Three Wishes

by Barbara Delinsky

  Julia Dean phoned Tom at home. She identified herself, apologized for disturbing him, then said, “I missed Bree’s visit to the diner the other day. Listening to people talk about it was a little confusing. One said she looked good, another said she was pale. One said she moved like she hurt, another said no way would anyone know what had happened. You see her all the time. You’d know, more than they would. How is she?”

  Tom heard genuine concern. “She’s much better.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She breathed a sigh of what sounded like genuine relief. “That’s good. I was worried.”

  “She loves the flowers you send.” New arrangements were delivered each week. “They have a special place on her bureau, so she can see them when she wakes up. You ought to stop over sometime. She’d like that.”

  Tom heard genuine pleasure in Julia’s reply. “Well, she’ll be back in the diner before long. I’ll see her there. Will you give her my best until then?”

  Tom did it again, anticipated Bree’s wishes and made them come true. Just when she was itching to see the inside of the place where he lived when he wasn’t with her, he invited her over.

  “The house isn’t much to see,” he warned, pulling in under the carport, but she disagreed. Just as she had known, the bungalow had charm. The kitchen opened to a breakfast room, dining room, and screened porch, all overlooking a stone terrace. There was a large family room and a larger living room and, up one flight, three bedrooms and two baths. The ceilings were lower than hers, the wooden floor planks wider and pegged, the hearth of fieldstone and raised.

  The fact that nearly every room held cartons Tom hadn’t unpacked, and that he hadn’t done any decorating, and that there wasn’t a single family picture in sight, told her he was unsettled, neither here nor there, unsure of who he was and where he was headed. From the looks of it, he could fill a U-Haul in an hour and be gone from town ten minutes later.

  That thought made her uneasy. It sent a different message from the one she usually received, one of a man who was staying right where he was. When he was with her at her house, he was committed. She had been with enough men to know.

  Tom was hooked, for now at least, and so, God help her, was she.

  When he took her by the hand and led her from room to room, the physical connection lessened the forlorn feeling of the house. It disappeared completely when he led her outside.

  “This is what I really wanted you to see,” he said, and instantly she understood. Just beyond the terrace rose the sound of the brook. It lured them across a lawn covered with dry, snapping leaves, down a slope roughened by tree roots, and over a border of pebbles. The brook itself was an undulating swath that varied in width from three feet to six, and in depth from two inches to several dozen. Fall rain, added to their one major storm and a handful of night snows, kept the current moving. Clear water sped over rocky clusters whose colors ran from ivories to mossy greens, blues, and grays. Though clouds covered the sun, the sway of dappling evergreens gave the water sparkle.

  Bree put her palms together. “A magical place.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Definitely,” she said, lowering herself to a large rock.

  “Tired?”

  “No. I just want to look.”

  “There’s even better looking upstream a little way. Want to try it?”

  She answered by pushing herself right back to her feet and leading the way. It wasn’t far. The instant she turned a bend, she saw the falls. They were minifalls, really, tumbling little more than four feet, but all the sweeter for their size. Bundles of mud, sticks, and stones at either end suggested beavers at work. On the shore, perfectly set for viewing, was a bench.

  “I found it the day I came to look at the house,” Tom said. “Look at the worn spots on the seat. The Hubbards must have spent hours here, maybe even whoever owned the place before them. It looks ancient.”

  Bree ran a hand over the weathered wood in awe, then turned and fit her backside to the indentation on the left. Stretching an arm over the bench arm nearest her, she took a deep breath and grinned up at Tom.

  He sat down on her right, stretched an arm over the bench arm on his side, took a deep breath, and grinned right back.

  Bree took a second deep breath, then a third. She looked up at the fir fronds above them, then across the brook into the forest. The hardwoods were largely bare. What few leaves still clung to their limbs were curled there, faded and dry. Evergreens swelled around them as though freed for the first time since spring.

  In that instant, she felt invincible. In that instant, she chose to believe. She was healthy, Tom was devoted, life held the promise of love and three wishes.

  “I used to hate fall,” she said. “I hated it when the trees lost their leaves. I always thought it was a time of death.”

  “You see death differently now.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, and unexpectedly, her throat went tight. She didn’t know of another man who would let her talk, much less hear her, the way Tom did. He was special. Very, very special.

  “Do you think about it much?” he asked.

  Her near-death experience. “Uh-huh.” She thought about it more and more as she began doing those things she had done before the accident, like driving a car, paying Flash’s bills, taking walks in the woods. Everything was the same, yet nothing was.

  “I would, too,” he said. “I do, actually. I think about what I’d be feeling if I were in your shoes.”

  She spent a minute loosening the knot in her throat, then asked, “What would you be feeling?”

  He took a breath that expanded his chest. “Regrets. For missed opportunities.”

  She didn’t want to think of his other life, the one with “unsettled” written all over it. But that life was part of Tom, and she was feeling strong, feeling invincible. So she said, “You missed opportunities?”

  “For the things that counted.” He took a quicker, lighter breath. “I’d also be feeling hope. Like I’m just beginning the rest of my life and can do things differently this time.”

  The look he gave her brought the lump back to her throat. It stayed there when he threw an arm around her shoulders and drew her close.

  “I’m not leaving, Bree,” he said.

  Wanting to believe, wanting to believe so badly, she closed her eyes. He smelled the way he looked, clean and male and outdoorsy, a Vermont man now with his wool jacket open over flannel, over thermal, over just a glimpse of warm, hairy skin. He wore his jeans low and slim, like the best of the Panamanians. Only his running shoes set him apart.

  I’m not leaving, Bree.

  Nestling against him, she felt something bright touch her eyelids. Cracking them open, she squinted up at the spot where a single brilliant ray of sun breached clouds and trees. It was only an instant before it was gone, but that was enough.

  She was invincible. She was in love.

  Chapter

  7

  If you had three wishes, what would they be?” Bree asked, looking from one to another of her boothmates, Liz to LeeAnn to Jane. Her laptop was closed, several hours of catch-up bookkeeping done.

  “Three wishes?” Jane asked unsurely.

  “Dream stuff?” Liz asked hopefully.

  “I know what I’d ask for,” LeeAnn announced. “First, I’d wish for money—oh, maybe a million dollars. Then I’d wish for a yacht, I mean, like a big one with beautiful bedrooms and a crew to serve me food. Then I’d wish for a prince.”

  Jane grimaced. “A prince?”

  “A real one. Doesn’t have to be a major one. But real. I want a tiara.”

  “A tiara.” Liz sighed. “That’s sweet. But I wouldn’t wish for that.”

  “What would you wish for?” Bree asked, just as Liz’s Joey scampered up. He gave his mother a huge grin, squealed, turned, and raced back to the other end of the diner.

  “A nanny,” Liz said. “But not just any nanny. Mary Poppins, so I wouldn’t fe
el so awful when Ben and I close the office door and go to work.”

  “That’s only one wish,” LeeAnn said. “What else?”

  Liz thought for a minute. “A time-share in the Caribbean. With airline tickets there for the next fifteen years. And a beach for the kids. That’s all one wish.”

  “What’s the third?”

  Liz grinned. “Thick curly hair. I’ve always wanted that.”

  Bree wouldn’t have made curly hair one of her own wishes. She turned to Jane, whose thick straight hair was her single greatest asset.

  “I like my hair,” Jane said.

  Bree laughed at the echo of her thoughts. “What would you wish for?”

  “A trip to Disneyland.”

  LeeAnn shot up a hand. “Me, too. Make that one of mine. Disneyland with my kids.”

  “Not me,” Liz drawled, as Joey returned. He was either skipping or galloping, hard to tell what, with his legs so small and his diaper so big. When Liz made a grab for him, he shrieked unintelligibly, whirled around, and ran off. “But I’d pay Mary Poppins to take my kids there for me.”

  Bree watched Joey for a fascinated minute before returning to Jane. “Why Disneyland?”

  “Because I think it’d be fun. I always wanted to go.” She didn’t have to say that life with Dotty wasn’t fun, or that Dotty left Panama only when she absolutely, positively had to. Those were givens.

  “Okay,” Bree said. “Disneyland. What else?”

  With surprisingly little pause, Jane said, “I’d wish for a scholarship to art school.”

  Liz gave her a curious smile. “No kidding?”

  Bree should have guessed it. Even without formal training, Jane was an artist. She designed all the church flyers and calligraphed all the town notices. Her work was such a staple in Panama that it was largely taken for granted.

  “What’s the third?” LeeAnn asked.

  Jane swallowed. “Courage. I’d wish for courage.”

  No one spoke. Bree, who knew that for Jane, courage meant freedom, gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. “You can wish for that,” she whispered.

  “Like the lion in The Wizard of Oz,” LeeAnn crowed, then turned to Bree. “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “What would your three wishes be?” Liz asked, narrowing her eyes. “Wait a minute. I recall your refusing to make a wish when you blew out the candles on your birthday cake last year. What was it you said, that wishes couldn’t compete with elbow grease? So why the sudden interest in them?”

  Bree shrugged and said lightly, “I don’t know. An idle mind. You know. It’s kind of fun to think about. No big thing, really.”

  “So what would yours be?” Jane asked.

  “First,” LeeAnn teased, “you’d wish to be back at work.”

  Bree glanced at the computer. “I already am.” She had been in for a few hours every afternoon that week.

  “You haven’t waitressed yet. You’d wish for that, because you miss it so much.”

  “I do. I miss seeing everyone.”

  Flash appeared from nowhere. “Your wish is granted. I’m putting you on the schedule for light hours next week. Can you handle it?”

  She was handling long walks, driving a car, doing the books. Waitressing was the next step, and a good thing it was. She feared she was becoming too dependent on Tom. “I can.”

  “Thank you.” He stared at LeeAnn. “I need someone who’ll work, instead of sitting around talking all day.”

  “I’m coming,” LeeAnn said, but the minute he left, she turned expectantly to Bree.

  So did Liz. “I bet you’d wish for a new car, one that would take you for miles without fading out like your old one does. If you had a new car, you could drive to California. You told me you wanted to do that.”

  She had wanted it once. Her father had mentioned that her mother had come from there, and Bree had imagined looking her up. But she didn’t know if her mother was anywhere near California now, much less how to find out. Besides, right now there was plenty to keep her in Panama.

  “What about Tom?” asked Jane, with intuitive precision. “Would you wish for him?”

  “I would, if I were you,” LeeAnn said.

  “LeeAnn!” Flash hollered.

  She shot him a look, grumbled something about wishing for longer breaks, and slid out of the booth. Joey wormed into her place and tucked his head against Liz, who cradled him close and asked, “So would you wish for Tom?”

  Bree made a noncommittal face.

  “You like him,” Jane said.

  “What’s not to like?” Bree asked.

  Liz was suddenly sober. “Plenty, says the grapevine. He goes through money like water. He has a wicked temper. He breaks contracts.”

  “The grapevine knows all that firsthand?” Bree asked. No answer was necessary. “Firsthand, I know that he’s always kept his word to me. If he says he’s coming over, he comes over. He’s never lost his temper, never even come close. And he doesn’t waste his money. I was with him when he bought his new truck. He’d done research and knew what the dealer’s cost was. He was patient but firm with the salesman, so he got a great deal. Besides, I don’t know what I’d have done without him these past few weeks.”

  “How long do you think he’ll stay in Panama?” Jane asked.

  Bree didn’t know.

  “More to the point,” Liz said, “do you want him to stay? That’s what a wish is about.”

  “I think he cares about you,” Jane said.

  Liz arched a brow. “He spends enough time at your house. It really is remarkable, considering who he is. Think about it. You have a world-famous author, who just happens to be gorgeous, sleeping over every night.” Her brow went higher in speculation. Then she caught herself, pressed her fingertips to her mouth in self-chiding, and held them off to the side. “Not my business.”

  Bree looked at Joey, who was all warm and cozy, with his thumb in his mouth and his eyes half closed, and felt an unexpected pang of envy. She raised her eyes to Liz. “It’s innocent between Tom and me.”

  “Then you haven’t . . . is it . . . can you yet?”

  “I can.” The doctor had checked her out earlier that week and had rattled off all the things she could do. Sex was on the list. “But we haven’t.”

  “Why not?” Jane asked quietly.

  Liz’s eyes went wide. “No chemistry?”

  “There is. I think.” There was. She knew. She had felt it, looking at his hands, at his long, long legs, at the sprinkling of hair she saw when he rolled back the cuffs of his shirt.

  Jane gave her a look.

  “Okay,” Bree conceded, because Jane knew she was no nun. “That sounds odd coming from me, but what I’m trying to say is that with my being sick and all, chemistry has been low on my list.”

  Liz grinned. “So now you’re not sick. I repeat. If you had three wishes, would you wish for Tom?”

  Bree didn’t know. Tom was either the best thing that had ever happened to her or the worst. He was strong but sensitive, self-sufficient but attentive, everything she wanted in a man and had never had. He was also a man whose past might easily rise up to claim him again, in which case he would be gone.

  Liz and Jane weren’t the only ones to warn her. Most everyone she ran into had some little confidence to share about Tom. Eliot said he was slick, Emma said he was cocky, Dotty said he was rude. Flash bet he’d be going back to New York. LeeAnn bet he’d be going back to Hollywood. Martin Sprague went so far as to say that Bree’s father would die a second time if he knew she was seeing a man like that.

  “A man like what?” Bree had asked.

  “Shrewd. He’s too smart to be sitting here doing nothing. Mark my words, he’s out for something. Know what I think? I think he’s writing. Wouldn’t surprise me at all to see Panama as his next book, and you’d be right in the center of it, Bree Miller. Could be he’s using you. Could be he’s using all of us.”

  Bree didn’t think so. She had seen Tom’s h
ouse. His office had cobwebs. Okay, so there weren’t any cobwebs on his computer. But he wasn’t writing. At least she didn’t think he was.

  The thing was that the more she was warned off Tom, the more strongly she was drawn. Defending someone who had no one else was only part of it. She was good for him in other ways, ways that had nothing to do with making his bed or cooking his food, neither of which he had ever asked her to do. He was at peace when he was with her. She could see it in the comfortable slant of his shoulders, the restful ease of those wonderful hands of his, the pleasure that lit his face and made it younger and warmer—all of that a far cry from the man who used to sit with downcast eyes in his lonely diner booth.

  So was it real or an act? Was he a godsend or a nightmare?

  “What’s wrong?” Tom asked from the bedroom door. His voice held the gentle huskiness of recent sleep. It was three in the morning. She had woken half an hour earlier, used the bathroom, and had been shifting in bed ever since. Her movements must have wakened him.

  “Just restless,” she said.

  “Nervous about waitressing tomorrow?”

  “No. Just restless.”

  “Want some warm milk?”

  She didn’t think warm milk would do it this time, and said as much with the shake of her head. Sighing, she switched on the lamp. Then she pushed herself up, piled the pillows against the wrought-iron swirls, and sat against them.

  He grinned knowingly. “Want to talk?”

  “Yes.”

  His shirt was open, the top snap of his jeans undone, his feet bare. He looked warm from sleep, raw and appealing, as he settled cross-legged on the bed, facing her. Was she attracted to him? Was she ever!

  “Why so restless?” he asked.

  “Three wishes.”

  “Aha. That’ll do it. Are you thinking that they’re real?”

  “No. But they’re interesting to think about. I keep asking myself what I’d wish for.”

  “What would you?”

  “I don’t know. I always come up with dumb things, like a trip somewhere or a new watch or a big-screen TV.”