I Wish (18 page)

The censure in Grant’s voice put me on the defensive. “I’m juggling school, debts, a job, and a little boy. I don’t have time for sympathy.”

“She lost her husband.”

I slapped the folder on the coffee table. “I lost Josh too.”

“Surely you realize your loss is not comparable to hers.”

“I do realize that. I also realize that Henry lost his dad and both of us lost our mom on the day Josh died.”

“You exaggerate.”

“I guess you’re the expert after two weeks.” Why did he think he had the right to judge me? I had three parents gone. One I could barely remember. One loved me and left me with a mess. One had checked out. Maybe
I
could use a little sympathy.

I picked up my scrapbook again.

“Chief?”

“Uh-huh?” I didn’t look up.

“You are right. I spoke out of turn.”

I met his gaze. Was that his version of an apology? “Okay.”

He returned to the foyer. I became immersed in the scrapbook.

“Today’s task is complete.”

Grant’s voice startled me. I’d almost forgotten he was here. I peered into the closet. It looked way better. But—wow. Three big black garbage bags. “You haven’t taken out the trash.”

“Nor will I.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

He dropped to the floor, cross-legged, in a pose of complete relaxation as if he were about to enjoy yoga. “You wished for a clean closet. You did not wish for hauling away trash.” He closed his eyes, a smile hovering on his lips.

I should’ve seen that coming. Should’ve known he’d find a way to get revenge. “Jerk.”

His expression stayed neutral, except for his lips. They gave him away, struggling not to laugh.

Okay. I had it coming. Laughing with him, I grabbed the garbage bags and carried them outside.

Next time we did a joint project, I would choose my words more carefully.

Status Report #15
Friday’s Wish: Closet Cleaning

Dear Boss,

Crystal performed volunteer work today. She received food as compensation. It pleased her to contribute. She talked of her husband as we worked. She chuckled as she shared stories of their courtship.

The folder from the closet is more valuable than Chief realizes. If she neglects to add it to the wish list, I shall remind her.

I do not care to partner on a project with Chief. May I refuse next time?

Humbly submitted,
Grant

I
stopped in the kitchen before leaving for the soccer field Saturday. My mom was there ahead of me, dressed in clean clothes that matched. With the cute new haircut, she looked almost normal.

Was my BSB granting her wishes too?

No, that wasn’t possible. No way had the League agreed to give double wishes per family. Maybe my mother really was feeling better. “Why are you dressed so early, Mom?” I asked as I filled a travel mug with coffee.

She set down her mug very carefully, like drunks do when they don’t want anyone to know that they’ve been drinking. “I’m going to Henry’s game.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

“Yes, I am.” She traced the rim of her mug with her index finger. “Why don’t you stay home? I can handle Henry.”

Crap. I’d been hoping she wouldn’t notice how we never left her alone with Henry, but apparently she had. She was forcing me to say that I didn’t trust her. As much as she might want a second chance, she hadn’t earned it yet. “You know that Grant or I have to attend.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Please. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Mom, no.”

She crossed her arms and glared at me. I glared back, unblinking.

The fight drained out of her slowly. “You’re right,” she said at last, her voice rough. “He shouldn’t be alone with me.” She ran shaking fingers through her hair. “Maybe Henry wouldn’t want me to come.”

“No,” I hurried to reassure her, “Henry would be happy to have you there.”

“What would make me happy?” he asked as he burst into the kitchen, all dressed to play.

“Mom wants to come with us.”

“All right,” he shouted and wrapped his arms around her waist in a tight hug. After a moment’s hesitation, she stroked his hair.

My brother vibrated with joy all the way to the park, dancing along beside my mom. I hung back, letting them talk, although it was more like letting him talk and her listen.

Mom sat in the bleachers with the other parents. I lowered myself to the ground, reclined against the tree trunk, watched as if I knew what was going on, and enjoyed a morning where I didn’t have any responsibilities.

Henry’s team won again, which made them undefeated so far this season.

After the game, I went looking for Coach Makanui. Eli had said that he would work something out for today, but my family still needed to do our part sometime. I would sign Henry up for a snack day later in the season.

Once I’d calmed down about the whole concept, I’d come up with a plan for how to handle our turn. I could work extra hours at The Reading Corner, watch the grocery store for sales, and use one of my wishes to have Grant bake. Knowing him, we’d have the best cookies ever. If I was careful and took my time, I might be able to throw together a pretty good snack day.

As I waited in the crowd surrounding Coach, I spotted my mother and brother near the picnic table with the rest of the soccer team and some of their families. I also got my first good look at a snack-day feast.

There were piles of food—enough for the team and any brothers and sisters who had tagged along. Juice boxes. Potato chips. Bananas and grapes. Mini-cupcakes. Chicken nuggets. No one would need lunch after this.

One of the boys started to leave with his family, then turned around and ran to my mother. “Thanks, Mrs. Jones,” he shouted.

She nodded, a bewildered smile on her face.

Soon the whole team swarmed her, yelling thanks. Henry watched, eyes big, a little apart from the others. When he noticed me, he ran to my side.

“How did you do it, Lacey? I mean…” He glanced at the picnic table and then back at me. “I thought we would bring something embarrassing for our snack day. I didn’t think we could afford something this good.”

Before I could respond, he raced away.

Our
snack day? I went still. Everyone thought that my family supplied the food today?

My eyes sought Eli and found him on the fringe of the crowd. A couple of fathers talked to him while he nodded politely. After the two men left, he looked around until his gaze locked with mine.

We stared across a gap of twenty feet or so, my face tight with outrage, his eyebrow raised in question.

I stalked over. “You bought the snacks.”

His smile disappeared. “I did.”

“Without warning me?”

“I told you I would figure it out.”

“Why does everyone think we bought them?” I had to jam my fists into my pockets to hide their shaking.

“I didn’t bother to change the signup sheet.”

“Why not?”

He gave me an arrogant frown. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me.” My family could have done this if he’d just given us a little more time. We weren’t above the rules. We were willing to do our fair share. Eli had taken that away from me.

I leaned close enough to inhale the woodsy scent of his cologne. “We have to tell everyone that you brought the snacks.”

“I have a better idea. Tell Henry, and let him straighten it out.”

I whipped around, ready to march over and fix the lie, until I saw my brother. He stood beside the picnic table, chomping on chicken, the happy host. Mom waited nearby, talking with another mother and smiling. It had been a year since she looked that normal around other people.

I couldn’t ruin it for him—for either of them.

What Eli had done today was incredibly generous. So why did it leave me feeling inadequate?

Eli stepped into my path, blocking me from their view. “Let it go, Lacey. This isn’t about you. It’s about Henry—a kid I happen to like.”

“I like him too, which is why I don’t want him wondering how I made the world’s best snack day appear out of nowhere.”

“He’s not wondering where it came from. He’s just glad it did.” And with that, Eli took off.

I watched him as he joined the crowd, laughing with the kids, shaking hands respectfully with the parents. Even my mom approached him with a hesitant smile. Eli was a fantastic guy who had done a wonderful thing that nobody would ever know about except me. And it left me feeling more wrong than I could stand.

Until Josh died, I’d been good at all of the things that mattered to me. Good student. Good daughter. Good friend. Now it felt as if I never got the important things right. I was tired of being wrong, but had no idea how it could be fixed.

I drew back into the shadows of a nearby tree, aching and alone.

When the celebration broke up, my family went in three different directions. Henry rode with Eli to a teammate’s house for a victory swimming party. Mom went home, while I walked to work for a four-hour shift. Saturday mornings at the bookstore were generally quiet, and I was ready for some easy money.

Wrong. Mrs. Lubis asked me to staff The Java Corner instead.

“Lacey, dear, I need some peace and quiet to settle my nerves.”

Great. Saturday mornings were the busiest time in the coffee shop. I had to run the cash register, back up the barista, bus the tables, and break up the toddler fights being ignored by their parents.

I fumed all the way home. My first sight of the foyer put the fuming on hold. The hardwoods were awesome. They looked practically refinished. It was Floor Polishing Day, and Grant had succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.

It was time to re-broach the topic of selling the house with my mother.

I leaned against the front door and tried to imagine the impression a prospective buyer would have. Gleaming floors. Sparkling chandelier and windows. Light, airy rooms with high ceilings and no cobwebs. Polished, antique mantle around a brick fireplace. It looked like a lovingly cared-for home in wonderful, move-in condition.

Wait
.

I expected gleaming hardwoods. But sparkling windows and polished mantle?

Something was off about this picture. As far as the eye could see, there was house-cleaning perfection.

I wandered into the kitchen. It too was squeaky clean. A lace cloth covered the table and, in its center, sunflowers clustered in a ceramic vase.

Weird.

Voices murmured in the back of the house. I followed the sound to my mother’s bedroom and halted in shock.

My mother stood on a stepladder, hanging freshly laundered curtains over the window. Grant waited below her, his hands outstretched to catch her if she fell.

Surprise prickled along my skin. “What’s going on?”

“Oh,” my mom said, clutching at the ladder. “Hi, baby. You scared me.”

She’d dressed this morning, gone to a game, and washed curtains when she got home. Where had all of that energy come from?

Mom hadn’t stopped talking. “Isn’t my bedroom looking great? Grant’s been a big help.”

Why was she responding to him? For months, Henry and I had needed her. For months, I’d tried to break through. But no. She’d worn her pain like a shield, deflecting everyone. Yet Grant had arrived, and a few days later, she acted almost giddy.

Why does it hurt me to see her so happy
? I didn’t know, and that scared me.

“Wasn’t it sweet of him to pitch in?” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “He is so good at this stuff.”

He smiled.

How had they become such easy friends, when I had to fight for his smiles outside the wishes? “It’s not like he’s doing us a favor, Mom. He’s supposed to do his job well.”

He looked over his shoulder at me, his smile fading. “Such a lovely way you have with words.”

My mother’s brow puckered in confusion. “What just happened?”

“Everything is fine, Crystal.” He took her hand and helped her from the ladder.

There was another thing that upset me. He called her Crystal, yet he refused to call me by my name. Why was that true?

His chin lifted, as if he could read my thoughts. “I believe my work is done for the day.” He skirted the bed and approached the door, which I blocked. “Excuse me.”

I pressed myself against the doorframe. As he stepped past, he rasped, for my ears only, “Don’t ever speak about me that way again.”

Staring straight ahead, wondering how this day had gone so wrong, I listened to his tread fading away on the newly polished hardwoods. A moment later, the front door creaked.

“Lacey, I don’t understand. What’s going on?” My mom drew near me. She smelled like bleach.

“Why him?” The question came out as a whisper.

“Grant? What about him?”

I wanted to be part of her solution. I wanted her children to be the reason for the miracle. My throat ached under the strain. “Why does it have to be a stranger who helps you get better?”

“Grant isn’t a stranger.” Her voice sounded weary. “He doesn’t remind me of Josh.”

It was the first time I’d heard her use my stepfather’s name in months. “What does Grant do that I haven’t done?”