Three Wishes (24 page)

He smiled at her astonishment. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

He knew she was remembering the pride he had taken in being named one of the twenty-five most eligible bachelors by
People.
He had strutted around for days after the issue had come out.

“I'm sure. Bree's a remarkable woman. I've been wanting to tell you about her for a while. You'll like her a lot, Lissa. I'd love you to meet her.”

Her voice hardened a touch. “Will you bring her here to visit?”

He wanted to. But if he went there now, it would be a nightmare of a visit. More quietly, he said, “I need to do some patching up there first.”

“That's wise.”

“They're still angry?”

“Shouldn't they be?” she asked. “They won't ever forget what you did, Tom, and it wasn't only when Mom died.”

“I know.”

“Dad doesn't want your money.”

Tom knew that, too. Every check he sent was returned uncashed. More quietly, he asked, “How is he?”

“Old and mean and crotchety.”

“More so than usual?”

“You could say that.” There was a change in her voice then, a crack in the spunk. “He isn't pleased with me. I did the unthinkable.”

Tom could think of only one thing that was unthinkable for a daughter of Harris Gates.

“That's right,” she singsonged. “I'm pregnant.”

His first response was excitement, his second was to think.

“Right again,” she said in his silence. “Pregnant and unmarried.”

“That's still great . . . I think. Who's the guy?”

“Someone I work with.”

“Are you marrying him?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don't love him.”

“Did he ask?”

“Yes. I said no.”

“Do you want the baby?”

“I'm not on the witness stand,” she protested, in a way that said Tom's grilling was the latest of many.

“I'm sorry,” he said gently. “I just want to know if you're happy.”

“I am. Yes, I want the baby. I love babies, and I'm not getting any younger.”

“You're only thirty-eight.”

“Thirty-nine next month.”

And still living in her father's house, much as Bree had done until her father had died. In theory, that showed either great strength or great weakness. Tom knew it was the former in both women. They were a lot alike. “When's the baby due?”

“April.”

Three months off. So she was six months pregnant. And he hadn't known.

He tried to picture his little sister with a round belly and couldn't quite. He imagined that wasn't the case to his father's disapproving eye. “Come live with us, Lissa,” he said on impulse. “Have the baby here.”

There was sadness in Alice's voice when she said, “And give up my life here? I can't do that, Tom. You left when you were eighteen and didn't look back. I've been here all along. I can't leave now. I won't do that to myself, and I won't do it to the people I love.”

“But if Dad is making your life miserable—”

“He'll come around. If not before, then after. He may have gripes with his kids, but he loves his grandkids. If you'd spent any time around here, you'd know that.”

Tom did know it. There had been grandkids aplenty before the estrangement. He had seen his father with them. At the time, he had attributed the softness to age. Now he realized that that was only part of it.

“Then will you just come to visit?” he asked. Even beyond introducing Bree to Alice, he wanted Alice to see Panama. He knew she would like it.

“That might be hard.”

“Because of work?” Alice wrote for the local newspaper.

“Because of Dad. And Carl and Max and Peter and Dan.”

The opposition was formidable. Tom took it step by step. “Would you come for my wedding?”

“When is it?”

“Soon, I hope.”

“I can't promise anything, Tom.”

But she hadn't hung up at the sound of his voice, which was something. “I'm happy about the baby, Lissa. If anyone will be a great mom, it's you. Do you need anything?”

“You mean like money?” she asked, with an edge.

Yes, that was what he had meant. It had been an automatic thing. Less automatically, more thoughtfully, he said, “Support of any kind.”

“I have what I need.”

“Will you let me know if you don't?”

She didn't answer.

“Can I call you again?” he asked, and this time he waited.

After what seemed an eternity, she whispered a soft, “As long as he doesn't know,” and quietly hung up the phone.

 

Bree woke up when Tom came back to bed. She assumed he had just gone to the bathroom and was surprised to find his hands and feet cold. When he drew her into the curve of his body, she shivered. “Where've you been?” she murmured against the pillow.

“On the phone,” Tom breathed against her hair. “I called my sister.”

Bree opened her eyes. “You did?” She turned in his arms to see him, though it was too dark to see much. “How was it?”

“Nice.”

“She didn't hang up?”

He chuckled. It was a sweet sound, which said he was feeling pleased. “Only at the end. I told her about you. I invited her to the wedding. I said I'd get back to her with a date. So. What do you think?”

Bree slipped her arms around his neck. “I think it's great. I'm proud of you. You took the first step.”

He gave her a squeeze. “About the wedding. What do you think?”

“I think I can't set a date until I get used to being engaged. Tell me about Alice. Was she friendly?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“She's between a rock and a hard place.”

“Between your dad and you?”

“And my brothers and me. It won't be easy, reconciling.”

“But you want it. I know you do.”

“I do.”

She beamed. “I'm
so glad
you called her.”

He drew back his head. “You didn't wish for it, did you?”

“Me? No.” When he continued to look at her, she said, “I swear I didn't. But I might have. That would have been something worthwhile to spend a wish on.”

He sighed, relaxed, and drew her in tight. “I used to think family wasn't important.”

“It is.”

“I'm sorry I never knew yours.”

“Don't be,” Bree said. Her grandparents would have been scandalized by Tom's reputation. Her father would have positively faded into the woodwork beside him. “It's better this way.”

“What about your mother?”

“What about her?”

“Do you ever think about her?”

Bree did. More often in the last few months. “Sometimes.”

“Do you ever think about tracking her down?”

“I used to think about doing it. Then time passed and I let it go. Maybe I should wish for her,” she said on a whim. “Y'know, make that one of my three wishes. It'd be a good one, don't you think?”

“It would. Hypothetically.”

“I know, I know. You're afraid I'll set my heart on seeing her, and then if the wish doesn't work, I'll be upset.”

“I don't want you upset.”

“But it'd be a good wish,” she reasoned, warming to the idea. “It isn't greedy, like for something material. And it isn't vague. If I wish for my mother, she either shows up or she doesn't. Then I'll know, one way or another.”

“About the wishes.”

“About the wishes.” She snuggled closer, warm and suddenly sleepy again. “I'm happy for you, Tom,” she whispered.

“Me, too,” he whispered back.

 

The idea of wishing for her mother might have come on a whim, but Bree couldn't believe how perfect it was. Getting engaged was something to share with a parent, and this woman was the only parent Bree had left. If ever there was a time to try to reach her, it was now.

So while Tom was putting coffee on to brew one morning the following week, she came close to him at the counter and said, “I'm doing it, Tom. I'm wishing for my mother.”

He stopped mid-scoop. “A real wish?”

“If that's what they are.”

He finished measuring coffee into the filter. By the time he was done, she saw telltale lines between his brows and by his mouth.

“What?” she asked.

He turned to her. “I don't want you hurt.”

“By what? The wishes not being real? Or her not being what I want her to be?”

“Either.”

Bree had given both possibilities plenty of thought. “It's okay if the wishes aren't real. But I have to know one way or another, and I won't unless I try something else. The fire may have been caused by the furnace. It may have been a coincidence at the time that I made my wish. This is different. What would be the chance of the woman materializing after all these years at exactly the same time that I'm wishing her to appear?”

“Slim.”

“Very. Her name was Matty Ryan. My father met her in Boston and followed her to Chicago. I was born there. He never brought her back here. So maybe she doesn't know where I am. This would help both of us.”

Tom looked pained.

“Okay,” Bree conceded. “Maybe she could have found me if she wanted to. But what if she was afraid I wouldn't want to see her after all this time?”

“Do you know for sure that she's still alive?”

“No. But she was twenty when I was born, so she'd only be fifty-three now. That's not very old. Think about it,” she said, when he remained doubtful. “What do I have to lose? Worst-case scenario, no one shows up, so I can forget the business about the dreams.”

“Worst-case scenario,” he corrected, “she shows up and isn't what you want her to be.” He took her face in coffee-scented hands. “As long as you recognize that that's a possibility, it's okay.”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrists, wanting him to know how sure she was that making this wish was right. “My grandparents said she didn't want me, and my father never disagreed. So that's what I've believed all my life. Isn't
that
the worst-case scenario? That she doesn't want me?” Her eyes softened. She allowed herself to feel the excitement she had been trying to stem. “But what if she does? I've read stories about women who gave babies up for adoption and were reunited with them years later. What if I could have a reunion like that with my mother? What if there were
reasons
why she gave me up? My father loved her. I used to see a look in his eyes that I never understood until I met you. I feel it in me when I look at you, the same wanting I saw in his eyes. He never stopped loving her. But what if she didn't love him? What if his love frightened her? What if she felt
suffocated
by it? What if she had no money at all and thought I'd be better off with my father? What if she just assumed he would pour some of that love into me?”

A silence fell between them.

“He didn't,” Tom said sadly.

“No. I wasn't her. She must have been special.”

He folded her in his arms. “So are you.”

She could feel his conviction in the way he held her. It gave her strength. “I want to do this, Tom.”

He took her face again and kissed her this time. She imagined she tasted vulnerability, even desperation, in him.

“It'll be okay,” she soothed. “Don't you see? I could have gone looking for her years ago, but I didn't feel strong enough then. I couldn't take the risk. I didn't have enough to hold me up if she turned her back and walked away. Now I do.” She rose on tiptoe, stretched her arms way up past his neck, and held on tight. The sense of fullness was back, richer than ever. She breathed it in and smiled.

“And if it's the second wish?” he whispered. “What then?”

“No more wishes.”

It must have been the right answer, because after another minute, he held her back and she knew she had won. The worry lines had left his face. Anticipation was in their place.

“So how do you do it?” he asked. “Is there a ritual?”

She felt a burst of excitement. “There were never any specific instructions. I guess I'll just do what I did last time.” She laced her fingers and shut her eyes. In the next instant, they popped open again. “You won't laugh, will you?”

“Of course not.”

“This must look pretty silly to someone who doesn't believe.”

“Bree.”

“Okay.” She closed her eyes tighter this time, brought her laced hands to her chin, and said, “I . . . wish . . . to see . . . my mother.” She conjured up an image of the being of light, waited until she felt the warmth of it and its calm, and said the words again.

Then she opened her eyes. They met Tom's expectant ones. Only their breathing broke the silence. Slowly, she unlaced her fingers, let her hands fall to her sides, and relaxed.

For the longest time, they simply looked at each other. Finally, Tom whispered, “What now?”

“Now we wait.”

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