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  “Whoa.” I examined the result. It appeared to be a wrecked car. Burnt out, only its skeleton remaining.

  I took a few photos with my phone in case it collapsed, or in case my hands took over again and changed it into something else. This was seriously freaky. I had never experienced anything like this before. It was like I was a medium for something that needed to be brought into the physical world. I shivered, wondering if there were any spirits around me. If Savannah were here I could have asked her to look around, or maybe Serena could have heard them. I was alone, and yet…I didn’t feel alone.

  “Dad?” I found myself whispering.

  I nervously glanced around.

  Was it Dad helping me create this, or some other ghost? Or was I simply imagining things, and it was just me, myself, and my “creative soul,” as Lizzie the art teacher would call it, being set free?

  I took a few more photos from different angles, and zoomed in on some parts. Then I went to the kitchen, washed my hands, and grabbed a glass of water, sipping it as I looked out the window at the patio.

  I tensed.

  Was that a shadow?

  I could have sworn I’d seen something move beyond the corner of the house, where the patio tiles met the wall. Maybe it was a shadow from the tree, swaying slightly in the breeze.

  Surely I couldn’t be developing the ability to see ghosts. I was probably just creeped out by my sculpture-creating session. Anyway, I felt things. I didn’t see them. Did it feel like a spirit? I couldn’t be sure.

  A dull thud sounded. At least, I think it did. It seemed to be coming from the same place the shadow had come from.

  Should I go out there?

  No. That was what idiots did in horror movies, and it never ended well.

  Then again, it was broad daylight, it wasn’t raining, and it wasn’t Friday the thirteenth. Three things in my favor.

  I gently edged open the patio screen door, a salty breeze pushing past me into the house. I breathed deeply, realizing I had barely been breathing up until now. I stepped onto the patio, but kept the door open and my hand on the latch, in case I needed to rush back in and lock it. I cleared my throat, making my presence known in case some random spirit was there, giving them a chance to get away if they didn’t want company. I stayed still, angling my head to listen for any sound.

  Nothing. And no more shadow, either.

  I was probably overthinking it.

  I got my phone from my pocket and went to the section where I could change my ringtone, then pressed one of the ringtones randomly to make it sound like my phone was ringing. Then I held it to my ear.

  “Hello,” I said. “Hi, yep, all going well.” I spoke to the non-existent person. “Okay, cool, I’ll see you soon. Can’t wait.”

  I went back inside and locked the door.

  Food. I’d better eat.

  After a banana, I put my hands on my hips and surveyed the living room. My sculpture sat eerily on the dining table, the empty wheel wells like eyes, watching my every move.

  I see you, Talia, they seemed to say.

  I’d wanted to be alone, but now it was freaking me out.

  I had to get out for a while.

  I grabbed my sunglasses and keys, then went to Savvy’s room and took one of her caps and put it over my wavy hair, the wayward strands tickling the skin under my ears.

  I went outside, walked up the street and around the corner, toward the coastal walking track that went past the cemetery and Dad’s bench. By the time I reached the beach, I had worked up a light sweat. I rolled up my cheesecloth beach pants a little and walked across the sand, reaching the skirt of water at the shore. It lapped at my ankles, cooling my skin, dampening the ends of my pants.

  A young girl, around four years old, laughed as she chased the small waves, her father holding her tiny hand. It reminded me of my dad, except he’d had five girls to handle.

  Had he loved all of us equally?

  Of course he had. What a silly thing to wonder. Why did I think about such things?

  I shook away my random thoughts and continued walking along the shore until I reached a scattering of large rocks embedded in the sand, where the foreshore curved around toward the ocean and then rose higher to form a cliff. The landscape was like a sculpture itself, with nature and time as its sculptor.

  I sat on one of the rocks and drew lines in the sand with my foot. A circle, with smaller circles inside it. And outside, a few small circles too. It was like inside the circle was our world, and what we knew about Dad’s disappearance. The circles outside were the details we had yet to discover. Would they ever make their way into the circle, filling it with all the information and closure we needed?

  I sat on the beach for a long time, the breeze breathing on my skin, giving life to every cell in my body. I watched the waves roll back and forth and drew random patterns in the sand, enjoying my free time while I had it, until my grumbling stomach told me I should head back home and eat something.

  My skin soaked up the warmth of the sun as I walked home. I patted Dad’s bench seat as I walked past it, saying a silent hello, and eventually arrived back at Roach Place.

  The street was quiet in the middle of the day, everyone at school or work. I stepped onto the porch and my keys jingled as I undid the lock. I opened the door and stepped inside, and was about to head straight for the kitchen when, for a moment, I thought I’d stepped inside someone else’s house.

  Things were different.

  There was mess, everywhere.

  Household items, strewn across the floor. Furniture tipped over.

  The window at the back of the house, smashed, glass on the floor.

  My eyes scanned left to right, opening wide, my mouth gaping. I froze until it hit me, then I started shaking.

  Oh my God. Oh no. Oh God.

  I took my phone from my pocket but didn’t know who to call first. Mom, or the police?

  Mom. I pressed her work number.

  “Your mother is with a client at the moment, I can have her call you back–”

  “Please, I need her now! I think our house has been robbed,” I said into the phone as I tentatively walked past the dining table, eyeing my sculpture on the floor. It was intact, but a bit squashed. I bent down to pick it up, but my hand caught on something sharp. “Ow!” Blood bubbled out into a perfect round blob on my finger. The vase from the table had been smashed, and shards lay on the floor. I grabbed a tissue and held it to my hand.

  “Talia?” Mom’s voice was a welcome relief. “What’s happened?”

  “Someone’s been here. I went out, and when I came back, the house—it’s been ransacked or something.” My voice shook.

  Mom gasped. “Honey, be careful. Are you sure the intruder has left?”

  “Oh my God, I didn’t even think, I…” My eyes bulged, and I looked around, hoping like hell there was no one hiding behind anything.

  “Okay, I’ll be there in a flash, and I’ll call the police on the way. Now, either go straight to the bathroom and lock the door, or go outside and find a neighbor who’s home.”

  I picked up one of the sharp shards and inched down the hallway.

  “I can’t stay on the line, sweetheart, I need to call the police. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

  “Okay.” I dashed into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it. “I’m in the bathroom, it’s safe.”

  “Okay good. See you very soon.” The line went dead, and I gripped the phone, my ears alert for any sounds.

  It must have been the intruder I’d heard earlier, not a freaking ghost! What was I thinking? They must have heard me or seen me through the window before they attempted to get in, then left and returned after I’d gone out. Which meant they must have seen me leave. I shuddered, knowing someone had been watching me without my knowledge.

  Every second in the bathroom felt like minutes. I couldn’t hear any sounds, and it seemed that whoever had been here had left. I hoped so, anyway.

  The sound
of the front door opening made me jump, until I heard Mom’s voice calling, “Talia?” Her quick footsteps became louder, and then she knocked on the bathroom door.

  I opened it and drew her into a fierce embrace. “I can’t believe this has happened!” I said. “Have they gone? I couldn’t hear anything.”

  Mom locked the door. “I think so, but we should stay in here until the police arrive, just in case.”

  I nodded, and she held me close and tight.

  “Who could have done this?”

  “I don’t know,” Mom replied. “Did they take anything, that you could see?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to look. They made a mess.”

  “Okay, don’t worry. We’ll sort it out when help arrives.”

  When they did, we emerged shakily from the bathroom. A search of the premises found that nothing of value had been taken. The TV was still there, Mom’s jewelry, other valuables. But I hated that someone had been through our stuff. My stuff. Every room had been looked through.

  “It appears the intruder may have been looking for quick cash, or for something in particular,” one of the cops said. “Is there anything you own that could be of particular value or importance to anyone?”

  Mom shook her head. “We lead a humble existence, and I can’t think of anything unique that anyone would want. I don’t understand. Were any other houses robbed?”

  He shook his head. “My partner has checked, and all seems to be in order elsewhere on the street.” The officer eyed Mom curiously. “You’re the wife of the man who went missing years ago, whose case has been reopened, yes?”

  “Yes I am. Why? Do you think it has something to do with that?” Mom held onto my hand.

  “Not sure, just assessing the situation.” He glanced at me. “And you were on TV recently.”

  I nodded.

  “Hmm,” he said, tapping his chin with his pen. “Seems interesting that two significant things involving your family have happened in the last week or so, and now this. I’ll make sure it gets added to the report, and we’ll check in with the detectives involved in your husband’s case to see if this break-in is of any significance.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” Mom said.

  When they had finished their assessment and we’d double-checked for any missing items, they left, and promised that a patrol car would make a few visits to the street later on to check on everything.

  Mom and I began cleaning up, and then I remembered it was Wednesday. “Should I forget about tonight’s art class?” I asked. “I don’t want you to have to drive me there after all this.”

  Mom stopped wrapping up the shards of glass in newspaper. “No, you should still go. I’ll ask Simon if he can watch over your sisters while I’m gone.”

  “Oh they’ll love that, a schoolteacher as babysitter.” I chuckled.

  “They’ll survive,” said Mom. “Besides, he’s not just a schoolteacher.” She brushed a clump of curls off her face. “He’s also a very nice man, if I do say so myself.”

  I faked a gasp. “You mean teachers are actually real people too?”

  “Oh, you.” Her face went slightly pink. “Stop being silly, missy, and get back to work.”

  “Yes, boss,” I replied.

  Later that afternoon, the front door opened yet again. Mom had sent a text message to my sisters to give them advance warning that when they got home from school there’d be a bit of a shock, but that all was okay now.

  “Who are the bastards responsible?” fumed Savannah.

  “Savvy,” said Mom. “Settle down. It’s okay now. Nothing was taken, no major damage. And,” she checked her watch, “the window repair guy should be here soon, hopefully.”

  The last thing we needed was for our back window to be wide open overnight, allowing the culprits, or anyone else, to get in.

  Chapter 6

  That night at class, after Lizzie had given us practical tips on sculpting techniques, and we’d each attempted to make some small objects using Lizzie’s samples as models, we resumed working on our organic sculptures. My fingers stroked and pressed the clay into a long structure, and as I fanned it out toward one end, I realized it was becoming a flower. Not just any flower, but an iris.

  Every now and again I’d look up and see what everyone else was doing. Apart from Sandra’s husband Philippe humming along to Lizzie’s classical music, the room was quiet, as concentrated faces focused on the creations in front of them.

  I was tempted to Google “iris flowers” to check how the stem merged into the petals, but I didn’t want to jinx myself and disrupt the flow. It was coming along nicely as it was, so I would just continue and I could always check a photo later to fine-tune the details.

  “I’m finished,” Marco declared.

  I glanced over at his sculpture, then my gaze lifted to his accomplished smile.

  “Ah,” said Lizzie, approaching his table. “The waterfall is complete, I see.” She leaned forward and eyed the creation from different angles. “Nice lines and depth. It has a dynamic feel to it. Well done.” She tapped the table with her palm. “Let’s wrap this up, and I’ll start the firing process tomorrow.”

  Marco stood and wrapped his sculpture carefully.

  “Wanna help me finish mine?” asked Liana with a chuckle. “Or help me decide what it’s going to be once and for all?” Her mountain-turned-tree had now morphed into a mushroom. It was a shape-shifting sculpture.

  “Go with the mushroom,” Marco said. “But make it a cartoon-ish one, and paint bright patches of color on it. Maybe add a gnome underneath.”

  Liana held out her hand, and Marco high-fived it.

  Lizzie chuckled. “I’ll have to give you a job soon, Marco.”

  “Already have one of those, but thanks.” He smiled.

  Hmm, I wonder what he does. He didn’t look old enough to be out of college, so he must have gone to work straight after finishing high school.

  “An iris, as in Iris Harbor?” Marco asked as he approached my table.

  I looked up at him and my eyebrows lifted. “You can tell already?” I mean, I knew what it was becoming, but didn’t think it looked recognizable yet.

  His hand moved above my sculpture, but without touching it. “The stem,” he said, his fingers tracing the air above it. “It fans out toward the petals.” He gently touched one of the two petals I’d started shaping. “If you press and lightly pull on the edges… if I may?” He eyed me, and I nodded. “Like this…” He teased the petal edges slightly, so that they thinned out. “It’ll give them a more delicate appearance.”

  “Cool. Thanks.” I smiled and tried to copy what he’d done, but a bit of the petal broke off.

  “Slowly,” he said. “Let the clay tell you when to let go.” He repeated his earlier technique.

  I did the same, and this time I let go at just the right time, before the petal broke, but after I had held it long enough that the edge had became nice and thin. “Awesome, thanks.”

  “Anytime.” He smiled and straightened up.

  The class finished soon after, and I packed up my things. As the other students chatted, Marco came over, his backpack slung on his shoulder. “You driving back to Iris Harbor?”

  I shook my head. “Not me, my mom.” Geez I sounded like a little kid. “I don’t have a license yet.”

  He nodded slowly, turned away a little, then back again. “Since we both live there, I’d be happy to, I mean, if it would be helpful, to drive you to and from class.” He threaded his other arm through the backpack strap so that it sat snugly behind him. “To save your mom the effort, and save on gas and carbon emissions and all that.” He smiled.

  “Oh. Thanks. Um.” Should I be getting a lift from some guy I barely knew? It would make it easier on Mom. “I’ll ah, let you know?” I clamped my lips together as my cheeks warmed a little. I longed for the day when I could act like the independent young woman I was supposed to be. The eldest Delcarta sister, the eldest Delta Girl. But it was better than sa
ying, “Yeah sure,” and then Mom not liking the idea, what with all the safety concerns and stuff going on in our lives, and then having to say, “Oh sorry Marco, my mommy won’t let me.”

  “No problem. Here.” He got his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll text you my number. Give me a buzz before tomorrow’s class if you want me to pick you up.” He pressed the screen. “What’s your number?”

  I told him, and a moment later my phone beeped with his text.

  By the time I got into Mom’s car, I’d entered a nice new contact into my phone: Marco Rodriguez.

  “Class must have gone well,” said Mom as I fastened my seatbelt. “Nice grin you’ve got there. Good to see.”

  “I’m making an iris.”

  “Oh? Nice. And?”

  “And… and there’s this guy…”

  “Ahh, I knew it.” Mom patted my arm, then started the engine.

  “Psychic abilities returned, have they, huh?”

  Mom chuckled. “Afraid not. But a mother’s intuition never goes away.” She drove out of the dim parking lot. “Rightio, tell me: Name. Age. Cute smile? Sense of humor? Spill, darling daughter of mine.”

  I laughed and pushed my hair behind my shoulders.

  “Marco Rodriguez. Age unknown, but probably nineteen or twenty. Yes to the cute smile. Sense of humor shows promise, but I don’t know him well enough yet. And…” I took a breath. “Can you please say yes when I ask if he can drive me to and from class? He lives in Iris Harbor.”

  Mom turned onto the highway. “Does he have a good family?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “College? Job?”

  “Job. Position unknown.”

  “Did he flirt with you?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “What I’ll do,” said Mom, “is call the art teacher and ask her about him. Yeah?”

  “Oh Mom, what are you going to say? That you want to assess one of her students as potential date material for your daughter?”

  She chuckled. “Of course not, just that he’s offered to help save the environment by driving my daughter to class, and can I be assured that he can be trusted?”

  I exhaled. “Okay, sounds fair.”