“I think I fell off my bed,” I mumbled.
“Your mom used to be like that,” Dad said as he came toward me and kissed me on the top of my head.
“She used to fall off the bed?” I asked, giving him a dazed look.
He laughed. “No, or at least not while we were married. But she would sit up and call out or talk in her sleep. Though only on the nights when she was most troubled by something,” he said knowingly.
I turned away.
The oven timer beeped. Gigi opened the door and the heat poured out, making the ends of my hair fly up. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
I nodded as she pulled blueberry scones from the oven. She’d made them for me; she didn’t have to say it.
She set the tray down and slipped one onto a plate. I took it to the table. They followed me.
“Sweetie, what’s going on?” Dad said with concern. “Are you and Luca dating? Did he do something to upset you?”
I watched the steam rise from the scone. “This does have to do with Luca, but not in the way you think,” I answered. “He made me question things, things it never occurred to me to question.”
“Your faith?” Dad said, raising an eyebrow, doing his best to keep his voice steady. Our being Catholic was the most important thing to my mom and, therefore, to him.
“In some ways, I suppose, though not in the traditional way,” I answered cryptically. “I guess I’m wondering how much of the sort of supernatural world is real.”
Dad leaned back in his seat, visibly relaxing. This was a conversation he could have; this did not have to do with his daughter and a boy or his daughter leaving her faith.
He said, “I think we are often tempted to pretend life is simply what we see in front of us, but I think the more we educate ourselves about anything, we realize how much more complicated it is.”
“So, you believe the inn is haunted?” I asked.
Dad lowered his head. “Just because I believe life is complicated and the spiritual world is real does not mean I believe the inn is haunted.” He stood from the table, going to the microwave to warm up his coffee.
Gigi watched him but didn’t speak. Her silence here was not like her, and it made me wonder what sort of understanding the two of them had come to.
On the counter, a phone buzzed. Dad went to the pile of charging phones. “It’s for you,” he said, lifting my phone.
“For me? It’s seven thirty in the morning,” I said, feeling tired.
Dad handed me the phone. “Thomas would like to come over.”
“Thomas?” I said, looking at the phone.
Gigi groaned. “I thought we were rid of him.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Thomas,” Dad said.
“Right. Thomas and the inn, both completely swell,” Gigi said sarcastically.
“I didn’t say either one was swell,” Dad said. “Merely that there is nothing demonic about either one.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Gigi mumbled, getting up from her spot beside me.
“He said he’d like to come over this morning to apologize,” I said, reading his text.
“For what?” Dad said, sounding worried.
“He said girls were easy to manipulate. Obviously, he meant me, though he said he didn’t,” I answered.
Dad choked on his coffee.
Gigi looked at him with her I-told-you-so expression.
“That’s awful,” Dad said. “He’s definitely not the sort of boy I want you spending time with.”
“Don’t worry, he’s not the sort of boy I want to spend time with either,” I said, and his face relaxed.
Dad took a sip of coffee and stared down at the phone in my hands. “The challenge, though, is you still have to go to the same church for at least the next year and our families have known each other a long time,” Dad said.
With a concerned expression, Gigi slid into the seat beside me.
“So,” I said, “what are you saying? I should date him to keep the peace?”
“How could you even think I’d suggest such a thing?” Dad said, looking offended. “No, you shouldn’t date him—or anyone else, for that matter—but giving him the opportunity to apologize wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”
I clicked on the message. Apology accepted, I typed. “There. I accepted his apology,” I said.
A second later, my phone lit up. They both glanced at it as I read the message.
“He says he wants to apologize in person.”
“That seems unnecessary,” Dad said, and sipped his coffee.
“I agree,” Gigi said, more adamantly than I expected.
I took a bite of scone, chewing it slowly. “I’m going to tell him that’s fine,” I said. “It will give him what he wants.”
“What about what you want?” Gigi said.
I shrugged. “I’d rather get it done with and clear the air. Like Dad said, I have to be around him for at least the next year. I don’t want it to be awkward.”
“For the record,” Dad said, “your accepting his apology via text was plenty kind enough. If you want to allow him to apologize in person, that’s your choice. Your grandma and I both agree you’ve done all you need to do. More, really.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” I said. “If he wants to drive all the way out here to say sorry, it’s fine with me.”
I typed my response. A moment later, his answer lit up the screen.
Twenty-One
Thomas arrived three hours later. He’d wanted to come immediately, but I’d said no, ten thirty was plenty early. I had schoolwork to do and wasn’t going to rush through my morning just to ease his guilty conscience.
“Good morning,” he said when I answered his knock on the door.
His summer tan was gone; in its place his skin had developed a sickly yellow tinge and dark circles surrounded his eyes. His face remained unshaven, his hair was stringy. How long had it been since he’d washed it? He reeked of body spray. How long had it been since he’d bathed, period. Was he like this yesterday? Had I missed the changes?
“Good morning. Are you feeling all right?” I asked with concern.
“Never better.”
I moved away from the threshold and closed the door snuggly behind me.
The sun was bright, but the day was chilly. He followed me, carrying his picnic basket, as I led us to a sunny spot on the side of my yard. From the distance, Jackson spotted me and loped toward me. I smiled, watching him.
“You have such a pretty smile,” Thomas said in a sweet voice.
I didn’t focus on his words; his words would try and suck me back in and that was not what was best for me. “Why did you bring a picnic basket?” I asked.
“I thought we could go back to the beach,” he said. “Since our last date didn’t exactly go as planned.”
I shivered involuntarily; his words were somehow frightening. Jackson was almost beside me, but stopped and began growling. I tuned him out for the moment. I needed to focus on Thomas, to end whatever sort of relationship he thought we had.
“It wasn’t a date. And neither is this,” I said kindly, doing my best to spare his feelings. I had no reason to hurt him. I simply didn’t want to date him or even—if I was being honest—be friends with him. I wanted things to be as they were for the last seventeen years of our lives. I wanted to ignore him and have him ignore me.