“The last time the ghost of a very angry girl tore up this school.”
He continued to look confused for a moment, then remembered. “The girl who desecrated Father Serra’s statue? What on earth reminded you of her?”
“You said she was the most violent spirit you’d ever seen.” And, uh, there was a rumor going around the school that I’d severed Father Serra’s head. “And look what happened when you tangled with her.”
“That was an entirely different situation, Susannah, as you well know.”
“Maybe. But I still think it’s a mistake to go out there. What makes you think you’ll even see Lucia today? You didn’t before.”
“Really, Susannah, you don’t seem to think very highly of my skills, as either an educator or a mediator.”
“That isn’t true.”
Except of course that lately, it was.
“I assure you, Susannah, I’ve been dealing with troubled children far longer than you have. May I point out that you were one of them once?”
Before I could protest that I was never “troubled,” only disruptive, he went on to say, “And you ended up far exceeding my expectations for you. Except for your somewhat colorful vocabulary—and your occasionally regrettable wardrobe, of course—you’ve grown into a wonderfully mature, accomplished young woman I’d be proud to call my own daughter. Well, granddaughter perhaps would be more apt.”
I hesitated. “Well, thank you, Father. That’s very nice. But shouldn’t you still let me—”
“Let you what?” He was putting on his black jacket, checking in the mirror to make sure his clerical collar was straight. “Let you come with me? Then who will do your job? Sister Ernestine will certainly discover Ms. Diaz and Mr. Gillarte’s affair if you are not here to make excuses for them. No, Susannah—” He turned from the mirror to look at me, not seeming to notice my astonished expression. I’d had no idea he knew about the Diaz-Gillarte imbroglio. “It’s my responsibility, not yours.”
“But.” I had to try one more time. “Supposing she does reveal herself to you. She’s not normal. Even you admit she’s insanely strong. So if you piss her off, you could get more than drowned, or the head of a statue thrown at you—”
“Susannah, I’ve been doing this quite a bit longer than you. I do think I know my way around a mediation by now. Besides,” he added with a grin, “believe it or not, children like me. It’s entirely possible that Becca, and even her spirit companion, will listen calmly to what I have to say. Most people do, you know.”
I tried my hardest to stop him. In retrospect, I should have tried harder. I should have called Jesse—even though he was back at the Crossing, catching up on the sleep he’d missed over the last forty-eight hours.
In retrospect, I should have made Gina or Jake wake Jesse up and drive after Father Dominic to stop him. Or I should have gone with him myself, especially after Aunt Pru’s warning.
But he was so confident about it, so adamant that he could fix everything. And I was tired from my own lack of sleep, and preoccupied, I’ll admit, about what was going on with my boyfriend.
And really, maybe it was insensitive of me to try to stand in the way of this, Father Dominic’s last mediation (or attempt at one, anyway). Ageist, even. I didn’t want to be accused of discriminating against someone because of their advancing years.
So I said, “Okay, Father D. If you’re sure. I guess I could stay here and see what I can find out about the riding accident.”
He nodded and said, “Good thinking.”
It wasn’t, though. It turned out to be terrible thinking.
Only I didn’t know it until I heard Sister Ernestine pick up the phone in her office a few hours later, then cry, “What?”
That’s when I knew how wrong I’d been.
trece
“That’s how old people die. They fracture their hip, get pneumonia, then die.”
That’s what my stepniece Mopsy assured me of as we stood in front of the main reception desk at the hospital later that evening.
“Shut up, Emily,” I said.
“But it’s true. And you’re not supposed to say shut up. You’re supposed to sing the listening song. That’s what Sister Monica taught us in school.”
“I’m not going to sing the goddamn listening song, Emily.”
“You’re not supposed to swear, Aunt Suze. You’re not supposed to swear or say shut up.”
I took a deep breath, fighting for patience. The only reason my stepnieces were with me was because a fight had erupted between their parents over Sister Ernestine’s request to discuss the possibility of their daughters having ADHD.