She hesitated. “Not really. I felt her, though. Like how Dad knows you’re near even before he sees you.”
When I didn’t respond, she said, “I’m not blind. You do the same thing when Dad’s around. It’s not like you can hide it. Especially from me. I write music and lyrics. I’m wired to be more attuned to human nature than most people.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Sort of like the way you can talk to dead people. It’s just the way we’re made, so we might as well make the best of it.”
I scrutinized her in the dim light from the windows. “Are you sure you’re only sixteen?”
“And going on seventeen.” She laughed at the reference to our favorite movie, which we’d watched together at least six times so far. Her face became serious. “I just wish you and Dad would get over this thing. It’s like you’re matching bookends or something. There aren’t any substitutions and everybody knows it. Except for the two of you, it seems.”
“Oh, I know it. Jack does, too. He just needs more time.” I said this to be reassuring, but I wasn’t sure if it was more for her benefit or mine.
She was silent for a moment, considering her words. “I’ve always looked to you and to my grandmother and Ginette to show me how to be a strong woman.”
“I’m not . . .” I started.
“Yes, you are. We all fail sometimes. But you always come back fighting. It’s pretty dank.”
“What?”
“It’s pretty cool,” she translated. “Except . . .” She looked down at the Frozen Charlotte as if unaware that she was still holding it, and placed it on the coffee table, then wiped her hands on her T-shirt.
“Except?”
“Except now. I’m not an expert in this girl-boy thing, but it seems to me just from all that Hallmark movie watching you’ve made me do since I moved in that if you want to get back together, you shouldn’t be letting him call all the shots. Whatever the issue is, you’re both wrong. One of you has to go first, so it might as well be you. Tell him to get over it and move on. You can figure out the rest later.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
She tilted her head. “Isn’t it, though?”
Something wet touched my leg, and when I looked down, instead of seeing Porgy or Bess, I saw only the vanishing brown tail of another dog. “Otis?”
I felt another lick and then he was gone.
Nola stooped and picked up Porgy, who showed his thanks with licks to her chin. “Why do you think Evangeline brought the Frozen Charlotte back and put it here?”
“I have no idea, but I need to find out.”
Nola scratched Porgy under his chin, making him go limp in her arms. Her gaze jumped from the clock to the Frozen Charlotte and then back to me again. She took a big step away from the clock. “Rebecca’s dream is a little creeptastic. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out.” I paused as an idea formed in my mind. “What do you have last period today?”
“Creative writing. We’re supposed to be doing the final edits on our short stories, but I finished mine a week ago. I thought I’d use the time to work on a new song. Why?”
“How would you like to play hooky and come with me to the Gibbes Museum? I need to do some research, and maybe you can help. I’d rather not go alone.” I smiled reassuringly. “I promise to have you back in plenty of time for homework and SAT prep.”
She grinned and looked so much like Jack that I had to glance away. “Sure. That could be fun. I’ll let Beau know I won’t need a ride home and I’ll tell Grandmother that I’ll clean the Depression glassware tomorrow.”
My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“You know—the glass dishes and stuff in pretty colors . . .”
“I know what Depression glass is. I was curious about the part where Beau drives you home from school. And aren’t you supposed to be on probation?”
She shrugged and dropped her gaze to Porgy. “It’s no big deal. Amelia cut my sentence short for good behavior. And Beau driving me just made sense since we both are now usually working at the store on Tuesdays. I told Dad that I didn’t need a ride on Tuesdays. I think he assumes Jayne is driving me, but I didn’t correct him.”
“I thought you didn’t like Beau.”
Nola made a face. “I don’t. He’s such a know-it-all, and he refuses to argue even though I tell him he’s wrong about stuff. And when I’m upset or mad, he says the same thing: ‘The rain always stops.’?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s so lame. But he knows a lot about music, and artists, so I just suffer through being in his company to get to the good parts.”
“I see. What is it you two argue about?”
The clock chimed three times. Nola picked up Bess, tucking the little dog under the arm not occupied with Porgy. “It’s late. I should get back to bed.”
“Is it about the podcast?”
She bit her lip. “Mostly. On his podcast, he spouts all this ‘evidence’ about how ghosts aren’t real and all psychics and mediums are con artists and quacks, and I simply point out where he’s wrong.”
“I see. Does he ever mention me specifically?”
“Nope. I think he knows better.” She grinned again. “Even when an episode is about someone who is clearly a quack, I refuse to let Beau know he’s right. I just . . . can’t. He’s already too full of himself and insufferable.”
“I just worry about him because, well, he’s a tall man. We can’t forget what Rebecca said. I think it might be a mistake if you had romantic feelings toward him.”
She gave me a sour face again. “Oh, please. He occasionally drives me to school and bosses me around at work. Otherwise, I stay clear of him. Besides, he’s no Cooper Ravenel, that’s for sure.”
I heard the catch in her voice. “All right—go back to bed. I’ll find someplace to put Charlotte.”
“Maybe in the bottom of the cistern?” Nola suggested.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Should we tell Dad what just happened?”