Wishful Thinking

by Alexandra Bullen

  “Do you mind?”

  Hazel jumped and turned to see a small girl standing in the doorway. She had long, dark hair that tumbled past her shoulders, and small, deep-set eyes that were narrowed to angry slits. If there hadn’t been a pencil in her mouth, Hazel probably wouldn’t have recognized her right away.

  “Rule number one,” the girl muttered. She took the pencil from her mouth and pushed past Hazel, ripping the quilt out of her hand. “My stuff is my stuff. Not your stuff. That means don’t touch it.”

  Hazel stepped back, the soft part of her calves knocking into the frame of her bed. She sank heavily back onto the mattress and watched as the girl refolded the blanket with sharp, directed movements. She couldn’t have been over five feet tall, and Hazel wondered how so much mean could live inside such a tiny person.

  “Sorry,” Hazel muttered, once she realized the girl wasn’t going to say anything else. “I’m—I’m Hazel, I’m—”

  “Iced tea. I remember,” the girl snapped as she went to the closet and pulled a folded towel down from a high shelf. “I’m Jaime.”

  Hazel glanced away just as Jaime started pulling off her Cups ‘N’ Cones T-shirt. “I can’t believe this,” Jaime said, as if to herself. “Rosanna’s always saying she’s going to hire somebody else but she never actually does it.”

  Out of the corner of her eyes, Hazel saw Jaime wriggling out of her knee-length cutoffs and wrapping herself in the towel. “So what’s your story?” Jaime asked. “Runaway? You don’t look homeless.”

  Hazel bit the inside of her cheek and felt her eyebrows inching together. “Homeless?” she repeated, her voice sturdy and defensive. “What makes you think I’m homeless?”

  Hazel hated girls like this. At the four different high schools she’d so far had the privilege of attending, she had met many of them: the tough, little girls who projected quiet disdain and had a clever comeback for everything, always. In fact, she herself had been mistaken for one of them fairly regularly. But it was Hazel’s firm belief that anyone who actually was that unhappy usually tried a lot harder to hide it.

  “Rosanna only takes in kids who need fixing,” Jaime announced to a tall chest of drawers. She pulled out a pair of white sport socks and some blue cotton underwear and balled them up in her hand.

  Hazel shifted on the bed, the mattress creaking heavily beneath her.

  “Fine, don’t tell me,” Jaime sighed, shutting the drawer with a thud. “Guess we’ll have plenty of time for secrets. You don’t snore, do you?” Jaime paused at the door and turned to Hazel, her steely eyes cold and focused.

  “No,” Hazel coolly replied. The idea of she and Jaime trading secrets was almost enough to make her laugh. “Do you?”

  One corner of Jaime’s mouth turned up in a half-smile as she turned toward the hall. “I’ll give you the grand tour when I get out,” she called out from the bathroom. The spray of the water hit the shower curtain, quickly muffling as Jaime slammed the door shut.

  Hazel rubbed her forehead and sighed, turning back to the pile of new clothes on her bed. She knew she should keep unpacking, but her eyes stung and her body ached. She swung her legs around the bag and curled up against the wall, glancing out the window at the main house across the lawn. Soft yellow light spilled out of the windows and Hazel tried to picture Rosanna inside.

  She let her mind wander, imagining what it would be like to stay in the main house, instead of out here with Jaime, who seemed intent on making their time together as uncomfortable as possible. But Hazel wasn’t here to make friends, she reminded herself. She was here to know her mother.

  Hazel felt her eyelids growing heavy and she rolled over, wisps of her half-dyed hair falling over her face. It wouldn’t hurt to rest for a minute, just until Jaime got out of the shower. Just a minute, and maybe they could start over. Maybe after a shower and a quick little nap, everything would look different.

  9

  “Rise and shine, Slumberella.”

  Hazel blinked her eyes open as Jaime threw back the curtains, flooding the room with dusty sunlight. Hazel rolled over to face the wall. There was a faint thumping at the back of her head and it took her a few moments of staring at the knotted wood panels to remember where she was.

  “Since you slept through your tour, I guess we’ll have to do it now.” Jaime was standing at the foot of Hazel’s bed, twisting a handful of coarse dark hair and stabbing it with yesterday’s pencil.

  Hazel looked down to see that she was still wearing Rosanna’s yellow shirt and jeans. She pushed herself up on her elbows and blinked as Jaime pulled a sweatshirt out of the bottom dresser drawer. Even though it was late June, Hazel could feel an early morning chill slipping in through the window. “What time is it?” she mumbled, checking the corners of her mouth for drool.

  “This isn’t vacation, Blondie,” Jaime spat, tugging up the zipper on her navy blue sweatshirt and making her way toward the door. “You’re in my world now, and sleeping in is not on the agenda. Meet me downstairs in five.”

  Jaime flashed Hazel a fake smile and pulled the door shut.

  Hazel flopped back on the bed. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had been walking around San Francisco, where everything was familiar and things made sense. Now she was in a different place, in a different time, sharing a room with a girl who made different seem like something to shoot for.

  Hazel flung back the sheets and pulled on another pair of Rosanna’s jeans and a well-worn button-down shirt. The material was soft on her skin and smelled faintly of suntan lotion. Hazel buried her face in the collar, breathing in her mother’s scent as deeply as she could. In the bathroom, she splashed some water on her face and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Out of habit, she looked up to the corner where she kept the photo of Wendy at home, and found herself wondering what Roy was doing now. Would he be worried yet? Had he even noticed she was gone?

  Hazel dried her hands on a towel and hurried down the stairs. Jaime had been sitting on the porch steps, but started out across the lawn as soon as Hazel reached the door.

  Hazel skipped to keep up. The property looked even more pristine than it had the day before, green and lush and practically vibrating in the sun. The air was sweet and cool, and the grass was damp with dew.

  She followed Jaime up to the main house and through the sturdy front door. Inside, the house was elegant but understated. An antique chandelier greeted them in the grand foyer, and Hazel glanced across the open living room, all white furniture with a massive stone hearth, to a wall of windows, overlooking the expanse of ocean and sky.

  At the end of a narrow hallway, a door opened, and a man started toward them.

  “Morning, Jaime,” he said. His cinnamon-colored hair was tousled and he had the focused and half-dazed look of somebody who’d been staring at a computer screen for hours on end.

  “Hi, Billy,” Jaime said, stepping aside to let him pass through the hall. “This is Hazel,” she added reluctantly. “She works here now, I guess.”

  Jaime turned and walked down the main hall, leaving Hazel alone with Billy in the foyer. Billy stuck out his hand and Hazel shook it, barely able to look him in the eye. A hollowness had already settled in the pit of her stomach. It was the man from the Ferry Building event. The man standing by himself at the bar, staring sadly into his drink. All at once, Hazel remembered why he was there. He’d lost his wife. In the future, Rosanna was dead.

  “Nice to meet you, Hazel.” Billy smiled. His features were small and precise and looked a little bit lost in the broad expanse of his face.

  “You … you, too,” Hazel stuttered. She stood dumbstruck, staring at the man who would eventually be her father. She searched for hints of similarities. His eyes were blue, like hers, but his nose was smaller and turned up at the end.

  “I’m waiting,” Jaime called impatiently from somewhere at the end of the hall.

  “You’d better hop to,” Billy whispered, leaning in. “Don’t worry. Her bite’s not half as bad a
s her bark.”

  Billy winked at Hazel and continued into the living room, whistling to himself as he picked up a newspaper from a glass end table by the couch.

  Hazel felt her heart swell and turned to find Jaime. She had a dad. A real dad, who did classic dad things, like whistle and read the paper.

  She hurried after Jaime into the kitchen, a gigantic room with walls of windows and clear ocean views. Big industrial lamps hung from the ceiling and a long, marble island split the room in half. The stainless steel refrigerator was open and a man in white pants and a black apron was crouching low and peering inside.

  “Emmett makes muffins every morning,” Jaime said, pointing to a basket on the counter. “Hope you’re not watching your weight.”

  The man at the refrigerator stood upright and turned around. He was small and trim, and if it weren’t for the sharp lines around his clear green eyes Hazel would’ve thought he was her age.

  “Who do we have here?” Emmett asked, his smile bright and mischievous as the words tumbled quickly out of his mouth, the lyrical lilt of an Irish accent rolling them into a song. “Another one for the kitchen, is it? She’s pretty enough, yeah. I’ll keep her.”

  Jaime selected a muffin from the basket and peeled down the paper wrapper. “I wish,” Jaime sighed. “Unfortunately, Rosanna thinks it’s me who needs help.”

  Emmett grinned. “Probably because you’re always off gallivanting with your little boyfriend,” he said with an innocent shrug.

  Jaime raised the muffin in her hand as if to throw it across the room, and Emmett pretended to take cover behind the blender.

  “Speaking of gallivanting,” Emmett squeaked from his hiding place. “Are we on for the bonfire again tonight? I’ve got the marshmallows all ready for your beloved s’mores.”

  Hazel saw Jaime toss Emmett a sharp, warning glare. “Come on, Blondie,” Jaime said as she pulled open the sliding glass door.

  Hazel bit the side of her cheek and tried not to look annoyed. Apparently the bonfire was an invitation-only event.

  “You ever need a break from her highness, you just come see me,” Emmett said as Hazel passed, and she forced a smile. She had a feeling she’d be taking him up on that offer, and soon.

  Jaime was halfway across the stone patio, on the other side of a long, glass table, when Hazel caught up. “Where’s Rosanna?” Hazel asked—she hoped casually—as they passed the empty studio. “When does she do her painting?”

  Jaime led them into a clearing in the woods, where the trail of seashells ended and a rambling dirt path began. “Whenever she feels like it,” she muttered, pushing a few spindly branches out of her way. One snapped back and nearly caught Hazel across the face. She ducked quickly and walked hunched over until they were officially out of the woods.

  At the end of the path, a hulking red barn asserted itself against the clear blue sky. The oversize front doors were pulled open, revealing two rows of horse stalls and an indoor-outdoor pen, where a dozen sheep and goats were quietly grazing.

  “Listen,” Jaime said, and stopped short. “I know Rosanna said you’d be helping her out some in the studio, and believe me, I have no problem with that. But as long as you’re with me, your business is here.” Jaime pointed emphatically at the barn. “Got it?”

  Hazel swallowed. Had she really traveled back in time just to play farmhand to some grumpy little brat?

  But this was what Rosanna had told her to do. For now, she had no choice. And being close to her mother would make it all worthwhile in the end.

  “Got it,” she mumbled to Jaime’s back as she followed her into the barn.

  The smell of manure and dry hay stung Hazel’s nostrils. The closest she’d ever come to farm animals was the chicken coop at Roy’s sister’s lake house. She had been in charge of feeding them in the mornings and, after an unfortunate incident with a disgruntled laying hen, suffered nightmares of being pecked to pieces for weeks. Now she eyed the cranky-looking goats with suspicion as Jaime took a quick turn and started up a narrow staircase inside.

  “Where are you going?” Hazel asked. “I thought our business was in the barn.”

  Jaime kept pounding up the rickety steps. “Up here,” she said, opening a small door at the top and stepping inside. “The animals are Maura and Craig’s department. I don’t do livestock, even if it is a gentleman’s farm.”

  Hazel looked back at the horses in their stalls, their wide eyes dark and unblinking. “A gentleman’s farm?”

  “No killing or food production of any kind. It’s all very civilized,” Jaime said, motioning for Hazel to follow her into a small office at the top of the stairs. “Which doesn’t make it smell any better in here, but you get used to it.”

  Hazel glanced around the office. It was a dark room, just big enough for a desk, a chair, and rows of beige-colored filing cabinets. Across the room was a second door and Hazel peered though it, down a long, narrow hallway.

  “That’s where the barn crew shacks up in the summer,” Jaime explained. “There’s always room, if you’re interested.”

  Hazel’s nose wrinkled and she shook her head, feeling lucky that she’d been assigned to the guesthouse. Even if it did mean more quality time with Jaime.

  “Take a seat,” Jaime commanded, standing with her arms crossed in front of the cabinets. Hazel sunk into the tall rolling chair.

  Jaime reached forward and tugged out one of the top drawers. Inside, color-coded folders were arranged and labeled alphabetically. “Billy broke the treadmill again,” Jaime said, quickly flipping through the files. “I know the manual is in here somewhere, but I haven’t had a chance to find it.”

  Jaime reached both hands into the cabinet and lugged out a fat folder, overflowing with yellowing manuals for what looked like every single electronic device the Scotts had ever purchased. She dropped the folder in Hazel’s lap, sending the chair rolling backward until Hazel was wedged between the desk and the wall.

  “Have fun, Blondie,” Jaime cooed as she wiped the dust from her hands and started back down the stairs.

  “It’s Hazel,” Hazel shot back, slapping the file onto the desk.

  Jaime popped her head back around the corner, dark ringlets bouncing around her forehead. “What was that?”

  “My name isn’t Blondie, it’s Hazel,” Hazel repeated. “And I’m sorry you don’t want me here, but Rosanna does. I have no idea what your problem is.”

  “Problem? I don’t have a problem,” Jaime said flatly. “And even if I did have a problem—which I don’t—I can’t imagine you’d understand. I heard all about your parents and their little European vacation. Sounds swell.” Jaime’s voice dripped with false sincerity.

  Hazel’s pulse raged in her ears and she wanted nothing more than to set the record straight, to snap back with her real story, the one without vacations or parents of any kind.

  “You sure it’s too late to join them?” Jaime asked with a dramatic pout.

  Hazel’s cheeks were burning and she turned quickly back to the folder on the desk.

  “Later, Blondie,” Jaime called as she bounded down the stairs. Through the office’s one, blurry window, Hazel watched as Jaime stalked across the field. The tall, leafy oaks swayed in the breeze and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. In the distance, the ocean looked striped, the sun reflected in mirrored streaks across the surface.

  Hazel sighed and opened the folder.

  A beautiful day for paperwork.

  10

  Hazel’s eyes were swimming and her head throbbed. After she’d come back for the treadmill manual, Jaime had quickly assigned Hazel an endless list of boring tasks, ranging from sorting the unpaid bills to testing an entire box full of printer cartridges.

  Hazel was also starving. Jaime had brought her a dry turkey sandwich at lunch, but that was hours ago. She had no idea how late she was supposed to stay in the office and was considering making a run for it, when a pair of voices wafted from behind the door to the hall. She hopped out of
the chair and peeked through the window, like a prisoner in solitary confinement, ravenous as much for conversation as she was for a decent meal.

  A muscular girl with braided blond pigtails walked toward her, followed by a lanky boy with a dark goatee. They both looked to be in their mid-twenties. They stopped at a door and were about to disappear behind it when Hazel burst into the hall.

  “Hi!” she said, with just a touch more enthusiasm than she’d hoped. “I mean, hey. I’m Hazel. I’m … working here now. With Jaime?”

  The girl took a step toward her and wiped her hands on the sides of her dirty overalls. “Oh, hey. Rosanna told us to be on the lookout for a new face.” She smiled. Her face was dotted with freckles. “I’m Maura, and this is Craig.” Craig offered an awkward little wave and ducked inside one of the rooms off of the hall.

  “Sorry, were we bothering you?” Maura asked, peering over Hazel’s shoulder into the office. “Feeding time can get pretty chaotic.”

  “Not at all,” Hazel insisted. “I was just starting to go a little stir crazy.”

  Maura laughed, her braids swinging behind her back. “We’re about to head down to the beach for the bonfire,” she explained. “It’s sort of a weekly tradition. You should come.”

  At home, Hazel was well practiced in the art of turning down invitations, and rarely saw anybody outside of school or work. But suddenly she found herself feeling grateful for even the possibility of being around people. Especially people other than Jaime. She smiled. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

  “Cool.” Maura nodded, heading back toward her door. “Let me clean up and we’ll meet you downstairs?”

  Hazel nodded and closed herself back inside the tiny office. Jaime would probably be mad she hadn’t gotten to everything, and even more annoyed when Hazel showed up at the bonfire. But Hazel didn’t care.

  In fact, it only made her want to go more.

  The sun was low in the sky as Craig led the girls down a long, wooded path. Mosquitoes buzzed around their heads and Hazel swatted at one as it nibbled near her ankle. The path ended at a clearing in the forest, where ten or twelve cars, mostly pickup trucks and beat-up hatchbacks, were already parked. They took a rickety old staircase to the beach and Hazel reminded herself not to look down.