Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes

by Denise Grover Swank

  After I bought makeup and a collar and food for Muffy, I headed to the beauty salon. I talked to a stylist and since Aunt Bessie had already cut my hair, we decided I should get highlights, pretty caramel-colored ones that blended in with my dark brown hair. And a manicure to go with the pedicure.

  When I left a few hours later, I wondered why I never did these things before. Why I waited until the last days of my life to feel pampered and beautiful. People tell themselves there’s plenty of time to do it all, but most of the time they never see death coming. I sat in the front seat of my rented convertible thinking of all the living I had left to do.

  I wasn't ready to go home yet.

  I put the top back down, slid on my sunglasses, and headed for the highway, driving seventy miles an hour, the wind blowing through my hair. I never felt so free and alive. This was how I wanted to remember living, if you remembered anything after you were dead. I filed it away in a spot in my mind, a scrapbook of memories to take to the afterlife.

  Careful not to cross the county line, I turned around at the exit before I reached the edge. I sure didn’t want to spend my last days in jail.

  On my way home, I remembered the wooden box in the trunk. I didn’t know how to go about opening it, so I took it into the hardware store and asked a clerk. He suggested cutting it with bolt cutters. He set the box on a counter and pulled out the biggest pair of scissors I had ever seen. With a couple of quick snips, he cut both links of the padlock. “Who’s Dora?” He asked, pulling the lock free.

  “Hopefully, I’m about to find out.”

  I drove to Violet’s house. It seemed fitting we open it together.

  “What are you doin’ here?” She asked, surprised to see me at three o’clock in the afternoon. My new highlights and flashy convertible must have thrown her off, too. I supposed it looked like I was going through a midlife crisis. An end-of-life crisis was more like it.

  “I got the lock cut off the box. I thought you might want to help me open it.” I carried it into the kitchen and set it on the island. We both sat on stools staring at it as if we expected the lid to pop open on its own.

  “I’m scared to find out what’s inside.” I finally admitted.

  “I know. Me, too.”

  “But we’ve got to find out sometime, right?” So I grabbed the lid in both hands and flipped it open.

  At least nothing flew out.

  I pulled it closer and Violet and I both looked inside. A diamond engagement ring lay on top of a stack of papers. Lifting it out, I twisted the ring in the light, watching it sparkle.

  “Whose is that?” Violet asked in awe. “I never saw Momma wear anythin’ like that.”

  “I don’t know…” my voice trailed off as I studied it. It was a big diamond, about a half-carat, with tiny diamonds surrounding it on a white gold band. “It’s beautiful.” I placed it on my right ring finger. It fit perfectly. The sparkly stone was so mesmerizing, I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

  Violet shook her head. “I can’t believe Momma gave you something like that.”

  “Neither can I.” I couldn’t even imagine where she would have gotten it.

  “Well, what else is in there?” Violet sounded excited, her giddiness infectious.

  I pulled out the next item, what appeared to be an old savings account passbook. I opened the cover and read the inside page. “Dora Middleton.” I turned to Violet. “I guess we found out who Dora is.”

  “Well, not really. We found her saving account book, but I don't remember any Middletons in our family, and look,” she pointed to the address below her name. “She lived in Shreveport. I don’t recall any family living in Shreveport.”

  “Shreveport’s not very far, Violet. That doesn’t mean anything.” But she was right. I didn’t remember any of our family living in Louisiana, either. I opened the book and checked the balance. I felt like I was snooping in someone else’s business, but reminded myself it belonged to me now. “Violet, there’s twenty thousand dollars in there.”

  She took the book out of my hand. “Why on earth did Momma give this to you?” she asked in amazement, then raised her face, wide-eyed. “It has Dora Middleton’s name on it. How could it be yours?”

  I shrugged and looked inside the book. “The last entry was in 1986.”

  “The year you were born.”

  We were silent for a moment, staring at the book. My right hand felt heavy from the unaccustomed weight of the ring.

  “There’s more in there,” Violet said.

  I pulled the papers out of the box, attempting to wrap my head around the fact I might own twenty thousand dollars. Unfolding the papers, I read the top line. “The Last Will and Testament of Dora Colleen Middleton.” I stopped to see Violet’s reaction. “Why is the will of someone neither one of us know in a box left to me?” And by Momma, no less. That part surprised me the most.

  “I don’t know,” Violet said in a gasp. “Read it!”

  “Blah, blah, blah…and to Rose Anne Gardner, my daughter…” My voice trailed off in shock. “My daughter?”

  Violet jerked the papers out of my hand and scanned down to my name. “How can that be?”

  “I dunno…”

  We looked at the will, trying to make sense of it.

  “Aunt Bessie said one day I would want answers and she would tell me what she knew.” I looked into Violet’s blurry eyes. “Do you think she knows about this?”

  She wiped a tear trailing down her cheek. “How could she not? The big question is how did we not know? You know people in this town can’t keep a secret to save their life.”

  “Is she your mother too?” I asked. Did this mean we weren’t sisters?

  Violet bit her trembling lip. “No, I have pictures of Momma holding me in the hospital. I never thought of it before, but I don't recall ever seein’ any of you in the hospital when you were born.”

  I slowly shook my head. “I don’t understand. This doesn't make sense. Could I be adopted? Do you remember anythin’ about when I was born?”

  “I’m only two years older than you. I don’t remember anythin’ about when you were a baby. But I do remember spendin’ a long time at Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl’s farm. I never really thought about it before. During the wintertime and spring, I think. I remember snow…” Her words sounded like they were tumbling off a ledge as she fell into her memories.

  “I need to call Aunt Bessie.” I stood up to grab my cell phone out of my purse.

  “Rose, wait!”

  The anxiety in Violet’s voice stopped me.

  “There’s a picture in here!”

  I spun around to the image Violet held in her hand, an old color photo slightly discolored around the edges. A woman held a tiny baby, her face radiating so much happiness it permeated from the photo. The baby’s face was clearly visible, in spite of the blanket wrapped around its body.

  “Rose, that looks like you,” Violet said in awe.

  The baby’s cheeks and eyes looked a lot like the pictures of me when I was one and two. I peered closer at the woman’s face. The way she smiled, the way one of her eyes squinted a tiny bit more closed than the other, the curve of her chin. Before Violet turned the photo over and read the back and confirmed it, I knew this woman was my mother. I’d seen the same face in the mirror only a few hours earlier.

  “Dora and Rose, November 8, 1986…” Violet read. “Then below it says ‘My precious girls’.” Violet looked up in shock. “Rose, this is written in Daddy’s handwriting.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I leaned over the photo. The handwriting was definitely Daddy’s distinguishable chicken scratch.

  I pulled it out of Violet’s hand, turning it over with trembling fingers to study the woman’s happy face, the face of my mother. At that moment, my world stopped spinning and gravity evaporated away. The pieces of my life no longer fit neatly into a perfect picture, albeit an unhappy one, but one I knew. My entire life had been a lie.

  While Violet call
ed Aunt Bessie, my eyes remained glued to Dora’s face, willing her to float out of the photograph and tell me everything. Instead, she sat frozen in time on a country blue-and-white checkered sofa, holding a tiny me. Who was she smiling at? Daddy?

  “Aunt Bessie is cancelling all her clients for the rest of the day and is coming right over, but she has to tie up some loose ends. It’s probably going to be another hour and a half.”

  I suddenly remembered Muffy. Crappy doodles. Strike two on responsible pet ownership.

  “I have to go home.” I stood up and grabbed my purse.

  “What?” Violet’s mouth fell open. I wondered if Violet would get high blood pressure from all the surprises I had thrown at her the last week.

  “I’ll come back, I promise. I just forgot about Muffy.”

  “Who’s Muffy?”

  “My dog. I left her alone all day and I need to go let her out.” I hated to even think about the possible state of my bathroom.

  “Your dog?” Violet stumbled backward. I literally pushed her over the edge with that one.

  “I’ll explain it to you later. I just have to go.”

  I ran out of the house, temporarily surprised by the convertible in the driveway. My day came rushing back and now it felt so superficial. I drove home, leaving the top up, not finding any joy in the car anymore. It was a tangible item that had no meaning in my life.

  I found Muffy in the bathroom, lying on the cold tile, her face on her paws. She looked as sad as I felt. We made a good pair, she and I. Can you be soul mates with a dog? I wondered as I put on her new collar and attached the leash. If only I had found her sooner. But before a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t even considered looking.

  I watched her sniff the grass and relieve herself all over the backyard. She seemed to be less timid and I wondered if she would be bouncing all over the place in a week. Then I remembered I wouldn't be here in a week. What would happen to Muffy when I was gone?

  Tears stung my eyes. Lucky day, my ass.

  I started to laugh at the absurdity of it all and it was then that I felt Joe’s presence. I hadn’t heard him, between my laughing and my crying. I turned to face him. He stood at the corner of the house, watching me with brooding eyes. Then he came toward me, as if in slow motion and a million thoughts went through my head. Why was he home so early? What was he doing back here? Did he really care about me?

  He stopped about a foot in front of me and stared down into my face. The worry in his eyes answered my last question.

  “Rose,” he said, his voice full of regret and pain. Even in my inexperience I recognized the longing in his smoldering dark-brown eyes.

  I studied him, amazed he really did want me, and not like Daniel Crocker had in the bar. This was different.

  His eyes widened when I reached up to touch his cheek. Then he closed them, seeking refuge in his despair. I brushed the hair off his forehead, intrigued at how soft it felt between my fingers. I had never touched a man other than Daddy, well, other than the few times I had kissed Joe. But in those moments, I had been lost in myself and hadn’t paid attention to him. It occurred to me I might never get another opportunity. I let my fingertips trail down his cheek, feeling the stubble of his five o’clock shadow. My thumb skimmed across his lips, warming with the rush of air from his sharp exhale. The muscles in his shoulders looked like they were melting as his tension fell away.

  I did that to him.

  I was hungry to know more.

  I moved both hands to his waist, dropping Muffy’s leash, and lifted up the edge of his t-shirt. His eyes flew open in alarm and he started to say something, searching my face for an explanation. The intensity in my eyes willed him to be still. He seemed to understand and let me lift his shirt up and over his head, pulling it off the rest of the way himself. Then he waited, the pain on his face more profound than before. I wondered what he saw on my own.

  We were a pair, he and I, even more so than Muffy and me. Both lost in misery, only his was of his own doing and mine was thrust upon me. But misery is misery, no matter what its cause and we were both drowning in it. I had no idea why he wouldn’t go to the police. But in that moment, I knew he would never hurt me, not if he could help it. I had four days left and I didn’t want to spend it alone. In the end, it didn’t matter what his motives were. I’d be dead. The first twenty-four years of my life had been a lie; would it be so bad if the last four days were too?

  I reached my hands back up to his cheeks, marveling at the contrast of his soft skin and the roughness of his beard. I slid my hands down his neck, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and down to his chest. The rise and fall of his breath became faster under my palms. I closed my eyes and absorbed the moment, attaching it to the scrapbook of memories.

  My hands slid lower, down his sides, stopping at the waistband of his jeans. I ran my fingers up his back, feeling his muscles tense as I stepped closer, reaching higher. I stood pressed against his bare chest, my hands splayed across his upper shoulder blades, feeling the heat of his body seep into mine. I opened my eyes to look up into his questioning ones and smiled, the tiniest of smiles. If I never got more than this, I’d die happy.

  My smile was the catalyst that freed Joe from his trance. His arms reached around my back, pulling me even closer as his lips found mine, hot and needing. The kisses on my front porch and the night before where nothing compared to the primal force pulling me to him now. Those had been flirtatious and fun. This was desperate and hungry.

  I discovered I’d lied. I wanted more.

  Joe’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once, on my back, in my hair. One hand moved to my breast and I gasped, surprised at the fire that burst within me at his touch.

  That got Joe’s attention. He lifted his face and pulled my head to his chest, sucking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly. My heart hammered away, while the rest of me questioned why he stopped.

  “We can’t do this, Rose,” Joe said, his heart racing in my ear.

  “What? Why?”

  “We need to wait.”

  I didn’t even try to hide my disappointment, proof I truly had become sinful. “But I only have four days. There isn't time to wait.” The words fell out before I could censor them.

  Joe wrapped his hands around my arms and jerked me backward. “That’s the second time you said that. What happens in four days?” He looked angry, far angrier than he had a right to be.

  “What does it matter to you, Joe? Why do you care?” I asked, defiant. What right did he have to question me?

  His face softened and his grip relaxed, but he still held my arms. “I care about you, Rose. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

  It was my turn to get angry. “Yeah, I can tell by the way you’re running off to the police to clear my name.” I jerked my arms away from him, searching for Muffy. “It doesn’t matter. It will be over soon.”

  He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. “Why do you keep sayin’ that? What aren’t you tellin’ me?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  I stopped to reevaluate the situation. I only had four days left and while Joe’s character was currently suspect, I somehow knew he wouldn’t hurt me. As long as I ignored the not-clearing-my-name part. I didn’t want to fight with him. I liked Joe a lot and it wasn't like I was looking for a long-term commitment here.

  That made me laugh.

  Joe’s eyes widened and he looked like he expected me to start strutting around the yard like a chicken. “This isn’t funny, Rose.”

  “If you only knew what I knew, you’d be laughing.” I laughed a few seconds more and stopped. “Or maybe you wouldn't.”

  He tried a different tactic. He pulled me close and whispered in my ear. “Why don’t you tell me and then we’ll know whether I think it’s funny or not.”

  A fire spread through my body, an automatic response I couldn’t turn off even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. Let him play his games. I knew what he was doing. “Are you tryin�
�� to persuade me to tell you?”

  His hands worked their way up my back, sending chills in their wake. “Tell me,” he whispered, kissing my neck and I shivered.

  If he only knew I’d hold out all night as long as he kept doing what he was doing.

  He left a trail of kisses across my cheek but avoiding contact with my lips.

  I groaned in frustration.

  “What happens in four days, Rose?”

  If I’d been capable of laughing, I would have. He played into my hands, not the other way around.

  His lips moved to my mouth, soft and tantalizing, but still holding back.

  “You told me it could be better.” I said.

  “What?” he whispered as he moved to my ear, biting and sucking on my earlobe.

  I gasped. “The night you first kissed me, you told me it could be better. I didn’t see how. Show me how.”

  “Tell me what happens in four days.”

  “No, you’ll stop.” I said, my knees getting weak.

  Joe paused. I’d showed my hand, as my Daddy used to say. He pulled away from me, mischievousness in his eyes. “You are wicked, aren’t you?”

  “No, but I'd like to be if you’d just cooperate.”

  My answer caught him by surprise and he laughed. “How do you do that?” he asked, catching his breath.

  “Do what?”

  “Make me forget all my problems.” As soon as he said the words, he looked sorry he had.

  “What troubles do you have, Joe McAllister?” I asked.

  He smiled and raised an eyebrow. “I have secrets of my own.”

  “That’s nothin’ I didn't already know. Ordinary people go to the police, especially if their friend’s in trouble.”

  His smile disappeared, replaced by guilt. “Rose, about…”

  “Joe, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

  Shock replaced the guilt. “They’re goin’ to arrest you.”

  “I know, but not until next week.”

  “Is that why you say you only have four days? You think the police are going to arrest you in four days?”

  I didn't want to lie but I couldn't tell him the truth either. I decided it was better to let him believe his theory. Lucky for me, I waited so long to answer that he took it as confirmation.