What You Wish For

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: What You Wish For
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Books by Fern Michaels . . .
KENTUCKY RICH
KENTUCKY HEAT
KENTUCKY SUNRISE
PLAIN JANE
CHARMING LILY
WHAT YOU WISH FOR
THE GUEST LIST
LISTEN TO YOUR HEART
CELEBRATION
YESTERDAY
FINDERS KEEPERS
ANNIE'S RAINBOW
SARA'S SONG
VEGAS SUNRISE
VEGAS HEAT
VEGAS RICH
WHITEFIRE
WISH LIST
DEAR EMILY
FERN MICHAELS
 
 
WHAT YOU WISH FOR
 
 
 
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
1
One by one, the million-dollar Tudor and Colonial houses in Whispering Willows twinkled to life as they announced the arrival of the Christmas season. Each elaborate display of multicolored lights and fragrant evergreens was testament to the annual Chamber of Commerce contest whose grand prize was a trip for two to Hawaii. The lone exception to the festive season was the unlighted house at 24565 Willow Lane.
Helen waited, her entire body trembling, for the door to open.
The terrier at her feet hugged her ankles, then started to whimper.
Helen let her gaze sweep through the rooms. As always, she was amazed at the costly furnishings, the custom draperies, the thick pile carpeting, the antiques, the art on the walls. Her life in a trailer park hadn't prepared her for this grandeur. None of the rich furnishings were to her taste; though. She preferred cozy and comfortable, but her husband Daniel lived to outdo his neighbors and coworkers with fine things. Among other things, her husband was a braggart.
Her image bounced off the foyer mirror—the image her husband would see when he opened the door. Maybe she should have slipped into a sack dress instead of the sweats. Surely those dark brown eyes full of terror weren't hers. Would the rich chestnut hair piled high on her head stay in its pins once Daniel entered the house? Who was this tall, shapely woman? A woman who was terrified of her husband, she answered herself. She wished she could lie down and go to sleep for a week. She wished she had the courage to run out into the night and never return. She wished she was a widow. She wished for so many things, but most of all she wished for peace and harmony. None of her wishes was within her grasp.
Helen tore her gaze away from the foyer mirror.
The car had careened into the driveway much too fast. The slam of the car door was too forceful, too loud. All indicators that Daniel Ward was in a rage. When Daniel was in one of his rages, she ended up bruised and bloody. An icy chill ran down Helen Ward's spine. The little dog whimpered.
“Go in your bed, Lucie. Hurry! Run, Lucie!” The little dog listened to the terror in her mistress's voice and scampered off, her pudgy rear end wobbling from side to side.
Her eyes full of fear, her shoulders stiff with apprehension, Helen struggled for a light tone when the front door burst open. “Hello, Daniel, did you have a good day?” She wondered if the terror showed on her face. Obviously it did, because Daniel's eyes narrowed to slits as he strode through the living room, stopping in the doorway to the dining room, where she was standing. He was so close she could smell his breath.
“I thought I told you to be ready when I got home. Christ Almighty, do you
ever
do anything you're told?”
“I am ready, Daniel. All I have to do is slip on my dress. It's linen, and I didn't want it to wrinkle,” Helen said, her gaze never leaving her husband's face.
“Then why in the goddamn hell did you buy a linen dress? You're going to look like a fucking bag lady by the time we get to the party.”
“Then I'll wear something different. It's not a problem, Daniel.”
“Do I have to do all your thinking? Why can't you ever make a decent decision? You're supposed to wear something festive and sparkly to a Christmas party. Linen is not sparkly and festive. Linen is boring, just like you, Helen.”
Maybe if she turned now and headed for the bedroom, he'd let it go. Maybe a lot of things. She wasn't going to move, and she knew it. How could she? Her feet were rooted to the floor.
Daniel stepped forward and then to the side, his feet scattering pine needles that had dropped from the Christmas tree. “What the fuck do you do all day, Helen? Why are these needles all over the floor? Look! They're all over the dining-room table, too. How goddamn hard is it to clean up pine needles?”
Helen's voice was a mere whisper. “The evergreens are dry. I did sprinkle water on the centerpiece. There's water in the tree stand. I cleaned it several times today. The tree and centerpiece are two weeks old,” she murmured. She wasn't sure if her husband heard her defense or not. In the end, it wouldn't matter.
“Are you telling me I made a bad choice when I picked out the tree and the centerpiece?” His voice was so ugly, so hateful, Helen felt her insides start to shrivel.
Yes, yes, yes. “That's not what I said, Daniel. The trees are dry from the lack of rain this summer. The man at the tree stand told us that when we bought the tree. It's been on the news, too. The commentators are warning people to be careful of Christmas tree fires.”
“I didn't hear the tree man say that, and I sure as hell didn't hear it on the news either. You're just one fucking excuse after another. Clean up this damn mess or we're going to be late.”
To Daniel, cleaning up the mess meant dragging out the vacuum cleaner, brushing the needles into a neat little pile, then scooping them up with a dustpan followed by a thorough vacuuming. The centerpiece would require a clean tablecloth and then more needles would fall. The vacuum would have to be returned to the closet. More time, thirty minutes at best. Those thirty minutes would make them late for Arthur King's yearly Christmas party. She wanted to cry. Instead she bit down on her lower lip until she tasted her own blood. She had to get the vacuum cleaner and she had to get it
now
.
Don't look at his eyes. Just get the vacuum
. Easy to say, not so easy to do. “I'll just be a minute, Daniel.”
“A minute my ass. It's going to take you at least a half hour if you do it right. You still have to get dressed. You should have been dressed and waiting at the door. King hates it when anyone is late. He plans on some big announcements this evening. That means a promotion. How's it going to look when we arrive an hour late?”
Helen's shoulders slumped. There would be no party for her tonight.
Just do it, Daniel
,
and get it over with. Beat me black-and-blue and then storm out of the house. Do it already,
her mind shrieked.
She took the first blow high on her cheekbone. The second punch sent her reeling backward straight into the Christmas tree, toppling it sideways. She was aware of tinkling glass and a flurry of pine needles whipping past her face. She felt her own warm blood trickling down her cheek and neck. Stitches. God in heaven, what excuse would she give the ER people this time? She struggled to right herself, but the prickly, dry pine branches were everywhere: Suddenly she was yanked upright, her head jerking backward. A hard driving punch to her chest threw her into the tree a second time. She screamed before she lost her breath. “Stop! Please, Daniel, stop! Go to the party. I'll clean this up. Tell them I have the flu. Please, Daniel!”
“Damn right, you'll clean this up. I'm tired of lying for you. You ruin everything! You think you know everything. You're just like my mother and my sister, but they have brains. You're fucking stupid, Helen. There's not a brain in your head.”
Gasping for breath, Helen struggled to extricate herself from the Christmas tree. She was on her knees when she saw Daniel raise his foot. She tried to roll away but the trunk of the huge evergreen and its branches held her prisoner as her husband's foot shot forward with 180 pounds of force. She screamed and screamed as hot flashing pain seared her body. She knew she was going to black out. She even welcomed the darkness she would slip into.
A furious flurry of movement startled her. Her one good eye fixed on the small terrier bent on coming to her aid. She saw Daniel's foot rise a second time, saw Lucie on the end of his shoe, and then Lucie was sailing through the air to land next to her head in the nest of evergreens. “You bastard! You miserable, stinking bastard,” Helen shrieked. With every ounce of will left in her body, she rolled away from the tree to land next to the hearth, where she grappled for the fire tongs that had fallen over. Above her own screeching voice she could hear Lucie whimpering. “I'm coming, Lucie, I'm coming, baby.”
The poker in her hand, she was on her knees, pain driving through her body as she struggled to get upright. The moment she saw Daniel start to raise his foot a third time she swung the poker with all her might. The instant Daniel doubled over, she swung a second time, down across his back. “How does it feel, you son of a bitch? How does this feel, Daniel?” Helen screamed as she jabbed the poker into the small of her husband's back. When she saw blood start to soak his jacket she lifted her leg and brought her foot down on her husband's head and ground the heel of her sneaker back and forth. “Wait a minute. You need to feel this, too.” She raised her foot again and sent it crashing into his side, not once, not twice, but three times. “Now go to your damn party. You have yourself a fucking good time. You hear me, Daniel!” Helen raged. The pain in her body was so intense she reached out to hold on to the mantel.
A second later she had Lucie in her arms. She crooned to the little dog as she staggered out into the dark night. “I'm taking you to a vet, Lucie. I'll get you help. We're never going back there. I'll clean toilets in a dirty gas station before I go back there. You're going to be okay, baby. Just hang on. Please hang on, Lucie, you're all I have. It's going to be okay, Lucie. I promise. I promise, Lucie. I never make a promise I can't keep. Trust me, baby. I have to rest a minute. Just for a minute, Lucie. I have to get my bearings. I can't see very well. My eyes are swelling shut. It's going to be okay, Lucie. I promise. I promise, Lucie.”
She was a deer caught in the headlights when a motorist screeched to a stop. Blinded by the light, Helen dropped to her knees. Her hold on the little dog was fierce.
“Lady, are you okay? What's wrong?” the driver shouted. “I didn't see you!”
It was a kind voice; a caring voice. “Help me. Please. Take me to the nearest vet. My dog needs attention. Can you do that?”
“Can you get in the car?” the caring voice asked.
“Yes. Please hurry. My dog needs a vet.”
The good Samaritan's voice turned anxious. “There's a vet a few blocks away. I think his name is Davis. His office is in the back of his house. Is that okay?”
“I don't care if he works in a tent. It's fine. I appreciate this. I don't have any money to . . . pay you.”
“I don't want any money. I don't even want to know what happened . . . I don't mean that the way it sounds. What I meant was, I don't want to get involved.”
“All I want is to get to a vet. You can drop me off, and you'll never see me again. Aren't we there yet?”
“We are now. I'll pull right into the driveway and ring the bell for you. I have to leave then. Let me help you. Jesus, lady, are you sure you're okay? You look worse than your dog. Take my arm. Do you want me to carry the dog?”
“I thought you didn't want to get involved. The answer is no. I'll hold my own dog. Thanks for the ride. Someday I hope I can return the favor.”
“The light's on. A door's opening. Careful now. You need to see a doctor, lady.”
“I will when I'm sure my dog is okay. Thanks again.”
Tears rolled down Helen's cheeks as she walked into the sterile, antiseptic-smelling office. “Help my dog. Please. She's all I have. I know what I look like. Don't worry about me. I've been worse. You have to talk to her. She's scared. I just ran with her. Maybe I shouldn't have moved her. I didn't know what else to do. You can help her, can't you? I promised her she would be okay. I promised to take care of her forever and ever. I never break a promise. She's all I have. I'm all she has. Please, please, I beg you, help her.”
“Young woman, sit! Do not move. That's an order! I will take care of this dog. It's what I do for a living. I'll patch you up when I'm finished with your pet. What's her name?” His voice while stern was not unkind.
“Lucie. She's all I have. I need you to understand that. She . . . she likes it when you sing, ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star . . .'” Helen's voice trailed off.
“I think I can handle that. Don't move, young woman. There's some brandy in a bottle over the sink. Take a couple of belts. You need it.”
Helen took a minute to stare into a set of kind eyes. The perfect vet. White hair, pink cheeks, wire-rim glasses, warm smile, and wonderful hands. Hands that would make Lucie well. She nodded as she swigged from the brandy bottle.
And then she waited.
Time lost all meaning as Helen stared at the sterile-looking wall with its pictures of heartworms, fleas, and other parasites. She prayed for Lucie, cursed her husband, and then asked for forgiveness for her wicked thoughts.
Was Daniel dead? She hoped he was. Mean, ugly people like Daniel didn't die. They just lived on to torment other people. If Daniel died, she would be a murderer. She'd go to jail. Who would take care of Lucie? Would Dr. Gerald Davis take her in and love her the way she loved her? Maybe she should call the house to see if Daniel was alive or dead. If police answered the phone, then she'd know he was dead.
What was going to happen to her? If Daniel was still alive, would he file a police report? Would the authorities start looking for her? She didn't have a nickel to her name. Maybe she could go to a woman's shelter. Maybe this kindly vet would take her there. Then again, maybe he was like the good Samaritan who didn't want to get involved. What time was it? Somehow she'd lost her watch.

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