“What?” I asked. Wren moved closer to me and took my hand.
“I remember going to see her in the hospital the day she died.” Nan frowned. “Your father wasn’t much younger than you are now, and he didn’t want to come with me that visit. It was hard on him to see her in the hospital. She told me not to be sad because she was finally going to find Alys. I just thought she meant she’d see her twin in Heaven. That wasn’t what she meant, was it?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think Alys was in trouble. And I think Emily’s still trying to save her. That’s why she’s visiting us.” I didn’t add that Emily also seemed to be a prisoner of something powerful.
My grandmother sat down on the bed. “She told me she was afraid that there wouldn’t be any more twins born into our family because she hadn’t produced any, and neither had my mother, my aunt, my brother or I.”
Wren and I shared a glance.
“Was Emily’s mother a twin?” I asked.
Nan shrugged. “I don’t know. I never asked. I suppose I ought to have, now, looking back.” She sighed. “I suppose if I’d had a twin we would have been like the two of you, and she would have explained it all to me, so that I could explain it to you. I’m so sorry I can’t help you girls.”
I watched, helpless as Nan swiped at her eye with the back of her hand. “Please, don’t cry. None of this is your fault.”
Nan nodded and rose to her feet. “Maybe not, but I could do more to help you.”
“Nan,” I said, incredulous. “You took us in. You’ve given me more love and understanding than my mother ever did. I don’t know what I—what we—would have done without you.” Tears burned my eyes. Damn PMS.
She held out her arms, and I went into them, taking Wren with me. We hugged, and I pushed the tears away. I wasn’t going to cry, because my mother didn’t deserve it, and because my tears would set Nan off as well, and then Wren wouldn’t know what to do with either of us.
Nan kissed my forehead, and Wren’s as well—though I thought she was just a little off. Not bad for interacting with someone she couldn’t see clearly. “You get ready. I’ll make breakfast.”
When she left, Wren and I finished cleaning up, and I started getting ready. I had a text from Ben:
U OK?
YEAH. I’LL FILL YOU IN LATER. SO MUCH DRAMA.
<3
I smiled and sent three hearts back to him. Then I put on my face—doing what I could to minimize the cut from the mirror—dried my hair, got dressed and went downstairs to discover that Nan had made pumpkin-spice waffles.
“Woman, you are a domestic goddess,” I told her as I sat down. “Wren, you have to try these.”
“Really?” Normally Wren had to ask to inhabit my body. She’d done it without permission in the past, and it usually pissed me off. We’d had to have a discussion about boundaries. She could possess me if I was in danger without asking, but on any other occasion she had to ask, or wait until she was invited.
Having Wren slip into me was a weird feeling that I never quite got used to. It was like walking into one of those big spider webs outside—the invisible kind you didn’t know were there until you walked through one and it was all over your face. Anyway, that was what it felt like—soft, gossamer threads settling over me, tickling my skin.
I don’t know which of us enjoyed the waffles more, me or Wren, but I ate entirely too much. I was still really full when Nan dropped me off at school.
I gave her a hug before getting out of her ugly little grape of a car, and watched as she drove away.
“I’m going to Haven Crest,” Wren informed me. “I want to talk to Noah.”
This wasn’t something I was thrilled to hear, because I still didn’t completely trust the guy, especially now that I knew Wren had some doubts about him. But maybe that ghost who had passed Wren a message from Emily would be there, and maybe she’d be helpful. It was worth a shot.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “Tell him I said hi.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Seriously?”
I shrugged. “Just trying to be nice to your boyfriend.”
The suspicion on her face turned to a tiny smile. “Boyfriend. That sounds so strange. Hey, who’s that on the roof?”
I turned and looked up. There, on the edge of the school roof, was a boy dressed in relaxed jeans, a white thermal shirt and a plaid shirt over that. Very grunge.
“That’s Dan,” I said. “He committed suicide in 1998 by jumping off the roof into the path of a van. I met him in the library one day.” I waved, but Dan either didn’t see me or was caught up in being too tragic and misunderstood for this world to care.