But . . .
Not with Dad here.
"You know how stubborn Stephanie could be."Dad pats Odelia"s arm. "I"m sure she had her regrets. For the record, I encouraged her to mend the fences with you, too."
"I"m sure you did."
"I still can"t believe she knew where her father was all along. Why didn"t she tell me?"
"Maybe she was afraid you"d talk her into getting in touch with him. And that it would dredge up all those emotions she"d managed to bottle up for years. And that he"d reject her all over again."
"Maybe he wouldn"t have,"Dad tells her, as Calla wonders if her grandmother is just talking about Mom.
"Well, we"ll never know, will we?"
"I don"t think it"s fair."Calla speaks up at last.
Both Dad and Gammy look at her.
"He should know what happened to Mom. You should have told him, Gammy."
Odelia hesitates. "Maybe I should have, but . . ."
"Why didn"t you?"
"Maybe I"m afraid of the same thing Stephanie was."
Dredging up old emotions.
Being rejected all over again.
She never stopped loving him, Calla realizes in surprise, watching her grandmother reach up to brush a tear from the corner of her eye.
And over her shoulder, a pair of figures materialize. One is a striking auburn- haired woman with a coiled bouffant. She has on plaid Bermuda shorts, knee socks, and loafers. She"s laughing up at a handsome man with sideburns, wearing a paisley-patterned shirt tucked into peg-leg pants.
They"re gone the instant before Calla realizes who they are.
Gammy and her husband, in happier times.
Stunned, she looks across the table and sees, in Odelia"s weathered face, a hint of the young beauty she once was.
Her grandmother pushes back her chair abruptly, gets up from the table, and heads for the doorway.
"Where are you going?"Calla asks worriedly, wondering if she, too, caught a glimpse of the past-and couldn"t bear it.
"Wait here. I"ll be right back."
Odelia disappears into the front of the house.
Calla and her father exchange a glance.
"I probably shouldn"t have brought it up,"Calla says guiltily. "You know-about her telling Mom"s father that she"s . . . gone."
Even now, months later, it"s hard for her to say it aloud any other way. Dead . . . murdered. . . . Those words are much too harsh.
"No, you were right to say it,"Dad a.s.sures her. "He deserves to know . He"s still her father, no matter what. If it were me . . ."
He falls silent as Odelia returns to the room, carrying a piece of paper.
She hands it to Dad.
"What is it?"Calla asks, leaning over his shoulder.
She sees the name Jack Lauder and a Pennsylvania address in Odelia"s spidery handwriting.
"I don"t have a phone number. He"s unlisted. But that"s where he is. Or at least, he was, last I knew."
"Odelia-"
"Calla"s right. He deserves to know about Stephanie. And that he has a beautiful granddaughter."
Calla looks questioningly at her father. He folds the slip of paper into his wallet.
"Thank you, Odelia."
She nods.
Seeing the faraway look-and hint of tears-in her grandmother"s eyes, Calla knows she"s thinking of the wife and mother she once was, and the husband she loved so very long ago.
NINETEEN.
Lily Dale
Thursday, October 11
10:26 p.m.
No wonder n.o.body uses a dial-up connection anymore. It takes forever to accomplish even the simplest online task.
Waiting for her e-mail to load, Calla can hear the faint sound of Ramona"s laughter coming from downstairs.
They"re still playing poker at the kitchen table. At least, they were, when Calla interrupted her homework an hour ago to go down for a snack. Her appet.i.te had finally drifted back to her as she worked on her math.
Or maybe it was more like, math was so horrible she needed a diversion.
"Come play with us, Calla,"Ramona invited, sitting at the table with Dad, Odelia, and Odelia"s friend Andy, who liked to drop in to check on Gert, a product of his cat"s recent litter.
"I wish I could, but I have a ton of homework."
Ramona shook her head. "So does Evangeline."
Calla nodded. She had spoken to Evangeline earlier, to fill her in about the meeting with the detectives. When she ended the conversation with a "See you tomorrow morning,"Evange-line told her she had to be at school an hour early for extra help in chemistry.
"I keep telling her that working on her homework with Russell isn"t a good idea,"Ramona said as Andy shuffled the cards. "I don"t think they"re getting much done, other than mooning around at each other."
Funny Ramona should mention that, because Calla noticed that was pretty much what Ramona and Dad were doing.
Though he did interrupt his flirtation to say, "Calla, don"t forget to pack a weekend bag tonight so that I can get it in the morning. We"re leaving right from school when I pick you up."
"I will,"she promised, and made a hasty escape back up to her room with a healthy snack of crackers, baby carrots, and hummus- along with one of the big chocolate brownies Ramona had baked for Dad.
Well, she claimed to have baked them for everyone. But she was looking at Dad when she said it.
Calla finished her homework, then threw some stuff into her duffel bag for the weekend trip. They"re heading first to Penn State in State College, Pennsylvania, then back up to New York State: Cornell in Ithaca and Colgate in Hamilton. The circular route Dad"s mapped out will bring them back home late Sunday night.
As she waits for the screen to load, she wonders when she should break it to her father that she"s pretty sure she wants to stay closer to home- home, as in Lily Dale-next year. She looked over the brochures Mrs. Erskine gave her, and Fredonia State University seems to offer everything she should probably be looking for.
Not that she"s looking for much more than a solid school that happens to be nearby.
Oh, well. She"ll worry about all of that later, because at last, her e-mail has popped up on the screen.
Sure enough, there"s one from Kevin.
No, not one.
One . . . two . . . three?
Frowning, she opens the most recent.
Okay, now I"m being a pain, I know . But I"m really worried about you. You don"t have to write a long note back. Just a quick one to let me know that you"re okay. Otherwise, I might show up on your grandmother"s doorstep to see for myself. Love, Kevin Calla sits for a moment with her fingers poised over the keyboard.
Then, her mind made up, she begins typing.
I"m fine. Don"t worry.
She pauses.
Should she tell him she and Dad are going to be visiting Cornell this weekend?
No.
She simply types in her name.
It looks funny without anything before the signature.
Anything . . . like love?
No way.
She backs.p.a.ces, erasing her name, then hits Send.
He"ll know who it"s from.
As she suspected, her in-box contains a few other e-mails. One is from Billy Pijuan, an old friend of hers in Florida, a few are from Lisa, the rest are spam.
She clicks on one of Lisa"s.
Come on, hurry up.
It"s taking forever. This is going to be- Suddenly, a screen pops up-and it isn"t Lisa"s e-mail.
It"s a new sign- on screen- and her mother"s screen name is already typed into the User ID box. The cursor is blinking like a beacon in the pa.s.sword box.
How did this screen pop up?
Puzzled, Calla wonders if she hit some kind of automated b.u.t.ton by accident.
Maybe.
Now that she"s here . . .
She finds herself typing in her mother"s pa.s.sword.
Then, inhaling deeply, about to hit Enter . . .
She smells it.
Lilies of the valley.