Three Wishes (15 page)

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.

7

I
f 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 feel 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.”