“I’m not starved for attention,” I said, offended.
“Oh, really? You have lots of people your age wanting to spend time with you?”
Why couldn’t she be less honest, at least at times like this? “No,” I said.
“That’s why you liked him. Don’t go reading anything more into it,” Gigi said.
“That’s not enough,” I said.
“Darling, at seventeen, interest is enough. But you’re right, and later in life you’ll be better at deciding who you like instead of simply liking someone back.”
“I feel stupid,” I mumbled.
“Don’t. It’s simply one of those things.”
“I guess Thomas was right. Girls are easy to manipulate,” I said with an edge of anger.
“He may have been somewhat right, but most boys his age don’t realize that, and they are as easily won over by attention. It is a different sort of person who recognizes the weaknesses of those around him and preys on them,” she said coldly.
“He wasn’t preying on anyone,” I said.
“Because you didn’t let him, not because he didn’t try,” she said, her eyes on mine silently daring me to disagree.
I didn’t respond.
At the car, I got in after Avi. With the door shut, I looked out the window.
Thomas was there, his mom beside him, watching us drive away.
Seventeen
A few hours after lunch, Jackson and I took a blanket and went to the beach. We would not have many more warm, sunny days this year. The gray, cold days of winter would be here far too soon. I lay on a rock, the blanket soft beneath me, as Jackson searched for sea creatures. The sun became hot against my skin. I was grateful for our cove, for the wind it kept out, and the peace it kept in. This cove was the reason Gigi’s grandparents had built their inn where they did, and it was the same reason Gigi and my grandfather decided to buy this land, even if it did mean dealing with her grandparents.
Jackson barked.
“Leave that poor green crab alone,” I said to him. “Besides, if you eat it, you’ll get sick.”
I rolled onto my stomach and lifted my shirt so the small of my back could be warmed. I turned my head to the south. I was grateful for the state park, grateful no one would ever be able to buy or develop the land close to us. Thomas was wrong; there was nothing boring or lonely about this place. I turned my head to the other side; the inn was there, as always, nestled in the trees on a side of the cliff. That side, too, was protected. We owned this half of the mountain. If someone wanted to build on the other side, we couldn’t stop them, though we’d still have a mountain peak between us and them.
I closed my eyes. In the darkness of my eyelids, the last image I saw glowing was the dark outline of the inn floating against the white light.
I wondered about the lights I thought I had seen the previous week, wondered what could have caused them. Obviously, not ghosts. Since ghosts didn’t need lights, it must have been either nothing or a reflection of the moonlight.
I yawned.
After a few more minutes of my lying in the sun, Jackson barked again. I sat up. The front of his body was lowered, his nose almost touching a crab, his vigorously wagging tail shaking his whole backside. My stomach growled. I checked my watch. Dinner would be ready soon. I yawned and slowly stood, gathering the old blanket around my shoulders.
“Time for us to go,” I called to Jackson as I started to move toward the trail.
When I reached the trailhead, I hesitated. Instead of entering the trail, I went toward the inn. I didn’t know what I was looking for—nothing really—maybe something outside of the inn would explain the lights.
I kept my distance, the smell of putrid sulfur making me gag. I took a timid step closer. I was as close as I’d been when Luca ran up behind us. Jackson barked. I clutched the blanket around me. I spun around, body trembling. He was staring at the ground, his tail wagging. He was barking at a crab.
I turned to the inn, and fear washed over me. Fear that wasn’t there a moment ago. I stared into the windows, the glass crusted with decades of dirt and thick salt air. One window, the one directly in front of me, caught my attention. I kept my gaze steady, though I wanted to run. The glass was smeared—wiped, not clean, but cleaner so someone could peer out.
I backed up, first slowly and then quicker, until I reached the trail. My heart was beating fast as I called for Jackson. I didn’t wait for him; he’d catch up. In a few seconds, he did.
Halfway up the trail, I stopped running and put my hands on my hips, breathing deeply, angry at myself. What was wrong with me? Terrified of a building because an old woman spoke of ghost stories?
“Aargh,” I groaned in frustration. Now I understood why my dad was so mad at Gigi. She’d made him afraid, and now, me, afraid of the inn. His reason for not destroying it had nothing to do with his belief it was going to fall down any minute and everything to do with being too afraid to go near it. And by the off chance she happened to be right, too afraid to send anyone else near it.
It wasn’t fair to him or to me, what she’d done to us—we behaved like scared children. The question I didn’t know the answer to was—why was Luca buying into it all? And why did he pass out? That part I’d witnessed for myself and could not doubt.
A quiet voice inside my head whispered: What about the incident in the church? I thought about the day before, of Luca in church. Maybe he knew my beliefs. Maybe he knew I believed Jesus was present in the Eucharist. Maybe he was messing with me, trying to convince me he could sense that presence too.
Yes, I decided that must be it. Though, why he’d be so interested in lying to me or deceiving me, I had no idea. Gigi was old and confused, or maybe age had nothing to do with it. Whatever the reason, she was wrong. Perhaps her mind—filled with ghost stories by her own mother—could no longer tell the difference between fact and fiction.
I glanced down the trail toward Luca’s house. The path was empty.
I continued to my yard. The chickens clucked loudly when they noticed Jackson. We both ignored them and went up the hill. The yard was deserted. Jackson and I went into the house.
“Did you enjoy your walk?” Dad asked when I entered the kitchen. The smell of sautéing onions permeated the air.
Avi and Lisieux were there, so I simply said, “It was okay.” I did not want to sound scared of an abandoned building. “When will dinner be ready?” I asked, though I already knew the answer to the question—much later than any of us hoped. This was the downside of Dad cooking. He was a great cook, but slow.
Dad looked at the oven. It was still preheating. “About an hour,” he said.
Lisieux and I exchanged a look. Avi would be a nightmare if we didn’t get her fed soon.
“I’m going upstairs to change,” I said, hoping to avoid the coming meltdown. My baby sister was amazing, but she needed to be fed on time, or she became awful.
I turned on my bedroom light and went into the bathroom. I brushed my hair and decided to take a shower. The heat from the scorching water felt so good, I didn’t want to get out. After a few minutes of feeling bad for wasting water, I turned it off and dried off. I pulled on some flannel pajama pants and a sweatshirt. My hair was soaking wet and a mess, I didn’t care. It was easier to brush when it was dry, so after I showered it often hung in tangled clumps.