The Secret Ingredient of Wishes

by Susan Bishop Crispell

  “Do what?”

  “A pony. On my front porch. With a sugar cone strapped on to its head with a piece of elastic.” The words tumbled out in the thick Tennessee twang that always showed up when she was really agitated. “She said it’s what she wished for and you made it come true.”

  How the hell could Violet’s wish come true? Unicorns do not exist. There’s no way I did that. Rachel tapped her nails against the ceramic mug in her hand. “Just wait. There has to be an explanation that doesn’t involve me.”

  “Vi said she wished for a horse with a horn on its head and that’s basically what I’ve got,” Mary Beth said. “Are you sure you didn’t do this? Not even accidentally?”

  “You know I don’t do that anymore.” Rachel ignored the voice in her head telling her she still could do it even if she didn’t want to. That she was solely responsible for the pony appearing at Mary Beth’s house. That more wishes could start appearing again, and who knows what else she might accidentally cause? What she might do to Mary Beth or Geoff or their girls if she wasn’t careful.

  The pounding in her head roared back full force at the thought. She’d been so determined in the past few years to keep the wishes at bay. And with one careless action, she’d put everyone she loved at risk.

  “I know you don’t. I just thought that if you had you might know how to get rid of it. You know, poof it back to where it came from before Vi sees it and gets it into her head that she can wish for more things.”

  Hands shaking, Rachel set down her coffee mug. She couldn’t blame Mary Beth for being nervous. Not when Rachel was stuck on the fact that wishing something into existence—even a low-rent unicorn—wasn’t that far off from wishing something or someone out of it. And she could never let that happen again.

  With her brother and parents gone, Mary Beth was the closest thing Rachel had to family. And they protected each other with a fierceness reserved for few others. Even though the thought of leaving her sent Rachel’s heartbeat into warp speed, the only way to ensure she didn’t accidentally bring any harm to Mary Beth or her family was to leave town. Put space between her and wishes she couldn’t bear to have go wrong. Loneliness had to be easier to live with than being responsible for ruining more lives.

  “I’m sorry, Mae. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

  * * *

  She had a little money saved. Not much, but it was enough to get her out of town and keep her from going hungry until she could figure out a permanent solution to her wish problem. From the hall closet, Rachel unearthed the spiral-bound map her parents had used to plan all of their vacations when she was little, and she carried it to her room. The pages were smooth and sturdy from lack of use. They made a low slapping sound when she pulled her thumb along the edges. Closing her eyes, Rachel fanned through it again. After a few seconds, she stopped and looked down at the page. Ohio.

  “No,” she said and tried again.

  Delaware.

  “Don’t think so.”

  Missouri.

  “Shit,” she grumbled. She tossed the map onto the foot of the bed. A few pages fluttered from the impact and the blue of the Atlantic Ocean caught her attention. Grabbing the spiral, she pulled the map back into her lap and studied it. North Carolina. She traced her finger across Tennessee and farther along I-40 as it stretched the length of both states, ending at the coast. “A beach could be nice.”

  Half an hour later, Rachel had a duffel bag of clothes on her shoulder and a box of keepsakes, including her box of collected wishes, which she couldn’t leave behind, tucked against her side. After one last check of her room to make sure she had everything she wanted, Rachel pulled the door shut behind her. She ran her hand along the smooth stretch of wall at the top of the stairs where her brother’s door would have been—if she hadn’t made him disappear. She stopped herself from whispering goodbye, and then she walked away.

  3

  Not long after Rachel passed the North Carolina border, her relief at finally making it out of Tennessee evaporated. A rockslide had taken out part of the interstate that wound through the mountains and forced her to detour onto a smaller highway that headed more south than east. Her map sat abandoned on the passenger seat as she focused on following the steep, curving mountain roads.

  She must’ve missed the signs signaling the end of the detour after the road flattened out again because the other cars she’d been with since somewhere after Knoxville had disappeared. Most of the towns she drove through now were blink-and-you’ll-miss-it small, and she cringed at the thought of living somewhere where everyone knew you. Rachel had grown used to the anonymity that came with living in a larger city, and even though she’d lived in Memphis her whole life, she kept to herself and no one besides Mary Beth noticed.

  She was just thinking about the new places she would discover at the end of her drive when her car sputtered to a stop in the middle of one of these tiny towns. She glanced at the car’s dashboard, where the needle on the gas gauge hung below E. She was sure the last time she’d checked, barely fifteen minutes ago, she’d had close to half a tank. “Shit.” She slapped her palm on the steering wheel, heaving a frustrated sigh.

  Rachel’s right calf, stiff and sore from hours of driving, cramped as she got out of the car. Even lifting her feet as high as she could, her shoes still scraped the concrete as she walked. Branches from knobby oak trees hung across the narrow street, their leaves creating a dense canopy overhead. The houses tucked back behind wide lawns were old and elegant, even as their faded paint and lopsided porches begged to be restored.

  She ran her fingers over the vines of honeysuckle clinging to the fence in front of one of them. The red, pink, and yellow flowers looked like flames licking along the wood fence. Their sweet perfume permeated the air.

  “You lost?” a gravelly voice called.

  A gray-haired woman wearing an oversized men’s plaid shirt watched her from the front yard of an old Victorian-style house, leaning on a shovel handle. The spade sunk a few inches into the dark soil of a pepper patch.

  “No gas,” Rachel replied. She stopped in front of the white fence, its paint blistering and peeling. “But now that you mention it, where am I exactly?”

  “Didn’t you see the sign? You’re in Nowhere, North Carolina. Home of the world’s largest lost and found.”

  “Must’ve missed it. Is it really home of the largest lost and found?”

  “Among other things.” The woman walked toward her, limping slightly like she had a stitch in her side. “Catch Sisson,” she said, extending her gloved hand.

  The old woman’s firm grip surprised her. “Rachel.”

  “Well, Rachel-with-No-Gas, c’mon in. I’ll get someone over here to help you out.”

  “It’s all right. I’ll just walk to the gas station.”

  “Don’t argue with me, girl. It’s a good two miles to the station and you look about to drop. Also, I don’t see a gas can in those hands of yours.” Catch flipped up the latch on the gate and flung it open, forcing Rachel to sidestep to avoid getting hit. The gate groaned as if sick of letting strangers in. “And I don’t want it on my head if you let yourself get hit by a car.”

  She followed Catch up the flagstone path. Moss sprouted between the stones and obscured the edges. It squished under her Toms. Deep-orange day lilies flanked the back of the flower bed and small purple flowers pushed through them on spindly green stems. A tree dripped with fist-sized peaches in the middle of the yard, scenting the air with a sweetness that made her stomach grumble.

  The house was three stories, with pale-teal clapboard and cedar shake siding and a turret that spiked up on the left. The white trim cracked and bubbled around the screen door.

  “Sit down,” Catch said. She pointed to the pair of wooden rockers. The paisley cushions, faded and squashed flat, invited her to sit like so many others obviously had before her. “I’m gonna make a call. Would you like some pie?”

  Rachel shook her head, taking the chair closest to
the stairs. When she leaned back, the chair smacked into the house with a sharp crack. She jumped up, reached a hand out to check for splintered wood.

  She settled for leaning against the porch railing. Unlike the house, the porch looked like it had been rebuilt within the last few years. The paint shone slick and even. The floorboards were firm under her feet.

  Catch’s raspy voice carried through the screen as she said to whomever she had called, “I’ve got a girl stranded over here. If that’s not enough incentive, I made a habanero peach pie this morning. I’d be willing to part with a slice or two in return.”

  The door slapped shut behind Catch a moment later when she came back out, rattling the thin windowpanes on either side of the door. The plate in her hand remained steady.

  “Just shove the rock back in place,” Catch said. She kicked the small stone back under the rocking chair runner and handed the slice of pie to Rachel with a smile that dared her to refuse it. “It’ll keep the chair from hitting the house again. It’s on Ashe’s to-do list, but damn if that boy doesn’t find a dozen other things to do when he’s here.”

  Sitting again, Rachel leaned back slowly. The chair dipped a few degrees then stopped, the rock crunching under the weight but holding. She relaxed her grip on the plate and inhaled the sweet scent of the peach pie. She would’ve eaten it even if it hadn’t smelled like heaven on a plate, but after the first bite, she was grateful Catch had ignored her initial refusal.

  “So, tell me. What’re you doing running out of gas in the middle of Nowhere?”

  “Honestly, I’m not really sure. I thought I had enough to get back to I-40 after the detour, but then it was all of a sudden on empty.”

  Catch pressed her lips together and made a low hmm sound. She drew her gaze over Rachel as if she was looking for an answer to whatever question made the skin around her eyes wrinkle. “Well, you coulda landed in a lot worse places.”

  “I really appreciate you helping me out,” Rachel said. She licked the syrupy juice off the fork as the spice from the habanero pepper mixed in with the peaches tickled the roof of her mouth.

  “Where were you headed?” Catch asked.

  “Whatever’s at the end of I-40. A beach, a little quiet.”

  She stared down the street. A trio of kids played in the road, chasing each other and screeching in delight. Lightning bugs danced in the air, their flickering bulbs just visible in the shade of the draping oaks. But night hovered at the edges, waiting to douse the street in darkness. And then the bugs would be scooped into mason jars with holes poked in the lids and shown off with a quick shout and jumble of excited words to all passersby.

  Taking a sip of what smelled to Rachel like scotch, Catch said, “One thing I’ve learned, you always end up right where you’re meant to be, whether you agree with it or not. Just give it time. You might feel lost now, but you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  Rachel shivered at Catch’s words despite the summer heat. Part of her wanted to believe this woman even though she’d just met her and Catch was probably just giving her the standard everything-will-work-out speech she’d give to any lost soul who turned up on her porch. But for Rachel there was nothing—no one—to find. Years of disappointment had taught her that.

  She stood up, the chair creaking back to its original position. “It’s getting late. I should probably try to find a place to stay tonight while your friend is getting the gas. Is there a hotel nearby?”

  “You’re not going anywhere when I’ve got plenty of rooms right here. Got them all prettied up and then thought, ‘What in the hell do I want to open a B&B for?’ so I scrapped the whole damn idea and now have a bunch of rooms no one sees but me. You can have your pick. But I’d take the attic suite if I were you. Gives you the most space. And the best view.”

  “That’s really nice of you, but I don’t want to be any more of a bother.”

  “Nonsense. I know we don’t know each other, but that’s not a good reason to turn down a perfectly good offer.”

  Rachel eyed the old woman. Beneath the gruff, take-charge attitude that had etched hard lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes, something softer was hidden, something that looked a lot like loneliness. And that was something Rachel knew all too well. “You’re really okay with someone you’ve just met staying in your house? For all you know I could be—”

  “Crazy?” Catch said. “We’re all a little crazy, Rachel, though I prefer ‘eccentric.’ It doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

  Rachel desperately wanted that to be true.

  Catch patted Rachel’s arm and looked toward the road, her eyes wrinkling even more at the edges as she squinted. “Sounds like that’s your gas.”

  A black pickup truck rumbled to a stop in the gravel drive that ran up the side of the house. Rachel couldn’t make out the driver’s face in the fading light. He hauled a gas can from the back of the truck. Dirty-blond hair hung in his eyes as he walked toward them.

  “Sorry it took me so long. Got waylaid by Dean.” He held up the rusted can. The red had scratched off in places, revealing a dingy black beneath. “This must be the strandee.” He wiped his gritty palm on the thigh of his jeans. It came away with more dirt. He shrugged and tried again on his white undershirt, then extended his hand to her.

  Rachel took the can from him instead. The less interaction she had with people, the less likely a wish was to materialize. She had to hold the can with both hands and still leaned forward with the weight. She tilted her head back, as much to regain her balance as to shift her gaze away from the shirt stretched tight across his chest at her eye level. His face, long and lean like the rest of him, ended in a square chin covered in a layer of stubble, and his full lips tugged to one side in a half smile. “Thanks for this. What do I owe you?”

  Before he could respond, Catch cut in. “Set that down, Rachel, and let the boy do it.”

  She obeyed more because her hands were burning where the handle dug into her skin than because she wanted to. The can grated against dirt and particles on the stone. It sent a shiver up her spine.

  “I’m Ashe,” he said. “Catch’s back-door neighbor.”

  “I’ve known him since he was old enough to toddle through the grass and help himself to my cherries. Ruined a perfectly good pie, this boy. Had to throw the damn pie crust out when I went out to pick ’em and saw he’d eaten his way through two thirds of the ripe ones.”

  Curiosity overruled her flight instinct, and Rachel asked, “So, now you do favors for pie?”

  “Favors are less painful than getting caught thieving. After the cherry incident, Catch switched me so many times my legs were raw.”

  Catch smacked a hand on his chest. “I’d do it again.”

  “I know.” Ashe smiled at her. Barely there dimples winked in his cheeks, and Rachel found herself wanting to smile too. Whatever loneliness she’d sensed in Catch was offset by Ashe’s easy charm. “Is that your Pathfinder parked on the side of the road a few houses back?”

  “Guilty.”

  He lifted the can, one-handed, and said, “If you give me your keys I’ll go fill her up and drive her down here for you.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Rachel said without thinking. So much for keeping her distance. She dug her keys out of her pocket and cupped them in her palm. They were lighter without the work keys she’d handed back to her boss, along with her resignation, on her way out of town, their sound unrecognizable.

  Catch winked at Ashe, not bothering to hide the gesture, and chuckled into her drink when Rachel raised an eyebrow at her.

  The sidewalk narrowed, forcing him to fall in line behind her. At five four, she barely came up to his shoulder. The gate sighed when she pushed through it.

  “Sorry you had to do this,” she said when he matched his pace to hers.

  “It’s no problem. I had to come back this way anyway. I noticed the Tennessee plates. Where’re you headed?” Ashe asked.

  “Somewhere on the coast.”


  “You just got in and started driving?”

  Rachel jangled her keys in her hand. “Pretty much.” She pressed the key fob as they approached her car, and the locks clicked as they disengaged.

  Ashe walked to the gas tank and waited for her to lean inside and pop the cap. He pulled a funnel from his back pocket and stuck it in the throat of the tank. His hair fell back in his face. He shook his head to move it and caught her watching him. His mouth quirked up in amusement.

  He turned back to the gas can, and she settled in the driver’s seat to wait.

  “All set,” he said a couple minutes later. He pounded on the side of the car like it was a flank of a horse to get it moving.

  “One more favor and then I’ll leave you alone,” she said.

  He rested one arm on the top of the door and the other on the roof, blocking her exit. He smelled like sweat and sawdust, and it was a pleasant combination. He looked down at her and the streetlight hit his face. His eyes were a deep ocean blue, and she didn’t want to look away.

  “Weird,” he said. The smile returned, with just a hint of interest.

  “What?”

  “You don’t see too many people with amber-colored eyes. But you’re the second person I know with them. I used to tease my little brother about his and tell him he was an alien. Made him cry when he was real little. Now he likes to rub it in that chicks dig it.”

  Goose bumps rose on her arms at the mention of a little brother. She cranked the key in the ignition, trying to give herself a moment away from Ashe’s gaze. Some country singer she couldn’t name whined from the stereo. “Can you tell me how to get to the gas station so I can fill up and get on my way?”

  “I could, but it wouldn’t do you any good. Dean was closing up when I was there. Poker night.”

  “The only gas station in town closed so Dean could go play cards?”

  Ashe rapped his hands on the roof of her car. “It’s Tuesday. That’s what he does.” He smiled wide, and Rachel found herself smiling back. “I can take you to a hotel if you need. It’s not the best, but it’ll do for the night, I’m guessing.”