Wishful Thinking (24 page)

“Early,” Hazel said. “I’m going to try to make the first boat.”

Jaime sat up all the way and leaned forward, her hair tumbling down toward the shapes of her knees, still swaddled in blankets. “You’re leaving?” she asked.

Hazel closed the door behind her and sat across from Jaime on her bed. She nodded slowly. “I should get back home,” she explained. “School starts soon, and—”

“I hate good-byes, too,” Jaime interrupted. “I was planning on sneaking out on you, too.”

“You were?” Hazel smiled.

Jaime nodded and pulled the quilt up around her shoulders. “I told Rosanna last night,” she said softly. “I’m going with them to California.”

Hazel smiled, a calm settling inside her. She put a hand on Jaime’s shoulder, the quilt warm and soft on her skin. She imagined Jaime taking the quilt with her to California, and then maybe to Peru, the one piece of home she’d always carry with her, wherever she went. It made her happy to know that Jaime wouldn’t be alone.

Without another word, Jaime fell forward and wrapped Hazel in a hug. Her body was still heavy with sleep and smelled sweet, like a baby. Hazel held her tight, fighting back the tears that were pooling in her eyes. She wanted to tell her everything. How meeting Jaime had made all of her wishes come true. Even the ones she didn’t know she was making.

But she knew that she couldn’t. She untangled herself from
Jaime’s arms and forced a smile; then she stood and walked quickly to the door.

“So I’ll see you when we get there?” Jaime asked hopefully, stretching her arms and falling back into the pillows. “To California?”

Hazel stopped at the hall. She couldn’t lie again. She knew she couldn’t tell Jaime the truth, but she couldn’t lie anymore, either. She turned to look at Jaime over her shoulder.

“Tell me about your dream,” Hazel said. Jaime was already tucked back under the quilt, curled in a tiny ball near the edge of the bed. She closed her eyes and smiled.

“Yesterday,” she began sleepily, “when we were hanging up the lights for the party, you were talking about the baby and you called it a she. And ever since then, I’ve had this feeling you were right. I can’t explain it. I just know.”

Jaime reached out from under the covers and scratched the bridge of her nose with one hand. With her eyes still closed, she continued. “And last night, in my dream, I had my baby,” Jaime said. She was smiling now, a small, sweet smile, and her voice was softer, her words slower and farther apart. “I saw her. I got to hold her. She was so beautiful. The most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen. And I named her Hazel. After you.”

Hazel stood frozen in the hallway, shivers racing up and down her arms. Jaime’s breathing deepened, and she was still mumbling as Hazel started to pull the door closed.

“I love you, Hazel,” she heard Jaime say, just as the door was almost shut.

Hazel closed the door and stood beside it, one hand pressed against the frame.

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

T
he boat was nearly empty when Hazel got on. In the booths on the lower level, a few early morning commuters slept beside their lunch coolers. Hazel felt a quick shot of envy as she walked past. How lucky they were, she thought, to get to come home at the end of the day. To get to come home here.

Hazel quietly climbed the stairs and walked past the snack bar, smiling at the woman behind the row of steaming pots of coffee. The woman wore a uniform of matching pink visor and shirt, and was picking at the crumbs of a Danish wrapped in plastic. Hazel thought about eating. Who knew when she’d have another chance? But something told her she’d be too anxious to keep anything down.

She was here for a reason.

Hazel pushed through the heavy steel door, a gust of wind forcing her to take wide, underwater-type steps across the deck.

Most of the plastic blue chairs at the front of the boat were empty. In the far corner, a man in a Boston Red Sox cap was
lifting up a little boy and angling him out over the railing. The boy had a mop of dark hair and was holding out one chubby fist, clutching a piece of bread between his fingers. Every so often, a sea gull would swoop down and lunge for the bread, and the boy would squeal, tugging his hand sharply back. Finally, the man took the bread himself, and held it far above the boy’s head. The little boy clapped as the gull finally scooped it up. He’d really just wanted to watch, all along.

Hazel smiled to herself as she walked down the side corridor, passing the wall of windows and finding a quiet spot halfway between bow and stern. It was a rare, crisp morning, with very little fog, and it felt like she could see all the way back to Rosanna’s estate if she looked long enough. The harbor town was sleepy and still, the beach empty, the roads long and winding and with only one or two cars in sight.

Hazel swung her bag onto the railing and took out her camera. She held it up and squared as much of the island as she could get in the lens, taking a picture. When it came out, she flapped it in the breeze.

It was surprisingly warm for being so early, though she was glad to be still wearing Luke’s coat. She’d meant to leave it on his bed in the barn before she left—along with the picture of herself, the one Reid had taken of her on the beach—but she’d been in such a hurry that she’d forgotten.

And she was glad to have something to cover the dress. It wasn’t exactly an outfit for traveling in, particularly not so early in the day.

Hazel watched as the blurry image in the photo cleared. She heard voices calling from the dock, ropes being untied and the groaning of machinery, the engine rumbling beneath her
feet. She looked up to see a patch of water growing between the end of the boat and dock. For a moment it looked like it was the island that was receding, slipping off into the ocean, floating toward the horizon.

She took one last look at the island, matching it to the image in her hand, before tucking the photo carefully with the others in her bag. She laid the bag on the ground beside her feet, and slipped out of Luke’s coat. She folded it twice, laid it on top of the bag, and turned to the railing.

The island was just a strip of land now, grass and sand and tiny houses, shimmering as it sat quietly on top of the water. Hazel closed her eyes and took a full breath, the salty, sweet air filling her lungs, tickling her nose, and drying the damp, sticky corners of her eyes.

She thought of Luke, probably still asleep on the sand. And of Rosanna and Billy, waking up, enjoying their last morning at the house. She thought of Maura and Craig, getting up to feed the animals in the barn.

She thought of Jaime, and she instinctively touched the shell around her neck.

She’d wished to get to know her mother. And she had. No matter what happened, she would always have that. It was a gift, a gift she never imagined she’d be given. She may never see the island, or Jaime, again, but that wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was that she’d been there once. She’d known them all for a little while.

And now it was time to go home.

“I’m ready,” she whispered under her breath. “No more excuses. No more looking back. I wish to go back to my life, wherever it takes me, and whoever I become.”

Hazel’s heart was racing as she snapped her eyes open, waiting with her lungs full.

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then, just like twice before, the fluttering. The gentle flapping of material at the hem of her skirt. She looked down, underneath the fabric, to where the little golden tag was struggling to detach itself.

Slowly, the glowing butterfly broke free, hovering up near her face, its tiny wings beating against the air. She smiled, remembering the first time she’d seen it. How she’d thought she was losing her mind. When really, she was starting to find it.

The butterfly was still hanging in the air when a thick gust of wind swirled around Hazel’s ankles, kicking up pieces of sand from the deck and whipping her hair around her face. The butterfly looked trapped, and Hazel almost wanted to reach out and save it, but the wind was too strong. It built up to a howl, scooping the little bug up and carrying it away, until it was just the faintest light, burning high above the whitecaps in the distance.

The wind picked up again, growing even stronger, and Hazel shielded her eyes with one arm. She struggled to stand, to stay by the railing, but the wind was driving her back. She staggered toward the window, burying her face against the glass, tasting the spray of the ocean on her lips. She pressed her eyes closed, her heart pounding in her ears as the wind screamed in circles around her.

A blinding white light flashed across the insides of her eyelids, and Hazel felt herself falling to the floor, gripping her head in her hands, and hoping it would all soon be over.

And then it was.

E
ven with her eyes squeezed shut, Hazel could feel the dark.

She slowly blinked them open. The wind had vanished, leaving an eerie quiet, and all around her was a darkness, more inky blue than black.

As her eyes adjusted she saw a tiny glowing light, and thought for a moment that it was the butterfly, still stuck somewhere in space. Slowly, she realized it was the twinkling of a star, as hundreds of others came into view, huddled together against the open sky.

She pulled herself carefully up to her feet, and walked out toward the railing. She was still on the side of the ship and had to crane her neck in one direction or the other to see past it. She looked behind her first and felt her stomach flip.

The mountains of Marin were fading into the darkness, the bridges hovering high and bright on either side.

Slowly, without breathing, she turned the other way, the slick blanket of ocean slipping past the hull. Ahead, she saw
the lights of San Francisco, the familiar skyline, the open port.

It was home, and she was headed toward it.

Hazel looked back at the window, now recognizing the boat as the ferry to Larkspur. The one she’d gotten on, in tears, that night after learning that her mother—or the woman she’d thought was her mother—was dead.

Rosanna. Hazel’s heart ached as she thought of the event, Billy inside at the bar. Rosanna was still gone. Nothing would change that.

In fact, nothing had changed at all. Hazel checked her watch. It was 9:42. And the date, months earlier, the very day she’d left. Only a few short hours after she’d first climbed on board.

What did it mean?
Hazel wondered as she searched the boat for clues. Had it all been a dream?

Hazel’s heart was pounding as she crouched beside the window, tearing open her bag. The pictures! She’d packed the Polaroids, all of the pictures she’d taken of the island, and her friends, the ones Rosanna hadn’t framed. They were real. They had to be.

Hazel tore around the insides of her backpack, frantically trying to find the envelope. She flipped the bag over, emptying its contents onto the grated metal floor.

All that fell out was a single dress. The one she’d bought herself. The one she’d found at the thrift store, with the tear that refused to be fixed.

Hazel felt her eyes welling up with angry tears. This couldn’t be happening. She opened the bag wider and peered inside. But it was empty.

Hazel leaned against the window, fighting back the
throbbing in her throat. Her breathing was ragged and frantic, and she was overcome by a sudden, queasy feeling. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to steady her pulse, slowly pulling air in and letting it out.

“I wish to go back to the island,” she said out loud, not caring who was around to hear her. “I changed my mind. I wish to go back to the island.”

But when she opened her eyes, she knew it wouldn’t work. The tag was gone. The last glowing butterfly had flown away.

Hazel felt an uncomfortable pain in her side and realized she was squished against something on the floor. She reached behind her back and felt a familiar scratchy fabric.

Luke’s coat. She remembered taking it off before making the wish, and somehow, it was still there. She hugged it tight against her, pressing her face into the collar and breathing in his scent.

It was real. All of it. Luke, Jaime, the island… they were all real and a part of her now.

Hazel thought of something and flipped the jacket over in her lap. She rummaged through one pocket and then the other, her fingers finding the cool, slick photograph and angling it free.

The picture that Reid—her father—had taken of her on the beach, the wind in her hair, the faraway look in her eyes. That was real, too.

She stared long and hard at the picture, wondering why it was the only one she had left. But it was something. A reminder of where she’d been, who she’d been, before the summer that changed her life.

She tucked the photo back in the pocket and felt the familiar jolting of the boat against the dock. She looked up to see the Ferry Building, looming large overhead.

She was back where she started.

She hurried to the exit, her feet carrying her off the boat before she’d even decided it was the right thing to do. The attendant stood off to one side, announcing that this would be the final trip back to Larkspur. She should just stay on, she knew. She should just go home.

But she couldn’t leave without knowing. Had nothing really changed? What would she find in that restaurant? Would Luke be there? Would Jaime?

Hazel scurried down the ramp and along the dock, still crowded with tourists taking pictures. She stood at the restaurant door, peering inside the glass, the same window she’d looked through before.

The easel was there, and on it, the same picture of Rosanna. The woman with the short, dark hair and her companion, who had been the ones to break the news to Hazel by the buffet, were dancing, swaying gently side to side. And across the room, still at the bar, still by himself, was Billy.

Hazel swallowed hard. She wanted to go inside. To go to Billy. To hug him and tell him it would be okay. She wanted to look for the others. What did they look like now? Where had they ended up? The only thing keeping Hazel from finding out was a door, a window, a single pane of glass.