Three Wishes

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Or if she’d been a stronger woman,” he countered. “What would possess a woman to walk away and never look back?”

  “She may have had good reason.”

  “Good reason?”

  Julia arched a brow at his sarcasm. “Things aren’t always as they seem, Tom. Take your reasons for coming here now. My children say that because I left them and moved away, something’s wrong with my mind. But the reasons I gave you make sense, don’t they? So maybe Bree’s mother had reasons, too.”

  He scratched his head. “Yeah, well, it’s hard for me to come up with a scenario that makes her a saint.”

  “None of us are saints. The truth usually lies somewhere in the middle.”

  He leaned back on the heels of his hands. “What’s the middle ground here? What could possibly justify a woman’s leaving her baby with its father and dropping off the face of the earth?”

  Julia looked bemused. “Well, I don’t know.”

  “Guess.”

  She frowned, shook her head, shrugged. “Maybe she had other ties, other responsibilities?”

  “No tie could be as strong as the one between mother and child. Unless she already had a family. But if she did, she had no business carrying on with Haywood Miller in the first place.”

  Julia responded sadly. “You do sound like my kids. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was talking to one of them right now.”

  “Okay. So I’m being judgmental. I’m angry on Bree’s behalf. If the woman wasn’t free, she shouldn’t have been with Haywood. If she was already married, she was cheating on her husband.”

  “So it would seem. But we don’t know the particulars.” Tom’s face hardened. “I’ve been trying to learn the particulars. I’ve tried to locate her, but I can’t. She’s done one hell of a job covering her tracks.” “After how many years?”

  He conceded the point. Thirty-three years was a long time. With most of those years predating the age of computers, a track wouldn’t need much covering. It would easily fade on its own.

  Another roll of thunder came, still distant, but louder than the last. Julia raised her voice. “So focus on what you do know. See if any sense comes from that.”

  “All we know for sure is that the woman came from California, that she met Haywood in Boston, and that she gave birth to Bree in Chicago.”

  “Were they together the whole time she was pregnant?”

  “The grapevine says they were.”

  “So where was her husband?”

  Tom sighed in frustration. “You tell me.”

  Julia took him literally. “Somewhere else entirely, I’d guess. Maybe he was a traveling salesman. Or in the service.” She frowned. “This would have been in the sixties?”

  “Early sixties.”

  A furrow of pain crossed her face. “The first of our men were already lost in Vietnam by 1962.”

  Tom was drawn to her expression. “I thought it was later.”

  “No. It started then.” She smiled sadly. “No great mystery how I know, Tom. My husband was among the first to be sent there. You can’t imagine what it’s like, the not knowing, the worrying. I knew women whose husbands were missing in action. That’s a devastating thing. It leaves a woman feeling lost and alone.”

  “And vulnerable? Is that what you’re suggesting? Vulnerable enough to fall into another man’s arms?”

  “It’s possible. Don’t you think?”

  “But even so,” Tom persisted, coming forward, folding his legs, elbows on knees. “Even allowing for the possibility of a war widow finding comfort with another man, why would she leave him once she had his baby?”

  “Honestly, Tom, how would I know? All I’m suggesting is that you’re doing just what my kids are doing. You’re assuming the worst. Like the story between me and my kids, maybe there’s more to this one that would make you see her choice differently.” She waved a hand. “I mean, for the sake of the argument, what if a woman was told that her husband had died at war, and then it turned out that the report was wrong, that he wasn’t dead and was coming home, just like in the movies. It happens, you know, and stranger things than that. Would you still be so angry?”

  Tom softened, but only a tad. “Even so, even if there was something as far-fetched as that to explain it—thirty-three years without a word? We’re back to square one. Even if she had reason to leave, how could she abandon the child without a trace?”

  Julia nodded sympathetically. “You’re right. We’re back to square one. There are endless possibilities—we could speculate for days. Without more details, we can’t ever know for sure why she left her child.” She paused, seeming again to want to stick up for the woman, as she had done for herself minutes before. “Have you considered the possibility that this wasn’t solely the woman’s choice? Maybe the baby’s father had a say. Maybe he made her leave.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Hurt. Anger. You’re a man. You tell me. Maybe refusing her contact with the child was his way of punishing her.”

  “But Haywood died three years ago,” Tom argued. “If that were it, wouldn’t she have shown up now that he’s dead?”

  “Maybe she’s dead, too. Or maybe she has shown up.”

  “Ah. The woman in the diner. But you were there. You overheard what she said. You were convinced she wasn’t Bree’s mother.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t. Strangers are in and out of the diner all the time. Bree’s mother could have been one of them. For all we know, she’s passed through here every summer since Haywood died just to look at Bree and see how she’s doing. For all we know, she passed through here summers for years before that, too.”

  “Without identifying herself?”

  “Sure. It’d be risky to come forward after all that time, don’t you think?”

  “Because of Bree? Bree is the kindest, most gentle woman in the world.”

  Julia replied slowly. “You didn’t see her with that woman, Tom. She was very angry. I’ve never seen her like that before.”

  “Do you blame her?”

  “Not at all. She missed having a mother. She has a right to that anger.”

  “I’ll say,” Tom avowed. With the first large, spattering drop of rain, he unfolded his legs.

  Rising beside him, Julia brushed at the seat of her pants. “I don’t envy the woman. It’s a sad situation. Truly.” She bent to retrieve her weeding fork.

  Tom grabbed the bag full of weeds, and they set off for the shop. When the raindrops came faster, they quickened their steps, running at the end. They were laughing by the time they were inside.

  “Look at it pour,” Julia said, giving her hat a good shake as she peered through the rain. “But this is good. My flowers need it. I’m doing a wedding in Montgomery next week. I want the lilies to look their best.”

  “Business is good?”

  “Business is fine.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Yes. I’ve always been a flower person. Put me in a room with fresh roses, and I get a little high.”

  Free association took Tom from picturing Julia high on roses, to seeing her dancing through flower beds, to recalling the original reason for his visit. “I’ll give Nancy a call and tell her we’ve talked. I can probably convince her to ease off a little. It would be even better if you two sat down together. If it’s her brother who’s getting her wound up, she needs someone giving her the other side. When will you be seeing her again?”

  “Thanksgiving.”

  “Don’t want to do it sooner?”

  Julia shook her head. “I’ll warn you now. She’s upset because I told her I wouldn’t come for Christmas, too. I have every other year. But this year I want to be here. I wouldn’t miss the birth of your baby for the world.”

  Thinking of Christmas, Tom felt alternately exhilarated and terrified. “Bree’s delivering by cesarean section. I thought the doctor might set a date, but he wants her to go into labor on her own. She could be late. Maybe you should rethink th
at.”

  “No. I want to be here.”

  Tom didn’t argue this time. Something in her eye said she wasn’t budging.

  As soon as he returned to the house, Tom called Nancy Anderson. He described his visit with Julia and did his best to paint a picture of the contentment he had seen. When Nancy mentioned the trust fund once, then a second and third time, he told about the paper her father had signed. She seemed almost relieved. Tom imagined she was grateful to have an argument to give her brother.

  A good lawyer never became personally involved with his client. It was a basic rule. But Nancy wasn’t actually his client, since no money had exchanged hands, and he cared deeply for Julia. So he offered to meet her at the airport, if Nancy chose to come for a visit.

  Chapter

  15

  Dear Dad, Tom wrote in early September.

  Hard to believe that Labor Day has come and gone. I took the enclosed pictures at the town’s celebration—a huge barbecue held in a pumpkin field. The pumpkins weren’t quite ready for harvest, but that was the point. The whole town showed up to cheer them on. That’s Bree in the first picture, with our friends the Littles and their kids. That’s Bree in the second picture with the troika who run the town—left to right, the police chief, the postmaster, and the town meeting moderator. In the third picture, Bree is with her friends Angus, Oliver, and Jack, and her boss, Flash. Flash is a good soul. You’d like him. He isn’t thrilled with Bree right now, since she’s cut back to working only a few hours a day, but I don’t like her on her feet all day when there’s no need for her to work at all.

  She didn’t want me sending the next picture. She says she looks fat. I say she looks pregnant and beautiful. She’s just starting her sixth month. She’s gained ten pounds and is feeling great. We love listening to the baby’s heartbeat. The doctor is afraid we’ll start making extra appointments just to use his stethoscope, and I don’t rule it out. That heartbeat is something else. So’s the baby’s movement. We can actually see it now, a definite ripple. I guess after six kids you got pretty used to that, but this is my first.

  You’ll be pleased to know that I’m getting back to practicing law. A local lawyer and I are working together. It’s an apprenticeship for me, since I’m not a member of the Vermont Bar. I’ve applied for that, though, and hope to be sworn in in another few months.

  Practicing here is different from practicing in New York. The cases aren’t blockbuster ones, but they deal with real people and real problems. In that sense, they’re more rewarding. Also, practicing here allows for a gentler lifestyle. I’m working out of an office at home, which is a five-minute drive from my mentor’s office in town. And I’m really only working part time, so that I can spend the rest of the time with Bree. I want to be involved in raising the baby. It’ll work this way.

  When I finally unpacked the cartons that were piled in my office, I found the family photographs that I framed when I first started to practice. Among them was one of all of us taken at my high school graduation. Do you remember it? We were on the front porch getting ready to leave, and Minna came from next door to take the picture so Mom could be in it, too. It’s one of the few of all of us. I have it on my desk

  I hope you’re well. I’ll write again soon.

  Love, Tom

  Dear Alice, Bree wrote in mid-September.

  Thank you so, so, so much for sending the picture of little Jimmy. He is precious. I see you in him, and even a little of Tom. Tom stood looking at the picture for the longest time. He still keeps picking it up. So you know how much it means to him that you sent it.

  Only three and a half months of waiting left for us. I go back and forth between being so impatient I can’t sit still and being terrified. I don’t tell Tom about the terrified part. It’s silly, isn’t it? I mean, doctors have childbirth down pat. What could go wrong? We had amniocentesis done, so we know that the baby’s healthy, but we didn’t ask for the sex. We want that to be a surprise. It’s kind of neat that our kids will be less than a year apart, don’t you think?

  We’ve been working to get the baby’s room ready. Tom sanded and lacquered the floor. He painted the ceiling white and the walls yellow. I made a clown border with stencils using navy blue, white, and red, so it’ll be good for a boy or a girl. Believe it or not, Tom stood at the bottom of the ladder the whole time I was painting it. He was afraid I’d fall.

  We’ve also started buying a few things. Thank you for the recommendation on the carriage. We bought it, and a crib. The crib is white. I start crying every time I look at it.

  I know Tom has asked you himself, but I would love it, too, if you would come visit. I was an only child. The idea of having a sister-in-law is wonderful. We have a sleep sofa in the third bedroom, and a crib for Jimmy. I know that your father wouldn’t like the idea of your coming, but if there’s any way you can get around that, please consider it. It would mean a lot to me to meet you before our baby is born. It would mean a lot to Tom, too. Say the word, and he’ll send tickets. You could fly into Burlington or Boston. We’ll meet you in either place. Just let us know.

  The trees are starting to turn. It’s just beautiful up here. Please come.

  Love, Bree

  P.S. My stretched stomach itches something fierce. Any suggestions?

  Dear Nathan, Tom wrote in early October.

  / enjoy getting your little notes. Being out of the mainstream, I didn’t know that my favorite publisher was fired, much less that the publishing house was bought. I didn’t know that Ben Harps’s book hit the lists, either. I’m pleased for him and pleased for you. Maybe someone like Ben can get you to stop E-mailing me. He’s young and hot. If you haven’t sold him to Hollywood yet, you will. His stuff is good.

  I know I told you I’d think about writing again, and I have. But it isn’t going to happen, Nathan, not now, maybe not ever. Drop all the hints you want, but you won’t make me jealous of Ben or anyone else.

  I’ve gone back to practicing law. Yes, up here. Don’t be so startled. It’s like going back to my roots. Very satisfying. Bree is expecting a baby in December, so there’s plenty to keep me busy. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Be happy for me.

  Yours, Tom

  Dear Dad, Tom wrote in mid-October.

  Bree and I spent last weekend in Nantucket. These pictures are from there. The one of the two of us was taken by the owner of the bed-and-breakfast where we stayed. It was a charming place, small and quiet on a private way that led to the beach. We spent hours walking there and browsing through the shops in town. Bree had never been there. Her excitement made it like the first time for me, too.

  A funny thing happened. When we stopped in at a little sandwich place, I was recognized by a woman who interviewed me several years back for Vanity Fair. She came right up and started asking questions. Two years ago, I would have answered. This time, I refused. I may have offended her, but I don’t care. I’m done with that life. All I could think was that she was intruding on my time with my wife.

  Bree is wonderful. She’s starting to look very pregnant and has trouble keeping going endlessly the way she used to, but she doesn’t complain. She’s a trouper—the warmest, most interesting and loving woman I’ve ever met. Based on past performance, I don’t deserve her. I’m trying to change that.

  We had cause to celebrate in Nantucket. It was the first anniversary of the accident that brought us together. It scares me to think how close I came to losing her. Had she died that night, I never would have known this kind of love. Okay, if I hadn’t known it, I wouldn’t have missed it, but boy, it makes me think.

  If you felt for Mom what I feel for Bree, I can understand why you were so hurt by what I did. If a child of mine ever did that to Bree, I would be angry, too. All I can say is that I didn’t know, and that I’m sorry.

  Enclosed is a small painting done by one of the local artists on the island. The view of the dunes is one that we saw each day. I hope you can get a feel for it through the oils.
/>   Love, Tom

  P.S. We’re out of double digits. Only nine weeks until the baby is due.

  With eight weeks to go, Bree was sitting in the breakfast room, feeling lazy and replete in the morning sun, when the phone rang. Setting the newspaper aside, she rose to get it.

  “Hello?”

  “Bree?” The voice was tentative, new. “This is Alice.”

  Bree caught her breath. “Alice.” There was only one person with that name. “Alice,” she breathed, half relieved, half awed. “How are you?”

  “Feeling like a traitor, but otherwise fine. I got my editor to send me to a seminar in Boston. I just landed.”

  “In Boston?” Bree’s voice went higher. “Tom will be so excited! Can we see you? Will you come here? Where can we pick you up? How long do you have?”

  “Three days. I have the baby with me.”

  “Oh my God! Tom’ll die when he finds out. He just left to meet with his law partner in town. I’ll call him there. We can be on our way in less than an hour. You should have called before you left. We’d have been there to meet you.”

  “I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to call. I’m not sure I should be doing this.”

  “Of course you should.”

  “My father wouldn’t be pleased.”

  “You’re not making him come.”

  “This is pretty last-minute.”

  “Are you kidding? Tom’s been dreaming of this for months.” So had Bree, more so of late. “Will you come back here with us?”

  “If it’s no trouble.”

  “None. Where should we meet you?”

  They arranged to meet at the downtown hotel where the seminar was being held. While Tom and Bree were en route, Alice attended two lectures. When they arrived, she was sitting in the lobby, as petite as Bree had pictured her, with Tom’s shiny brown hair and gray eyes. The baby was a sleeping wad strapped to her front.