Wish I May (10 page)

If I’d forgotten who and where we are, if I’d forgotten that she’s no longer the girl I once loved, the look in her eyes brings me back. The girl I knew would have had nothing but love and desire in her eyes. But I see pain there now, pain and weariness edging away her desire.

“What happened to you?” I whisper.

“What do you mean?”

Swallowing, I trace the edge of her jaw. “You’ve changed. There’s something…darker about you now.”

Sadness washes over her face. “I regret so much. I should have been with you and I shouldn’t have….” She shakes her head and looks up at me through her thick lashes. “You should hate me.”

Impossible.
“I’ve tried.” I force a laugh, but it’s hollow. “I don’t know how.”

Her lips tilt into a ghost of a smile. “You’re too damn good, William Bailey, and I don’t deserve as much of you as you’ve given.” She grabs my hand and kisses the rough skin of my knuckles. “Thank you for tonight. It was amazing.”

I kiss the corner of her mouth and squeeze her fingers in mine.

“I should go in,” she says. “I’ll never forget this. Goodb—”

I press a finger to her lips before she can say our once-forbidden word. Because I can’t bring myself to hear it. “Don’t ruin tonight with that word.”

She closes her eyes.

“Sleep well,” I whisper.

She slips away, heading toward her room and leaving me feeling empty. “Sleep well,” she calls over her shoulder.

I watch her disappear into her room, and then I look up at the moon and stars we once wished on together. They make me feel lonelier than ever. Because she may no longer be the girl I once loved, but she’s the woman I want.

When Gabby was six and Drew was eleven, I pawned a pair of three-carat diamond earrings and took the girls to Disney Land. We didn’t stay at the fancy resorts and we couldn’t buy all the cool souvenirs, but the girls didn’t care. We packed up the car and drove to a cheap motel, setting an alarm so we would be at the park gates right at opening. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to do with the money. There were a thousand other ways we could have spent it. There was definitely a voice at the back of my mind that said this was why rich people think poor people make their own problems. But the look in Gabby’s eyes when she saw Minnie Mouse for the first time made it worth it. Even Drew teared up as Goofy wrapped his arms around her and spun her around.

At Gabby’s parent-teacher conference two months later (where I was standing in for Mom, who was “sick”), the teacher confronted me about it. Was that really the wisest use of our limited funds? Didn’t I understand that we were two months behind on our share of classroom supplies? Think how many pairs of shoes I could have bought the girls with the money we spent on our park passes.

I stared at my lap and took every judgmental word from her lips. But it didn’t matter what she said because, for one day, I got to show my little sisters that there really are magical things in this world. I got to prove to myself that the entire world wasn’t as shitty as it had felt for the three years under Brandon’s rule. That was worth a thousand years of school supplies and a hundred pairs of new shoes. Maybe I’m a little bit like my father in that way—willing to sacrifice practicality for a little magic.

As we pull up to Dad’s house, I wonder if any of that has stuck with them or if they’ve lost faith in their world. I throw the car into park and turn to Drew, whose eyes have gone wide and horrified in the passenger seat.

Thunder rolls in the distance and heavy storm clouds hang over the house, making it look even more depressing than it did in yesterday’s sunshine.

“It looks worse than it is,” I say softly. “A little TLC, and it’ll be just fine.”

She climbs out of the car and slams the door behind her. The sound echoes through the car.

I turn to Gabby in the back. “It’ll be an adventure.”

Her bottom lip trembles and she’s twisting her hands in her lap. She was three when we left and the couple of times she saw Dad over the years weren’t enough to create those bonds a child deserves to have with a father, especially if he’s going to be her primary care provider. Of course, she hasn’t said a word about any of this, but she doesn’t have to. It’s all written on her face.

I climb out of the car and open her door, offering her my hand.

We twine our fingers together and follow Drew to the door—Drew, who’s decided to take the disinterested tack and is already glued to the screen of her phone.

Dad pulls the door open before we even climb on the porch. “Welcome home. I was wondering when you’d get here. You girls hungry? I made some chili?” He’s speaking too fast—a rare occurrence for my father—and his words trip over each other.

Drew glances up from her phone but doesn’t answer. Gabby squeezes my hand.

“Chili would be great,” I answer, leading the way in the house.

I’m relieved to see that he’s straightened up the place a bit. The kitchen counters and little table are clear of papers and books, and he’s set out red disposable bowls at each of the four seats, a metal spoon and glass of water next to each.

Gabby and I sit down, and Drew joins us, her jaw tight.

“Phone,” I remind her, and Drew slides it into her pocket with a roll of her eyes.

We sit quietly as Dad serves us the thin, red soup he’s calling chili. We stare at our bowls.

“Did you make this?” I pick up my spoon, preparing to set a good example for my sisters.

“Yes. I hope it’s okay. I’m not used to cooking for anyone but myself.”

“What’s in it?” Drew asks, poking at it with her spoon.

“It’s…vegetarian.” Dad clears his throat. “Tomatoes, beans, onions, green peppers, okra.”

Drew drops her utensil. “I’ll pass.”

“
Vegetarian
,” I growl.

“
Okra,
” she growls right back. She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back in her chair.

“Thanks for thinking to make us lunch, Dad,” I say, attempting to salvage these awkward beginnings. “That was thoughtful.” I make myself take a big bite, keeping my face neutral as I chew and swallow.

Next to me, Gabby slowly lifts her spoon to her mouth. She blanches slightly when the soup hits her tongue—the still-crunchy vegetables and slimy beans make for an odd combination of textures—but she’s a trooper and smiles at Dad before slowly taking another bite.

“So, what grade are you girls in now?” Dad asks between bites of his own soup. I’ve never seen him so nervous. For the first time I’m realizing that the girls aren’t the only ones suffering a major life upheaval. “Drew, you must be in, what, seventh grade by now?”

Drew shoots me a look, as if our father’s cluelessness is entirely my fault.

“She’s in high school, Dad. Drew will be a sophomore. And Gabby will start fifth grade in the fall.”

Dad looks taken aback by this information. “You’ve grown up so much,” he says, almost to himself. Then he turns his gaze to his soup and we finish our meal in silence.

I make a mental note to get money from Dad to go grocery shopping for some basic foodstuffs. Drew will likely starve before eating okra. She may be a vegetarian, but she shouldn’t be mistaken for someone who actually eats vegetables.

After our meal, I show the girls to the room they’ll be sharing, and for Drew’s sake, I try to see it through her eyes. Old pea-green shag carpet, mattresses on the floor that I’ve already made with their sheets and blankets from home, rickety little end table between the beds.

“This is worse than the brothel of a motel you had us staying at,” she says under her breath.

“It’ll be better when we move all your stuff in.”

She snorts. “Sure. The lipstick on the pig didn’t do it, so let’s try some mascara.”

“Drew, I need you to
try.
” I feel Gabby at my side, grabbing my hand. “This situation will only be as good as you let it be.”

“Good?” Her voice shakes and she throws her phone on her bed. “What in the
fuck
is good about any of this? I lost my mom and I have to live with this guy who never cared enough to visit more than a handful of times or, I don’t know,
call
on my birthday. I had to leave my friends and my home. I hate this house. I hate this town,
and I fucking hate you
.”

I stagger back as she twists the dull blade in my heart. “What do you want me to do?” Tears roll down my cheeks because I’m not heartless and I hate what I’m asking of them. “I’m serious. Please tell me, because I don’t know what to do.”

Beside me, Gabby squeezes my hand. Then she speaks. It’s the first word I’ve heard from her lips since I found her squatting on the floor next to Mom’s dead body.

“Stay.”