Shelly's Second Chance (The Wish Granters, Book One) (2 page)

“Doesn’t matter. You’re
leaving right away.” As he raised a hand in the air, a vague, fleeting
recognition came to her, almost as if she knew him from somewhere. And just as
he promised, Alanna felt a wave pulling her onward. But this wave was soft and
silent, not at all like the surf she had left behind.

The second space was less
ethereal and more clinical. Everything seemed clean, as if it had never been
used, and there was the scent of—what was it? Oranges maybe. “I’m the senior
coordinator. I’ll be with you for the duration.”

Alanna looked up to see a man
clothed in something that looked
like a doctor’s coat, except that it was a
dusty yellow, a color that reminded her of pollen. He seemed familiar too, and
that was puzzling. Was this the same man who’d written her name in the book
with the quill pen? Had he somehow swapped his robes for a medical jacket? And
what did he mean by “the duration?”

“You’ve been paired with
someone else who’s just arrived,” the man was saying briskly, giving her no
time for questions. The two of you will be given certain tasks to accomplish
together. We find that works better you know, two people, more of a team.”

“But I don’t under-”

 “You and your partner will
have a little time to get used to your new surroundings,” the senior
coordinator went on. “You’ll be going to Transition shortly.”

He stamped Alanna’s palm with
what looked like a rose and she found herself floating again. It felt like
being a little drunk on wine. Her stamped hand reminded her of college, of the
frat parties out on the lawn, and
she realized her memory was returning in tiny
fragments. Something caught her eye. The oddest thing. This third place felt
like some sort of ethereal park, a garden, and it was just as pristine as the
others. Yet there were
random
scraps of paper moving around her feet, as if litter was being scattered by an
imperceptible breeze. She bent to pick one up. On it were some scribbled
words—her address when she was nine, the make of her first car, an old friend’s
name. Memories that floated away as the scrap of paper left her hand.

She looked up to see the
senior coordinator, this time in a business suit. So he had been traveling with
her and taking various guises. A monk, then a doctor and now—he looked more
like a lawyer or an accountant. It seemed like a good time to ask some
questions so she cleared her throat.

 “Exactly what is this place?
I know you called it Transition, but from what—and to where?”

He did not speak. Only
shuffled some papers.

“I guess I died,” Alanna
finally said, when it was clear no answer was coming.

“Not quite,” he said, looking
up with a kind smile. “Everything will become
clear soon enough. What you need to know now
is this. Your next step will be to meet your partner and the two of you will be
given your assignment. It’s very simple, really. You have become one of a
select group known as The Wish Granters.”

“I don’t understand.” Alanna
said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “What does it mean to be not quite
dead? And what’s a Wish Granter?”

“Patience,” said the
coordinator. “You’ll have to be patient for this assignment. We know it will be
hard for you, but, if it’s any consolation, it will be even harder for your
partner. Here.” He handed Alanna what looked like a folder.
“The details of your first assignment are in
here. But you won’t have to study the whole file. Just touching it will be
enough to give you
whatever
you need to know when you need to know it.”

The senior coordinator smiled
again, and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that was comforting, almost
grandfatherly. “Your partner Joe’s file contains additional information, so the
two of you will have to rely on each other.”

“But I don’t want a partner,”
Alanna protested. “I never have.” And as she said the word “partner” she felt a
sudden pressure in her chest, a tight closed-in feeling as if she’d been zipped
into clothes a size too small. It was precisely the sensation that had come
over her as she’d looked down at the rose stamp in her hand. Memory can hurt, she
realized.

“I always do better on my
own,” she said, more firmly this time. It would be a mistake to appear weak
before the senior coordinator. It was clear that whoever he was, he had
influence on what would
happen to her next.

“Like with that wave?” He asked
sharply and what could Alanna say to that? She took the folder and, before she
knew what had happened, she had absorbed everything in it and knew what she had
to do. It was really quite amazing, she was thinking to herself, that so much
had happened so fast. But had it really happened fast? She had no sense of time
anymore. Wherever this place was, it had no clocks, no calendars, no rising and
setting sun. She looked down and saw that she was wearing a dress—pretty she
thought, with small, colorful flowers on a peachy cream background—and that
seemed odd, too, because she had been in a bathing suit at the beach. The
beach. Another memory, but this one didn’t feel like a burden.

*****

 “So I guess it’s me and you,
huh?”

The partner Alanna
did not want now stood in
front of her. She was relieved to see he looked human, and nearly as
disoriented and confused as she was.

In fact, he was not only
human, he was kind of cute. Joe, wasn’t that what the senior coordinator had
called him? Tough but not rough. Lean and agile looking. Hair almost black and
gray-green eyes under straight brows that gave his face a slightly quizzical
look. He seemed a little older than Alanna—well, okay, that was a description
that no longer made any sense, but he seemed a little older than she had been
on the day she had entered the surf. Which would put him in his early thirties
and he had the look of a jock, with broad shoulders and a ruddy face. Nose had
been broken at some point, that was plain, but there was still something appealing
about him. Appealing
and
reassuring, because he was the first normal thing she’d seen since that wave
hit her.

“Do you remember how you got
here? Or where you came from?” Her abrupt
questions seemed to stun him.

He looked away
and began to blink rapidly
and she realized this was all even newer to him than it was to her. She
remembered what the coordinator had told her about patience and decided she’d
better take it slowly at first.

She smiled. Somewhat
tentatively, he smiled back.

Okay, so his name was Joe,
and now that she’d had a moment to consider it, he was definitely attractive,
in an oh-so-very-slightly-past-his-prime sports guy kind of way. Not really her
type. She liked men who were tall and thin and sophisticated-looking, more like
. . .

There. There it was again.
That feeling in her chest again. That pressure like a weight on her.

“I guess I’m from somewhere,”
he said, with a rueful laugh, rubbing his palm against his chin almost as if to
feel for a stubble in case he’d gone without shaving. But his face felt smooth
and that was odd, too, because he reasoned that time had passed. “I mean, I’d
have to be, wouldn’t I? But I can’t really remember.”

He was taking her in all at
once, with an expression Alanna had seen many times before. Well, at least that’s
good news, she thought. Nice to know that even in this state—Transition that
is—she was still attractive. In her previous life, men had always been
approaching her—offering her drinks, trying to catch her eye—and she had been
both flattered and annoyed by their attentions. She was lightly-muscled, with
the look of an athlete in training, a girl who had time to care for herself,
and her soft hair, bleached by the sun, complimented her face. So, of course
the men had looked, and yes, it had been flattering and at times useful
to be able to rely on a
steady supply of male interest.

 But Alanna had often wished
there was some way to turn it on and off like a TV. There had been days when
she hadn’t wanted to deal with their comments, their stares, their hunger,
their expectations. Perhaps that was why she had gotten in the habit of
swimming so far away from the lifeguards. Lifeguards, she thought, the corners
of her mouth turning up a little at the memory. How funny that word seems to me
now.

Joe noticed her smile and
returned it eagerly. All right. This guy was confused, and confusion was making
him a little goofy. Based on his grin, he was also obviously responding to her
which was probably adding to the goofy equation as well. But if the past world
had taught her anything, it was how to deal with a man on the prowl. For the
first time since her feet had left the sand on that faraway beach in Florida, Alanna felt like she was on solid ground. No memory needed for this, the most
basic rhythm of life.

“I think it’s normal not to
remember at first,” she told him. “But after a while, apparently things will
start to come back to you. Did they give you a folder?”

“Folder? Yeah, right, there
was a folder,” he said, with some caution. ”It’s Alanna, right? Pretty name.
Yeah, that must have been in there. But the old guy
took it away so fast, I’m not sure I
absorbed much. Where are you from?”

“Delray Beach, but you
probably don’t know where that is anymore. It doesn’t matter.” She looked at
him carefully. “I think you’re from Massachusetts. I remember that from the
file. Does anything about that sound remotely familiar?”

“Go Sox,” he said,
definitively. “Celtics. Patriots. I don’t know why I’m saying this but I can’t
seem to stop myself.”

“Yep, definitely Boston,” she said, and suddenly, without
understanding exactly how and why, the two of them were laughing.

Chapter Four

Ben was headed out of town
for a two-day company training, so he and Shelly decided to meet at Red Lobster
for a quick goodbye dinner. He’d texted that he had a surprise for her and,
when she arrived, he was already seated at the bar talking on his cell with a
half empty glass of beer in front of him. She sat down next to him and kissed
him on the cheek. He reached out and squeezed her butt but kept talking.
Finally he hung up, at least from this particular call.

There would be more. There
always were.

After they ordered and the
waitress brought those little fried cheese fritter things, Ben grinned like he
was about to burst and reached into his jacket pocket.

“So, I did it. Called the
inn,” he told her. “They’re giving us a prix fixe menu with two choices for the
main course. You know, in case someone doesn’t eat meat. To reserve a room for
the one night for us and make reservations for the engagement dinner is going
to be pretty steep. But I’m willing if you are.”

Of course Shelly was willing.
“Honey, that’s fantastic,” she said, as the waitress returned with more food.
As the girl left, Shelly leaned across the table and whispered, “Does that mean
you’re ready to set the date?”

“One step at a time, Shell,”
he said. “Baby steps. I thought at the engagement party would be a good time to
announce a date. If that’s okay with you.”

Shelly reached out her hand
and threaded her fingers in his. She understood this was his way of formally
proposing.

“And here’s the best part.
Ready? If we pay in cash they knock ten percent off the total.” Ben sat back in
the booth, clearly pleased with himself. He could never resist a little
wheel-and-deal, no matter what the circumstances. He took a forkful of flounder
with one hand and slid a fat envelope across the table to Shelly with the other.
“Just don’t buy shoes with it.”

They both laughed. Shelly did
like her shoes. She shoved the envelope into her purse, noting
its heft. She was tempted
to glance inside but stopped herself. Marcus had always said that putting cash
in front of people like them was like offering an alcoholic a drink. An image
of his face at the last meeting flickered before her eyes. His serious expression,
his reassurances that she could call him if she needed anything. But that
didn’t seem likely, did it? Everything she needed was right in front of her.
She was engaged to a great guy, a successful guy, a man who now trusted her
completely. And who was finally willing to set the date. No more stalling until
her “problem” was resolved. Handing her the cash to give to the Inn was proof of Ben’s complete confidence in her.

Shelly shot Ben a brilliant
smile, and then started in on her shrimp.

Later they parked in Ben’s
BMW outside her apartment building. Shelly waited for him to come around and
open the door but he just sat there. Even though it was late, she heard the cell
in his pocket buzz that a text message was coming in and his hand went
instinctively to his pocket.

“Aren’t we going up?” Shelly
asked. She leaned toward him in a kiss, which he eagerly returned. But just
when things were getting interesting, his cell buzzed again.

“Sorry. I really need to
check this. It may be about the trip.” He pulled back and looked at the phone.
“Yeah, it’s about tomorrow. I have to swing by the office before I head to the
airport. Damn.”

“You’re spending the night,
aren’t you? I can wake you up any time you need. No matter how early.” God, I’m
close to begging, she thought and imagined grabbing his cell phone and tossing
it into a nearby dumpster. Then she managed to talk herself down from a
familiar, neglected feeling and glanced down at her purse, nestled at her feet,
a corner of the white envelope he had given her sticking out of one of the
zipper pockets. It was a small reminder that things really were okay, that she
needn’t worry. He’d given her the money. He’d made the reservation. They were
going to announce the date.