Wish Upon A Star

by Jasinda Wilder

  An awareness of I.

  “…But I'm content

  The angels must have sent you

  And they meant you just for me…”

  This is accompanied by a ukulele. I know that song. It sings in my heart.

  I’m Jolene.

  Where am I?

  I hear his voice again. His voice.

  Who is he? Why does his voice drag me upward, away from the dark cold nothing and into the lightning soaring maybe of sound and breath?

  “Together can never be close enough for me

  To feel like I am close enough to you

  You wear white and I'll wear out the words ‘I love you’

  And ‘You're beautiful…’

  “Marry me…”

  With violent, crushing suddenness, awareness returns in full.

  Wes.

  The video.

  The hotel room…

  His house—our bed…

  The pool. The helicopter.

  The cabin.

  Oh my soul, the cabin. Making love to my beautiful man in the light of a dying fire, as stars burn and wheel and fade all around.

  Westley, and his voice:

  “Jolene, I know you can hear me. I love you. I need you. I want you. Come back to me, baby. Please.”

  He sounds so tired, so sad.

  I could hug him and kiss him and tell him I love him and let him rest with me—

  If only I could find my way out of this darkness.

  Up, Jolene. Up.

  Out.

  Breath.

  Eyes.

  Memory.

  God, I love that book. I read it so many times the spine cracked in half and the pages fell out.

  I want to sing to him.

  Say you will…

  Marry me.

  I will, Wes.

  Keep talking to me.

  Say my name.

  Tell me you love me. I’m here.

  There’s a trade-off.

  With awareness, comes pain.

  Am I dying? Did I die? Am I a ghost, trapped in nothingness and forced to listen to his voice but never see him, never speak to him?

  The pain is a badge—it means I’m alive.

  As long as there’s pain, there’s possibility.

  I drown in the raging ocean of half silence, and cling to a spar of hope.

  Draw Me Back to You

  Westley

  There is no comprehension of the passage of time. It could be hours, or weeks, or days, or months since the doctor delivered the news of a maybe.

  There were more tests. More vague half answers.

  Then we were allowed back in her room and she’s once more asleep in a nest of tubes and wires.

  There’s still the beep-beep-beep, but no hisss-whirr. Still the cannula in her nose, but no pump.

  Does that mean she’s breathing on her own?

  Figures come and go.

  Grandma sits with me beside her. Or in the chapel and we pray while others sit with her.

  I’ve always been here, in this hospital.

  My phone kept ringing and ringing, so I threw it away.

  I think Grandma retrieved it. I heard her talking to someone about me. I don’t know.

  I sing to her. I have her ukulele and I play it, and I sing. Elvis and Dolly and Les Mis and Train, I sing the music from the movie I’m supposed to be making. I sing to her, and I hold her hand.

  The ring is in my hand. I think it’s burned an imprint in my palm. I want her to wake up, so I can put it on her finger and tell her she’s mine and marry her, and love her, forever.

  They check her stats, check monitors.

  Escort me out and bathe her.

  I hold her hand, and it’s small and pale and delicate. There’s a freckle on her right hand, on the back, in the very center of the web between index finger and thumb.

  Another on her left hand, where the ring should go.

  They take her again, for more scans.

  More waiting.

  I pace the hall, restless.

  I hear a wail, a scream and a sob.

  I run back to the waiting room, and the doctor is there, the same stern, compassionate, composed doctor who delivered the news. He’s rubbing a fore knuckle under his eyes.

  Sherri is being held up by Charlie, and Grandma is beside her, rubbing her back. Macy is crying. Bethany.

  I just stand near them and stare.

  Charlie grabs me by the shirt and roughly yanks me close. “It’s gone.” His voice is a ragged, broken whisper. “It’s gone. Totally gone.”

  I can’t comprehend what he means.

  Neither can he, I think.

  “She’s back in her room. She hasn’t woken up yet, but I think she will soon.” The doctor sounds…I’m not sure there are words in any language to capture the complexity in his voice. “I’m a doctor. I believe in science. But…sometimes, you just have no choice but to believe in miracles. And this is one of them.”

  I stagger out of the group hug, lurch and lumber to her room.

  My legs weigh a million pounds.

  When did I last sleep? Or eat?

  I’ve had more coffee than any one human being should consume, probably.

  None of that matters.

  It’s gone?

  I crumple to my knees beside her bed.

  She doesn’t look different.

  Less pale, maybe.

  Her chest rises, falls.

  I settle her hand over mine. “Jo?”

  A finger twitches.

  “Jo?” My voice cracks. “They say it’s gone. A miracle, like your grandma prayed for.”

  Another twitch, a finger tightening against my hand.

  “Come back to me, Jo.”

  Twitch, and then another finger twitches.

  “That’s it, honey.” I kiss her hand, careful to avoid the IV insertion near her wrist. “Come back to me. I love you, Jo. Wake up and…and when you’re better, we’re going to get married. In our backyard. You and your parents and your grandma—I’ve adopted her as my grandma, too, by the way—and Macy and Beth. They’ve been here the whole time. Beth has played you all the latest TikTok videos. Yours still holds the record, though, so don’t worry.”

  Twitch, and then her whole hand squeezes. “Yeah, that’s right. You and me, babe. We’re gonna get married. You want to change your name? Become Mrs. Jolene Britton? Or, you could hyphenate. Jolene Park-Britton. Or just keep yours. Whatever makes you happy.”

  I kiss the back of her hand again, the freckle there.

  “Britton,” I hear. It’s a hoarse whisper. “Jolene Britton.”

  Her eyes are open, green and beautiful.

  “Hi,” I murmur. “Hi.”

  She squeezes my hand. “You sang to me.”

  I nod.

  “I heard it.” Her eyes close, as if she’s still so tired, so weak, that whispering and keeping her eyes open takes enormous effort. “It drew me back to you.”

  I sob. “You’re okay.”

  She opens her eyes again. “For real?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Okay, like…I’m not going to die?”

  I nod again. “They…they scanned you like a dozen times. Recalibrated the machine. I think they even sent you to a different hospital and a different machine, at some point.” I swallow hard. “It’s gone.”

  She just stares at me. “Say—” she swallows hard. “Say that again.”

  “Your leukemia is gone, Jo.”

  “Gone?”

  “Gone.”

  “How?”

  I shrug. “No one knows.” I smile. “Your grandma may, though.”

  She closes her eyes. “Yeah, I bet she does.”

  “I prayed for you…at least, I think it was praying. I don’t know.”

  She squeezes my hand in reply. Then, with obvious effort, she opens her eyes. “I love you, Westley.”

  “Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

  “Good.” Her eyes searc
h me, green and fiery with love. “I want to be Jolene Britton. I want to be your wife.”

  I have the ring in my hip pocket. I pull it out. Hold the tiny warm circle on my palm.

  When she sees it, her eyes widen. She recognizes it immediately. “Grandma’s ring?”

  I nod. Hold the circle between finger and thumb. “Jolene, I love you. Marry me. As soon as you can leave this hospital, marry me. Please.”

  She chokes a sob, nodding. Holds her left hand out to me. “Hey, I asked you first.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, throat thick, eyes burning. “Yeah, you did.”

  Her eyes slide closed. “Staying awake is…hard.” She manages to open one eye. “Can I see my mom? And the others?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  I move to get up, and she clutches my hand harder than I would have thought her capable of. “Don’t leave.”

  So, I press the call button.

  The nurse comes in, and I ask her to get the rest of Jo’s family.

  Alone again, Jo just gazes at me through narrow, heavy eyelids. “Before they get here…” She smiles at me, lopsided. “Kiss me.”

  I bend over her and touch my lips to hers. “I love you. It’s crazy, but I do.”

  “Not crazy.” She clutches my hand. Her lips brush mine. Her eyes meet mine. Footsteps echo in the hall.

  “We have forever together, now,” she whispers to me. Smiles.

  “Forever together,” I murmur back. “I like the sound of that.”

  Homecoming

  Jolene

  I’m in the hospital for another month, recovering. I’m transported to two other hospitals that have MRI machines capable of detecting even the most granular of cancer cells, where I undergo more tests than ever.

  Miraculously, each one comes back negative.

  I’m still weak. My body had fought harder than could be fathomed, and I nearly died. How, no one can explain with anything like medical or scientific certainty, but at some point when no one was looking, the cancer just…vanished.

  In that month I spend recovering, Westley finishes principal filming; once he’s reassured the miracle is here to stay, he allows me to force him out of the hospital and back to work.

  The embarrassing thing is, I discover, while browsing on my phone, that the video of me on the set of Singin’ in the Rain, alone at first and then with Wes, has beaten my own record for most views in some specific time period. Everyone everywhere is talking about it.

  Also, there’s a TikTok trend going viral, featuring the song I wrote and performed for Wes, in the studio. The trend is for people to share their own heartbreak, their own trauma and tragedy, followed by their recovery and restoration. Some of the stories are truly heartbreaking, others have happy endings, some are still up in the air. Still others flip the trend upside down and post funny stories in juxtaposition to the soul of the song.

  What I can’t figure out is how that song got out into the world. Last I knew, Wes was the only one who’d heard it.

  I search my own name, and get a result: an EP published by BritPark Music, LLC. Captured Voices: Jolene Park & Westley Britton in the Studio. Published…while I was dying.

  He published it?

  I listen to it from start to finish, and I realize why.

  It’s a microcosm of us, of our love and our journey. And honestly, my song really is the culmination of the whole thing.

  But still, he didn’t tell me?

  I’m not sure if I’m mad, confused, proud, grateful, or some weird mix of each.

  Later in the evening, Westley returns from the last day of filming, and perches on the edge of my bed—and god, am I eager to be out of this damned hospital bed.

  “Hi,” he says, looking tired but pleased.

  He leans in for a kiss, and even though my emotions are a riotous tumult, I kiss him back. He can sense my unease, however.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I hold his gaze, unspeaking, and play the most viewed TikTok in the #StartAgain trend, featuring my song. Then, I switch the music app and show him the EP, with the photo of us as the album artwork.

  His eyes widen. “Holy shit, Jo. I never told you.”

  “Yeah, no you didn’t.”

  He grins sheepishly. “Um, so. Jolene. I, um, sort of mastered and released the music we recorded.”

  “I honestly am so confused, Wes. Like, I’m super pissed you did that without asking, without telling me. It’s been out there a month and it’s been downloaded who knows how many times, and I’m just now finding out about it.” I rub my face. I’m antsy to get up, to walk around, but my doctors still want me to ease into activity. “I’m also amazed. Because, it’s…it’s amazing. It’s honestly a really, really good EP. We sound amazing together.” I play the opening to my song, then pause it again. “But I’m also kind of mad, because this one was…it’s really, really personal, Wes. I only shared it with you because I love you and I trust you, and it was a super vulnerable moment. It’s like having my journal published, or something.”

  He wipes his face. “Jo, I’m sorry. I should have asked you, first. I just…this was when they…when they weren’t sure what was going on, if you…if you…” His shoulders shake, and he buries his face in his hands for a moment, before meeting my eyes again. “If you were going to make it, or if the MRI machine was wrong, or…or what. And I had my laptop, somehow, and it was on there, and I needed to hear your voice. I needed to feel you. So I just…I worked on it. And the more I worked on it, the more I realized it was really, really incredible and special, and with how people were responding to the video of you on stage, and the proposal before it, I just knew the world needed to hear it. Needed to hear you. Your voice, your song. Us together, and I’m on it, but really, that last piece, the one you wrote, it’s the centerpiece of the whole thing.”

  I sigh. “I just don’t understand how you forgot to tell me.”

  He shakes his head. “I have no excuse for that. You got better, and then filming…I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have found out the way you did, and I apologize.”

  I pull him closer. “I forgive you.” I nuzzle his cheek. “I know it’s all over TikTok, but how many people have listened to it?”

  He grins. “I checked the numbers on the way here.” He hesitates for a moment. “Six million, so far.” He fidgets with the ID bracelet on my wrist. “The other thing, is, um…the LLC I set up?”

  “BritPark,” I say. “I did notice that.”

  “It’s in your name. Legally.” He holds my gaze. “All the proceeds are yours.”

  I blink. “Wait, what?”

  “Did you think I was going to publish this EP without telling you and keep the proceeds for myself?” He laughs. “I set up a private account in your name, and all the income the EP are yours and yours alone. Which, so far, is making you quite a tidy sum.”

  “You’re for real?”

  “You’re a top-charting musician, babe.”

  I shake my head. “I’m still mad at you for doing it without me and not telling me. But I forgive you. And also, holy shit.”

  He sighs. “I’m proud of it.”

  “Me too.”

  I’m in Dr. Miller’s office. For the first time in my life, it’s not Mom and/or Dad in the office with me. It’s Wes.

  I still can’t get over the ring on my finger. When Grandma saw me wearing it for the first time, she started crying so hard I was honestly a little worried.

  “Just happy, my dear,” she’d assured me, hugging me in a fiercely tight grip. “Just so happy.”

  Now, Dr. Miller is scanning my file, and my latest scans—taken just this morning. His eyes are wet. “Jolene, sweetheart, I can’t tell you how stunned I am. Happy, overjoyed—but stunned. Of all the possible outcomes, this is the least expected, and the one I hoped for most.” He closes the file. Takes my hands in his big, hard, rough, old ones. “You’re officially, finally discharged, Jolene Park.”

  I squeeze his hands back. “We’re not a
ctually, legally married yet, but I’m going by Britton. Jolene Britton.”

  He smiles at me, bright, and happy for me. “I can’t help but wonder at the coincidence that this happens right when you find this young man.”

  I grin, wriggle happily like a squirmy puppy. “I know, right? I’ve had that thought myself.”

  Dr. Miller pats my hand. “We’ll do yearly scans, of course, just to keep a wary eye out. But you, my dear, sweet, little warrior, are a free woman.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I love you, Dr. Miller, but I am so sick of this hospital.”

  “I bet you are,” he says. Leaning back in his chair, he eyes us. “So, when you are two lovebirds gonna tie the knot?”

  Wes answers for me. “As soon as possible. I have my manager working on it right now.”

  I glance at him, then at Dr. Miller. “You have to come, Dr. Miller. You’ve been a key fixture in my life since I was a little girl. You’re almost like a second father to me.”

  He smiles kindly. “More like grandfather, but I take your meaning.” A nod. “I’d be honored to attend your wedding, Jolene. Let my secretary know when and where, and I’ll be there.”

  We say our goodbyes, and Wes and I leave the hospital together. I stop in the guest parking lot and turn around.

  “I know I’ll be back for yearly check-ups,” I say, choked with emotion. “But…this feels like goodbye. And good riddance.” I hiccup. “You don’t even know how much time I’ve spent in that building.”

  Wes holds me tight against his side. Says nothing. There’s nothing to be said.

  I turn away and Wes helps me into the passenger seat. Buckles me, kisses me.

  “I can’t wait to be home,” I whisper, holding his face in my hands. “Home, with you.”

  He kisses me again. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

  I giggle breathlessly. “You said Jen is planning the wedding already?”

  He nods. “She’s saved some decisions for you. She’s got a designer ready to bring a truckload of dresses for you to try on.”

  “All I care about is being your wife.”