Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series (37 page)

“You’ve never let me down.”

“I wished for this, Ry.”

“No, you worked for this,” he corrected. “Don’t downplay it.”

“No, you don’t understand. I actually did wish for it. I spent the afternoon with Bridget.”

Ryan wasn’t interested in hearing how his niece had caught an autumn wish for me until I got to the part about wearing a mud mask and leafy ears. He laughed so hard his body trembled. I had to grip a handful of shirt to steady myself. “She’s so crooked,” he told me. “She got you good.”

“I don’t even care,” I replied. “It worked. My wish came true.”

He put his hand behind my head, pulling my face to his. “A good day all round then.”

“Exceptional,” I agreed, kissing him. “Oh – and I quit Billet-doux.”

If Ryan was curious as to why, it didn’t show. He’d lost interest in chatting. We hardly said another word for the rest of the night.

63. HARSH REALITY

Ryan

The next few days were extremely busy, which suited me fine. Anything that kept me out of the wedding loop was welcome. It wasn’t as if I was being excluded – my mother tried hard to keep me up to date on the decisions via daily phone calls. The subject today was wedding cakes.

“You must have an opinion, Ryan,” she complained, annoyed by my indifference. “Traditional fruit cake or a more modern sponge?”

I chose fruitcake, possibly because I knew a few.

“Wonderful, darling! That was Bente’s choice too.”

I doubt she got there on her own, but questioning Mom would’ve taken time, and I was done discussing cake. I had a mountain of work and an antsy four-year-old to occupy.

I knew we weren’t going to make it to the park before I’d even picked Bridget up, but held off telling her until we got to my apartment.

“Why do we have to stay in today?” she asked, trudging through the front door. “It’s not too cold.”

“I’m busy, Bridge. I’ve got heaps of work to do.” I pointed to the mass of club-related documents on the kitchen counter.

“What am I going to do?”

“Well,” I picked up the remote and pointed it at the TV, “you can watch your movie, or play with your girls.”

“I don’t want to, Ry.”

I didn’t often take a hard line where Bridget was concerned, but it probably wasn’t going to kill her if I did.

“I don’t really care, Bridget,” I replied indifferently. “I’m busy today so you’re just going to have to make do.”

“But I don’t want to.” Her sad little voice was one of her most dangerous weapons. I instantly felt like a jerk.

Bridget didn’t look at me when I scooped her up. Her focus was on twisting the top button of my shirt. “Please can we go to the park?”

I lowered her onto the couch. “Watch a movie or play quietly for a while,” I instructed. “When I’m done, we’ll go to the park.”

Bridget wasn’t pleased, but agreed. I switched on the redheaded mermaid and left her to it.

My niece’s idea of playing quietly differed from mine. For once the movie wasn’t holding her interest. I sat at the counter trying to ignore the squeals that accompanied her bouncing until I could take it no more. I looked up, preparing to growl. The instant I saw her, I realised she didn’t need reprimanding. She needed an intervention. The four-year-old daredevil was standing on the back of the couch, gearing up to launch herself onto a pile of cushions she’d set up on the floor.

“Stop!” I yelled, leaping off the stool to grab her.

I caught her mid-flight. I couldn’t be sure if I’d spoken too late or if she’d defied me. Either way I was livid.

Bridget Décarie was fearless, and it was dangerous. And on days like today, I couldn’t handle it. I lowered her to the floor. “You’re going to really hurt yourself. Stop this stupid jumping.”

Her bottom lip quivered. I was so angry that I managed to ignore it.

“I was just flying,” she whimpered.

I cleared a space and sat her on the kitchen counter. “Listen to me, Bridget,” I began. “Birds fly. Aeroplanes fly. You don’t fly.”

“Butterflies fly.”

“They do, but you’re not a butterfly.”

“Some fairy girls fly, Ry.”

I couldn’t stop the low groan that escaped me, nor did I try. “You need to stop this nonsense,” I ordered. “Your mama is filling your head with silly stories that endanger your well-being.”

She shook her head. She had no clue what I’d said. In a moment of pure frustration, I brutally broke it down for her. “None of it is real, Bridget. You’re a flesh and blood girl – totally breakable.”

“I might do it right one day.”

“No little girl on earth can fly, no matter how many times she practises. If your mother was more honest with you, she’d tell you the same thing. Flying girls don’t exist. Fairies are not real and magic doesn’t happen.”

I watched as my words speared through her. It started with a confused look and ended in a flood of tears.

I couldn’t apologise for anything I’d said. The way I saw it, telling her the truth was the only hope I had of keeping her safe.

“No magic?” she whimpered.

“None.” I imagine my expression of pity still had a tinge of anger to it. “There’s no such thing.”

Bridget threw out her little hands. “What do we have then, Ryan?”

She’d stumped me. I had no idea how to answer, and judging by the way she’d used my full name her question was deadly serious. “We have reality, Bridget.” It was a miserable explanation to give a four-year-old, but it was truly the best I could come up with. “Try living in the real world.”

***

I had a guilty heart, and the only way I could think to ease the wretchedness was to give in and take the kid to the park. Thankfully Bridget was a forgiving soul. She headed to the playground, squealing just as gleefully as she usually did at the sight of swings and slides. I hung back on the edge of the play area, keeping half an eye on her while I caught up on the emails that I should’ve been dealing with from home. “Watch me, Ry!” Bridget ordered.

I alternated glances between her and the screen on my phone. “I’m watching, sweetheart,” I assured. “Don’t climb any higher.”

She was hanging off a climbing frame, upside down because that was Bridget’s thing. Assuming she’d do as she was told was a mistake. The next time I looked across she’d climbed higher.

I trudged through the sand to rescue the kid who didn’t need rescuing.

“How about you climb something a little less impressive,” I suggested, peeling her off the frame. Bridget didn’t argue. I lowered her to her feet and she took off to find her next conquest. I walked back to the edge of the sand and went back to checking my emails.

“Watch me, Ry!” ordered the very familiar little voice.

“I’m watching,” I told her, barely casting a glance her way. The same conversation happened a few more times. I was too engrossed to notice that she’d hightailed it back to the climbing frame.

It wasn’t her demanding little voice that alerted me. It was the horrible thud of something hitting the sand. My head whipped up, quickly realising the thud was Bridget.

Everything moved in slow motion after that. I barely touched the ground as I ran, but it seemed to take forever to reach her. I wasn’t even first on the scene. By the time I came to a halt and dropped to my knees, a woman was already tending to her.

My tiny niece was out cold. I’d never seen anything more horrifying in all my life. “Oh Jesus!” I dug my hand between her and the sand, trying to lift her.

“You mustn’t move her,” ordered the woman, holding me back with a hand to my chest. “What’s her name?”

“Bridget,” I choked. “Please, please, please…”

The woman stroked her hair, calling her name as if she was trying to coax her out of an afternoon nap. It wasn’t working. Nothing was happening and I was close to losing my mind.

Someone behind me announced that they’d called 911. The only other thing I could hear was the pounding of my heart as terror took over.

“
Allez, réveille-toi mon poussin
,” I whispered, holding her little hand. Willing her to wake up was a useless contribution, but I had no idea what else to do.

Seconds passed like minutes then Bridget let out a strained little cough and opened her eyes.

The woman tending to her smiled down. “Hello, little one. Welcome back.”

I studied her face. “She’s not back,” I insisted, terrified all over again.

I’d been looking into those blue eyes long before Bridget was born. They were exactly the same shade of blue as her father’s and grandmother’s. They were dark, deep and clear. Bridget’s were blank. She was also deathly quiet, and Bridget was never quiet.

“She might be having a seizure,” suggested the woman, sounding worried.

I put my hand on Bridget’s chest, but wasn’t sure why. She let out a little cry and asked for her dad.

I breathed out, utterly relieved. “She’s back.”

Bridget’s crying got louder as the minutes passed. I took it as a good sign, but I wanted her to stay put until the EMTs arrived so I gently held her in place on the sand.

By the time they finally got there, she was inconsolable. We both were, which is why I let the lady who hadn’t left her side since the fall do all the talking.

“She was out for less than a minute,” she reported.

Allowing her to be the spokesperson was a good move. In my mind, I’d been begging her to wake up for at least an hour, and probably would’ve told them so. “It took her a long while to come round once she opened her eyes,” she added.

The two EMTs began talking between themselves as they checked Bridget over. The decision to take Bridget to hospital was made quickly. I wouldn’t have settled for anything less, but it did nothing to dull my terror.

“Are you her father?” asked one of the men.

“Her uncle.”
Her inattentive, incompetent uncle
.

“You’re going to ride with her?” he asked.

There was no way they could’ve stopped me if they’d wanted to.

***

Bridget was whisked out of my sight as soon as we arrived at the hospital, but I could still hear her. She sounded as scared as I was, crying out for Charli and Adam. If she’d had a preference, it would’ve made my next move much easier. I had no idea which of her parents to call first. I stood in the corridor, trying to stay out of everyone’s way while I decided.

Adam was less likely to freak out and kill me, so I called him. The conversation was quick. He didn’t want details. All he wanted to know was which hospital his little girl was in.

“Will you call Charli or do you want me to?” I asked.

“I’ll call her.”

I’d transferred all my panic to her father. My panic had given way to guilt. I trudged back to the waiting area and slumped in the first empty chair I came across, burying my face in my hands. After a long moment, I glanced up at my surroundings, quickly deciding that Emergency Room waiting areas are close to hell on earth.

A miserable looking woman sat across from me. I dropped my head again purely to avoid her unnerving stare. A small child sat behind me, coughing right in my ear. That wasn’t unnerving. It was just plain gross.

I don’t know how much time passed before a nurse got my attention by putting her hand on my shoulder. “Mr Décarie?”

I straightened up. “Yes?”

She smiled kindly. Obviously she had no idea that I was the baby-sitter from hell. “Bridget is asking for you.”

I shook my head. “No,” I corrected, clearing my throat, “she’s asking for her dad.”

“You’re Ryan?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Then she’s asking for you.”

I followed her without question. Despite the fact that the only thing separating us from the rest of the busy emergency room was a curtain, things seemed a little calmer. One nurse remained with us, writing on a chart at the foot of the bed. Even Bridget had settled. Her wailing had dulled to a sad little whimper.

She reached out as soon as she saw me. She looked so little and so scared that I was afraid to touch her, but I took her hand.

“Have her parents been notified?” asked the nurse, glancing up.

“They’re on their way.”

Considering Adam was at his office when I called, I was amazed to see him arrive as quickly as he did. He threw back the curtain and half scooped Bridget into his arms, almost roughly.

I backed up to give him space. Adam didn’t acknowledge me. I doubt he even saw me. As soon as he’d checked Bridget over, he set his sights on the clipboard-wielding nurse, firing off a quick round of questions without giving her time to answer.

“A doctor will be in shortly,” she said perfectly calmly. “He’ll explain everything.”

Ambiguity and Adam are not friends. If I’d known that was her MO, I would’ve warned her against it.

“Get someone in here now,” he demanded. “If you can’t tell me what I need to know then get someone who can.”

“Let her do her job, Adam,” I muttered.