Long Black Veil (16 page)

Brock caught up with her easily. “What’s going on?” he asked, jogging to keep pace with her.

“Nothing.” She tried to go faster, but he kept up. “Just go home, Brock.”

“Not until you tell me why that woman has you so spooked.”

Devon stopped, angrily facing him. “You need to stay away from me!”

“What?” He raked hands through his golden brown hair. “Why?”

“You know why! Mountain and Town don’t mix.” She took off running, not caring if she looked stupid. “Leave me alone!”she yelled, not looking back.

She had a stitch in her side and pain that had nothing to do with running in the pit of her stomach when she hit the porch. She slammed open the door and fell inside, feeling like a wild thing someone was hunting.

Gammy rose up from the sofa at Devon’s sudden arrival. She hustled over to her granddaughter, hand already on Devon’s forehead. “What is it, my girl?”

Devon flung her messenger bag down, still breathing hard. She was angry, but at whom she wasn’t sure: certainly the woman in the long black veil, maybe Gammy, definitely her mother. She wanted the truth—about everything. She just doubted that she’d get it, even if she asked.

“Brock saw her.” She said it as an accusation.

Gammy’s look of confusion just made her rage spike higher. “Saw who?”

Devon practically snarled. “You know! That woman you told me never to talk to. She nearly ran us off the road!”

Gammy sucked in a sharp breath. “You were with him? Devon, I told you t—”

“I know what you told me. What I want to know is why? And why is Brock seeing her now?” Devon lowered her voice to a plead. “Please, Gammy. I need to know.”

The old woman sighed. “Come inside and let me get some tea.” At Devon’s hard look, she said, “You may not need something warm to get through all this but I do.”

Devon pulled off her coat and boots, then made her way into the living room. She wrapped herself in one of the many afghans decorating the place and sat on the sofa. She watched as Gammy made herself a pot of tea with honey. She raised her eyebrows when she noticed her grandmother pour a heavy shot from a whiskey bottle that she kept in the cupboard.

Devon waited until Gammy sat down in her recliner before clearing her throat pointedly. Her grandmother was not going to get out of telling her what the hell was going on. Gammy took a sip of her tea, made a mollifying gesture with her free hand, and began.

“How many times have you seen her?”

She shrugged. She knew exactly how many times, but she didn’t want to worry Gammy. “A few.”

Gammy’s gaze speared her; it was like she knew everything that Devon was keeping from her. “Uh huh. A few.” She took another sip of her tea. “That woman in the long veil—she’s no ordinary woman.”

“I never would have guessed that what with the disappearing and all.”

“Mind your tongue,” Gammy snapped, then subsided. “She’s a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Devon tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice. Gammy had to be pulling her leg.

Gammy’s rheumy blue eyes narrowed. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?” she challenged.

“Shutting up, Ma’am.” Devon sat straight up, like a model student trying to impress her teacher.

Gammy gave her a sidelong look, then started in again. “Yes, a ghost. Our family has one. We’ve had her for as long as I can remember and past that. Most people don’t see her, but then again, most people mind the rules.”

“What rules?” Devon blurted out, then pressed her lips together.

“Mountain and Town don’t mix—isn’t that what I told you when I said not to befriend that Cutler boy? Bad things happen when you do.” She caught Devon’s blue eyes with her own. “And she’s one of those bad things.”

Devon shook her head, not sure she was ready to believe this yet. Maybe Gammy was using this as a scare tactic. But when Devon looked at her, she could tell that her grandmother believed she was telling the truth. “So the ghost is the reason I can’t be friends with people in town?” She had a thought. “What about Gil? We’ve been friends forever and I never saw her before.”

Gammy leaned back in the recliner, putting her feet up. “Gil is a friend—and he ain’t gonna be anything more, what with him liking boys and all.” As Devon boggled at her grandmother, she continued. “It’s not friends she has a mind to stop. It’s more like…friends in the biblical sense…that she’s opposed to.”

Devon blushed, not believing what she was hearing. Did Gammy just try to talk about sex? The ghost was no longer the weirdest part of her day. “But I’m not even dating Brock. We’re barely even friends!”

Gammy gave her a look that seemed to say, how big a fool do you take me for? “You like him—as a girl likes a boy, otherwise you wouldn’t be seeing her. And he must like you, if he’s able to see her too.” She shook her head. “You never could do anything the easy way. Just like your mama.”

“What does my mother have to do with this?” When it looked like Gammy wouldn’t speak, Devon practically shouted. “What about my mother?”

Gammy took another drink from her teacup, buying herself some time. Finally, when Devon thought she would burst, she said, “It’s a tale best left for your mother to tell.” She held up a hand to forestall Devon’s protests. “But she did see the ghost. Just like you.”

Devon went still. Her father. Or at least the man who, until today, she thought was her father. “Dad?”

Gammy nodded grimly. “He was from town, but you know that. Your mama didn’t heed the ghost’s warnings, she was too wild, too in love. She thought the ghost was just superstitious bunk us old people thought up.” She looked up at Devon. “Then there was the shooting.”

“What shooting?” Devon didn’t recall anything about a shooting.

“It was well before your time, little one. Your daddy’s best friend shot a man and went to jail for it. He died there too. Strange thing was, he never said a word to defend himself.” She sighed. “That was the beginning of the end for your mama and daddy.”

Devon rubbed her eyes. “Why haven’t I heard about this before?” None of this made any sense.

“You parents didn’t like to talk about it. They had all just graduated high school. Jackson Duvall—that was the shooter—was close to your mama too. Your parents picked up and left as soon as the trial was over. It was too painful for them to stay around here, I suppose.”

“And the ghost?” Devon wasn’t sure how this ghost had anything to do with this tragedy.

“It’s what comes when our family mixes with town folk. She reminds us to keep to our own. You mama ignored the signs, and she was punished for it.” Gammy turned the mug of tea around in her hands.

Devon tightened her hold on the blanket she was wrapped in. “Did my dad ever see the ghost?”

“I don’t know. He never mentioned it, and your mama never said anything if he did.” Gammy took a deep swig of her tea. “So that’s why I want you to stay away from Brock Cutler. No good can come of you two being together.”

Devon chewed her lower lip, thinking about everything her Gammy had told her; and everything she hadn’t. Finally, she asked the question that was bothering her most. “Why do we have this ghost—this curse—anyway? Why us?”

Gammy settled back in her chair a bit, easing the weight off old bones. “She’s one of our line. She loved a town man and it turned out badly.” She paused and stared off into the distance. “That’s all I know.”

“And nobody bothered to figure out why she’s haunting us?” Devon was shocked.

The gaze from Gammy was reproachful. “Everyone as lives up here is too busy making a living to bother with the why and where. You follow the rules and nothing bad happens. You don’t, and you pay the price.”

“Mom’s rotting in jail because she happened to love the wrong person! Don’t you think that price is kind of high?” Devon stared at her grandmother, angry again. How could she just excuse it like that? “She’s your daughter!”

Gammy bowed her head. Devon thought she might have gone too far, when the old woman looked up, her gaze fierce. “You don’t know what I feel, Devon. And I hope to God you never do.”

Devon subsided against the back of the cushions, her eyes caught in Gammy’s gaze like a bird before a snake. There was steel in her stare, and power too. Devon felt abashed at her hard words. Gammy had been living with this longer than she had.

But there was still one question that gnawed at her, begging for an answer. After a few moments of silence, Devon finally got up the courage to ask her grandmother. “Was my dad really my dad?”

She expected a look of shock or surprise, or possibly an immediate denial. What she got was a look of immense exhaustion, as if Gammy was too tired to go on. But what scared Devon the most was that it was also a look of acknowledgement, as though Gammy had been expecting this question from her for a long time.

When her grandmother spoke, it was in a voice that sounded a thousand years old. “For that, my girl, you’re going to have to ask your mother.”

Chapter Sixteen

Devon rolled into school still half-asleep. She’d stayed up late rereading her mother’s diary and obsessing over the photograph of her mother and Jackson. She had a feeling that Deacon had never seen the ghost, but maybe Jackson had. When she eventually tried to go to sleep, she was kept up most of the night thinking about the family ghost and the mystery of who her real father was. By the time she managed a fitful doze, her alarm went off an hour later. She’d be lucky if she made it through fourth period before passing out from exhaustion.

She’d thought about staying home today, but couldn’t stand the idea of being in the trailer with her grandmother. There was a tension between them that hadn’t ever been there before. Devon couldn’t help thinking about the secrets that Gammy still held onto, ones she may never know about. It made her anxious and angry. She didn’t want to sit around clenching her teeth in frustration all day, so school was really the best option, even if she did feel like she had to keep her eyelids open with toothpicks.

Devon rounded the corner to the hall that led to her locker and froze. Kids behind her cursed and jostled against her, but she didn’t care. Brock was standing next to her locker, evidently waiting for her to arrive and get her books.

Her eyes darted around for an exit, but it was too late. He’d seen her. He was staring at her, as if willing her down the hall toward him. She was even desperate enough to avoid him that she was wishing for a glimpse of Skylar or Micah to serve as a distraction. But it looked like no help would be forthcoming from that direction, so Devon knew she’d just have to pull on her big girl panties and face the boy that she liked but could no longer talk to.

She wasn’t sure when she finally decided to accept the possibility that Gammy’s outlandish story about a ghost that followed her family’s love affairs like a soap opera was true, but at some point in the night she had. Some of it didn’t make sense to her, but Devon had never seen Gammy so serious about something so…weird before. She at least owed her enough to try and figure out what was really going, and that was exactly what she planned to do after school.

But first there was Brock. He moved aside as she came up to her locker, allowing her access to her combination lock. The janitor had tried to scrub away the paint, but the faint outlines of the insults were still visible. Devon didn’t care; she had bigger problems to worry about than people calling her Pocahontas.

Brock started first. “How are you doing?” His eyes took her in, sweeping her from head to toe. Devon felt a flush of warmth slide through her.

“I’m good,” she answered, fumbling with her lock. She took a deep breath to steady herself, managing to get her locker open without further mishap.

He leaned against the locker next to hers. His hazel eyes peered at her. She did her best to resist the urge to look at him. Finally he said, “We need to talk.”

No good could come of that, of that Devon was sure. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She dropped a book and reached down to pick it up.

Brock beat her to it. He held the book out to her. “Something happened yesterday that spooked you. I want to know what.”

Devon took her book from him with hands that just barely shook from nerves. What could she tell him? That she had a ghost that didn’t like her talking to him? That her life would be ruined by what could very well be a figment of her imagination? But he had seen it too—so did that mean it was real? And could that also mean that his future was on the line?

Devon didn’t know what to do. She wished this was someone else’s problem to solve. “I have class.”

Brock put his hand on her arm and Devon had to force herself not to jump. It was like his pull on her increased by ten, like he was a magnet drawing her close. “Please, Devon. Talk to me.”

She met his eyes then. In them she saw worry and fear and a dozen other things that all made up Brock. Her heart seemed to change its rhythm, rearranging its steady beat to a staccato pattern. Ghost or no ghost, she liked Brock Cutler. And that wasn’t going to go away just by wishing it.

“I have to get a pass from first period,” she said, her way of acquiescing.

He nodded. “I’ll meet you at my car.” He took off in the other direction.