I Wish (14 page)

The drive to my house was completed in silence. I didn’t even have to give directions. He’d given Henry rides home and knew the way.

When he pulled up to the curb, he cut the engine and turned toward me. “Lacey?”

There was an odd note in his voice. It made me nervous. “Yeah?”

“I want you to know that…” he hesitated, his gaze going past me. A smile curved his lips. “We have an audience.”

I looked toward the house. My brother waited in the bay window. A shadow shifted in the background. Was that Grant or my mom? “Yeah. He’s probably wanting some help with his homework.”

“He talks about you all the time.”

I whipped around to face Eli. “Really? Good or bad?”

“Great.” His smile widened. “He thinks you’re the best big sister ever.”

I settled into the smooth leather of the passenger seat and allowed myself to take that in. Today had been hard. I’d disappointed Ms. Dewan and revealed secrets I’d hated sharing, but the evening had ended so much better. A cappuccino. A ride in a vintage Mustang with a good guy. And a brother who said nice things about me behind my back. I could get used to this.

“Thanks for letting me know that,” I said as I slipped out the door.

His car door squawked open. “Lacey, wait.”

I stopped on the driveway and turned to face him.

“Don’t walk home in the dark again,” he said. “Call me if you need a ride.”

Wow. He just kept getting nicer. I wasn’t likely to take him up on the offer, but I absolutely loved that he’d made it. “I’ll let you know if I do,” I said and then hurried for the house.

As I closed the front door behind me, Henry charged me from the living room, talking about soccer practice and Eli and homework. I nodded and smiled, only half-hearing what he said, my ears focused on the rumble of a Mustang fading down the street.

After three years of being friendly classmates, maybe Eli and I were on our way to being just plain friends.

Status Report #11
Monday’s Wish: Painting

Dear Boss,

I painted the doors and shutters today. There were five partially filled cans of paint in the garage. Once I’d mixed them, the color was an unappealing gray. And, yes, I did use my powers to change the gray to blue. It was truly my wish.

Crystal cleaned the deck furniture. You were correct, of course. She enjoyed being outside and feeling productive. How else might I help her without violating the conditions of my assignment?

Eli accompanied Chief home from work, for which I am grateful. I had planned to do the same, but I had also promised to stay with Henry, who was quite happy to see his coach and sister together. Frankly, I find the improvement in their relationship both predictable and oddly unsettling.

Humbly submitted,
Grant

I
walked home from school Tuesday afternoon, mentally recalculating our budget as I tried to come up with some way to squeeze out a few more dollars. Maybe I could work another shift at the bookstore. Maybe Grant could create some junk that I could sell at the flea market. There had to be something we could do to cover a snack day without humiliating Henry and destroying our tiny emergency fund.

Lost in thought, it took me a moment to realize that a huge silver pickup truck hugged the curb in front of my house. I stopped and frowned as recognition dawned. It belonged to Mr. Taylor. This was strange. Even though he’d been my dad’s best friend, he’d always seemed uncomfortable around my mom. He hadn’t been by our house since last spring.

I hurried, taking the porch stairs in two bounds. As I skidded through the front door, I found him standing in the foyer, arms folded over his chest. Mom stood a few feet away in shorts and a stained T-shirt, her hands fluttering nervously.

“Hey, Mr. Taylor,” I said.

He scrutinized me from head to toe before saying in his deep, slow drawl, “Good to see you, Lacey. How’ve you been?”

“I’m fine.” I smiled at him tentatively. “It’s nice to see you too.”

Mom said, “Allyn is worried about you.”

I frowned at him. “What are you worried about?”

“Just wanted to make sure everything’s okay,” he said.

Wariness tickled at my throat. What brought him over here today? “Everything’s great. Why would you think there is anything wrong?”

“Lacey,” Grant said.

I glanced toward the opposite side of the living room. Grant was leaning against the mantle. He’d used my first name. Of course. We had an audience. “What?”

“It has been implied that my motivations for being here are inappropriate.”

“Mr. Taylor is here about you?”

“Indeed.”

Okay, that was unexpected. “He’s our handyman,” I said, facing my almost-godfather. I’d already explained this. “Grant is helping us around the house.”

“Which is generally what a handyman does,” Mr. Taylor said. “It just seems a little odd to me, so I thought I would check in. What are you paying him?”

I stared at Grant. How could we compare notes without making things worse?

My mother jumped into the conversation. “He’s working free of charge.” Her forehead scrunched in concentration. “Well, we do give him room and board.”

Shut up, Mom
. Too much information would lead to more questions.

“Oh?” Mr. Taylor grunted. “Where does he sleep?”

“In the garage.”

“There’s no bedroom out there.” He focused a hard stare on Grant.

“No, there isn’t.” Mom looked at Grant. “What do you sleep on?”

He gave her a light smile. “A hammock. I brought it with me.”

“Oh. Good idea.” She smiled back and then turned to our visitor. “Really, Allyn, you can chill about this. I have it under control.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Mr. Taylor straightened to his full height, his face tightening with skepticism. “Are you missing any valuables?”

“No, we’re not,” I said, ready to take control of this conversation so that I could end it as quickly as possible. “We don’t own anything worth stealing.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You don’t? Since when?”

Wow. Big mistake. “What I mean is…” I paused and looked up at him with my most nonchalant grin. “Our family heirlooms have more sentimental value than anything else.”

“But Lacey—” my mom started.

I silenced her with a fierce frown. “We’re
fine
, Mr. Taylor. Really.”

His face softened. “Darlin’, please. What’s going on here?”

My thoughts raced. What could I say to get him to leave? I had to come up with something fast—before my mother got Grant in more trouble.

Maybe I should just tell him a modified version of the truth.

I hurried to Grant’s side and linked my fingers with his. He hesitated briefly and then closed his hand around mine.

Wow, did that feel nice. We were only touching with our hands, but his felt so warm and secure. My palm was tingling like it had on Sunday, and this time, I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling.

“Grant is sweet to be here for me. Aren’t you?” My smile of admiration wasn’t fake.

“Indeed, I am,” he said, his voice sexy and deliciously British. “Whatever you wish.”

My shiver was real.

Mr. Taylor’s voice intruded. “Are you dating?”

Okay, I’d avoided lying up until now but couldn’t anymore. “Yes, we are,” I said, keeping my gaze locked on Grant. Not that I minded, because the way Grant was looking at me was seriously hot. Too bad it was an act.

“Where did you meet him, darlin’?”

“We met…” My brain went blank.

Grant glanced away from me with apparent reluctance. “We met at the flea market. Lacey and I were charmed by the same music box. She’s the one who brought it home.”

“Uh-huh. Crystal, did you know they were a couple?”

She stared at us in confusion. “No.”

“We hadn’t clarified the exact nature of our relationship with Mrs. Jones yet.” Grant kissed the back of my hand before releasing it. “Perhaps you would like to see some ID, sir.”

“I sure would.”

Grant crossed the room to pause beside the visitor. “If you would follow me.” The two men disappeared down the hallway. Seconds later, the screen door thwacked.

Even after he left, the imprint of Grant’s lips lingered on my hand. It unsettled me and made me want something more.

“Lacey?”

I looked up. “Yeah?”

My mom had slumped into the corner of the couch. “What was that all about?”

I flopped down next to her. “Mr. Taylor feels responsible for me.”

“I meant about Grant.” Her eyelids were drifting slowly down, as if she were trying to fight off sleep. “Is he really your boyfriend?”

“No, I was hoping it would make Mr. Taylor feel better so he would go away.”

“It made things worse.”

“I get that now.”

She laughed and wiggled deeper into the cushions. “That was exhausting. I need a nap.”

I got up and headed straight for the windows in the kitchen, straining to see what was happening out there. Grant and Mr. Taylor stood beside the garage talking. Well, Mr. Taylor was talking, and Grant was nodding calmly at intervals.

A few moments later, Mr. Taylor spun around and headed down the driveway without looking back. Grant crossed the lawn toward the house. The back door creaked briefly.

“What did he say?” I asked, meeting Grant’s gaze anxiously as he entered the kitchen.

“His attitude lightened somewhat. He jotted down my name. I suspect he’ll research me on the web.”

“Is your ID real?”

Grant gave me a patient look. “Naturally, it’s real. It must be able to satisfy law enforcement agencies. There is also a minor amount of information about me on the internet.”

“Nice.” Of course. I should’ve thought of that. I slipped onto a chair, my legs giving way now that the danger was past. “I wish Mr. Taylor hadn’t done this.” I shuddered at how close we’d come to having a mess.

“I don’t agree. Mr. Taylor’s concern was overdue, in my opinion. I hope you see more of him.”

I went upstairs to begin a homework marathon. It could’ve been minutes or hours later when I heard Henry bang into the house, stomp around, and bang out the back door. Probably looking for Grant.

Once Mr. Jarrett’s latest stupid APUSH assignment was done, I picked up my English textbook. Ballads tonight. Ugh.

“Lacey,” Henry shouted up the stairs. “Grant and I are going to the park.”

“Fine.” I registered what he said. Barely.

After I finished the ballads, I took a break, thumping down the stairs to the kitchen. As I sipped a glass of water, I relaxed and allowed myself to absorb the peace.

Actually, the house went beyond peaceful. There were no human sounds, only an empty quiet. It didn’t even have the dullness that often seemed to radiate from my mother.

I walked to her room and pushed the door ajar. Stale air flowed past me. It was hazy and dark, the curtains drawn tightly. Soiled sheets were bunched up on the bed. Clothes were piled on every surface.

My mom wasn’t here.

Disappointment made my skin prickle. She’d been a little better lately. She ate her meals, went to bed before midnight, showered every third day. And she’d even been busy today helping Grant clean the attic. What had gone wrong?

I wandered from room to room. Where could she be? Her favorite mug sat on the kitchen table, a white skin from old milk floating on top of the coffee.

A flash of movement in the backyard caught my eye. I looked out the window. My mom perched in the middle of the wrought-iron bench.
Their
wrought-iron bench. She stared blankly into space. Josh’s hairbrush lay cradled on her lap.

It hurt me to see her like that. What could I do—what could anyone do—to blow away the gloom that shrouded her?

I had to try.

When I approached her, she didn’t acknowledge my presence. “Mom,” I whispered, trying not to startle her. “How are you?”

She didn’t say anything, just shifted to the far end of the bench. Taking the movement as an invitation, I lowered myself beside her, close but not quite touching.

“Why are you out here, Mom?”

She held the brush up to her nose. “I can’t smell him anymore.” Black strands clung to the bristles.

Josh’s hair. I looked at my knees, at the grass, anywhere but at those bristles. “There’s a full bottle of his cologne in the medicine cabinet.”

“Not that smell.
Him
.” She fumbled with the brush, then let it fall back to her lap. “I don’t like living this way.”

The words were flat. Unemotional.

Frightening.

The guidance counselors at the high school taught us to treat sentences like that as something dangerous.
Get help
, they would say. But it didn’t seem real somehow, coming from my mom. Getting help would be an overreaction. She didn’t mean what it sounded like. She was just missing him.

My mom wouldn’t hurt herself. I was positive about that. Completely positive. “I miss Josh too.”

“We all do.” She took a shuddering breath, her gaze surveying the backyard. The trimmed hedges. The bursts of wildflowers. The garden overflowing with vegetables. But she seemed blind to the beauty and the order. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was the one. I can’t imagine a future without him.”