Wish I May (14 page)

She narrows her eyes and studies me as if she understands this. Most people wouldn’t. “And what about Will?”

Even in the hot August sun, I rub the chill from my arms. I don’t want to talk to Maggie about my relationship with William—despite the fact that she’s been here while I’ve been away. Or maybe because of it. I don’t want to talk to anyone who knows that I broke his heart. I’d rather pretend that didn’t happen.
Real mature.
“What about him?”

“You’re staying in town for awhile. Are you going to get back together with him?”

“I— It’s—”

“None of my business?” she asks with a raised brow.

I let out a breath. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

She looks out at the river, and I’m relieved to have those scrutinizing eyes off me. “You can’t pick up where you left off, Cally. William’s not the same person he was when you lived here before. He’s been through a lot.”

My life, on the other hand, has been a freaking walk in the park.
Right
. “I’m not trying to pick up where I left off. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“But you slept with him?” Her gaze is back on me now.

“What? No. Did he tell you that?”

Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head. “No, he didn’t, but I can tell something happened between you two to get him all hung up on you again.”

I push off the bench. Nothing’s fucking changed. People in this town still believe Will is a saint and I’m just a dirty poor girl who must have tricked him somehow to make him fall for me. I wonder if Will ever figured out that’s why I wouldn’t have sex with him. There were some who assumed I was easy, who thought sex was the only reason a good-looking young man like him would be with a girl like me.

Maybe, once, I might have felt the way they did. Although I respected him too much to think he was using me for sex, I didn’t understand why Will would want me when he could have any girl in our high school. I didn’t understand why he went against his grandmother’s wishes and dated me when there were dozens of prettier, smarter girls from better families. Girls his grandmother would have been happy to see him with. Girls his friends wouldn’t tease him for loving.

But I’m older now and I know my worth. Funny how low I had to sink to learn it.

“I appreciate your concern,” I finally say, choosing my words carefully. “But I think Will can take care of himself.”

“I’m just looking out for a friend.”

“And that’s all he is to you? A friend? You’re sure about that?”

She flinches then her face hardens. “Don’t pretend you know me or what I’m about.”

“Fine. But return the favor.” I turn on my heel and walk away, my anger growing with each step. Because I didn’t ask for this. If Will is “hung up” on me again, it’s certainly not because I encouraged it. And yet, I know I’m not angry with Maggie. I’m angry with myself.

Seven Years Ago

The restaurant is a little on the dark and dingy side, but it’s close to the apartment, and I wouldn’t have to take the bus or use Mom’s car to get here. I head straight to the bar to ask the hostess if I can see the manager.

The waitress looks me over and shakes her head but does as I ask.

There’s a silver-haired man sitting at the bar, looking me over as if assessing the value of a horse. I’m tempted to ask him if he’d like to check my teeth when a short, stocky woman comes out from the back.

“Hello—” I pause. Her name tag says
Manager
. No name, just
Manager.
“Hello, I’m Cally Fisher.” I stick out my hand, and the woman takes it with the enthusiasm of a person picking up a piece of chewed gum. “I was wondering if you had any positions available for servers. I have some experience, and I’m a hard worker.”

“How old are you?” she asks, hand propped on her hip.

“Twenty-one,” I lie. Because no one wants to hire a waitress who can’t serve alcohol.

She snorts. “Yeah, me too.”

“I really need a job. My family—” I cut myself off, not wanting to sound too desperate. “I could really use a break. I’ll do anything. You won’t be sorry.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “I need a hostess. Nights and weekends, minimum wage, no tips. Take it or leave it.”

Minimum wage. That won’t be enough, but it will have to be for now. Because even a little is better than nothing. “Okay.”

“Come back tomorrow and fill out your paperwork. You can start this weekend.” Then, as if dismissing me, she turns on her heel and walks away.

“Looks like it’s your lucky day,” the man says.

I force a smile. “Yeah. I guess so.” I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but minimum wage isn’t going to get me far. “Maybe I can work my way up to server, right?”

He shakes his head and pulls a business card out of his pocket. “I’m not talking about some crummy hostess job. I’m talking about the fact that I’m sitting right here.”

I unconsciously step back, away from him, away from his greedy and calculating gaze.

He shrugs and tosses his card on the bar. “You need money? I can help. A little loan. Work it off or pay me back. Whatever. No big deal.”

I eye the card, afraid to touch it. “Work it off doing what?”

“Don’t worry so much. This is what I do. Help people.”

I don’t need a flashing neon sign telling me this man is bad news. I already know it. I swallow hard and take another step away. “I appreciate your offer. But I’m okay.”

He smiles. Not creepy, not in a leering way, just a genuine smile. He throws some money on the counter and shakes his head. “Your funeral, sweetheart.”

What does that mean?
I watch him leave the restaurant and only after the glass door floats closed behind him do I pick up his card.
Just in case
, I tell myself, tucking it into my purse.

When I get home thirty minutes later, I expect to find Mom stoned or crashed on the couch. She’s been hitting the Vicodin pretty hard since things didn’t work out with Rick.

But she’s not sleeping. She pacing and antsy and in a
mood,
which is way worse.

“Did you know there’s a fucking waiting list to stay at the only decent women’s shelter in town?” Mom throws the phone across the room, and I hear a crack as it hits the wall. Her eyes are bloodshot and she’s chewing on her thumbnail again.

“I got a job,” I tell her, sitting on the edge of the bed. “At that restaurant down the block.”

She shakes her head, eyes watering. “It’s too late. They’re gonna throw us out if we don’t have two months’ rent by the end of the weekend. Landlord did me a favor letting us move in with nothing, but now he wants his money. We’re gonna be on the streets.”

I tell myself it’s the Vicodin talking. Or rather, the lack of Vicodin. She goes just twenty-four hours without, and the worst-case scenarios start. It’s never as bad as she thinks. Though it has been getting much worse, and I’m starting to get worried.

“Let’s go home, Mom. Why are we even staying here? We can move back to New Hope.”

She laughs but it’s not my mother’s laugh. It’s a frightening, nearly maniacal sound. “You think we’ll be better off there?”

“Yes! We’ll move back in with Dad.”

“Your father is off in India, finding his inner peace or some shit. We sold the house, remember? Aside from your boyfriend and a bunch of judgmental assholes, what’s waiting for us there?”

I squeeze my eyes shut. We should have never left. We should have never come here. Dad taught me that all you have to do is believe things can be better, and they will be—
the power of manifestation
, he called it. But I’ve been believing so hard since we moved here, wishing so hard, I’m wrung out. He said it was that simple, but he couldn’t even keep food on the table. He couldn’t even save his marriage. What else that he taught me was a lie?

I
’M GOING
to Asher Logan’s house. The thought makes me want to pinch myself and jump up and down all at once. I was planning to stay home, but Drew found out I was declining a party at Asher Logan’s house (apparently his brand-new single “Unbreak Me” is
“amazeballs”
). She told me she would disown me if I didn’t go and tell her all about it. So, twist my arm, I’m gonna party with a rock star.

And his girlfriend, who may or may not hate me.

Fuck it all. I could use a night out. Drew and Gabby had a good day at school, Dad’s cough is getting better after a five-day course of antibiotics and some breathing treatments, and I used Dad’s credit card to get some minimal supplies for my massage studio. All in all, I’m feeling
okay
about where my life is going.