Remembrance (The Mediator #7) (16 page)

The granddaughters of Andy Ackerman, the host of At Home with Andy, attended Mission Academy.

“But Sacred Trinity is located within the community of Pebble Beach, and the resort there has an equestrian center, too,” Father Dominic said, loyally coming to the defense of a fellow Catholic school. “The accident could easily have happened along one of its riding trails, not Trinity’s. Horseback riding is such a popular sport these days, especially among the wealthy, everyone seems to be doing it, even though it can be so very dangerous. And I don’t believe there are any equestrian safety helmet laws in California.”

I eyed him with affectionate skepticism. “Oh, okay, Father D. I’m sure that’s the reason Lucia’s been sticking around so long, trying to protect Becca, because she’s upset about California’s equestrian safety helmet laws.”

“There’s no need for more sarcasm, Susannah. Sacred Trinity is one of the premier girls’ schools in the country. And Pebble Beach is a five-star resort. Surely what happened to the poor girl could only have been a tragic accident, not . . . whatever you’re thinking.”

“You know one of the things I love most about you, Father D, is that you always see the best in people.” Smiling, I patted him on the shoulder. “Even in premier girls’ schools and five-star resorts.”

“And one of the things that troubles me most about you, Susannah, is that you’re always prepared to see the worst in everyone. Didn’t you work at the Pebble Beach Resort one summer when you were in high school?”

“I did,” I said. “That’s how I know they aren’t perfect.”

“False modesty is not a very attractive quality, Susannah.”

“Fine. Yes, they hired me to work as a babysitter at the resort.”

Father Dominic brightened. “Oh, yes, of course. That’s how you met Paul Slater’s little brother. How is Jack? What’s he up to these days?”

I smile with a nonchalance I was far from feeling at the mention of Paul’s name. “Jack? Last time I heard from him, he seemed to be fine. Much happier now that he’s not living with his parents.”

“And does he—well, communicate very often with the deceased?”

“I don’t think so. In fact, I think he still tries to avoid it whenever possible. He’s gotten into writing—screenplays, I think.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Father Dominic said.

“A shame? Why?”

“Well, he had such promise as a mediator. But perhaps he was a bit too sensitive for the work. He might be better suited to the arts. Not like his brother . . . how is Paul? The two of you had your differences, but got to be on rather good terms again, toward graduation, as I recall. Have you heard from him at all lately?”

Now, of course, was the perfect opportunity to tell Father Dominic the truth about why I’d called him last night. That my interest in the Curse of the Dead wasn’t merely intellectual, but had to do with Paul Slater, who was basically trying to blackmail me into sleeping with him.

“I don’t know,” I said flatly. “I haven’t heard from Paul in years.”

“Really? I’m surprised. He always seemed so fond of you. I realize those feelings weren’t returned, but—”

“No offense, Father, but let’s stick to the subject at hand, okay? What are we going to do about Kelly Walters’s stepdaughter?”

Father Dominic blinked. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to seem intrusive—”

“No worries. We just need to decide how we’re going to handle this. I know Jesse probably told you over the phone that he wants to exorcise the kid—”

“He did, but it’s only because he’s so upset about what happened to you. Obviously it’s out of the question. She’s a young soul in torment.”

“Who’s been tormenting another young soul for what appears to be years, and who also tried to drown me last night. As much as I enjoy sleeping in my fiancé’s bed, I’d rather not be doing it with Gina.”

“No,” Father Dominic said drily. “Nor can I imagine sleeping with you is a particularly enjoyable experience for Gina.”

“Wow, thanks. You know, this is all your fault. If it weren’t for the debt he feels toward you and my family and the stupid church,” I pointed out, “Jesse and I would be the ones sharing that bed, like a normal twenty-first-century couple. Any chance you could casually let him know that our souls are not
actually
going to be sent to eternal damnation if we make love before we’re married, Father D?”

The priest looked amused. “I’m not the pope, Susannah. I don’t have the power to change what’s been official church doctrine for thousands of years.”

“Well, you’ve always performed same-sex marriages off church grounds, so you don’t seem to mind bending the rules of
some
church doctrine—”

I was surprised when Father Dominic’s expression changed, and he interrupted, in an animated voice, “Susannah, you’re absolutely right.”

“Wait . . . I am?” I could hardly believe my good fortune. “You’ll tell Jesse it’s okay for us to have sex?”

“No, of course not.” He looked horrified. “Don’t be ridiculous. I mean you’re right it’s my fault about Kelly’s stepdaughter. And it’s high time I did something about it.”

“What? No.” I stared at him as he rose to his feet and began to rush about the office. “How is it your fault?”

“Susannah, I officiated at her parents’ wedding and did not notice the poor, tortured soul clinging to her then, nor did I notice her at any time this semester since Becca started attending this school. So you see, it’s my fault, and my responsibility.”

A feeling of dread closed over me. It was far different than the feeling of dread I’d felt when I’d seen Paul’s e-mail, or that the flowers on my desk were from him and not Jesse. But it was still there.

“Father D, I agree we need to do something, but don’t you think we should probably wait until we have more information?”

“Nonsense. Find out what homework Becca is missing in her classes today and I’ll drive to her house with the assignments personally. That way I’ll be able to speak with her as well as her parents, as I ought properly to have done several months ago before their wedding, or at least when they first enrolled her here.”

“Father Dominic, I get where you’re coming from. I really do. And I appreciate that once again, you’re trying to do the right thing. But I don’t think you have anything to feel guilty about. At their wedding you had no idea there was anything like this going on. You didn’t even see Lucia. Like you said, she revealed herself to me, not to you. So I really think I’m the one who—”

“Susannah, I’m not feeling guilty. I’m simply trying to do my job.”

“Right, I know. But remember what happened last time?”

He glanced at me, confused. “Last time?”

“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.

Even though we hadn’t always (okay, ever) gotten along, I considered Debbie a loving and hands-on mom, especially given the fact that she’d had all three of her babies at the same time, without the aid of fertility drugs. Multiples ran in Debbie’s family. She had an older cousin who’d had
two
sets of triplets, also naturally.

One might think this would have served as a warning to Debbie to use protection, but the opposite was true. Debbie was completely opposed to all forms of pharmaceutical products, including birth control—to Brad’s everlasting chagrin—and vaccinations, despite Jesse pointing out that because of people like her, preventable (and potentially deadly) diseases like measles, mumps, and whooping cough were on the rise again in the state of California.

Debbie didn’t care. She was convinced that keeping Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail (my nicknames for my admittedly adorable but somewhat high-spirited stepnieces) drug and vaccine free was the right thing to do.

Although I didn’t agree with her (and wasn’t sure how long any school, even the Mission Academy, would keep accepting her bogus “health exemptions” from her quack doctor), in a weird way I admired her fiercely protective—if misdirected—maternal instinct.

Except that this latest tiff between her and my stepbrother over the subject had resulted in a communications gap so vast that neither of them had remembered to retrieve the girls after school. That’s how I’d been forced to corral them into the backseat of my embarrassingly dilapidated Land Rover, then take them with me to the hospital when I’d heard the news about Father Dom.

Hospitals are the last place you’re supposed to take children—especially ones who haven’t had their vaccinations.

But what other choice did I have? I had to see Father Dominic as soon as he got out of recovery. They’d decided it was best to operate on his hip right away, as the “accident” he’d allegedly suffered at the Walterses’s home had completely shattered it.

So it was to St. Francis that the four of us went.

I’d realized belatedly what a horrible idea this was not only when Mopsy opened her mouth to ask, “Why is your car so
old
, Aunt Suze?” (it had been in the family for ages until I’d inherited it, and there was no point in my buying a nicer car, since it was only going to be abused by my terrible driving, the triplets, and, of course, mediation-resistant spirits), but when she’d followed that up by declaring, in the hospital lobby, that Father Dom was going to die.

Even worse, the redhead at the hospital’s main reception desk turned out to be someone new, who didn’t recognize me as either Jesse’s fiancée—I’d been to the hospital many times to visit him during his breaks—
or
a member of the clergy and therefore “family” of Father D’s, and so wouldn’t tell me the exact extent of his injuries, how he was doing, or which floor he’d been taken to.

“Look,” I said to the redhead, pointedly ignoring Mopsy, the most outspoken of Brad and Debbie’s daughters, “I get that you can’t give me any information about what room Father Dominic is in for privacy reasons. But can you at least tell me his status? He was supposed to have been out of surgery an hour ago.”