come out for it. Maybe even help with the ribbon cutting."
"We'd love that, Daw," Taylor sings out.
I wink at Celia, who says, "We done good here."
"It's just the beginning."
Booooooorrrrrrr! Even Seamus barks out his agreement.
I can barely concentrate through my morning classes on Monday because everyone is talking about our successful ghost hunting.
Celia's wearing a pair of smart black pants and a fitted sweater that complements her not-so-developed chestal area. Taylor and I dug it out of the depths of her closet and swore to her that we'd burn her graphic tees if she didn't show off her figure. Her hair is fluffy and styled with some of the hair products that Taylor left with her last night. The hint of mascara on the tips of her lashes really brings out her eyes, and the faint lip-gloss gives her totally kissable-looking lips. Not like I'd want to kiss her—hello!
Taylor rushes up to Celia and me as we're about to head to our lockers after calculus. Her hair is perfectly coifed, as per usual, and she looks no worse for the wear after the weekend ghost hunting. "Y'all are never going to believe what happened!"
"Are you okay?" I ask, trying to reach out to her with my psychic abilities.
"Ryan MacKenzie asked me to study with him!"
I blink in confusion. "What's a Ryan MacKenzie?"
Celia smacks me hard on the arm. "He's only one of the cutest guys in school. Running back for the football team. Shaggy blond hair. He's always reading Catcher in the Rye."
I've seen him around school. "Oh, cool!" This is apparently a big deal for Taylor, who definitely needs some positive male attention in her life.
Taylor talks a million words a minute. "He said he heard about our ghost hunting and how we'd made contact and how everyone's talking about it and how we could literally start a franchise and clean out every house in Radisson from the spirits left here for so long and that we should study together and he can help me out with biology if I help him out with history and—"
My head's going to detonate from Taylor's excitement. But I'm happy for her. She deserves it.
Taylor stops and snaps her fingers in front of Celia. "Girlfriend, you are très chic today. Simply gorgeous."
I look at Celia and tease her. "See what happens when you bathe?"
As she's about to tomboy punch me, someone calls out to her.
"Hey, Celia! You forgot this!"
We turn to see Clay Price trotting down the hall after us and waving a notebook over his head. Yikes! It's the one with Celia's drawings of Jason.
Slightly out of breath, Clay says, "You left this in calculus. You might need it tonight ... you know, to do your homework."
Celia snags the notebook and her cheeks stain. "How did you know it was mine?"
Clay simply smiles. "Easy. I saw the illustrations in the back and I know you like to sketch, so I put two and two together." He steps closer. "That's a cool drawing you've got in the back."
I see Celia swallow noticeably, and I feel bad for her. It was hard enough for her to show me her picture of Jason. Now Clay's seen it?
Bravely though, Celia flips the spiral book open to share with him. I peer over her shoulder and gasp when I see, not the drawing of Jason, but one of Clay sitting in class listening to the teacher.
"What can I say?" Celia starts. "I was bored in class and you were in my line of sight."
Clay grins widely at her. "Glad you finally see me."
Taylor grabs my arm and mouths, Awww.
Clay continues. "You look great today, Celia. Did you change your hair?"
She ducks her chin a little. "Yeah. Thanks." Celia shifts her weight from one foot to the other. I can sense her hesitation, mixed with some uncharacteristic boldness. "Maybe you can come over after school and see our ghost-hunting equipment. You know, how we do everything. I can show you the evidence we got this weekend."
"That'd be cool," he says. "We can run over to Chick-fil-A afterward, you know ... if you w
ant."
"Sure. Great."
After Clay's gone, Taylor and I both start squealing like sixth grade girls. "I knew you liked him!" I say.
Celia smirks and tries to shrug it off. "Yeah, whatever."
I can see right through her, though. Her features are so animated, it's like a Disney character about to burst forth in an Elton John song. Her eyes have an adorable twinkle to them as she takes an over-the-shoulder peek at Clay's retreating form. Ah yes ... gone is her crush on Jason Tillson. In my mind, I see her in her room, tearing the page of him out of her notebook, wadding it up, tossing it in the garbage can. Ironically, behind that page are other sketches of Clay, so he was in her thoughts all along too.
"Did I call that one or what?" I say, not caring that I'm gloating.
"Hey, bitches," Becca calls out. "On your way to the caf?"
"Yep!" Taylor says with a bubbly joy in her voice. "You wanna come sit with us today or do you have to spin?"
I lift my brow. "Put a CD on and come hang."
Becca thinks for a moment. No longer are we the Barbies who bother her. We're teammates in an honorable venture. She's one of us now. "Sure," she says with a smile. "Y'all a'ight, you know?"
I put my arm around her and hug her whether she likes it or not.
We buzz through the cafeteria line—a cheeseburger and fries for Becca, Celia, and me; a salad with no dressing and a hard-boiled egg for Taylor, who wants to look her best for her study date with Ryan MacKenzie—and head straight to our table. I feel the eyes of Courtney Langdon and her flock of followers on my back as we pass by. I've got bigger fish to fry than the likes of a junior girl so insecure in herself that she has to resort to bulimia. Course, once she finds out Jason and I are an item—we are, aren't we?—she'll totally hate me. I'll deal with that whenever we get to that bridge.
Speak of the devil! Jason is waiting at our table for us, a mischievous look in his eyes. He takes my tray and sets it down next to his. "Where've you been all day?"
"Duh. Class."
We all sit, and before I can attack my ooey-gooey cheeseburger that's calling out to me, Jason snags my hand under the table and weaves his fingers through mine. "I've been worried about you. Your mom wouldn't let me see you yesterday."
The Awakening Page 24
