The Secret Ingredient of Wishes (30 page)

“Now hold on a minute, Miss-Jumping-in-Headfirst. I believe you were meant to come to Nowhere and find him when you were ready. That's probably why the town kept you from leaving a few weeks back. This is what you were meant to find here. But rushing into this without considering all of the ramifications, well, that won't get you what you want.”

“I've been trying to get him back for most of my life. You have to help me. Please,” Rachel said, her voice catching on the last word.

“I'm not saying no. I'm just asking you to give me a little time and trust me to do what's best for both of you.”

Rachel was tired of waiting. After more than fifteen years, all she wanted was to get her brother back. But she knew enough to know that Catch didn't do anything until she was good and ready.

 

30

Rachel sat in a rocker on the front porch, numb. Her brain repeated the same two phrases over and over as she rocked.

Back.
Michael still exists.
Forth.
Catch knows who he is and won't tell me.
Back.
Michael still exists.
Forth.
Catch knows who he is and won't tell me.
Back.
Michael still exists.
Forth.
Catch knows who he is and won't tell me.

The temperature had dropped a good ten degrees since the rain started two hours before. It fell steadily. Fat drops pinged on the plants, the sidewalk, the porch roof. When the wind blew, a cool mist drifted onto her, making her shiver.

Rachel didn't notice Catch until she pressed a cup of tea into her hands. The ceramic warmed her skin. She held the mug tighter. The scent of whiskey rivaled the chamomile as she sipped the bitter drink. She winced as it scorched her tongue, then her throat.

Catch opened her mouth, but turned away without saying anything. She shuffled back across the porch. The screen door creaked open. “I know this is hard on you, finding out he's been here the whole time,” she said. “But there's no sense blaming yourself any longer when he's had a good life.”

“How could I possibly forgive myself?” Rachel whispered after the door closed.

After years of others insisting she'd made him up, Rachel had found someone who insisted she'd been right all along. That Michael was as real as she was, and he was in Nowhere.

*   *   *

Rachel lay in bed, still, listening to what sounded like metal scraping against metal downstairs. There was a low rumble followed by more grating.

She'd grown used to the smooth, muted sounds of Catch moving around in the kitchen. This was loud, chaotic.

This was not Catch.

Her mind raced with possibilities
. What if it's Michael? What if he found out who I am and what I did to him?

Fear rocked through her, making her movements sluggish as she slipped out of bed and made her way to the door on the balls of her feet. Rolling it slowly open, she paused. The blackness below swallowed the small amount of light from the window in the hall, but she went down anyway, her hand gripping the railing to keep from tripping in the dark.

More disembodied sounds drifted up from the floor below. The clanking and banging and scraping were coming faster now, closer together. Shadows raced across the floor and up the walls as the wind harassed the trees outside the window, and she realized she should have grabbed her phone or a flashlight. She plunged into darkness again as she started down the last staircase.

She crept through the foyer into the dining room and paused just inside the entrance to the kitchen. Air rushed out of the floor vents, chilling the tile under her bare feet.

A dark figure stood by the sink.

Definitely not Catch.
She groped the wall for the light switch. She flipped it and jumped when Ashe whirled around with a knife.

“What the hell are you doing?” she whisper-yelled, at once grateful and disappointed it wasn't somehow her brother.

“Stealing pie,” he said. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the light. His shirt was unbuttoned like he'd thrown it on just to say he had something on. His bloodshot eyes couldn't focus on hers.

He'd opened half the drawers and a couple cabinets. Whatever he'd been looking for, he hadn't found it yet. “At nine thirty? I thought you and Jamie had a boys' night tonight.”

“We did. He and the other guys went home. I wasn't really in the mood.”

Rachel understood not wanting company. After learning her brother was somewhere in Nowhere, holding a normal conversation with anyone but him seemed almost impossible. But she couldn't ignore whatever was going on with Ashe.

“So you thought you'd come over here and rummage through the drawers loud enough for me to hear all the way upstairs?”

“I wasn't rummaging,” he said. He opened another drawer and shuffled through utensils and measuring cups. “The pie server isn't where it should be.”

Rachel opened the drawer where it lived and found it lying right in front. “This pie server?” She smacked his hand with it when he tried to take it from her.

“Ow. What was that for?”

“If you wake Catch up, I will beat you senseless with this,” she said.

Ashe took a step back, surprise on his face. “She's in bed already?”

“She wasn't feeling well.” To be fair, she rarely felt well these days whether she admitted it or not. “Now give me the damn pie before you make any more racket.”

“Sorry,” he said, dropping his hands to his side.

Like for Ashe, pie was quickly becoming her go-to comfort food. After the day she'd had, it sounded like exactly what she needed. She took the dish and cut two slices, and red strawberry juice leaked from the edges of the pie, pooling on the plates. She dipped her finger in, then licked it clean. Wrapping the plastic wrap back over the remaining pie, she savored the sweet berry taste that lingered on her tongue.

Ashe dug in the refrigerator for whipped cream, shoving milk cartons and juice bottles into each other on the shelf. He pulled out the can and shook it. Rachel stopped him before he sprayed it. Motioning outside, she whispered, “I'll grab forks. You wait out there.”

He nodded.

She checked to make sure Catch's lights were still off. The hallway was dark, her door firmly closed. When she met Ashe on the deck, his head hung off the back of the chair. His eyes were closed, and for a second, she thought he'd fallen asleep. He clutched the whipped cream can to his chest with one hand and cracked one eye open when she sat in the chair next to him. He held his free hand out for his plate. Covering the top crust in whipped cream, he angled the nozzle of the canister toward her.

“Not that much,” she said.

“Suit yourself.” Ashe squirted one small dollop in the center of her piece.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, after they'd eaten a few bites in silence.

“I don't know. I mean, I should be. I've been pushing for this. A couple weeks ago it couldn't happen fast enough.”

“What?” Rachel asked, her fork clanking against the plate when it slipped from her grasp. She'd been thinking the same thing about Michael all day. But whatever Ashe meant, it wasn't her brother.

He took a bite before answering, not looking at her. “Lola signed the divorce papers today.”

The pain in his voice sent chills up her arms. Most of the time, he kept his emotions about Lola buried far below the surface. She'd seen glimpses of how Lola's betrayal had affected him, but when he kissed Rachel it was hard to imagine he'd ever wanted anyone else. Even when he'd kept things from getting too physical between them, she'd assumed it was because he refused to break his vows even though Lola clearly had. Now she wasn't so sure that's what had stopped him.

“Oh,” she said, thoughts of Michael temporarily replaced by Ashe's pain.

“Yeah.” He sighed, took another bite. “I thought I was over it. Over her. Then she came by work today and said she'd finally done it. Like all of a sudden she's ready to be done with me after months of dragging it out and telling me she didn't want it.”

“She didn't say why?”

“Something about seeing her sister again and not wanting to be the type of person who would do what she did to me. I don't really know. I kinda tuned out after she handed the papers over, too shocked to really understand her.”

“I'm sorry, Ashe.”

“Not your fault,” he said.

“No, but I'm sorry anyway.” Rachel turned to look at him. All of his usual energy had been drained. He seemed lost. “Want me to leave you alone?”

His lips turned up in a half smile. “If you do, I'll probably just keep wallowing. It's not a pretty sight, I promise.”

Rachel hated seeing him this way. He was always so confident and sure of himself. Sure of everything. “Well, we can't have that,” she said in an attempt to keep things light.

He set his empty plate on the deck. “You should probably keep me away from the pie too. Unless you want Catch to wake up and find it all gone.”

“Now
that
I can do.”

“Sorry for coming over and dumping this on you.”

“I'm not,” she said, turning her face to him. There was nothing she could do about Michael until Catch told her who he was. At least she could comfort Ashe.

Ashe opened his mouth to respond, but ended up sighing again instead.

She waited.

“I really loved her,” he said.

She couldn't tell if he was talking to her or merely thinking out loud so she stayed quiet. She set her half-eaten pie on the railing, pulled her knees to her chest, and pressed her feet on the edge of the chair. She stared out into the yard. Something scraped and clawed as it scavenged in the dark. Letting her head fall back against the chair, she stared at the cloudless sky. Stars twinkled in constellations she could no longer name.

After a minute, she reached over, took Ashe's hand, and held it. Neither spoke, just sat together as the night wore on around them.

 

31

Rachel forced herself out of bed at seven, even though she'd only gotten five hours of sleep. Even without sitting with Ashe for half the night, she wouldn't have managed much more. Her thoughts vacillated between Ashe and how to get Catch to tell her who her brother was. She rubbed at her dry eyes, hoping to suppress the dull ache that was brewing behind them. With Catch already up and making noise in the kitchen, she trudged downstairs in search of coffee.

“I see you got into my pie after I went to bed,” Catch said. She shoved the pie dish with her knuckles. It scraped on the counter as it slid a few inches toward the edge.

“It was for Ashe,” Rachel said.

“And that's supposed to make it okay?”

“I didn't think it was a big deal. I'm sorry.”

“Just because I've got a soft spot for the kid doesn't mean he can get away with doing whatever he wants. Same goes for you. This is still my house. I'm still in charge of what goes on here. Got it?”

Rachel nodded. She debated just going back upstairs and letting Catch stew in whatever bad mood had found her. Instead, she thrust the coffeepot back onto the cold burner and turned to face Catch. “Before you go and yell at Ashe too, you might want know that his divorce went through yesterday. And as much as you hate Lola and want her out of his life, he's not quite as okay with it.”

Catch doubled over, clutching her middle. “Son of a bitch.” She slapped a hand onto the counter to keep upright, her fingers curling into the granite.

Rachel rushed forward and slipped a supporting arm around Catch. She didn't try to move her, just held her until whatever was going on had passed. She could feel Catch's erratic heartbeat thumping against her chest.

Straightening, Catch gripped her hand. “I'm okay,” she managed in a trembling voice that undercut any authority her words may have had.

“What's wrong with you, Catch?” Rachel asked.

“Just a cramp. It's nothing.” Catch elbowed Rachel in the ribs when she didn't let go.

The oven timer blared, and Rachel stared at it for a moment, unsure what to do. She'd known something was wrong—really wrong—with Catch. And she'd ignored it. Told herself it was nothing because she didn't want to face the fact that the woman she'd come to care about, to rely on like family, might not be okay. Though even if she had tried to do something, Catch probably would've bitten her head off for it.

She finally stepped aside, hoping Catch was strong enough to hold herself up, and removed the pie from the oven. The heat assaulted her face and forearms. After setting the dish on the wire cooling rack, she tossed the pot holders onto the counter.

“At least have the decency not to lie right to my face,” Rachel said.

“Somebody put on her sassy pants today,” Catch mumbled.

Moving to the stool, Rachel kicked the other one toward her. “What's going on with you? I know you don't like asking for help, but you don't get a choice this time.”

“What? You think that just because you came clean with me I have to spill all my secrets too?”

“Yes,” Rachel said. “Actually, I do.”

Catch settled onto the stool, gripping the edge of the seat. Her shoulders shook slightly, but her voice was steady and serious when she said, “Apparently keeping secrets all these years is taking its toll on my body.”

“How bad is it?” Rachel tried to hide her anxiety, knowing from Catch's expression that the news wasn't good.

“Stomach cancer. Stage four.”

The words refused to sink in. They rolled around in Rachel's mind, trying to rearrange themselves into something that made sense.

“Stage four?” she asked. “That's pretty serious, right?”

“Next stage death,” Catch said, her voice resigned.

“No. That's not an option.” Rachel sounded hysterical but couldn't help it. “The doctors have to be able to do something. They can do chemo or radiation or something, right?”