politely.
"Hey, Miss Evelyn," Celia says. "We thought we'd come check on Courtney."
I inwardly groan, knowing I'm the last person Courtney wants to see the "morning after."
Stephanie appears from behind her mother, her hair pulled to the left in a side ponytail. "Hey, y'all. Courtney blew out this morning with barely a word to me or Mom."
I frown. "What did her parents say?"
"They didn't seem fazed or worried at all," Stephanie reports. "Her mom brushed it off as her just trying to be the center of attention at the party."
Miss Evelyn waves us into the house. "Have y'all eaten lunch yet?"
"No, ma'am," Celia says.
"We're just about to sit down. Come join us."
After all the weirdness that happened here last night, I'm too tired to decline. I simply follow quietly down the hallway to the airy white kitchen in the back of the house, wondering if everything I saw last night was merely part of a dream. But no, something did try to push me out of my body, and something definitely knocked Courtney out of hers.
The kitchen is roomy and bright, big enough for a banquet. Cold baked chicken, potato salad, deviled eggs, and three-bean salad sit out on the table—quite a feast for just a mother and daughter. Miss Evelyn goes to get plates and silverware for us, and Celia, Stephanie, and I each take a seat.
"If you ask me the truth," Stephanie starts, "I think Courtney was faking it last night. She's always loved being a drama queen. I mean, if she was really attacked by some ghost or whatever, wouldn't she have been more shaken up? I would have peed my pants!"
Celia shrugs. "Different people react different ways to contact with entities. It also depends on how she'd opened up her mind to allow the spirit to use her."
"Yeah, whatever," Stephanie says with a smirk. She passes me the chicken. I hold on to it as I wait for my plate. "She was snoring in her sleep last night, which tells me she wasn't bothered by too much."
Celia snickers. "Wait'll every guy at RHS finds out she snores."
I scowl at my friend. "You wouldn't."
"Nah."
A flowery plate is placed in front of me. "Now eat up, girls. We have tons of food left over because of last night's early exodus," Miss Evelyn says.
Celia piles the chow on her plate like she hasn't eaten in a week—I don't know where she puts it in that skinny body of hers—and I stab a small chicken breast with my fork. I usually love good old-fashioned deviled eggs, but for some reason the smell is not appealing right now. I'm anything but hungry. Nausea coats my stomach, the sour response to a feeling of ill will. Is it residual energy left from last night's activities? I turn my head, seeking out the entity I encountered at the party, but he's not here at all. Something else hangs in the air.
While Miss Evelyn, Stephanie, and Celia chatter on, I zone out, glancing around the kitchen. The walls are pristine, and every pot and pan hangs neatly from an overhead rack. The windows sparkle with the midday sun, and the smell of fresh lemon is in the air. It's all window-dressing though. The warmth and glow of this room is a facade, masking the true pain captured in the walls and furniture. I've read in some of Loreen's books that houses have lives of their own. That they keep the energies of those who have lived within them. In my head, I see images of all sorts of people who have used this room, zooming up to reflections of Miss Evelyn and a tall dark-haired man with Stephanie's eyes. Mr. Crawford. I feel her parents' anger at each other. The tenseness of their relationship. The accusations and acid words over money, extramarital affairs, and long working hours. I see Stephanie—only a few years younger—run away from the kitchen up to her room, seeking refuge while her parents fussed, feuded, and bickered over the tiniest little thing, words slashed about between two people who were supposed to love each other until death parted them. That would never happen though, as the State of Georgia saw to their official separation two years ago.
Miss Evelyn reaches out to me, knocking me out of my vision. "Can I get you anything, Kendall? Perhaps some iced tea?"
"Y-y-yes, ma'am. That would be nice."
She rises from the table and disappears deep back in the steel-applianced kitchen. I breathe a sigh of relief