The Secret Ingredient of Wishes (32 page)

Her knees dug into the floor but she didn't move. She concentrated on the silence seeping through the floorboards and cracks around the door, let it wash over her like the warm rain had the day before. Steadier, Rachel recapped the bottle and stuffed it back in the box. She shuffled to the bed and curled up on top of the covers, wishing for dreamless sleep.

*   *   *

Rachel woke up sweaty and a little hazy. Her hair was tangled around her head like a noose. Coughing, she unwound it and rolled so her head hung over the side of the bed. She had the vague sense that she needed to throw up.

She lay there until the floor stopped rolling beneath her, then she sat up and blinked against the bright light shining in the window. The sun was halfway down the sky already. Standing, she braced a hand on the wall as her vision darkened. When it cleared, she walked to the steps and unearthed the bottle from the box for a second time.

She headed downstairs with the bottle gripped in her gauze-wrapped fist.

The kitchen was empty, but two pies sat on the counter. She listened for sounds from Catch's room. After a few seconds of silence, she opened the bottle and dumped the contents down the drain. She turned on the water and let it run fast and hot.

She slid open the cabinet below the sink and rooted through the garbage, burying the bottle somewhere in the middle.

“I was beginning to worry about you,” Catch said from behind her, making her jump.

“Oh, really?” Rachel said, letting the remnants of her anger heat her words. “Because earlier I could've sworn you didn't give a damn about anyone.”

“Don't get smart with me, missy. And let me see your hands. Scott said you'd done something to them, but no one would tell me how bad it is. Give 'em here.”

Rachel extended her hands. It was difficult to stay mad at someone who was trying to take care of her. “You no longer have to worry about the plum tree.”

“Is that why my backyard smells like rotten damn fruit?”

“I was mad. And it was sitting back there mocking all of us. Spreading its poison to the rest of the trees, ruining what good was left. I had to stop it, so I ripped it out.”

“And ripped your hands to shreds in the process?”

“Yes.”

Tsking, Catch opened a cabinet and pulled out a round tin from Everley's shop. “Put this on twice a day. Should help with the pain and keep it from getting infected.”

“Thanks.” Rachel peeled off the gauze and rubbed the ointment on her palms. She sighed at the cool sensation that spread from her hands into her wrists. It smelled like lemons and honey. She caught the box of food service gloves Catch tossed her in the crook of her arm.

“Why didn't you tell me he was Ashe's brother?” Rachel asked.

“You weren't ready. If I'd told you yesterday who he was, you would've gone over there and told him that nothing about his life is real. Not his parents, not his brother, not even his name. How do you think either of you would've handled that?”

“But he doesn't even remember me.”

“I know,” Catch said. She crimped the foil tighter around one of the pies, as if she needed something to keep her hands and mind occupied. “With their bastard of a father dragging the family name through the proverbial mud right now, Ashe needs him. And he needs Ashe. I hope you see that.”

Rachel nodded and put on a pair of the gloves. “I'm not heartless.”

“Of course you're not. If you weren't the type of girl who would help people get what was rightfully theirs even after they tried to run you out of town, you wouldn't be living in my house. You're a good girl, Rachel. I know you'll do what's right with my boys too.”

“I won't say anything about Scott yet.” She looked back at Catch until she was sure she had her attention. “But this doesn't mean that I've forgiven you for not telling anyone about being sick.”

“Guess it's a good thing you won't be the one waiting at the Pearly Gates, deciding whether or not to let me in, then, huh?”

“If it were up to me, you wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.”

*   *   *

Rachel sat cross-legged in the center of her bed. Through the window she could see the black spot where she'd torn the plum tree from the ground. The earth was still dark, decaying. But the other trees had come back with vigor. Their fruit was vibrant with color. She could smell their sweet scent through the open window.

She still had no clue what to do about her brother, but there was one thing she could fix. At least she hoped she could. Of all the wishes she'd encountered since coming to Nowhere, this one was the most important. It wouldn't go wrong. She wouldn't let it.

Remembering what Catch had said about her ability only working right when she fully believed in herself, she released the last dregs of doubt, and, closing her eyes, whispered, “I wish Catch didn't have cancer.” She repeated the phrase over and over until the words ran together so they sounded like a foreign language.
IwishCatchdidn'thavecancer.

A wish materialized in the air. She pinched it between her forefinger and thumb, the words shimmering in black ink as the light hit the crisp, white paper.

This wish would go right. She could feel it.

She closed her eyes, forcing her body to relax, and let the room melt away first, then the sounds of the birds outside, so the only thought in her mind was the wish.

IwishCatchdidn'thavecancer.

The air blew in through the window, hot and sticky. A bead of sweat rolled down her neck and was absorbed by her bra. She kept her hands locked together in her lap, the paper pressed between them. The deeper cuts were still raw despite the salve Catch had given her. Ignoring the sharp pain that shot through her palms, she clamped them tighter together and refocused her attention.

IwishCatchdidn'thavecancer.

When she finally opened her eyes, she had to blink against the bright sun. It took her a moment to realize Ashe was standing on his back deck watching her. He smiled, raised a hand in greeting. She smiled, but stayed focused on her wish. On Catch.

Rachel thought it one more time. Clear and strong, it filled her mind.

I. Wish. Catch. Didn't. Have. Cancer.

 

33

The quilted pie carrier slung on Rachel's arm dug deep lines into her skin. She walked toward Ashe's house like a kid being forced to bum a cup of sugar from the neighbors. Head down, she held her breath as she passed the remnants of the plum tree. Dead leaves and bits of bark crunched under her shoes.

She'd taken the bandages off her hands. The red wounds on her palms throbbed, but at least they were less noticeable than the bulky wraps that made her hands useless.

“A pretty girl and a pie. What did I do to deserve this?”

Rachel's head snapped up. Ashe waited at the top of the steps, leaning on the railing. She wondered if he'd been watching her the whole time. Barefoot and in a wrinkled gray tee and jeans, he looked like he'd just rolled out of bed. His easy smile caused a pang in her heart.

Taking a deep breath to steady her voice, she said, “Mandatory socializing.”

“For you or me?”

“Both, I think.” Rachel tried her best to smile. “Between your dad's extracurricular activities and your divorce, Catch is pretty worried about you.”

He shrugged, but the pain in his eyes gave him away. “I'll be fine. Like I've said, neither are a big surprise.”

“Doesn't mean they hurt any less.”

“True,” Ashe conceded. Then he walked back to the door, leaned inside, and said, “Got a pie delivery out here. Bring utensils!”

Rachel stopped a few feet from the steps. Tightening her fingers around the pie carrier's handles, she winced as the force sent pain through her still-healing palms. But at least it gave her something besides her brother to concentrate on. She closed her eyes as it traveled up her arms. The sun shone red behind her eyelids.

When she opened them, she swayed on the uneven grass, light-headed. Ashe was already down the stairs and a few feet from her before she realized he was there. His gentle hands stroked her arms, her hair. She blinked at him. “I just got dizzy for a second. I'm fine.” She brushed the hair back from her face and exhaled a long, steadying breath.

He slipped the handles of the bag down her arm, careful not to touch her injured hand, and trailed his fingers over the red grooves on her skin from the weight of the pie pulling on the straps. He led her to the lounge chair on the deck. The sun-soaked fabric warmed the backs of her knees and the tops of her calves where they pressed against the cushion. She settled in deeper, the warmth comforting.

Setting the pie down on the far end of the cushion, Ashe sat on the chaise opposite her. He cupped her knees, splaying his fingers to cover as much of her skin as possible. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth.

“What's going on with you?” He ducked his head to meet her eyes. “You've been acting strange since the market. And then that thing with the plum tree. Please tell me what's wrong. Maybe I can help.”

How could she tell him Catch was dying or his brother wasn't really who he thought he was? How could she tell him that despite all of it, she still wanted him to want her?

“There's nothing you can do, Ashe.” She looked down at her lap to avoid his stare. “But thanks.”

Scott came out, a roll of paper towels tucked under his arm, plates and silverware clutched in one hand and a six-pack in the other. Lucy bounded out after him and headed for Rachel.

Ashe let out a sharp whistle and the dog froze. “Get the door, Lucy,” he said.

The dog trotted back to the door, hopped onto her hind legs, and pushed the door with her front paws. It closed on the first try. Ashe left one hand on Rachel's leg when he removed the pie from the carrier and broke off a piece of crust. He tossed it, and Lucy snatched it out of the air. When he snapped his fingers, she lay down at the foot of the chair.

“Hey, how're the hands?” Scott asked her, setting the paper towels down.

“A little better,” Rachel said. “Thanks.” She watched Scott while he unstacked the plates and set them on the empty half of Ashe's chaise, wondering if she would ever get used to the shock of seeing him alive and grown. She leaned forward and wrapped a pinky around Ashe's thumb.

Scott popped the caps off of three beers and set them on the small table between the two chairs. He sat next to Rachel, stretching his arms out behind him on the cushion. Narrowing his eyes at Ashe, he said, “I don't think I've ever seen you take this long to cut into a pie. You sick?”

“Delivery girl's a little distracting,” Ashe said. But he let go of her leg and reached for the knife.

“I can go back inside if you want.” Scott smirked at his brother.

“No,” Rachel said. As much as seeing him confused her and brought the sadness to the surface, she hated the thought of him leaving more. “You should stay. You're not interrupting anything.”

Ashe shrugged at his brother. He ripped off paper towels and then cut three slices of pie. The raspberry sauce dripped onto the deck. Lucy's claws scratched at the wood as she inched closer and licked at the red spots.

Rachel set her plate on her knees. Gripping the fork loosely to keep her cuts on her hands from reopening, she dug the tines in and broke off a small bite.

Ashe and Scott ate their pieces in four bites each. They both saved a small chunk of crust, which they threw in the air for Lucy.

“So, Ashe told me you want to be a vet. Is that what you've always wanted to do?” Rachel asked Scott.

“Pretty much. Our dad's never really been a fan of pets so we didn't have any growing up, but I always knew I wanted to work with animals,” Scott said. Catching Ashe's eyes, he smiled. “I snuck out of the house once to go check on the neighbor's dog that had been hit by a car the week before. Mama didn't know about it, obviously, or I wouldn't have been sneaking out, and she went around closing all the windows and locking the doors because a storm was coming. When I came home I couldn't get in and had to stay outside in the pouring rain because there was no way I was waking her up to tell her what I'd done.”

Ashe laughed, tapping the tines of his empty fork against his lips. “Poor kid was curled up on the porch swing, soaked through to his underwear when I found him. He was sick for two weeks after that with pneumonia.”

Rachel could see him there, tucked into a ball with his Transformers T-shirt clinging to his little body and his dark hair dripping onto his forehead. The bone-deep recognition sent a chill through her body. She rubbed at her arms to tease some warmth back in. She jolted when Ashe laid a hand on her arm.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah. That just reminded me of something similar that happened with my brother,” she said. She leaned her elbows on her knees for support and concentrated on keeping her plate from shaking. “Did your mom find out?”

“Nah,” Scott said, eying the pie dish. “Ashe covered for me.”

“Scott even gave me his favorite Ninja Turtle figurine as a thank-you,” Ashe said.

“Michelangelo,” Rachel said without thinking. She'd found the orange-masked turtle abandoned under her bed after Michael disappeared. It was the only thing of his that had remained in the house for reasons she still didn't fully understand. Perhaps because he had given it to her, so it was technically no longer his.

Ashe stared at her. “What did you say?” He straightened, not moving his eyes from hers.

“Michelangelo was Michael's favorite, you know, because of the name,” she said, her voice shaky.

“You're not going to tell me he gave you his figurine too, are you?” Ashe asked.

“Is Michael your brother?” Scott asked, saving her from answering Ashe.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.