The Unquiet (27 page)

I can’t stand hanging around the house and thinking about Meg. Nate, when I call him, agrees, and we decide to spend the day at Rocky Meadows. This time, though, after we ride, we work; I help him turn out the horses, muck out the stalls, sweep the stable, and refill the water troughs. By the time the last horse is back in and happily fed—hours later—I’m caked with mud and manure, my jacket is ruined, and I’ll probably end up with pneumonia on top of this head cold. But at least it took my mind off Meg for a while.

We pass Millie’s car on the way back, parked in front of the Boxcar Diner. But the restaurant’s lights are off and the CLOSED sign hangs on the window.

“What gives?” I wonder.

Nate suggests, “Bet they’re out celebrating Tasha’s victory,” as he backs the jeep into his drive.

“Bet not.”
Not if they heard about Meg first.

Unafraid of my germs, he kisses me good-bye with warm, salty lips. When I open my front door a minute later, it’s Millie I hear first, agitated and hysterical: “How could this have happened? How? I’m just sick about it.
Sick
, I tell you.” As I creep toward the kitchen, she wails, “Oh, Mo, what’ll we do? What do we do
no-o-w-w
?”

In the kitchen, Millie’s sobbing on Mom’s shoulder. Mom pats her. “C’mon, Millie. It could be worse,
much
worse.”

I marvel at Millie’s over-the-top reaction. Shaking and
gasping, she clings to my mother, stretching Mom’s sweater halfway up her back.

“It’s okay, Millie,” I say from the doorway. “Meg’s mom’ll be fine. The newspaper said—”

I cut myself off as Millie rears up, and Mom throws me a warning frown two seconds too late.

“I know that,” Millie snaps. “I can read the paper, too. I’m talking about Tasha, dammit. All our plans! Everything!” She clutches Mom again. “Oh, what’re we gonna
doooo
?”

“Honey,” Mom says over Millie’s sobs. “Tasha’s upstairs. Why don’t you go keep her company?”

Confused, I nod, back out, and run up to my room. Tasha is stretched out on my mattress, studying her fingers. “What happened? Tell me!”

“I blew it,” she says, with no emotion. “I blew regionals. They disqualified me.”

“How? Why?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I sit down beside her. She doesn’t look at me, just watches her fingers making designs in the air. “I thought … I mean, when I heard your mom …”

A disbelieving scoff. “You thought she was crying about Meg, right? Like she cares about anything except
me winning
?”

“I’m sorry about Meg.” Feeling awkward, I reach for her hand.

She ignores it. “I thought I could get through this, you know? But she won’t stop harping on it. And then when we got back and heard about M-Meg …” She drops her hands and squeezes her eyes shut. “Oh God. This is the worst day of my life.”

I don’t know what to say. So I just sit there quietly and listen to my clock tick.

It’s almost dark by the time Millie hollers up: “TASHA! GET DOWN HERE! TIME TO GO!”

Tasha—who fell asleep—flies up, all disheveled and confused. I’ve already showered and changed into a T-shirt and flannel pants. “Oh no,” she whispers. “Please tell me it’s a dream.” Pushing past me, she swipes her coat from the floor and staggers toward the steps.

I follow her down. Millie, now composed, levels steely eyes on her daughter. “I hope you enjoyed the visit. It’s the last one you’re gonna get for a while.”

“Millie,” Mom begins, stepping forward.

Millie continues, prodding Tasha toward the door, “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what it costs. Soon as we get home I’m callin’ Nancy, you’re getting back on that diving board, and—”

“No!” Tasha stops. Maybe I only imagine her look of sheer terror; it’s gone in a flash.

Millie then turns those cold eyes to
me
. “Did she tell you what happened? Huh? Did you tell her, Tasha?” Losing it again, she ignores Mom’s protests. “She got halfway up that damn ladder and stopped. Stopped! For no reason! Her coach had to climb up and
peel
her off.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Tasha whimpers.

“Oh no? Whose was it?”

Tasha whirls on me, her face taut, beseeching. “I froze. I
was fine at first, and—and then I
froze
. I don’t
know
what happened but I couldn’t move, I couldn’t look down …” She faces Millie, fists clenched. “I was scared, Ma! I thought I was gonna
die
.”

“Die?” Millie splutters. “I’ll give you die. You think I’ve been draggin’ you around all these years for my health? All those lessons? All that money?
Do you think this a game?
”

“Please stop yelling at me,” Tasha begs. “I tried. I swear!”

“You humiliated me. And you humiliated your daddy,” she adds cruelly. “He lost two days of pay to make that extra trip, and for what? To see you hangin’ on a ladder, making a fool of yourself?” She shakes her head in disgust. “This whole town was behind you. Oh, sweet Jesus, how’ll I face anyone tomorrow?”

Stricken, Tasha stares at her mom. So do I, in utter disbelief. Mom, on the other hand, plows between them at last. “Millie! Stop it! Leave this poor girl alone, or I swear—”

But Tasha, unexpectedly, erupts back to life to add her own bitter two cents. “That’s right, Ma. That’s all you care about. ‘Oh, my wonderful daughter, the high-diving champ,’ ” she mimics. “You want me to be perfect, right? So people’ll talk about
me
instead of talking about
you
. Because you’re a fat, ignorant whore and everyone knows it!”

With that, Tasha slams out of the house. Millie, after a single stunned moment, marches after her. No good-bye, nothing. She slams the door twice as hard.

I’ve never seen Tasha that worked up. I’ve never even heard her talk back to Millie.

And I’ve never heard a mother talk that way to her daughter. Mom never did, no matter how nasty
I
was.

Mom, her face troubled, stares at the front door. Then, “Are you all right?”

I guess so, though I feel shaky and weird, and very sorry I was part of all this. “I won’t say it,” I promise. She hates when I call Millie names. “But you know what I’m thinking.”

Mom nods. “In this case, I think you’re right.”

Monday, November 24

All people talk about in school today is Meg.
Nobody
can believe what happened. Worse, the more people who blab the story, the more twisted it becomes; by third period they’ve got Mrs. Carmody disemboweled with her throat slashed from ear to ear, and Meg chained to the wall in some unspeakable dungeon.

Idiots
.

At lunch, I flag down Tasha. She joins me silently and drops her tray on the table.

“You doing okay?” I ask.

“I’ll live.” When we hear someone say “Meg” at the next table, Tasha curls her mouth into half a smile. “Nobody’s said a word about me getting kicked out of regionals. They’re all too busy making Meg out to be some kind of homicidal maniac.”

“Nobody said anything to me, either.”

“Well, it’s just a matter of time.” She rolls her hot dog
around with the tines of her plastic fork. “Maybe my mom’ll smother me in my sleep and save me from all the shame.”

Firmly I say, “She was awful to you yesterday. Even my mom said so.” Not in so many words. But it was perfectly obvious she wanted to throttle Millie.

“Whatever. I’m just sick of listening to her. She keeps saying I screwed up on purpose, and I
didn’t
, Rinn. Why would I?”

“I believe you. And your mom’ll get over it.”

“Doubt that. Anyway, I’m to the point now where I don’t care if I ever
see
a pool again.” I watch her cut the hot dog into pieces, arrange them in a row, and then, one by one, flick them off her plate. “Oh God, oh God, I miss Meg so much.”

“Me, too.” Believe it or not, I even miss Lacy right now.

“You know, I’ve been thinking …” She glances stealthily around. “What you said after Dino’s funeral. At the diner, remember?”

Wisely, I wait.

“You said something might happen to me on account of that séance.”

“I didn’t say it to scare you,” I say quickly.

“You didn’t. I just didn’t believe you at first. But since I blew regionals so bad …” She pushes her mangled lunch away. “You wanna know a secret? I don’t even care that I blew it.”

“What do you mean you don’t care?”

“Just what I said.”

“Tasha—”

“I don’t! I’m, like, totally over it.” She giggles, but it’s a strained, unnatural sound. “So you know what I’m thinking now? I’m thinking maybe, just
maybe
… Annaliese’s getting to me, too.”

I consider my untouched lunch, a wilted boxed salad. “Don’t joke about it.”

“I’m not joking, Rinn. I mean, Meg attacked her
mom
. Really? Meg, of all people? How crazy is that?”

Thrilled that she’s not teasing me, that maybe she finally gets it, I exclaim, “That’s what I’ve been saying all along. Things
happen
to people. You guys did zone out on me. Jared saw it, too. He admitted it. That’s why he broke up with Meg, I think. He’s scared of her now.”

Tasha blinks. “You talked to Jared about this?”

“Yes, but don’t bother asking him yourself. He already said he’d deny it.” I pretend not to notice her flicker of skepticism. “And now, ever since the séance, things are happening to
us
.”

“Well, some of us,” she agrees. “I mean, after all … nothing’s happened to
you.
”

“Millie invited us over for Thanksgiving,” Mom says as we’re throwing dinner together.

I roll greasy meat loaf mix between my hands. “That’s nice.”

“Actually, I got the impression she invites the whole town. I guess it’s something of a tradition around here.” She cocks her head, staring at the loaf pan in her hands. “I’m worried it might be, uh, a difficult holiday for us …”

I finish her thought: “Because Frank won’t be here. Yeah, I get it.”

“We’ll call him,” Mom decides.

“He won’t talk to me.”

“I think he will.”

I grab the pan, drop the meat loaf in, and punch it into shape. “Whatever.”

While the meat loaf is baking, I hang out in my room and play my guitar. Mr. Chenoweth asked me to play “My Sweet Lord” for the Christmas concert, and I picked up the music today after school. Mom shows up after a while and watches me strum. “Very nice.”

“Thanks.” I wonder what’s next.

“I called that new psychiatrist today. He said he’ll let us know if there’s a cancellation before January. And in case of an emergency, there’s a crisis center we can contact.”

I stop strumming. “What e-
mer
-gency, Mom?”

“Honey, you just seem so down lately. I understand, after what happened to Dino, and now Meg, but—well, I’m worried about you.”

Oh, crap. Here we go.

“Mom, I’m not having a crisis. Yes, I’m upset. Isn’t that normal? Can’t I be
normally
bummed out without you dragging me to a shrink?”

Taken aback by my snappishness, Mom hesitates. Then: “Rinn, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if something else was bothering you? Or if you feel, well …”

“Suicidal?” I scoff. “Please. Once was enough.”

I know she’s just being my typical worrywart mother. But a psychiatrist, especially now, is out of the question. I’d have to watch every word I say, be careful not to slip up. Even then, knowing shrinks as well as I do, he might find a way to drag it out of me that I, Rinn Jacobs, believe in ghosts.

Ghosts that can hurt you. Ghosts that can make you sick.
Ghosts that force you to do things against your will or stop you from doing the things you love best.

Not just any ghost.

Annaliese.

Tuesday, November 25

The phone rings as I head down for breakfast. Mom grabs it. “Hello?” I can hear Millie’s shrill babble as Mom holds the receiver safely away from her ear. Noticing me, she bunches her forehead. “Nooo, I didn’t know. Yes, I’ll ask her.” More frantic chatter. “Mil, don’t worry. I’ll
ask
her.”