Monday, October 8

5:13 p.m.

Calla steps around puddles that fill the potholes on Cottage Row, making her way down to the lakefront park beneath a canopy of fall foliage. Leaves and eaves drip pleasantly around her. The storm ended a little while ago, ushering in a tide of warmer, humid air, and she left her fleece jacket at home.

A week or so ago, she was expecting to see her first snow. But striding along in short sleeves with a gentle breeze off the water, as opposed to the usual stiff wind, she realizes that it almost feels like late summer again. Dad might even be able to last another day or two without having to buy a cold-weather wardrobe.

He had returned from Ramona's porch just as she was walking out the door a few minutes ago.

"Hey, Cal', where are you going?"he asked, bounding up the steps like a much younger man.

"I have to meet my friend. I won't be long."

"Jacy?"

"Right."

He nodded. "Ramona said he's a good kid."

She did? Calla raises an eyebrow. "Yeah. He is."

"She said he's had a rough life."

"Yeah. He has."She shifted her weight uncomfortably, wondering why he was discussing her with Ramona-and what else Ramona said about Jacy.

"Be careful out there,"was all he said, then went on into Odelia's house to gather his things to move next door.

She probably shouldn't let it bother her-that Ramona was talking about Jacy. Especially since Ramona's stamp of approval has obviously won over her father.

No, she shouldn't mind.

It's just that . . .

Well, she's used to being her father's only connection to Lily Dale. She's the one who has- so far-been able to filter what he does and doesn't know .

About Jacy or anything else.

This was just another reminder that Dad is once again part of her day-to- day business. It won't be long before he knows everything about her life here. What then?

You'll have to worry about that when it comes up, she tells herself. You've got enough on your plate right now.

The lake water has become a choppy blue-black in the wake of the storm. Calla can see Jacy waiting for her, leaning against the wooden railing in the pavilion where they usually meet.

A baseball cap rides backward over his short black hair. His running shorts reveal muscular legs and a weathered gray T-shirt exposes tanned biceps.

Wow. He looks good.

Um, no. He looks great.

Calla's heart picks up its pace, and so do her feet.

Just before she reaches him, though, she stops short, suddenly feeling shy.

"Hi."

"Hi."

They look at each other for a long moment. Then Jacy shocks her by grabbing her in a fierce embrace.

"Thank G.o.d you're okay,"he says into her hair. "Thank G.o.d."

Surprised, she asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I just didn't realize that I . . . until . . . I mean . . . I guess . . ."

Say it, Jacy, she begs silently. Say what you're thinking. Tell me what you're feeling.

He doesn't.

That's not his style.

She knows he's learned the hard way not to reveal his emotions. Having grown up on the reservation with abusive parents, Jacy Bly doesn't trust many people- if anyone at all. Maybe not even Peter and Walt, his foster dads.

Maybe not even me, she acknowledges as he pulls back, lets her go. But when she looks up at him, what she sees in his dark eyes startles her almost as much as the emotional greeting.

He cares about her.

A lot.

Not just as a fellow medium, or even just as a friend concerned for her well-being.

He cares the way she's dreamed of him caring.

He doesn't have to say it. She can see it and feel it. Words are unimportant.

"The thing that gets me is that I knew it."Jacy shakes his head. "I knew it was going to be the water."

"I know you did."

He tried to warn her before she left- that he'd been having visions of her struggling in water. Dylan, her five- year- old babysitting charge, had a similar premonition.

But what was she supposed to do with that information?

She's been thinking about that for the last few days.

About the warnings from Jacy, and from Dylan, and for all she knows from Odelia, who might also have seen something foretelling Calla's near-drowning, considering her cryptic demands that Calla stay out of Ca.s.sadaga Lake.

As if she could have kept a promise to never go swimming there- ever. Or as if she could have . . . whatever. Moved to the desert? Gone around wearing a life jacket on dry land for the rest of her life, just in case?

What could she do?

That's the problem with this premonition stuff.

You might know what's going to happen . . . but it's going to happen. That's the whole point. You can't change it, no matter what- at least, not that Calla has seen. You can't stop it from happening.

You can only dread it.

And wonder when it's going to happen.

"I swear,"Jacy says, "if this had ended any other way . . ."

"But it didn't. It all worked out."

"Yeah, I know, but Calla . . ."He puts an arm around her shoulder, his feet straddling hers as he leans against the railing, pulling her back against his chest. "What would I do without you?"

She looks up at him.

"I don't want to be without you, okay? Not anymore."

"Well, I'm not going back to Florida for a while, so . . ."

"That's not what I mean."He puts a gentle hand beneath her chin and tilts her face up toward his.

His kiss is soft and sweet and oh, so fleeting. It's over before she can absorb what's happened, and it's all she can do to keep from touching her hands to her lips, dazed.

He nods, as if they've just settled something.

Maybe, she realizes, they just have.

He strokes her hair, and she rests her head against his shoulder. Until this moment, she didn't know how much she's longed for a physical connection to someone, didn't remember how good it feels to have someone to lean on, literally.

"You said you had stuff to tell me,"Jacy says after a few minutes.

"Yeah."She tries to remember what it was. Not easy, with him so close she can feel his breath stirring her hair.

Reluctantly, she pulls back so that she can think straight.

"I really need your advice, and there's no one else I can tell."

"Is it about what happened with that woman?"

"Sort of."

When she called him from Florida Sat.u.r.day, she'd filled him in about what Sharon Logan did to her. And, presumably, to her mother.

But Jacy doesn't know about the e-mails.

Or about the baby.

She tells him now, eventually going from leaning against Jacy to facing him, laying it all out in a detached, matter-of-fact tone.

As if she's talking about total strangers, and not her very own mother.

And her very own sister or brother.

He's quiet for a long time.

"Say something,"she begs at last.

He reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezing it. "I don't know what to say. Are you okay with all this?"

"Not really. Would you be?"

He answers her question with another question. "What happened to the baby?"

"I don't know . I haven't read the rest of the e-mail yet."

"Are you serious?"At her nod, he asks, "But why not?"

"For one thing, because I don't want my father to know about it, and he's been watching me like a prison guard twenty-four-seven."

"He's not here now."

"Neither is the laptop."

"You can check it when you go back to Odelia's, though. Unless you don't want to."

"I do, it's just . . . I guess I'm afraid of what I'm going to find out. And I'm definitely dreading what will happen when my father finds out."

"Don't tell him."

"But I have to. I mean, I can't go the rest of my life keeping this deep dark secret from him."

"Your mother did."

She blinks. "That's different."

"Not really."Jacy lets go of her hand and raises his to hold off her protest. "Let's say you tell your father. . . . And then what?"