Wish 01 - A Secret Wish (3 page)

* * *

Angela slammed on the brakes and held onto the wheel as her car skidded down the road, finally coming to a crashing stop just inches away from a beautiful blonde woman in an evening dress. For a moment all she could do was try to catch her breath. Her hands were shaking as she took them off the steering wheel. Then she unfastened her seat belt and stepped onto the street. “Are you all right?”

The woman didn’t reply. She looked as if she were in shock and frozen in place. Her blue eyes were wide and glassy.

“You’re not hurt. I didn’t hit you,” Angela said, trying to reassure herself as much as anyone.

The valet from the hotel joined them, asking if anyone needed help.

The woman finally woke up. She muttered, “No, I’m fine.” Then she ran across the street and jumped into the back of a white limousine.

“Carole,” a man called, running out of the hotel. “Come back. Damn,” he swore as the limousine pulled away.

Angela glanced at the man in the tuxedo, wondering if he was the reason the woman had run into the street without looking. A honking horn reminded her that her car was blocking traffic. With her heart still racing, she returned to the car, started the engine, and pulled away.

She could have hit that woman – maybe even killed her – and all in the matter of a few seconds. Thank goodness it hadn’t gone that way. She supposed she should offer up a prayer of gratitude, but she doubted anyone would be listening. The last eight years had certainly tried her once unshakeable faith.

Her cell phone rang for the third time since she’d left the apartment. She couldn’t ignore it again. Pulling over to the curb so she wouldn’t almost run into anyone else, she flipped open the phone and said, “Hello.”

“Angie, where are you?” Colin asked worriedly. “You’ve been gone for almost an hour.”

She thought it had only been a few minutes since she’d left the house to get wine. But she realized now she’d been driving around for a while. “I’m sorry. I got distracted.” She paused. “I don’t think I’m going to come back for a while. You better go out and get Uncle Rico his wine.”

“What are you doing, Angela?”

“Just taking a drive. I need some time to think.”

“Come back here and think. I’ll send everyone home. We’ll sit down and talk.”

“Are you going to change your mind?”

Her question was met with tense silence. “No,” he said finally. “I could lie and tell you I’d think about it, but it wouldn’t be the truth. And we love each other too much to lie.”

He was right. The time had come to put all their cards on the table. “I don’t think I’m going to change my mind either, Colin. I’ll be home later. Don’t wait up for me.”

“It’s your birthday. Of course I’m going to wait up for you.”

“That’s right, it’s my birthday. I’m thirty-five years old. I can take care of myself.” She ended the call before he could say anything else. She loved Colin, but right now he was standing between her and the baby she’d always wanted. She hated him for that. Why couldn’t he try one more time? It wasn’t as if it were his body going through the painful injections of hormones.

She put the car back into gear and drove down the street. As she stopped at a light, she suddenly realized where she was – North Beach, the neighborhood she’d grown up in. The church where she and the rest of her Italian Catholic family went to Mass every Sunday was just down the block. She hadn’t been to Mass with the family in a couple of years. She’d told her mother and sisters that she and Colin were going to a new church closer to their house, but the truth was that they weren’t going to any church.

The light turned green and she drove past the tall, massive building with the steeples and spires and found herself hitting the brake once again. She pulled into a spot nearby and shut off the engine. It was doubtful that the church would even be open on a Friday night. But maybe… maybe she’d just see. It was time she and God had a little chat.

* * *

Carole sat back against the cushy limo seat, her body shaking, her breath coming hard and fast. She’d almost been run over. If that woman hadn’t stopped her car in time, she’d be dead right now. God!
She’d be dead
. Forty years old and gone. She’d imagined dying a million times but it had never been like that – so sudden, so fast, and so irrevocable.

Someone had been watching out for her. She’d been given another chance.

To do what? She had a feeling she was supposed to know the answer to that question, but she didn’t. She was in new territory tonight. She’d done something she’d never done before: run out on her own life.

Actually, that wasn’t completely true. She’d run away once before, on her twentieth birthday. She’d left the old neighborhood behind. She’d turned her back on friends and family to go after her dream.

And now she was running away again.

There would be repercussions. Blake would be furious. The guests would wonder where she was and why she’d left so abruptly. There would be speculation about whether she was sick, or if she’d drunk too much, or if – God forbid – she’d seen another woman kissing her husband. Greta Sorenson, San Francisco’s society columnist, would probably gossip about her sudden departure in tomorrow’s edition of the
Tribune.
What she really needed to do was go back to the party.

It wasn’t too late. She’d only been gone a few minutes. She could laugh off her disappearance with some smooth explanation about fixing a broken strap on her high heel or something like that. The only problem was… she didn’t want to go back.

How could that be? How could she suddenly not want what she’d always wanted?

Reaching into the liquor cabinet, she pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and a shot glass. She filled it to the brim and then tossed the liquid down her throat. It tingled and burned, making her feel like she was really alive. After the second shot, she felt calmer.

She glanced out the window, watching the city go by. She loved San Francisco, loved its changing neighborhoods, foggy nights, and windswept views of the bay and the ocean. She’d spent her entire life in this city – a city of many cultures and neighborhoods that changed from one block to the next. For the first twenty years of her life, she’d called a low-income housing project in Potrero Hill home, and for the last twenty years, she’d resided in the expensive Marina District. She’d lived two lives. And now she was wondering where the next twenty years would take her.

It shocked her that she had no real idea of what was supposed to come next. From the time she was a little girl, she’d always been focused, driven. Every step she’d taken had been deliberate, purposeful, with one goal – to change her life for the better. She’d hated the run-down one-bedroom apartment she’d shared with her mother after her father took off. She’d hated the lumpy single mattress on the floor in the corner of the living room that had been her bed for so many years. She’d hated feeling like she wasn’t good enough. So every night, she’d looked out at the bright downtown city lights and imagined a different world.

She’d made a plan to get an education, find a job and a better place to live, marry well and have children who would never have to grow up the way she had. And she’d done it all. She’d been ruthless and a little selfish. She was honest enough with herself to admit that, although she doubted she’d admit it to anyone else. She’d carefully cultivated an image, and very few people really knew her – certainly none of the people who had been at her birthday party.

She hadn’t thought about her childhood in a very long time, and as she settled back in her seat, some good moments flashed through her head. They hadn’t had money, but she had been very close to her mom – the two of them against the world, her mom used to say. But her mother hadn’t really wanted out of that world, or if she had, she hadn’t had the courage or the determination to get out. So Carole had gone without her.

Sighing, she poured herself another shot of whiskey and drank it down. Even if she found peace in the liquor, it wouldn’t last long. She’d tried that before, more than a few times.

“Mrs. Prescott?” The chauffeur’s voice came over the speaker. “Shall I take you home now?”

She suddenly realized that the chauffeur had been doing exactly what she’d requested: driving around.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I want to go home.” But not to the mansion that overlooked the Golden Gate Bridge. She pushed the intercom again. “Potrero Hill,” she said. “I’ll give you more specific directions when we get there.”

Leaning back against the seat, she hoped she hadn’t just made the second worst decision of the night.

Angela walked up the steps to St. Catherine’s Church. The front door was locked. She tried the side doors, but they were also locked. There were lights on in the nearby rectory where the priests resided, but she didn’t want to go that far. The fact that the church was closed seemed prophetic. She was on her own in every possible way. She didn’t know why she’d bothered to stop.

“Can I help you?”

She whirled around in surprise at the sound of a male voice – and a familiar one at that. The tall, fair-haired man with the light blue eyes and the smattering of freckles across his nose had once been her very best friend and the object of a teenage crush. Now he’d traded his blue jeans and T-shirts for black slacks, a black shirt and a priest’s collar.

“Patrick O’Brien,” she said with a disbelieving shake of her head. She and Patrick had gone to Catholic school together until the eleventh grade, when his family had moved away. She remembered her mother telling her that Patrick had become a priest, but she hadn’t realized he was working here at St. Catherine’s. She wondered why her mother hadn’t told her that. Or maybe she had. Lately, Angela tried to avoid any conversations about old friends from the neighborhood. The stories usually involved someone getting married or having another baby.

“Angela Razzini,” Patrick said with the same boyish grin that had once made her heart tumble over in her chest. “It’s about time you dropped by.”

“It’s Angela Payne now. I’m married.”

“Your mother said you were.”

“Oh, that’s right. I guess you must see her a lot.”

“Every Sunday. As well as your sisters, their spouses, and their children. But no Angela, never Angela. Why is that?” he asked with a thoughtful smile.

“I live on the other side of town.”

“So it’s a question of geography?”

She hesitated, wondering how bad it would be to lie to a priest, even if she had once swapped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with him. “How long have you been here?” she asked instead.

“Six months. I was in L.A. for a while, but San Francisco is home. How have you been?”

“Great. I’ve been great.”

He smiled in that way that priests do when they know you’re not telling the truth. “Is that why you’re trying to get into my church on a Friday night?”

“It was an impulse. I was driving by, I saw the church, and I started thinking about the past.”

“Of course,” he said with a knowing nod. “It’s your birthday, a good time for reflection.”

“How on earth did you remember that?” she asked in amazement.

“I remember a lot of things about you, Angie, like your smile and the way it lit up your face when you got excited about something. You made all the kids feel good, including me. And you had such a passion for your art. You used to paint on every available space – the back of your parents’ garage, my bedroom wall, and even Mrs. Murphy’s fence. She did not appreciate your artwork, however,” he added with a laugh.

“That’s true. I thought she was going to put a curse on me.” The old woman had lived in the corner house that all the neighborhood kids thought was haunted. They’d been convinced she was a witch. One boring summer day Patrick had dared her to draw a picture on the back fence, and she’d sketched a witch flying over the moon on a broomstick. Mrs. Murphy had been furious. Angela had been grounded for a month, not to mention having to go to confession, say hundreds of
Hail Marys
, and write a letter of apology. “You made me do that,” she said, pointing her finger at him, “and I was the one who got into trouble as usual.”

“You were a loyal friend. You didn’t rat me out. I appreciated that.” He paused. “Do you still paint?”

“Not as much as I used to, but I have a small art gallery in Noe Valley. I show the work of local artists.”

“I’ll have to stop by. Do you sell any of your own work?”

“Not lately.” She hadn’t been inspired to paint during the last few years. That part of her body seemed to have dried up along with everything else.

“I’m not surprised you own your own business. You always inspired me with your determination to succeed, to get what you wanted.”

“Sometimes it takes more than determination.”
Sometimes it takes a miracle.
But she couldn’t say that to him. He was a priest. Although who better than a priest to get her that miracle?

“Sometimes it does,” he agreed. “I’ve always found prayer to be helpful.”

“Always?” she asked, unable to keep the doubt out of her voice. “I never thought you would become a priest, Patrick. You loved trouble.”

He laughed. “Hey, I wasn’t that bad, and we went to Catholic school together. I was an altar boy.”

“I never thought that you, of all people, could live a life free of sin. You certainly had some sinful ideas when we were kids – like the frog in Mr. Martin’s suit pocket and the time we took the tops off the salt shakers at the Snack Shack.”

“Innocent childhood pranks,” he said with a grin. “I grew up, confessed my sins, did penance, and now I try to do better. God helps me.”

“Lucky you,” she muttered, reminded of why she’d stopped here in the first place.

“What kind of man did you marry? Is he good to you?”

“Yes. He’s in advertising. I met him when I worked for an agency doing graphic design. That was ten years ago. His name is Colin.”

“And where is he tonight – on your birthday?” His eyes grew speculative, and she remembered that she’d always had trouble lying to Patrick. He had a way of seeing straight into her heart. That trait probably made him a very good priest. At the moment, it just made her feel uncomfortable.

“He’s at home. My family decided to throw me a surprise party after I told them not to.”

“You used to like surprises. What happened?”

“Thirty-five happened. This birthday reminds me of what I don’t have.” She shook her head, feeling the emotions beginning to well up inside her. “I should go.”

“Don’t run away. You came here for a reason. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I didn’t come here on purpose.”

“But you still got here. Do you want to go inside?” He pulled a key ring out of his black slacks. “I can give you a few minutes alone. Maybe you want to say a prayer.”

She thought about his offer and decided against it. “There’s nothing for me inside the church.”

“Are you sure?”

His blue eyes were both curious and compassionate, and she found herself wanting to confide in him. “I can’t believe any more, Patrick. God doesn’t answer my prayers. He’s deaf where I’m concerned.” The words came out in a rush. She’d never told anyone her doubts. Her religious beliefs were supposed to be unshakeable.

“Maybe you’re the one who’s not listening,” Patrick said quietly.

“That’s just priest doublespeak. You don’t really know if anyone is listening to you, either.”

“That’s why they call it faith, Angie.”

She sighed. “I’ve lost mine. That’s why you haven’t seen me at church. I can’t pretend anymore. And don’t tell my mother or sisters I said that, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“If you don’t want to go into the church, come into the rectory. We’ll have hot chocolate. I think I can drum up some whipped cream. You used to love that.”

“I’m not that girl anymore. And you can’t fix me, Patrick. I’m – I’m broken,” she said, feeling a sense of overwhelming defeat.

“I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true. What do all good Catholics do? They have big families and pass on the traditions of the family and the church. But not me. I can’t seem to have a baby. The girl you thought could do anything can’t do the simplest, most natural thing of all – bring a child into the world. I’ve tried in-vitro three times and nothing. Tonight Colin told me that he wouldn’t do it again. He’s forty years old. He wants us to plan a future with just him and me. But I can’t find a way to give up on my dream of having my own child. I also can’t imagine a future without Colin. I have no idea what we’re going to do.”

His eyes were gentle and sad. “I’m sorry, Angie.”

“Yeah, me too.” With tears pressing her eyelids, she turned to leave. She didn’t want to break down in front of him.

“Come back,” he called after her. “Don’t worry about when or what time. Just come back when you’re ready.”

She paused on the sidewalk. “I won’t ever be ready to come back to the church. Not unless I have a child with me.”

“God likes a good challenge,” he said with a smile.

“Then he must love me.”

“He does. You just don’t know it.”