One Wish Away (13 page)

“Some sort of committee?”

“Maybe.” I turn to look at him. “But it would take a lot longer to choose a wish. Fewer people would be helped.”

“I guess.” Darren pushes the beanie further down on his head.

It is unfortunate we have to keep everything quiet. We got rid of AIDS today. I glance at Darren, concern furrowing his brow as he continues to watch the newscast. Not even he understands the good we did, because he can't remember life
before.

It's a shame the whole world can't celebrate along with us, but at least some of us know the world is better off now than it was this morning.

There's a sound, like a key in a lock. My eyes pop open but I quickly close them, trying to appear as if I'm sleeping. My heart pounds in my stomach, my chest. I push farther into the cushions, tucking myself further between Darren and the back of the couch.

Someone's entering our house, and its taking them many tries to get the key in the hole. The only two people who have keys, other than Dad and I, are Aunt Steph and Darren. Why would Aunt Steph be here?

The door squeaks and I stop breathing. The person is inside. Inside my house. The door slams shut and a woman curses under her breath as she bangs into the wall. Aunt Steph would
never
use that kind of language.

I shake Darren and clasp my hand over his mouth when his eyes open. But my gesture is too late. He inhales loudly. The movement in the foyer stops. There's a moment of silence.

And then the light turns on.

“What the hell is
he
doing here?” a crazed woman yells as she moves to stand in front us.

My body slams into the back of the couch. Alcohol fumes waft off the woman, the scent so strong I can't find oxygen to breathe. Her watery blue eyes meet mine, then move to Darren.

“Get out.” She reaches for Darren and yanks him off the couch. Without thinking I leap after him and free his arm from her grasp.

“You get out!” I scream. “This is my house!”

“This is
my
house, damn it!” The woman takes a step forward, stumbles a bit. “And you follow my rules. No boys.” She reaches for Darren and I step in front of him. This woman is nuts.

“What is going on down here?”

Dad stops at the bottom of the stairs, trying his best to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. Before he can say anything else Darren pushes me to the side and backs us up, nearer to the front door.

“Mrs. Altair, I'm sorry. We were watching TV and fell asleep.”

Mrs. Altair?

My neck almost breaks as it whips to stare at her bloodshot eyes, the blue hidden beneath. Her tall, slender frame. A face that would be beautiful if not for the snarled strawberry-blonde hair and the tension creasing her brow.

Oh. My. God.

It can't be.

“Ann?” Dad's voice cracks in surprise.

Why did it take so long for me to recognize her? The anger. The harsh words. The way she points her finger accusingly. I was only seven when she left but these are
the only
memories I have of her.

And now she's here.

In our house.

“Get out,” my mother says, quieter, eyes still fixated on Darren even though her husband and daughter are both in the room. “You will not take advantage of my daughter.”

“It's Darren, Mom.” My god. I'm calling her Mom. “He would never do anything to hurt me. We were –”

“I don't care. Get out.”

Darren squeezes my arm, glances at Dad. My father's still frozen on the stairs, his hand glued to the banister. I want to ask Darren to stay here with me. He's the only person in the room who knows my mother's reality.

Dark eyes meet mine, worried, frightened. I can't ask him to stay. This isn't Darren's problem. He's got enough of his own.

“Go,” I whisper and pull him close which results in another tirade from my mother. “I'll see you tomorrow at school.”

With one last squeeze Darren hurries to the door and I immediately miss his warmth and protection. We all watch out the window as he runs across the lawn through the early morning dew.

Then my eyes move back to her.

My mother.

With Darren no long in the room she staggers toward me, grips my arm.

“Boys will only take advantage of you, Lyra.” I gag as the fumes infest my mouth. I pull away as hard as I can. Why isn't Dad helping me?

“Let me go.” I wish my voice were stronger, louder, more assertive. But I don't know this woman.

I don't know my own mother.

She takes a step back, releases my arm. “I've said no boys before, and I mean it. I don't care how nice you think he is. It's the nice ones that get you.” Her hand combs through the knots in her hair, she moans as she pushes on the bridge of her nose. “Get me coffee.”

I hurry into the kitchen. Anything to get away from her. I haven't made coffee in so long I scramble to find everything, mugs, creamer, grounds. Now I know why nothing is where it's supposed to be. Why there's a list of bar specials on our fridge. This isn't my house. At least not what it was a day ago.

And then the yelling rises from the living room.

“Why can't you be a man and help me lay down some rules. You are her father, David! Do you want her getting pregnant? To run off and not finish high school? Boys only want one thing and when they get it, that's it. Life ruined.”

My eyes clench as something breaks against the foyer floor. Feet stomp into the kitchen as the first drops of coffee fall from the coffee maker. I cower away from her as she rips the cup out of my hand and thrusts it under the stream of brown liquid. The seconds slow. I should run, get out of here. Why won't my feet move?

Dad stands in the entry of the kitchen, his face drawn in fear. He fears his own wife. Who is this woman who lives with us?

“Shouldn't you be in bed?” My mother's sideways glance slices through me. I wince.

And the pain doesn't lessen as I sprint up the stairs and lock myself in my room, back plastered to the door. My heaving breath mixes with tears.

What have we done?

I can't stay in my room my whole life. If death didn't await me when I jumped out my window, I'd do it. I'd risk broken limbs. It was stupid for my parents to put those large decorative stones beneath my room. I exhale loudly into my pillow.

My
parents.

I have two again.

What happened to bring her back? How did wishing AIDS never existed make my mother appear?

“Lyra! Get up or you'll be late for school!” my mother yells through the door, though it's not laced with hate anymore. I hear her footsteps retreat down the stairs.

Why, in this reality, is Dad still with her? Why hasn't he kicked her out?

But his mind isn't in this reality either. He needs just as much help as I do getting through this.

This thought is what gets me out of bed. Within ten minutes I'm showered, dressed and heading down the stairs. Even though it took me forever to find my normal clothes. I don't usually keep my flannels in the back of my closet.

Please let her be gone. Please let her be gone.

“Lyra, before you run out the door…”

Why do I stop and turn around? I should just keep running.

I find my mother sitting in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. She's pressed and primped in a beautiful floral dress. Where's she going?

“We need to talk about last night.”

“I'm going to be late for school,” I mumble, trying my best to pry my eyes away from her. But I can't. It's as if subconsciously I want to understand this stranger.

She's stiff. She always was. Her mouth moves very little, though when she smiles she's absolutely stunning. I know because of the photo albums I used to look through. Now there's probably tons more. I should try and find them.

Mom sits straighter. “I will admit, I overreacted. It's been a tough week. I'm working on a story that makes me sick. This disgusting man has been abusing his girlfriends for the past ten years or so. All the women swear he was a nice guy until he turned on them. To get rid of the images I went to Louie's. A few too many drinks and then when I come home I see Darren here. I lost it.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” But I don't know. I don't know anything.

“Well, I apologize for my reaction. Don't do it again.” She raises an arm and flicks her fingers, summoning me over. “Give me a kiss before you go.”

A kiss? I glance at the door, contemplating running out. But I have to come back here at night. She's my
mother
. Has
always
been my mother even though I don't remember the last ten years with her.

Her arm is still in the air even though she's reading the paper on the counter. I scurry over and peck her cheek as she simultaneously pecks the air. My stomach heaves at how natural it is for her. And how she doesn't flinch at my movements. Like I've done everything right.

“Have a good day,” she states. Before I sprint out of the house she shouts, “You know how I feel about that attire, Lyra! We just bought you new clothes! We'll talk more about it tonight.”

My heart is beating so fast, conflicting emotions surge through my veins. Could this be a good thing? I have a mother again. Maybe she'll congratulate me on my report card. She could dress me for prom and take me to get my nails done and talk to me about…anything. Even if she doesn't approve of my clothing.

But then I remember last night. Her harsh words. The way she treated Darren.

Darren's mailbox is in view, but he's not there. This happens sometimes, when he's running a little late. At least, it used to happen in the old reality. Maybe in this reality he heads to school without me if I'm running late.

Maybe we don't walk to school together.

“I'm here! I'm ready!” Darren yells as he runs down his driveway. His knit cap looks a little funny because his hair is still wet and yet it's easy to see why I like him. And not just from his looks. Even though my thoughts have gone through an earthquake, he still manages to make me smile.

He falls alongside me as we walk the last three blocks to school. The house on the right is new; it used to be an empty piece of land with a few beat-up cars littering the landscape. I also don't remember a bar being on the left side of the road.

With a block to go, Darren threads his fingers in mine and kisses my hand. “You okay? After last night and all?”

I clear my throat; kick a stone out of my way. “Yes. The thing is…” Will he believe me? Believe my mother is a stranger to me in every way? He believed the other wish.

Just say it, Lyra.

“The thing is, my mother hasn't been around since I was seven.”

Darren stops and I turn to face him. His brows squish in thought. “What do you mean?”

I look up at the blue sky; curse the star and the wish that did this to us even though the same wish saved millions of lives.

“We altered another reality yesterday.”

“Yes, I know. We talked about it.”

“Well, before the wish was granted, I hadn't seen my mother since I was seven.”

Darren's eyes narrow. “Right. But she came back when you were nine.”

“Do you know why she came back?”

Darren shrugs. “No. It was really weird. One day she was back. And, I mean…” His eyes skirt the ground and then find mine. “She wasn't the most friendly person before she left, but when she came back she was different. She's angry a lot.”

So last night wasn't a fluke.

“What else do you know about her? Does she work?”

“She's a journalist. A really good one actually,” Darren mumbles, eyes finding a rock on the ground. He shifts his stance slightly, his voice a little higher. “So, you're living with –”

“A stranger.” My finger is caught twirling my hair so I rip it out, welcoming the pain from my scalp, as everything is numb. “You know my mother better than I do.”

For seconds, a minute, we stand here, looking at each other, waiting for our thoughts to settle. When Darren's eyebrows rise slightly I know he understands.

“I'll help you, Lyra.”

He pulls me into his arms and I melt. I want him to hold me. Keep me together. And he does.

“Maybe she'll change. Now that you remember what life was like without her. Your dad does too. Maybe things will be different. Maybe you can help her be less angry.”

Maybe. All I know is I don't want things to be different. I was fine with just Dad. Now I'm confused and terrified. Not even my toothpaste is the same anymore. Apparently my dictator mother prefers another brand.

“We better get to school or we'll have even more to deal with today,” Darren whispers in my hair.

I nod against his chest and reluctantly pull away. Fingers intertwine and we finish the last block or so.

“I really don't want to go to computer class,” I mumble as we trudge up the stairs to first period. Luckily I have it with Darren.

“Sometimes we have to do things we don't really want to do.” His brown eyes are softer now; most tension in his face is gone.

There's a small room with glass windows connected to the library that serves as the student computer lab. This is one of the most pointless classes. What high schooler doesn't know how to use a computer?

When we enter the library, I stop. The artwork on the walls is new. I would know. I've spent
many
hours in this library.

“What's wrong?” Darren shakes my shoulders as I gape past his face to the room behind him.

“This… this is not how our library looked yesterday. Who drew all those?” My hand shakes as I raise it to the murals lining the walls.

“The artist?” Darren snorts. “How would I know that? They're just… there.” He cocks his head. “And they're not that great if you ask me.”