I Wish (9 page)

I repaired all leaks and added insulation to the pipes. The utility bills should yield an improvement.

There was an infestation of insects under the house. Since I didn’t care to share the crawl space with them, I persuaded them to find other accommodations.

Henry helped me. He confessed to a phobia about confined spaces. I am proud to report he triumphed over his fears and joined me for part of the time, primarily in a supervisory capacity.

I walked with him to his soccer practice. On the way, he discussed his father. As I was unsure if he expected me to respond, I chose to remain silent. It was a relief when he didn’t press me for comments.

Mrs. Jones didn’t sleep well last night. I could detect the scent of exhaustion on her skin. I offered to cook supper, and she accepted. The lack of variety in their pantry limited me to pasta with tomato sauce.

Afterwards, she and I sat on the deck, watching Henry kick a ball around. He was delighted to show off for an audience. She shared stories from his childhood, but none from Chief’s. It was a pleasant yet puzzling hour.

The needs of this family are great. I struggle to remain detached from them.

Humbly submitted,
Grant

C
hirping birds awakened me on Saturday morning. Strange. Shouldn’t the alarm have gone off already?

I opened an eye, checked the clock, and rocketed into a sitting position. Quarter past nine.

The game had started at nine. Henry’s
first
game.

I jammed my legs into a pair of shorts, yanked my hair into a limp brown ponytail, and ran down the stairs. The house was quiet. I ran into the kitchen and skidded to a stop. Mom huddled in her sour bathrobe, sipping coffee and staring glassy-eyed out the kitchen window.

“Where’s Henry?”

“Soccer.”

“How’d he get there?”

“On his bike.”

Yesterday had been Repairing Bikes Day, which meant Henry’s was in good shape, but the soccer field was a mile away across major roads. “Mom. You can’t let Henry go that far by himself. It’s insane.”

Her head turned slightly, her gaze brushing mine. “He didn’t go by himself.”

“Who went with him?”

“Grant.” She stood, tightened the belt on her robe, and pushed past me. “I’m not
that
far gone, Lacey,” she bit out.

Grant took my brother?

Henry was our responsibility. I didn’t want Mom to pass him off on others. It was wrong, especially when the other person was
Mr. I’ll Be Gone In A Month
.

Why hadn’t anyone gotten me up?

I threw on a pair of sneakers and jogged to the soccer field. My BSB leaned against a tree, partially obscured by the shadows, separated from the crowd.

I approached him in his spot in the shade. “Hey,” I said.

“Hello.” He didn’t look my way.

“You can go now.”

“No, thank you.”

It took a real gift to make a polite phrase sound so incredibly insulting. “I insist.”

He turned toward me and stared down his nose. “Is it worth a wish to you?”

No, it was not worth a wish. I gritted my teeth and focused on the game.

The field was bathed in hot, bright sunshine, but the players didn’t seem to care. They charged back and forth, kicking the ball, running into each other, and moving on. Since I didn’t know anything about soccer, I couldn’t tell how much longer they had to go.

When the referee blew his whistle, the adult spectators screamed and the two teams raced to their respective sides of the field to cluster around their coaches.

Excellent. I could get some answers without missing Henry’s game. “Why didn’t Henry wake me up?”

Grant pushed away from the tree and stood in his subservient position, hands behind his back. “He found me instead.”

“I told him I would bring him.”

“He knows you don’t get to sleep in often.”

That disturbed me. I didn’t want my brother worrying about my sleep. “It’s not okay for him to bother you on your off-hours.”

“I don’t mind.”

“This is Henry’s first game. I wanted to see it.”

His gaze strayed to the field. “You don’t like soccer.”

“I like Henry.”

A whistle squealed. I looked at the field to see that the game had resumed. My brother got the ball, kicked it away, and ran like the wind in the opposite direction. “Did he do the right thing?”

“You can’t tell what’s happening?”

“No.”

There were screams from the stands. Grant applauded. “Good play.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s one of the finest players on the team.”

“Cool.” I wanted to believe it.

Henry kicked the ball hard, paused, and leapt in the air. His team surrounded him, laughing and punching.

“Your brother scored a goal,” Grant said, his words nearly drowned out by the screaming of the crowd.

Being on the winning side turned out to be a lot of fun, and it was easy to know when to scream with
Mr. Perfect Sports Fan
standing next to me.

I was about ready to escalate from screaming to obnoxious dancing when it occurred to me how relatively isolated we were. “Grant?”

His gaze never left the field as his face tightened with impatience, but at least he spoke politely. “Yes, Chief?”

“Why are we standing over here instead of sitting on the bleachers?”

“I can’t answer for you, but I am here to avoid sensory overload. The noise and odor over there are more than I wish to bear.”

I stayed in the shade with him, too lazy to bother moving.

Before much more time had elapsed, there were both moans of defeat and shrieks of joy from the stands. Henry and his teammates ran to the sidelines, screaming and slapping each other and generally looking victorious.

“I guess this is the end of the game,” I said.

“It is.”

“And we won?” Just wanted to be sure I was interpreting correctly.

“We did.”

Grant and I crossed to the side of the field where a crowd milled around the kids on our team. Henry’s gaze darted among the people, his head swiveling in tiny jerks. When he spotted us, he rushed over. “Lacey, did you see me play?”

“I did. You were brilliant.” I opened my arms to give him a hug, but Henry backed up before looking around to see if his teammates were watching, which some of them were.

No hug. Ouch. My arms dropped.

“What do you think?” he directed at Grant.

“You played a fine game. Exceptional technique.” They fist-bumped.

Eli hobbled over, giving Grant a curious glance before nodding at me. “The team’s going to McDonald’s to celebrate our first game. Want to come?”

Crap. I hadn’t brought a purse. “No thanks.”

Henry peered at me with anxious eyes. “Can I go? Please?”

“I don’t know.” I hated to embarrass my brother, but I didn’t have enough money to cover a fast food meal. I dug into my pockets anyway and prayed.

Not good. Only coins.

Eli touched my arm. “Coach Makanui and I are treating.”

Relief. “Go ahead, then. When should I pick him up?”

“I’ll drop him off.” Eli crooked his finger at my brother, and they rejoined the team.

Grant and I, along with the rest of the crowd, trickled toward the parking lot, dodging a new set of spectators and players arriving for the next game. When Grant paused to retrieve Henry’s bike, I stopped to watch Henry and his teammates swarming about a gorgeous black Mustang and a trio of minivans.

“The young coach is interested in you.”

“No, he isn’t.” I could hardly concentrate on what Grant was saying, not while my brother was climbing into that beautifully restored Mustang with Eli.

“Indeed, he is. He prickles with awareness around you.”

That got my attention, especially because it was completely wrong. “Why do you think that?”

“He made an overture, and you, as the expression goes, ‘blew him off.’”

We fell silent. Traffic was heavy around the park. While we waited to cross at a major intersection, my brain buzzed with jumbled thoughts. What overtures? Eli had smiled and praised my brother. And he was just being nice about McDonald’s. Junk food with a dozen wiggling third-grade boys was not an overture. “I can’t afford to eat out.”

“His treat.”

“I wouldn’t have let him pay.”

Grant made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “Perhaps I am behind on the dating rituals of the twentyfirst-century North American teen, but I thought that was how dates worked. If the guy asks, the guy pays.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Whatever you say.”

Traffic had cleared by now. I took off across the street, uncaring if Grant kept up or not.

When Eli had arrived our freshman year, I’d watched him with hopeful curiosity, like most girls in our class. He was gorgeous, new, and adorably shy. But in this town, a college professor’s kid was automatically popular. And when Eli turned out to be a soccer star, he’d had too many popular girls hanging on him to look outside his circle.

“Guys like Eli don’t notice girls like me,” I said, “at least not in that way.”

“Perhaps you misjudge him.”

I halted in the middle of the sidewalk. “You’re not human. You can’t know how Eli feels.”

“A male mind is a male mind. Natural or supernatural.”

“Really? It’s hard to remember that you’re a guy sometimes.”

He flinched, his eyes burning into mine. “How do I seem to you?”

“Like a very efficient machine.” The intensity of his gaze made me uncomfortable. I walked away, from him
and
from this conversation.

Where were Mom and Henry?

I should never have given in about the two of them going to the mall on a Saturday night. The only explanation for why I caved was my own distraction.

Things had been going well for the last week. I hadn’t felt as…fractured. Henry was happy about the game. Mom had lucid moments, and Grant had been solidly confident, watching from the background, making anything seem possible.

Now it was after eight, and they still hadn’t come home.

I couldn’t call. Mom didn’t have a phone.

I couldn’t go after her. She had the only car.

And
Mr. I Have Rules
couldn’t fly me there on his magic carpet or whatever BSBs used these days for transportation. So I was stuck.

I stood in the bay window and monitored the street. It remained stubbornly empty. Where were they?

She’d promised they would only be gone an hour. Just a little window-shopping in the air conditioning. A free way to celebrate Henry’s win.

But they’d been gone too long. I couldn’t fall for her promises again. Breaking them was so predictable. It was my fault for wanting to believe her. From now on, I would have to hide the keys.

I went back to the kitchen, got a glass of water, and carefully avoided looking at the clock. Probably only a couple of minutes had passed since I last checked.

The grind of brakes alerted me to their return. I’d already sucked in several calming breaths by the time my mother walked through the back door, a shopping bag over one arm.

Wait a minute. She
bought
something? It almost made me speechless. “Mom,” I said with deceptive calmness, “what did you buy?”

“Towels. They were on sale.” She pouted like a naughty child, just like she used to try with Josh. It hadn’t worked on him either. “The ones we have are falling apart.”

My hands curled into fists. I jammed them into my pockets because, otherwise, I couldn’t be sure what they might do. “How did you pay?”

Her chin jutted out. “I’m not saying.”

“We don’t have any cash, and I destroyed all of your credit cards.” There was a flicker in her eyes. Why was she so smug? Unless… “Did you hide a credit card from me?”

She shrugged.

How had I missed those bills? How much had she run up on this secret account? The thought made me sick. “Hand it over, Mom.”

Her lips formed a tiny pucker of victory. “Make me.”

Really? She was daring me? “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” I snatched her purse and ran out the back door.

“Let me have that,” she screamed.

I was in the garage studio before she even made it out of the house. With a snap of my wrist, I dumped the contents of her purse onto the worktable.

There it was. A small rectangle of red plastic. The desk held no scissors, but there was a pair of hedge trimmers hanging from a hook on the wall. I had just chopped the credit card in half when she burst through the door.

“Stop it, bitch.”

My hands froze. I gaped at her, hoping that I’d heard wrong but knowing that I hadn’t.

Over the past year, I’d grown used to thinking of my mom as the ghost living at my house, an adult-sized toddler standing in the way of getting stuff done. With a single word, she ripped that mirage away. I was a normal teen again—whose mom had just called her a bitch.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Her face crumpled like a contrite child’s.

I could hardly gauge my emotions. How could I be numb and sad at the same time? “I hope Henry didn’t overhear.” It would crush him if he knew.

“Henry?” Mom’s mouth rounded in a wide O. She glanced over her shoulder into the yard. “Henry?”