Wish I Might

by Coleen Murtagh Paratore

  A knock on my door. My breath catches.

  Finally. This is it. “Come on in, Mom.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Gifts from My Father

  If I chance to talk a little wild, forgive me;

  I had it from my father.

  — Shakespeare

  Straight out, I tell her. How Will thinks Billy Havisham is still alive. About Will’s folder full of newspaper clippings and clues. About our road trip around the Cape today checking out possible leads.

  “Oh, Willa,” Mother says, coming to sit next to me on my bed. “I wish you had talked with me. I could have spared you….” She looks away.

  “Spared me what?”

  “Billy Havisham is dead,” she says.

  “But it’s possible….”

  “No.” Mother shakes her head. “It’s not. Your father died in a hot-air balloon crash the day after our wedding.”

  “But are you sure?” I say. “His body was never recovered. What if he survived somehow and —”

  “No, Willa. He didn’t.”

  “How do you know?” I say, my voice rising. “Maybe he struck his head and got amnesia and when rescuers found him he didn’t know his name and —”

  “No, honey. That didn’t happen. He’s dead. That’s all.”

  “But what if you’re wrong, Mom?” I shout, my voice cracking.

  “Willa.” My mother brushes my hair off my forehead. She stares at me. “Look at those eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes. Just like his.”

  “I know, I know,” I say angrily. “The one and only good thing.”

  “Willa … no,” Mother says. “You have your father’s boundless enthusiasm. And his beautiful way with words. You get those gifts from your father.”

  My eyes fill with tears. “But maybe, just maybe, he is still alive.” My whole body is shaking with conflicted feelings, like the point at Poppy Spit where the ocean current meets the mild bay, swirling, swirling.

  “Wait here, Willa,” Mother says. “I need to get something.”

  Moments later, she returns. She hands me a folder. I open it.

  A letter from the US Coast Guard “regretting to inform …” I read through to the end. They searched and dredged the waters for miles around. They found articles of his clothing, his wallet, and then, horribly, something washed up onshore farther up the coast two days later. A severed limb, Billy’s leg, with clear evidence of shark mutilation.

  “Oh, my gosh.” I gasp, feeling sick to my stomach.

  “I know, honey,” Mother says, touching my arm.

  “But why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

  “I’m sorry, Willa,” she says. “Maybe it was wrong not to tell you, but I didn’t want you having nightmares. He was dead and that was all. I know you, sweetheart. I imagined you’d play the awful story out over and over again in your beautiful imagination. I didn’t want that scary, tragic ending in your mind.” Mother makes a squeaking sound. Her lips tremble.

  “I know you found the love letters and poems, oh, those poems Billy wrote to me,” Mother says.

  “In the Valentine’s box in your closet,” I say.

  Mother nods and smiles.

  “How did you know I found them?”

  Mother laughs. “Mother magic,” she says. “I know you tried on my wedding gown, too. You used to leave candy wrappers, always a telltale sign that my sweet daughter was around.”

  “Cherry cordials,” I say. “They used to be my favorite.”

  “Oh, I know!” Mother says. “You and those cherry pits.”

  We laugh, remembering how a certain incident involving cherry cordials and me and a famous soap opera star’s wedding gown got my mother into a hornet’s nest of trouble and nearly ruined her career as a wedding planner.

  I look at my mother. She smiles at me. I think of how much we have been through together. I start to cry. My mother hugs me.

  “I love you, Willa,” she whispers in my ear.

  “I love you, too, Mom.”

  My mother holds me close, rocking us back and forth, and in our silence we fill a book with so many unspoken words.

  CHAPTER 21

  Mum’s Advice

  The heart can push the sea and land

  Farther away on either hand;

  The soul can split the sky in two,

  And let the face of God shine through.

  — Edna St. Vincent Millay

  When I wake Friday morning, I feel good about the talk with Mother last night, but nonetheless my heart is heavy.

  There is something important I need to do today and I am dreading it.

  To crush someone’s dream … someone’s greatest hope … seems the cruelest task I’ve ever had to face. I don’t know that I can go through with it.

  July 7. JFK’s birthday. Too early to call. I leave him a happy birthday text message and promise I’ll call him later. I hope his card gets there today. I hope that girl Lorna gets a bad case of halitosis and can’t make the surprise party tonight after all and it’s just a couple of guy friends who show up.

  Willa, Reason starts in.

  “I know, I know, I know.”

  After I finish working the breakfast shift, I pack a lunch and bike out to South Cape Beach. That’s where the sand castle competition will be tomorrow. I’m sure I won’t run into Will here. I need some time to think first.

  Sulamina Mum’s nephew, Rob, is coming out of the lifeguard headquarters with a clipboard and a megaphone, beach towel around his neck.

  “Willa,” he says, “hey.”

  I walk with him down to his station. I tell him what Mother told me about my birthfather last night.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. He reaches out to touch my arm, his brown eyes full of sincere compassion. He reminds me so much of Mum, I start to cry. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Tina and Ruby.

  “Hey, hey,” Rob says, hugging me, “don’t cry.”

  I squint through my tears. Tina and Ruby have stopped dead in their tracks. Oh, my gosh, how funny. They think Rob likes me.

  “I’m okay,” I say to Rob, flinging back my hair, looking into his eyes with a great big smile. “You made me think of Mum, how much I miss her.”

  Rob uses a corner of his beach towel to dry a tear from my face.

  I can almost feel the jealous stares. This is fun.

  Rob notices Tina and Ruby. Tina has a notebook and pen in her hands. Ruby has her camera. Two budding bestselling authors aiming to write another chapter featuring a handsome Cape Cod lifeguard.

  “Oh, no,” Rob says, turning his back to them. “Here they come again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, they were here yesterday trying to get me to be in this book they’re making. I said no.”

  “Why?” I say. “You sure belong in it.”

  “What if I want to run for president someday? That’s all I’d need, for the press to dig up that I was in a ‘cutest Cape lifeguards’ book. Not the sort of thing I want to be known for.”

  I laugh. “I wouldn’t worry. They’ll probably never get it published.”

  “Oh, no,” Rob says. “They’ll do it. Those girls are on it. They’re not playing.” He shakes his head like he’s scared.

  I laugh. Then I remember what I need to do today. “I wish I could talk with Mum,” I say. “She always has the best advice.”

  “Then do it,” Rob says. “Here, take my phone.” He flips open the cover of his slim silver cell phone, scrolls till he finds the number. “Take it up away from the waves where it’s quiet and give her a call.”

  “Oh, my gosh, Rob. Thank you!” I hug him quickly. I’ll be right back.

  I run past the wide-eyed stares and gaping mouths of Tina and Ruby. “Careful, Ruby,” I say, “you might swallow a fly.”

  I take the phone into one of the shower stalls. Too early in the day for anyone to be showering. I call Mum. She answers.

  “Willa, honey! Oh, dear Lord. How are you? Riley! It’s Willa! How
are you, little sister? Oh, it’s so good to hear your voice….”

  I can almost feel the hug from Mum’s big, pillowy, soft arms.

  “Oh, Mum …” I gush it all out, telling her about Will showing up, and him believing our birthfather was still alive, and how I have to break the awful news to him this morning, and how I just can’t, just can’t crush his dream like that. And what am I going to say to him?

  “Willa?” Mum says.

  “Yes.”

  “ ‘The truth shall set you free.’ John eight, verse thirty-two.”

  The truth shall set you free. I let those simple words sink into my spin-cycle self until I am soothed still.

  “That’s the wisest line in the Bible,” Mum says. “Live by it, Willa, and I promise you … you’ll save yourself a whole world of worrying.”

  “Thank you, Mum. I love you.”

  “Love you, too, baby. Now get to it.”

  I run back down to the beach to return Rob’s phone to him. Tina and Ruby are on the case, both in full flirt mode, but Rob’s not giving in.

  He smiles a big, warm smile when he sees me. “Hey, Willa,” he calls.

  I hold up his phone; he reaches down to get it. “Thanks so much,” I say.

  “Anytime,” he says. “Were you able to reach her?”

  “Yes,” I say. “And as always her advice was perfect.”

  “Good, I’m glad.”

  “Maybe you’d like to come to BUC with our family on Sunday? Bramble United Community church on Main Street. That’s where Mum was the minister. The board is still searching for a replacement. That may take forever. There’s nobody like Mum. But my stepfather, Sam, is filling in this summer.”

  “I’d like that,” Rob says. “Thank you.”

  I tell him what time to meet us, and I’m off. “Watch those flies, Ruby!” I say, unable to resist.

  I bike as fast as I can to Popponesset Beach and walk out to the Spit.

  Will is tossing a stick into the water. Salty Dog runs to fetch it. Neither sees me yet. I stand there for a moment looking at my brother. Looking at my dog. All my life, I never had either. Then all at once for one short, sweet time, I had both.

  When I tell Will the news, he’ll leave Cape Cod and Salty will, too. Poof.

  “I’ve got something to tell you, Will,” I say.

  He looks at my face, blue eyes to blue eyes. “And it isn’t good. I can tell,” he says.

  I break the news as gently as possible.

  Will’s lips clench tight and he sniffs, turning his head away from me.

  “No,” he says. “Maybe he survived somehow. Maybe …”

  “No, Will. I’m sorry. The coast guard report was final. He was declared dead on—”

  Will raises his hand as if to say “Stop.”

  I do. I zip my lips. There’s no need for words now.

  “I want to be alone,” Will says.

  “Sure, I understand,” I say.

  I don’t slap my leg. I don’t say, “Come on, boy” to try to get Salty to follow. Will needs our dog right now. He needs him more than ever.

  CHAPTER 22

  Songs

  Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.

  — Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Biking home, I feel lighter. Relieved of the burden of worrying. Mum’s advice was perfect as always. I told the truth and now I am free.

  At home in my room I call JFK. No answer. I leave another happy birthday message. “Call me.”

  I head into town to give Nana the CHANGE FOR GOOD jug I made for her.

  “What a great idea,” she says. “I’ll put this right in my kitchen tonight.”

  “I’d like one, too,” Dr. Swaminathan says to me when Nana turns to help a customer. “And if you could spare another, I have a friend who I think would appreciate one as well.”

  “Sure, Dr. S.,” I say. “I’ll make one for Mrs. Saperstone, too.”

  Dr. Swammy smiles. He puts his finger to his lips like, “Don’t say anything to anybody.”

  I walk closer toward him. “Don’t worry,” I say. “Your secret’s safe with me. But if you decide to pop the question, I know a good wedding planner.”

  Back home I seek out my mother. She’s in the kitchen going over the schedule with the staff. I hand her the jug and tell her about Change For Good.

  “Now that’s a big idea, my daughter.” She winks at me and smiles. We both know she’s talking about my birthfather’s company, What’s the Big Idea?

  Rosie asks if I’ll make her a jug. Makita, Darryl, Mae-Alice … several of our staff members want one.

  Mother follows me out of the kitchen. “Did you tell Will yet?” she says.

  I nod my head yes. “I feel so bad for him,” I say. “He really thought our father was alive.”

  “Poor kid,” Mother says. “What a heartbreaking disappointment.” She clears her throat. “Would you take me to meet him?”

  “Sure,” I say. “When?”

  “I have a rehearsal tonight,” Mom says. “But the wedding isn’t until six tomorrow night. Maybe we could go in the morning?”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  It’s Friday night and I have no plans. Chandler invited me over. Shefali and Caroline are coming to her house to plan out the sand castle they’re going to build in the competition tomorrow. It sounds like fun, but I say thanks anyway, I have plans with my family. Maybe I’ll see them tomorrow.

  I check my messages. No reply from JFK.

  Now I’m starting to get angry. I know it’s his birthday, but he could at least answer my calls. He’s probably having such a good time with that Lorna Doone girl and all those new rich friends at his grandparents’ club that he—Ring. I jump.

  I check caller ID. It’s him!

  Ring …

  Don’t act all desperate, Willa, like you’ve been waiting by the phone all day. Make him wonder a bit.

  Ring …

  Reason: It’s JFK, Willa. Your boyfriend. You have been waiting for him to call. Answer it quick before …

  Ring …

  “Hello?” I say casually, like I don’t know who’s on the other end.

  “Willa. It’s me, Joseph.”

  “Oh, hi, Joseph.”

  “What’s wrong?” he says.

  “Nothing.”

  “Yes,” he says. “Something’s wrong. I can tell. You sound mad.”

  “No, I’m not mad.”

  Long pause.

  “Happy birthday,” I say.

  “It would be if you were here,” he says.

  “What?” I heard him, but I want to hear it again.

  “I said it would be a happy birthday if you were here.”

  My heart melts. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” he says. “So much that I spent the whole day writing a song for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Who else?” he says with a laugh.

  “Really? You wrote me a song? What’s it called?”

  “ ‘My Girl,’ ” he says.

  “Sing it to me,” I say.

  “No way,” he says. “I’m a lyricist, not a singer.”

  “Oh, come on, please.”

  “No. But you’ll hear it soon enough. One of the kids down here for the summer, a grandson of one of my grandparents’ best friends, is a DJ and an aspiring hip-hop artist. He made it through a few rounds of American Idol auditions.”

  “Wow,” I say, “he must be good.”

  “He is,” JFK says. “And I asked him to record my song for you.”

  Pause. My heart’s a net full of butterflies fluttering.

  “Willa,” JFK says. “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m speechless.”

  “You? Speechless? I don’t think so!” We laugh.

  “So who’s this Lorna girl,” I say.

  JFK bursts out laughing. “There you go. I was wondering how long it would take for you to say something.” He laughs and laughs and laughs.

  �
��What does she look like?” I say.

  “Oh, my God,” he says, “she’s gorgeous.”

  “What?”

  “Just kidding. I don’t know what she looks like. I don’t really pay attention.”

  “I miss you,” I say.

  “Miss you more,” he says.

  “You wrote me a song?” I say. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “Well, right now I’m waiting for my song,” JFK says.

  “What song?” I say.

  Pause. He laughs. “Did you forget? It’s my birthday.”

  “Okay, okay,” I say. “But don’t laugh, because I’m no singer, either. All right, here goes:

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday to you,

  Happy birthday, dear Jo … seph,

  Happy birthday to you.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Welcome Home

  To see a world in a grain of sand

  And a heaven in a wild flower,

  Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

  And eternity in an hour.

  — William Blake

  When Mom and I get to the top of the beach stairs the next morning, we pause for a moment to take it all in. The waves, the sky, the birds, the beach, the cinnamon-sweet smell of the wild rugosa beach roses.

  “Beautiful,” Mother says.

  “Sure is. Have you ever seen the sunrise here?”

  “Not in a long, long time,” Mom says. “I used to when I was younger, but no, not since I moved back here to the Cape.”

  “You’ll have to come with me some morning,” I say.

  “I’d like that,” Mom says.

  “There’s Will’s boat,” I say, nodding up toward the Spit.

  We start down the beach stairs.

  “What was that?” Mother says, pointing at the water. “A seal, maybe?”

  We pause and look together for a while, but we don’t see anything.

  As we walk up the beach I tell her about the little girl who thought she saw a mermaid. “She was so certain of it,” I say.

  I remember how JFK thought the girl was silly but Will said, “What’s off with you? You don’t believe in mermaids?”