Believing

by Wendy Corsi Staub

“They had a lot of arguments. They never got along very well—but don’t let that change how you feel about your grandmother,” he adds hastily. “She’s definitely headstrong and eccentric, and I can’t say I ever really understood where she was coming from. But she’s a good person. And like I said, your mother could be difficult, too.”

  It’s the first time since Mom’s death that she’s heard her father say anything less than complimentary about her.

  Looking back on their marriage, Calla knows it worked for them, but now she can see that her mother was in charge, and her father either went along with her or made himself scarce. Not always physically. Sometimes he just buried his head in a book or his research.

  For the first time, Calla wonders if there was more than just ordinary tension between her parents. She never paid much attention. Never had a reason to.

  Until she figured out the real identity of the stranger who visited Mom on Saint Patrick’s Day.

  “I know Mom and Gammy didn’t get along,” she tells her father, “but there was one big argument that caused the rift, right, Dad? Because . . . I mean, I was there. I remember it.”

  Silence.

  “Dad?”

  Calla decides his cell phone must have broken the connection and is about to hang up when her father asks quietly, “What do you remember?”

  Oh. He’s still there. Well, he’s always been the kind of person who gets lost in thought, prone to long silences. That’s why it isn’t easy to carry on a long-distance father-daughter relationship. She needs to see him.

  Longing, suddenly, to be face-to-face with him, she asks, “Dad, what do you mean, what do I remember?”

  “Do you remember anything about that fight? Because your mother never told me what it was about. She wouldn’t talk about it. All I knew was that I got home from work one night and your grandmother had left with all her luggage, and never said good-bye. I never talked to her again until I called to tell her . . . about Mom.”

  His voice cracks, and the aching lump again threatens to strangle Calla.

  She longs to tell her father what she fears more than anything: that her mother’s death wasn’t an accident after all. But that would mean telling him about that man, the one who visited on Saint Patrick’s Day and called himself Tom—not his real name—and distracted Mom so that she burned the soda bread. If Calla closes her eyes, she can still see him standing at the front door, holding a manila envelope. He was whistling that strange tune, looking as though he wanted to appear totally casual.

  Calla spotted him again in the crowd of mourners at Mom’s funeral in July.

  That was the last she saw of him . . . until she got to Lily Dale. But her latest sighting wasn’t in person. No, he’s pictured in a framed photo on Mom’s dresser.

  He’s her high school boyfriend. Darrin Yates.

  Calla didn’t recognize him until the night the jewelry box opened by itself and she found the bracelet.

  She knows now that his recent connection to Mom was about more than just old friends catching up. It had to be. Otherwise, wouldn’t he have introduced himself when Calla answered the door? Wouldn’t Mom have been happy to see him? Wouldn’t she have told Calla about their old times together after he left, instead of being so remote and upset? Definitely upset.

  Ramona Taggart had known both Calla’s mother and Darrin. She said he was troubled, and that Odelia disapproved of her daughter’s relationship with him. Darrin disappeared not long before Mom left Lily Dale and was never heard from again.

  Not by anyone here, anyway.

  Mom obviously heard from him . . . not long before her unexpected death.

  Okay, so what did he want?

  And what was in the envelope?

  I have to find out. It’s important.

  Calla is certain of that. The message she’s being given by Aiyana—or whatever spirit is communicating with her—has something to do with Darrin’s connection to Mom.

  Maybe even something to do with . . .

  Mom’s death?

  I have to tell Dad about this, Calla decides . . . just as a chill drifts into the room.

  Shivering, she realizes she isn’t alone. She looks around, expecting to see an apparition.

  The kitchen is empty.

  But the presence is as real as the goose bumps prickling the back of her neck.

  Aiyana, Calla finds herself thinking.

  It’s her. She’s here.

  She doesn’t know how she knows that. She just does. She can feel her.

  And she doesn’t want me to tell Dad about Darrin. Because he doesn’t know. Mom kept it a secret.

  Calla isn’t sure how she knows that; the thought seems to have been placed in her mind by the invisible presence.

  “Calla,” Dad says, “you should know that your grandmother loved you. And your mother, too. Whatever happened . . . well, it was a terrible shame. All those lost years.”

  “So Mom really never spoke to Gammy again?”

  “Not that I know of. She was really upset. What did they argue about? Do you remember? Because at the time it didn’t seem that important, but lately . . .”

  When he trails off, Calla prods him, “What, Dad? Lately, what?”

  “I don’t know. There are just some things . . . your mom—” He cuts himself off. “I shouldn’t even be talking about this with you. And none of it matters anyway. I was just curious if you remembered what your mom and Odelia argued about.”

  The only way we’ll learn the truth is to dredge the lake.

  Should she tell him?

  No. Aiyana doesn’t want her to say anything. Calla senses that somehow.

  Anyway, his grief is as raw as her own; he doesn’t need to dwell on anything even more painful than losing his wife in an accidental fall.

  “I don’t really remember,” she tells him, with only a faint prickle of guilt. It’s for his own good. She has to protect him. At least, for now.

  Her father sighs heavily. “Yeah, well, like I said, it doesn’t matter. Anyway . . . the real reason for this call—aside from seeing how you did in your new school today—is that Jet Blue is running a weekend fare sale. I can fly to New York City and connect. What do you think about that?”

  “You mean . . . connect to here?”

  He laughs. “Well, Buffalo. That’s close enough. I need to hug my girl.”

  His girl.

  He used to call Calla and her mother his girls.

  Now I’m all he has. And he’s all I have.

  Well . . . she has Odelia, too.

  Odelia—Gammy—does love her.

  And she did love Mom. That’s obvious. No matter what happened between them, Odelia loved her.

  So what on earth happened to drive mother and daughter apart?

  Why don’t you just ask?

  This time, the thought didn’t come from Aiyana.

  No, Calla realizes, the presence—and the chill—have evaporated.

  So . . .

  Why doesn’t she just ask her grandmother what happened?

  Maybe I will, she tells herself. Meanwhile . . .

  “I’d love to see you, Dad,” she hears herself say before it occurs to her that she just made a terrible mistake.

  If her father comes to Lily Dale, he’s going to realize what goes on around here and haul her back to California with him on the next plane out.

  “I know how busy you are, though,” she adds hastily, “and I’ll be out there soon enough, so I don’t want to make you spend all that money just to—”

  “Calla, this is costing me less than two hundred bucks round-trip and I’ve already got my ticket. I’ll be there Friday.”

  “Next Friday?” Okay, that’ll give her only a week to figure things out, but—

  “No,” he says, sounding pleased with himself, “this Friday. Day after tomorrow.”

  FIVE

  Thursday, September 6

  7:55 a.m.

  “Oh, before I forget to tell you,” Evangeline says
as they walk into school the next morning under surprisingly warm sunshine, “I can’t walk home with you today. I have to stay after.”

  “For what?” Calla asks, running a hand through her bangs and wishing she could get a haircut.

  “There’s a meeting for anyone who plans to run for student council officer. Hey, want to come?”

  Calla smiles at the invitation. “Considering I’ve gone to this school for, like, twenty-four hours and I’m not even staying the whole year, probably not a great idea. Anyway, I’m going over to Paula’s to babysit, remember? But I promise I’ll vote for you.”

  “Thanks. I really want to win, because if you’re an officer senior year, you’re an officer forever. You know . . . you get honored at the reunions and everything. My dad was class president when he went to school here.”

  That makes Calla wonder about her own mom, and her smile fades.

  As she and Evangeline part ways and she heads toward her locker, she thinks about how little she knows about what her mother was like in high school. Not just the stuff involving Darrin. But all of it. Like whether Mom was a class officer, and whether she ever had Mr. Bombeck for math.

  It’s not earth-shattering information. Just everyday details. The kind you barely notice when they come up in conversation with someone.

  Just like you never go around thinking that every conversation you have with someone could be your last, so you better pay attention, and get everything said.

  Now I’ll never know about Mom in high school. Unless . . .

  She can always ask Gammy. Or Ramona.

  But that’s not the same.

  And nothing ever will be, she reminds herself glumly, so you’d better get used to it.

  “Calla! How’s it going?”

  She turns to see Blue standing there, looking hotter than hot, as usual. He’s wearing a blue-and-red hooded Buffalo Bills sweatshirt, and his backpack is slung casually over one shoulder.

  “Oh, hi. Listen, I have to tell you something,” she blurts, trying to gather her scrambled thoughts.

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “I can’t go out tomorrow night after all because my dad is coming to visit.”

  “Yeah?” Looking completely unfazed, he asks, “How about next Saturday night then? I’ve got a soccer game on Friday, so . . .”

  “Next Saturday? Uh . . . sure! Definitely.”

  “Great. See you later, okay?”

  “Sure.” Calla turns back to her locker, smiling as she twirls the combination lock.

  She’ll have to remember to call Lisa back later and fill her in about school—and Blue.

  So far, she’s off to a pretty good start, just as Lisa, the so-called psychic, predicted.

  For the second day in a row, Calla stands in the cafeteria with a tray, looking around for a place to sit.

  Only this time, she bought only a yogurt and a container of grapes instead of the hot lunch—baked macaroni and cheese. That smelled and looked good, but Odelia stuffed Calla full of zucchini frittata for breakfast, and she’s not that hungry.

  There’s Blue, sitting with the same group of guys. She hesitates, wondering if she should go over there and talk to him.

  Seeing him throw back his head and laugh at something one of the Ryans says, she decides not to approach him now. She’d feel too self-conscious with all the other guys there.

  Not that she doesn’t feel pretty self-conscious anyway, just standing here alone with her tray.

  She looks around for Jacy, thinking maybe she’ll work up the nerve to go over and talk to him about the stuff that’s been happening to her here. There’s no sign of him, but Sarita has spotted her and is waving her over. She’s sitting at a table in the far corner with a girl who has her back to Calla, but she can tell it’s Willow by the gorgeous mane of dark, shiny hair.

  Relieved and grateful, Calla weaves her way toward them. Willow was in a few of her classes this morning, but they were kept so busy there was no time to talk. Unlike Calla’s school back in Florida, there’s no coasting into academics as the school year gets under way. Here, bang—day two, and you’re in the thick of it.

  “Hi, want to eat with us?” Sarita asks, pulling out the empty chair beside her.

  “Sure, thanks.” She sits, and notices that Willow is awfully busy peeling an orange. She pulls off the last wedge of peel, then goes to work removing every thread of white membrane.

  “How’s everything going for you guys today?” Calla asks a little uneasily, and Sarita tells her everything is great. Willow looks up briefly, says, “Okay,” and goes back to the orange.

  There’s a definite chill coming off her today that wasn’t there yesterday.

  She knows, Calla realizes. She knows I’m seeing Blue again.

  For a moment, she’s glad she didn’t go over and talk to him just now. The last thing she needs is for Willow to spot them together.

  Then she realizes that’s ridiculous. Willow and Blue are broken up. He can talk to—and date—other girls if he wants to.

  Yeah, but Willow doesn’t have to be friends with those girls.

  “So, what were you saying about that trip your parents are planning?” Willow asks Sarita as Calla unwraps her straw.

  Sarita goes back to what she was saying before Calla arrived. It’s a good thing she talks a lot, Calla decides by the time the lunch period is over, because there was no awkward silence, and there might have been. Sarita and Willow are both on the homecoming dance committee, and they’re working on a flyer. Sarita at least asked Calla for some input—not that she had anything worthwhile to add—but Willow didn’t say much to her at all.

  It isn’t that she’s being particularly rude or cold-shouldering Calla. She seems more . . . detached. Or maybe even hurt. Sad.

  She still cares about Blue, Calla realizes. They might be broken up, but that probably wasn’t her idea.

  Just like what happened with Kevin and me.

  And if Calla found herself sharing a lunch table with his new girlfriend,Annie, she probably wouldn’t be all that chatty, either.

  Oh, well. What does any of this matter? She’s not staying in Lily Dale forever. She’ll be heading out to California soon enough for a fresh start.

  Only . . .

  She can’t go until she’s taken care of unfinished business here.

  Again, she looks around for Jacy. He’s not here.

  That will have to wait.

  “Calla?” Mr. Bombeck, who is wiry and middle-aged, with thick glasses and a swoop of graying hair, comes to a halt beside her desk. He looks over her shoulder at the pop quiz in front of her. “Is there a problem?”

  Not unless you count the fact that I have absolutely no clue how to even set up the first problem, much less solve it.

  The classroom is hushed; all around her, pencils are scratching and her classmates are intently focused on the quiz.

  “It’s only the second day of school. How can we have a test when we haven’t learned anything yet?” someone protested when Mr. Bombeck sprang it on them.

  The stern reply: “That’s the point. I want to see where your math skills are.”

  Calla realized, a few seconds in, that hers seem to have vanished into thin air, the way things often do in Lily Dale.

  She looks up at the teacher now, shrugs, and whispers, “I’m sorry . . . I just don’t understand these problems.”

  He nods a little and crooks a finger at her, gesturing for her to come with him.

  She hesitates, then pushes back her chair. It makes a loud scraping sound on the hardwood floor and the entire class looks up at her. Everyone except Jacy Bly, that is. He’s intently focused on his test.

  “I want you all to keep working,” Mr. Bombeck announces. “I’ll be right outside the door, and I’ll be monitoring you through the window. Keep your eyes on your own work, please.”

  Calla follows him out of the classroom, her face burning.

  Mr. Bombeck closes the door behind them and positions h
imself in front of the rectangular window so that he can keep watch on the classroom.

  “I was afraid you might have trouble, Calla.”

  “No, but . . . I’ve always been good in math. Straight A’s. I was supposed to be in Advanced Placement Calculus back in Florida.” Sharing that with him doesn’t feel like bragging.

  Right. It’s more like sheer desperation. She can’t let the toughest teacher in her new school conclude she’s ignorant.

  “I’m sure you did well there, but you did come from out of state.” He jerks the doorknob, pushes it open, and calls, “John, put all four chair legs on the floor.” Without missing a beat, he closes the door and goes on to Calla, “Our math curriculum here is extremely challenging.”

  Yeah, no kidding.

  “What should I do?” she asks helplessly.

  “I’m going to assign you to a study partner for the next week or two. Let’s see if we can get you caught up. You’re staying with your grandmother in the Dale, right?”

  When she nods, he says conclusively, “Willow York lives near you, and she’s got a terrific track record in math. The two of you can start working together right away.”

  Willow York . . . again.

  Could her life be any more complicated?

  “Jacy! Wait up,” Calla calls, spotting him in the hallway just after the last bell.

  His long legs were about to carry him around the corner to the stairwell, but he turns and looks back at her.

  He doesn’t smile, but as she hurries toward him, she can’t help but decide he seems glad to see her. Smiling—and flirting—just aren’t his style.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” she asks him, watching him swing his backpack over his shoulder after zipping his gray hooded sweatshirt.

  “About math? Is everything okay?”

  So he did notice that she had to leave the classroom with Bombeck. After their little talk, the teacher sent her to the school library for the remainder of the period. He said it made no sense for her to sit there while everyone else finished the test. She could feel them all watching her while she gathered up her things and left the classroom.

  “Everything’s okay with math,” she tells Jacy, “I just need some extra help.”