I Wish (22 page)

Her response gave me a prickling sense of foreboding. Next time I got to the library, I’d have to do a search on that department name.

“Here they are,” Kimberley said as she walked out. “I’ve narrowed it to two.” She held a coat hanger in each hand.

I studied the dresses. Both shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Dress one was flame red and ruffly. Dress two was metallic gold and slippery. I cleared my throat. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else wearing the same thing.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

Of course not. “Well,” I said, stalling for time. “The red one looks like it would be perfect for salsa.”

She flapped its full skirt. “It looks great when I twirl.”

“You’ll be noticed. In either dress.”

She laughed. “That would be the point, wouldn’t it?”

“Right.” I drew closer and inspected the dresses. The golden fabric was thin and would cling to Kimberley like a second skin. Magnolia Grove High wasn’t ready for it. “I think the red.”

Kimberley scrunched her nose. “That’s what I’m thinking too.” She tossed them on her bed in a crumpled heap. “Are you ready to go home?”

I returned to a quiet house, which meant it was either empty or my brother was buried in homework. As I walked past the living room, I glanced in and froze, transfixed by what awaited me on a dressmaker’s form.

It was the dress.
My
dress.

I gave my head a quick shake. Yep, still beautiful.

The halter dress had a short, full, silvery skirt peeking through black lace. Black beading highlighted the waist. I was overcome with awe. “Wow. Just…
wow
.”

My mom appeared beside me. “You like it?”

“It’s gorgeous.” I walked closer, happy to be near it. “It has to be the most incredible dress I’ve ever seen.”

Of course, the dress had to be accessorized. What about shoes?

Bare legs or hose?

“Can I raid your jewelry box, Mom?”

“Sure.” She drew even with me, bouncing on her feet. “Are you going to try it on?”

“Not now.”

“You should try it on.” She smoothed a fold of lace. “What if it doesn’t fit?”

“It will.” Grant didn’t make mistakes. I’d rather wait to see everything—hair, makeup, dress—all at once. “I can’t believe how good silver and black look together.”

Mom’s voice had lost its sparkle. “It’s pewter. Not silver.” She drifted out of the living room.

That was strange. My gaze fell on Grant, who watched from the foyer. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Crystal made the dress.”

“Really?” Surprise whispered down my spine. That dress had taken a lot of handwork, and my mom had done it? She’d spent hours doing something this hard for me? I nearly vibrated with happiness.

“Indeed, she did.”

No wonder she was disappointed by my reaction. I hadn’t gushed out loud, and this dress definitely deserved gushing. I hunted her down, intent on making it up to her. She was in her usual spot at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and pretending to read a newspaper. Henry wasn’t around, but the music coming from his room indicated that he had finished his homework.

Leaning against the wall, I studied my mom. This made two days this week where she hadn’t been a ghost. The haircut made her look younger, she wore actual clothes, and she didn’t seem quite so sad. I loved seeing her this way. I just wished I could trust it. “Thanks, Mom. The dress is beyond perfect.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t know you could sew like that anymore.”

Her gaze met mine, as if she were tuned in. “It’s like riding a bike. You don’t forget.”

Anticipation tingled along my nerves. This was the most coherent conversation we’d had in a while. “Did you enjoy it?”

Her lips curved. “Yeah. It was fun.”

This was my chance. When Grant had nudged her, she got better. It could work for me too. “You should do it more often then.”

“I’m not turning it into a job, if that’s what you really mean,” she said, her voice hardening.

I gaped in surprise. That wasn’t what I meant, but maybe we should go there. “Why not? You’re good at sewing. You could make money at it.”

“Not now, Lacey.” She propped her chin on her fists and became absorbed in a chainsaw advertisement.

“You ought to give it some thought.” This was a victory for her. She should capitalize on it. “You already said it was fun.”

“No.”

Ideas burst from me like a geyser. “People pay a lot for party dresses. We could buy old gowns cheap from a thrift shop—”

Her free hand smacked the table open-palmed. “Leave it alone.”

“Why?” Frustration gripped me. This could be good in so many ways.

She shook her head and flipped another page.

“What are you afraid of, Mom?”

She crumpled the paper with clawed hands and shrieked, “Pressure.”

The music stopped. Two sets of footsteps sounded in the hallway, but no one came into the kitchen. It was just me and my mom and a completely unexpected word.

“Pressure? What kind of pressure would you have making dresses?”

“Deadlines.” She shot to her feet, the movement jolting the table and sloshing coffee from her mug. “Dressmaking is hard,” she said in a tight voice. “What if I made something for someone and they wanted it by a specific day and I was a mess that week and couldn’t get it done?”

“You wouldn’t have to do it by commission. You could create dresses on consignment.”

She bowed her head, her hair brushing her cheeks and concealing her eyes. “Why are you so obsessed with money?”

Obsessed with money
? This from someone who had checked out and left her underage daughter to juggle the family’s problems? “Why am I supposed to feel like a jerk for keeping us above the poverty line?”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not.”

She looked up, breathing through her mouth. “It’s not that bad.”

“How do you know? You don’t look at the bank statements or pay the bills.”

“I would be able to tell.”

“Apparently not.”

“We’re managing.”

“Yeah, on
my
back.”

The anger on her face faded to confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Your check barely covers the mortgage, Mom. We’d starve without my job or Dad’s benefits from the military.”

Her eyes widened with shock. “I didn’t…” She stopped to press shaking palms against her temples. “I can’t think about this right now. I’m not well. It’s hard to be me.” She brushed past me and hurried down the hall.

“It’s hard to be me too,” I whispered.

Status Report #21
Thursday’s Wish: Dress Creation

Dear Boss,

Today I created a party dress for Chief. She reacted with utter delight.

Crystal helped with the dress, making suggestions as I sketched and cut. Once the garment was ready to be assembled, she offered to stitch it. Her sewing machine is capable of intricate work, and she has a large stock of lace, trim, and beading. Crystal took such pleasure in the project that I am surprised she ever gave this skill up.

Chief revealed the truth about their finances. Until today, neither her mother nor I knew how dependent the family’s survival was on her. It is humbling to realize the extent to which I have misjudged Chief’s intentions.

The wishes on this assignment have been simple. I believe that I have been completing them with care and competence. Yet I can’t help but wonder if I understand humans less now than when I arrived.

Humbly submitted, Grant

I
awakened early and lay quietly, practicing the speech I was about to give Grant.

Today’s wish had to be about my mother. She wanted to get better. I was sure of it. If my dress was any indication, she wanted to be creative again. The trick was figuring out how. Holding her back for fear of other people finding out was not working.

Dread filled me as I imagined how Grant might react. I didn’t want a fight, but what if he thought my wish didn’t go far enough?

I changed into jeans and a shirt, yanked a brush through my hair, and tiptoed down the stairs. Henry was still asleep, a restless ball of boy and sheets. My mother curled on the couch, staring quietly out the bay window at the empty street beyond. The table beside her held four coffee mugs and a mound of used tissues.

I slipped through the kitchen and into the grayness of the dawn. The studio was dark. With a touch of my tattoo, I called his name.

“Good morning.” He stood before me, buttoning his shirt, its edges a stark white against his skin. He smelled of pine-scented soap. “Why are you here?”

“I want to discuss my wish.”

“Staining the deck is next. I know what to do.”

I gave a tiny shake of my head. The list had to be abandoned. What had I been thinking? I’d been so proud of myself for planning the wishes. I was organized and responsible, unlike my immature stepfather or the self-centered kids at school. By planning the future, I had it under control. At least, that’s what I’d thought.

Creating the list had done nothing more than give me a false sense of power. I’d fooled myself into believing that I could hand Grant a little money, point him at some home repairs, and a month later the Linden-Jones family would be able to wave goodbye as our free handyman left.

Wrong. Our problems were complicated, and they were much bigger than selling a house.

If I’d thought the month after Josh died had been confusing, it was nothing compared to having
everything humanly possible
made available to me and having to make the right choices. When Grant first appeared, thirty wishes had seemed almost decadent. Now, I was tied up in knots about not picking well. “I wish for you to help my mom get better.”

“Well done, Lacey.”

His good opinion meant so much to me. I’d thirsted for it. Craved it. And now that I had it, I wanted more. Stepping nearer to him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my cheek against his chest.

He didn’t hesitate for even a second. He cradled me to him, his arms strong and safe.

I closed my eyes and yielded to the pleasure of his embrace. What would I do without Grant?

“Chief,” he said against my hair, “I can’t snap my fingers and make her well. It’ll take time for your mom to improve. What do you want me to do in one day?”

“Can you do research? Can you find out what we can do that doesn’t involve the government?”

There was silence. Why? I looked up to study his face. His expression was thoughtful. I was glad, because I couldn’t have taken his disappointment. “There have to be things that could make a difference, stuff that Mom is willing to try and that I can keep monitoring after you’re gone. What do you think?”

“May I include private groups in the investigation?”

And here it was. The big hurdle. Letting people know. Well-meaning people. People whose help could hurt. Would they feel obligated to report us? Would they be as committed as I was to keeping my family intact?

“You can include private groups.”

“They might recommend medication. Will you be able to pay?”

I nodded as I stepped from his arms. “I’ll find the cash. Somehow.”

The sky had lightened. It was time to leave for school. Had I been clear enough about what I wanted?

Did I even
know
what I wanted?

“When you get home this afternoon, I’ll have answers,” he said.

“Thank you.” I turned toward the house.

“She has to wish it too, Chief.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “She will.” I hoped.

When I reached our street after a shift at work, Grant was waiting at the corner.

I approached him, jittery with nerves. “Is everything all right?”

He nodded solemnly. “I learned a lot today. There was a book at the library about holistic approaches, like herbs and exercise. I checked it out for you.”

“That’s great.” I wanted to smile, but his grave expression held me back. “Is there a ‘but’ in here somewhere?”

“Home remedies don’t work for everyone. She may need professional help.”

“What kind?”

“I found a grief support group at a local church run by a licensed therapist.”

“Will that be enough?”

“Perhaps not, but it will be a start.”

I continued down the sidewalk as Grant fell into step at my side. “Did you mention any of this to her?”

“We shared a pot of herbal tea and discussed drinking it instead of coffee. I spoke of the benefits to be gained from daily walks. She was noncommittal.”

“You didn’t mention the group?”

“No, that is your call.”

We entered the house and parted in the hallway. Grant headed to the kitchen. I went upstairs, prepared to spend the remainder of the evening getting ready.

The new dress awaited me in my room—sophisticated and unique. Even though I had a lot to do, for a brief moment I stood quietly, smiling at my gorgeous gown, relishing the anticipation.

Needing to share this feeling with someone, I crossed to the stairwell. “Mom, can you come up here a minute?” I shouted down.

“In a sec,” she shouted back.

A couple of minutes later, she thumped up the stairs and burst into the room carrying a big plastic sewing box. A hesitant smile spread over her face. “It’s going to look great.”