Touch Page 6

  “It was… she was… only a few days old. Premature.” Savannah picked up the edge of the tablecloth and twisted it between her fingers. “Mr. J’s wife said that he’s creating a memory box, to honor the past but also as a way to let it go so he can move forward. But there’s a photo he’s missing. The only photo of the two of them together with their baby the day before she died.”

  Oh God. My heart ached. Like, literally ached. I rubbed my chest, but no amount of rubbing could get deep enough to soothe the discomfort.

  “What does it have to do with that book?” I asked.

  “She thinks the photo is inside the pages. He borrowed it from the library for his wife to read, and she’d used the picture as a bookmark but forgot to take it out when she returned it. I hope it’s still in there.”

  “Let’s get it tomorrow,” Serena said. “Before anyone else does.”

  “Could you?” Mom asked. “And give it to me. I think it’s best if I give it to him and tell him. Although, you may come with me, Savannah? To tell him about his wife if he asks?”

  She took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s do this.”

  Pretty soon, our whole street would know about the Delta Girls. Who would be next?

  Lights shone into the house, and the sound of a car engine abated. Marco. My heart quickened, and I grabbed my bag. “Guess I’ll be off,” I said.

  “Hang on,” said Mom. “Introduce him to us first.” She grinned.

  The poor guy. He was just here to pick me up and probably didn’t know he was about to meet five other females. For all I knew, he might have assumed I was an only child. Then again, the media exposure had probably mentioned something about my sisters, but I couldn’t remember exactly. It was all spinning inside my head in a haze of confusion now, what was known by whom and what wasn’t.

  I waited for him to knock, as I didn’t want him to think I was standing around waiting. I opened the door.

  “Hi,” my voice went all high-pitched, like a chipmunk’s.

  “Hola!” His was similar, though more enthusiastic than mine.

  I stepped to the side and glanced back. “This is my family. My mom.” I gestured. Mom smiled and gave a little wave. “My twin, Tamara, obviously not identical,” I laughed, “and my sisters Savannah, Serena, and Sasha.”

  “Wow,” he said. “Hi, I’m Marco.” He stepped inside and held out his hand, shaking hands with each member of my family and looking each of them in the eye. After he shook Sasha’s hand, she caught my gaze and gave me a flirty smile of approval.

  For God’s sake, he was just giving me a ride!

  His hand paused a little when he shook Savannah’s, and he looked at her differently, like he’d seen her before or something. It was weird. Anyway, when the hand-shaking had finished Mom offered him a glass of her homemade lemonade.

  “Thanks Mrs. Delcarta, but we’d better get going so we can be on time for the class.”

  “Of course. Perhaps a little refreshment when you bring Talia back.”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.” He gave a nod. “Nice to meet you.” He smiled.

  “You too, Marco,” she replied, and my sisters each said something similar, so that he was given a lot of indecipherable compliments all at once.

  We went outside to his car. “It’s no limo, I’m afraid,” he chuckled. “Saving for my own car, but until then it’s the family station wagon.”

  “If it gets me where I need to go safely and on time, then I don’t mind if it’s a horse and cart.” I smiled as he walked with me to the passenger side.

  “Now, this door is a bit…” After unlocking the car, he pulled on the handle and gave it a yank. “Wonky,” he said. “Gets stuck sometimes, sorry.”

  I slid in and fastened my seatbelt, and he closed the door, but it didn’t take, so he lifted his foot up and against the outside of the door and gave it a firm kick.

  I laughed. No limo indeed.

  He got in, and music I didn’t recognize began playing on the radio. “The radio is also wonky; it’s stuck on the one station. Sorry!”

  “Really? It’s okay!” I chuckled again. “Nothing wrong with seventies classic hits.”

  Marco grinned and lowered his head with an embarrassed shake.

  He drove off, and we exchanged some small talk, then I said, “I haven’t seen you around town before. Have you lived here long?”

  “Around five years,” he replied. “But I’m pretty busy working in my parents’ furniture store just outside town, then I have the art classes, and I have a couple of friends at Fern Ridge where I used to live so I hang with them sometimes, and I also go to the gym, and…” He glanced at me. “Sorry, I’m blabbering. I blabber sometimes.”

  “Ha ha, that’s okay. I have four sisters, so I’m used to blabbering.”

  “Hey, I think I’ve seen one of your sisters at the gym. She looks familiar.”

  “Oh, Savannah? Yeah, her boyfriend works there.”

  “Ah, let me guess, Riley?”

  “The one and only.”

  “She also seems…”

  I looked his way when he didn’t continue. “Seems what?”

  “Um, nothing. Forgot where I was going with the conversation. That happens sometimes too. My brain is too quick for my mouth!”

  “I have a lot going on in my head, too.” I didn’t know why I said that. “Sometimes you have to remind yourself to slow down and breathe, hey?”

  He glanced my way with a smile and nodded. Then he took a big deep breath and exhaled. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  This guy was interesting. Different. “Anytime,” I said.

  “Hey,” his voice went softer, more serious. “I’m sorry about all that stuff happening with you in the media. Must be stressful. And also about your dad. My cousin lost his mom. It’s so hard when a parent dies.”

  I swallowed hard. Dies? How did he know?

  “Um, thanks. Yeah, life has been challenging,” I said, then cleared my throat.

  A small gasp escaped his mouth. “Oh crap, sorry.” His hand went to his forehead. “I know your father disappeared, but that doesn’t mean he… that he’s…”

  “It’s okay.” I lightly touched his forearm where it rested on the gearstick. I already know he’s dead.

  “There’s always hope,” he said, but his tone wasn’t convincing.

  I nodded, even though I knew there was no hope whatsoever. The only proof that he’d died was the presence of his ghost, and that wasn’t exactly evidence.

  “So, ah, being psychic and all, have you ever sort of, you know, felt like you had an idea about what happened to him?” Marco scratched his cheek. “You don’t have to answer me; I’m being nosy. I’m just interested.”

  I’d forgotten about the whole psychic thing for a moment. If Marco believed in that stuff as he said he did, then maybe I could just straight out tell him that I knew my dad was dead. But that would mean telling him about my sisters, and I couldn’t do that without their permission. And I couldn’t lie and say that I’d seen his ghost when I hadn’t.

  I tried to formulate a truthful but restrained response. “I think it’s likely that he’s not coming back,” I said. “And as for being psychic, the thing is, I’m not completely psychic. I do get predictions and stuff, like with that chef guy, but it’s more that I get feelings. Sensations. I don’t see visions or anything.”

  “So you’re clairsentient?”

  My eyes widened. “You know a lot about this stuff?”

  “I keep educated.” He smiled.

  “Well, maybe that’s it. But it’s more of a sensory thing. My hands can feel stuff, and I sense what things feel like through touch.”

  Oh my God, what am I doing? Talia, stop!

  For some reason I wanted to blurt everything out to him. On one hand I wanted to hide and not let anyone know anything about me, my sisters, or our gifts, and on the other hand I was desperate to release so much stuff that had built up in my mind
over time. It was as though I knew he would understand and accept me and not think I was crazy. Maybe he would. Could I trust my intuition, or was I making a mistake? If he were an undercover reporter he would be grinning big-time inside.

  “Sounds like you have a unique gift,” he said.

  Oh yes, if only he knew just how unique it really is.

  “Do you find it hard to manage? Like, do you get bombarded with feelings and need lots of time alone?”

  Whoa. “Um, yes. Yes, yes, yes.” I chuckled. “My sisters are used to me meditating at the drop of a hat. I’ve been training myself to stay calm and centered while in the midst of noise and people.”

  “Good skill to learn.”

  “Sorry, this must be a bit over the top, discussing all this stuff. I mean, I hardly know you, and it’s all a bit weird, I know, but…”

  “Talia.” He lifted his hand from the gearstick and gave my hand a light touch. It could have been my imagination, but it was like a buzz of electricity had surged through us. Or maybe I was sensing something coming from him. “I’d rather discuss this than the weather. It’s interesting. You’re interesting.”

  My belly fluttered. “Oh. Cool. Thanks.”

  Oh. Cool. Thanks?

  “So, better day at school today?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah, almost forgot! Those comebacks worked a treat.”

  “You actually used them?” His tone went up a notch.

  “All of them came in handy. Why, you surprised?”

  He laughed. “Awesome. No more ignoring people huh?”

  “Nope! I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

  Actually, I do.

  Someone, someone nice, got me. Somehow. And that gave me confidence in my uniqueness.

  “I predict that people at school will start cutting back on their teasing now that you’ve showed them what you’re made of. You wait and see.”

  “Now who’s psychic? So what should I say to Peter at the art class if he decides to ask me about my abilities again?”

  “Just tell him his volcano sculpture is going to erupt in the kiln and be destroyed forever. It will break his heart.”

  “Well that would be appropriate. I think it should explode, actually. Maybe we can turn up the heat.” I chuckled.

  “It’d be disposable art.”

  A laugh burst from my mouth. “Cool idea.”

  “I thought it was hot, actually.”

  We glanced at each other at the same time, sharing a moment of something nice. Something I didn’t know I had been missing until I experienced it. We both laughed, and I was glad for seventies music, wonky car doors, funny and slightly insulting comebacks, bizarre psychic abilities, and glad for him.

  Chapter 9

  I ran my hand along the row of books in the school library the next day, my skin tingling and buzzing with the variety of different textures, spines, and the stories emitting from them.

  The librarian had told us where to find the book, The Way It Is, in the nonfiction section. It was apparently a book about learning to embrace the grieving process. I wondered if Mr. Jenkins’s wife had instructed Savannah to find this book not only for what it contained for her husband, but for us too, that it might help us with our own grieving.

  Dad was gone, questions were unanswered, and that was just the way it was. The way it is.

  I felt the energy of the book just before we found it. My hand became warm and kind of “one” with the shelves and books, like it was a wave that was about to roll onto the shore to meet the book. The current swept me toward it.

  There was a “zing” when I touched it, like I had felt with Marco, but for a different reason.

  “Open it!” Savvy urged as I withdrew the book. The cover showed a neutral-colored image of two hands enveloping each other, fitting together effortlessly like a lock and key. I turned over the first page, then the second, then allowed the pages to fall open to where something was lodged inside it. A photo.

  My heart ached, throbbed, even before I looked at it.

  Once I lifted that picture gently out of the book, I felt I might lose my balance. I leaned my back against the bookshelves as I held the photo up.

  Oh gosh. It was heartbreaking.

  A younger-looking Mr. Jenkins and a petite woman sat together, a tiny baby in their arms, wrapped so carefully you could hardly see her, tubes coming out of her nose.

  “That’s her,” whispered Savannah. “That’s how she looked in spirit, except a little older.” Her finger hovered over the photo near the baby’s delicate face. “That’s so sad. I can’t believe it. What a terrible tragedy.” Savannah took the photo from my trembling hand. “We need to give this to Mr. J as soon as possible. He probably needs it to move on. I guess Mom and I should go pay him a visit after school.”

  I nodded. “Better to do it sooner rather than later. Poor guy.”

  She put the photo firmly back in the book, lodging the edge into the binding, and took it to the counter to borrow.

  At the end of the day, strangely, there were no reporters waiting for me outside the school gate. But blabbermouth Brianna had enthusiastically pointed out to me on the screen of her phone, that the newspaper’s online poll results were 54 percent in favor of me having psychic abilities, with 26 percent believing I was a troubled teen, and 20 percent unsure. Nice to know the category of my mental status was in the hands of people I’d probably never even met. The world was ridiculous.

  Savannah and I started reading the library book while we waited for Mom to come home from work. Serena was at Damon’s house, Sasha was at Jordan’s, and Tamara was doing a shift at the restaurant. Tomorrow she was due to work at the TV studio again for a reshoot of the Dancing Chef’s show, minus Renaldo as he was still recovering, and minus her psychic celebrity sister in the audience.

  As soon as Mom entered the house, Savannah stood and declared, “I’m ready. Are you?”

  “Not really, but let’s do this,” Mom replied. “My comfort zone isn’t that comfortable anyway.”

  “I don’t even have a comfort zone,” said Savannah.

  I had one, and I was going to go and curl up in it right now while they did what they had to do. Waiting around and pacing the room would drive me nuts.

  I wished them good luck as they wandered over to our neighbor’s house, and I grabbed my meditation stone and eyed its yin and yang symbol. It was all about opposites in life, and striking a balance. Life and death, good and evil, light and dark, truth and lies… Everything had its opposite, and that brought both comfort and fear. If something was unknown and uncertain, something could be known and certain. But just because there was safety didn’t mean there wasn’t also danger. Dad had known he was in danger. And he hadn’t been psychic, so there must have been other reasons and other signs that he was involved in something he may not get out alive from.

  I lay on my bed and held the stone to my chest, breathing slowly and deeply. With each inhalation I drew strength and resilience into my body; with each exhalation I released fear and uncertainty. I didn’t know where the strength and resilience came from, or where the fear and uncertainty went to, but I imagined a source like a waterfall, like Marco’s waterfall sculpture, delivering to me in an abundant flowing stream whatever I needed at the time. Then I imagined a black hole sucking in the unwanted emotions as I breathed them out. This seemed to work for me, as I became more relaxed and calm the more deeply and slowly I breathed.

  After a long meditation, I felt a strong sense of connection, to everyone and everything. Like I needed to see, be seen, and to touch. I got up and went to the living room and looked out the window. Savannah just happened to be stepping out of Mr. Jenkins’s door, the book in her hand. Had he not believed them? A moment later, Mom emerged too, then Mr. Jenkins stood at the door, facing Mom. They talked as Savannah walked back to our house. Just as my sister opened the door and I was about to ask what happened, Mom and Mr. Jenkins embraced. His hands slid gently around her waist, and her han
ds moved around his upper back. They rocked a little, side to side.

  Savannah sniffed as she stood next to me. “He got to say goodbye to her,” she said. “To his wife. And to his baby.”

  I turned to my sister. “He believed you?”

  She tilted her head. “Not at first. He said it was scientifically impossible that we could predict the future with the five senses, or that ghosts could exist, until we told him how it all started, and about the fires, and the near miss at the cliff, and the ghosts in the Jamesons’ house, and the restaurant crisis, and the fact that I could describe in detail the necklace his wife’s spirit was wearing and the inscription that was on the back of the pendant. And also, that I had seen my dad, and that although the police were investigating his case as a missing persons case, we knew it was really a murder investigation.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot to take in, for anyone, let alone someone who lives by the rules of science.”

  “He said he still doesn’t know how to believe it, but that he had experienced some bizarre coincidences lately, and little signs that reminded him of his wife. And today, get this—someone had said to him ‘That’s just the way it is.’ Like, about something completely different, but with those words, and when I showed him the book his jaw dropped a little.” She held it up. “He said I should read it. That we all should read it, by the way.” She took a deep breath. “And when he saw the photo…” Savannah shook her head. “He’s no longer just a teacher to me, Talia, he’s a grieving human being, just like us.”

  I placed my hand on her back. She nestled into my side, and I slid my arm around her, and as Mom and Mr. Jenkins—Simon—stood there hugging each other, so did we.

  Chapter 10

  “Is it just me, or does it seem like everyone is believing all of this too easily?” I asked Mom the next morning at breakfast.

  “By everyone do you mean Mr. Jenkins?”

  “Yes, and some other people about the media thing, and Marco too.”

  “He saw you on TV, did he?”

  “He didn’t actually say, but I assume so, or just read it in the newspaper. He’s like the only person who hasn’t been all, ‘Oh my God, wow!’ or, ‘Yeah right,’ about it.”