Page 14 of The Christmas Spirits on Tradd Street
I stepped over to the couch and sat down. “Well, I’m still not convinced that I can’t handle it. I was just a little blindsided by...” My gaze slid to my father. “By an unexpected visitor.”
One of the reasons for my parents’ divorce had been my father’s unwillingness to accept or try to understand something he couldn’t see. In the years since our reconciliation, he’d learned to tolerate the unexplained events that seemed to follow my mother and me, but he’d never accepted them. While no longer openly hostile to the improbable idea that speaking with the dead might be a viable thing, he simply turned his head the other way so he didn’t need to confront it, like an ostrich with its head stuck in the sand: If he couldn’t see it, then it must not be there.
“Mellie,” my mother said with a warning in her voice. “You should still have told us about Marc’s threats. You could have put yourself in danger. Remember, we’re always stronger together.”
I knew she was referring not only to the members of our new familyunit currently surrounding me, all of them responsible in part for the happiness, the house, and the family who lived within its ancient walls, but also to the mantra we’d used before and since Jayne came to us to bind our strength together to fight angry spirits. Although being together made our beacon brighter, it also made us much, much stronger.
I watched as Nola snuck a piece of fudge from the side table next to her and shoved it in her mouth. I frowned at her, but she looked up at the ceiling—something she’d probably learned from my father.
“I realize that now,” I said slowly. I’d been independent of all family connections for so long that it was still hard for me to believe I wasn’t expected to do it all on my own. Maybe, deep down, I missed that part of the old Melanie. Despite some of her quirks, which I was trying very hard to bury, my independent nature wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Perhaps I didn’t want it to. Perhaps I only wanted to temper it, to meld the old Melanie into the new to create a stronger me who was fiercely independent but also needed the love and support of others. I apparently didn’t have a clue as to how to make that happen.
I chewed on my lip as I thought for a moment. “So, I guess this means I’m supposed to bring someone with me to the mausoleum at the Vanderhorst plantation cemetery? Although I don’t see—”
“I’ll go!” Nola stuck her hand up as if she were in a classroom.
“I believe you have school.” Jack sent his daughter a stern glance before directing his attention back to me. “Obviously, if a Longo is involved, I need to go with you. They’re like sand fleas—you don’t realize they’re about to swarm and bite until it’s too late.”
I threw up my hands. “See? Another distraction from your writing! Exactly what I was trying to avoid.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jayne offered. “If Mother could watch the children, of course. It’s probably not a good thing if the three of us go together.”
I wasn’t sure which part of her comment made me more uncomfortable—the fact that she understood already the complexities of our abilities or the fact that she’d moved from “Ginette” to “Mother.” It wasn’t that I’d expected her to ask for my permission, but for more thanforty years, I’d believed myself to be the only person in the universe authorized to call her Mother.
“Or you can stay here with the children and Mother will come with me. Just like old times.” I felt everyone looking at me.
My father cleared his throat. “Jayne said the last time Ginny encountered unpleasant spirits, it took her nearly a month to fully recover. So if Jayne wants to go with Melanie, then I’ll go, too. For protection. Jayne’s kind of new to all this.”
I jerked my head in his direction. “Who are you, and what have you done with my father?”
He had the decency to appear abashed. “While Jayne and I have been working in the garden, we’ve had some long and interesting chats. I still think there has to be some scientific explanation for everything, but Jayne has made me understand that if it’s real to her, then I should give her and you and Ginny the benefit of the doubt and go along with it. At least until I can offer an explanation.”
I saw a serene smile of mutual appreciation pass between Jayne and my mother, leaving me with the familiar feeling of being picked last for a team in gym class. The new Melanie was grateful that my parents and sister now had a close relationship despite having been separated for most of Jayne’s life. But the old Melanie felt the hurt and abandonment smoldering like a banked fire, sparking bits of burning ash into the room.
I smelled chocolate and turned to find Nola holding out the dish of fudge to me. I smiled gratefully and took a piece, more relieved than I cared to admit that I wasn’t the only person who recognized the weirdness of what had just happened. I took a bite and chewed, glad for the excuse not to have to speak immediately.
“Then it’s settled,” my mother said. “You’ll let us know when you’re meeting after you speak with Anthony Longo?”
Before I could tell her I needed to consider my options, the doorbell rang. The dogs began their alarm barking, alerting us that a threat from potential marauders had invaded the piazza. It was never clear what sort of protection the dogs might offer other than ferocious licking aroundthe ankle area, but they were serious about their role as our protection detail.
“I’ll get it,” Jack said, touching my shoulder on the way to the front door.
We heard the door open and then: “Jack—it’s been ages!” Rebecca’s voice carried through to the parlor as those remaining let out a collective groan.
“Rebecca, so good to see you. Feels like yesterday that we saw you last. You and Marc are like a stain we can’t rub out completely.”
“Oh, Jack,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to air-kiss his cheek. “Always the joker.”
“Am I?” he asked, his tone one of mock innocence.
I hurried after Jack so I could stop him before he said something so direct that she might actually get it, and then I’d have to spend hours making her feel better. My mother would insist, since Rebecca, by some horrendous twist of fate, was a cousin. A distant one, I kept reminding myself, but still a cousin.
She turned her attention to me, a crease between her brows. “Did you tell Jack about my dreams?”
I quickly shook my head and was lifting my index finger to my neck in a close approximation of slicing it to make her stop, but Jack turned too quickly and saw it.
“Really, Mellie? There’s more to what you haven’t told me?”
Before I could think of an appropriate response, Rebecca said, “Oh, come on, Melanie. Surely your marriage is strong enough that you can tell each other everything—even the bad things. Right?”
