The Secret Ingredient of Wishes

by Susan Bishop Crispell

  Her mom’s eyebrows drew together so they looked like one furry caterpillar on her forehead. “Who is Michael and why would he ruin your castle?” Her mom gripped the door handle and eyed her carefully.

  Rachel’s hand hit the newly rebuilt chandelier, knocking it from the castle’s ballroom ceiling when she jerked around to roll her eyes at her mom. “My little brother Michael. I left the cookies in front of his room so he’d see them and know I was sorry for yelling at him, even if he did knock down my castle.”

  “Rachel, I don’t think imaginary brothers need real cookies. Think you can go put them back in the kitchen before they get stepped on?”

  “Michael isn’t imaginary.” Rachel gaped at her mom, the chandelier gripped tightly in her hand. She felt funny, like she did when she had a high fever or went to bed too late.

  “Oh, right. Of course he isn’t,” her mom said in that overly sweet voice she used when she and Rachel were playing pretend. “I’m serious about putting the cookies away, though. If they’re still there the next time I come upstairs, I’ll throw them out. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rachel said, confused but happy that at least her mom didn’t seem mad.

  She waited until she heard her mom talking to her dad downstairs before moving the cookies. The plate was where she’d left it, but instead of her brother’s bedroom door, a painting of a Snow White–type cottage set in a thicket of woods hung on an otherwise blank wall. Where’s Michael’s room? She ground her knuckles into her eyes and counted to five before looking at the wall again. Moving closer, she stepped on the plate. It broke into three large, jagged pieces. A few of the cookies crumbled under her bare foot, and she jumped to the side so she didn’t get cut by the sharp edges of the plate. The wall was solid when she ran both hands along its smooth surface.

  The door was gone. Like it had never been there at all.

  * * *

  Standing on the unfamiliar street in Nowhere, Rachel could still see the blankness of that wall, still feel the numbness that filled her with dread at what her parents would do when they realized she’d made Michael disappear with her stupid wish.

  Back when she thought they might actually believe her.

  She reached a shaky hand to a parking meter to steady herself. Closing her eyes, she counted to five like she had back then, inhaling on the odd numbers and telling herself everything would be okay on the evens. But now she knew no amount of wishing could bring back someone who no longer existed. Just as she knew the person she’d been following through the streets was most definitely not Michael but just a familiar-looking stranger, no matter what her insides were telling her.

  Something about the air was suddenly fresh and earthy. It smelled like cucumbers and lilac and almond milk, soothing her like the deep breaths hadn’t. And the breeze blew a few degrees cooler, as if this stretch of street was encased in a bubble of calm. Eyes now open, Rachel looked around to see if anyone else had noticed the change in atmosphere, or if that was all in her head too.

  The park across the street was full of oblivious people. Children screeched and shrieked as they chased each other around the fountain. Arcs of water shot up from the ground at varying intervals to catch them off guard, and they screamed again. A chocolate lab lapped at one of the streams of water. It continued licking the air after the water disappeared and then turned in a circle trying to find where it had gone.

  She scanned the way she’d come but didn’t recognize the street or the buildings. Was it one block or two to get back to the one she’d followed when she left Ashe? Shit.

  Rachel looked up to find someone watching her from inside one of the shops. Lettering on the window identified the shop as LUX, an organic skin-care boutique. She could just make out the staring woman’s short, curly brown hair and milky skin behind the shop window’s pale pink letters.

  The woman popped her head out of the doorway. “Are you okay, hon?”

  Straightening, Rachel tried to return the smile. “I think so. Just a little dizzy. And lost,” she admitted.

  “Well, where are you trying to go?”

  “I’m not sure. We stopped at an office so Ashe could drop something off, but—”

  “Ashe Riley?” the woman asked.

  She tried to remember when he’d introduced himself the day before and came up blank. “Um, maybe. Does he build houses?”

  “Designs them. And does contractor work when forced. I’m Everley Hayes, by the way. Come on in outta the heat.” She pushed the door wide. Her capri yoga pants and tank top hugged her toned body.

  A gush of cool air caressed Rachel’s skin. “I’m Rachel.”

  “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got coconut water or sparkling water with orange slices in it,” Everley said.

  “Regular water is fine, thanks, if you have it.”

  “Good call. Plain’s probably the way to go if you’re not feeling too hot.” Everley walked to a glass-front cooler and pulled a bottle out. The plastic was thin and crackled when she handed it to Rachel.

  Rachel wanted to rub it on her neck, but she settled for uncapping it and taking a long swig. Her head unfogged enough to chase some of the dizziness away, though her hands continued to shake. She took another sip. “Thanks.”

  “So, what did Ashe say to tick you off?”

  “Sorry?” Rachel asked.

  “I figure he must’ve done or said something to make you walk off and get yourself lost.”

  “I was just—” Following a ghost, she finished silently. “I thought I saw someone I recognized. But it wasn’t him.”

  It would never be him.

  “Then if you’re not mad at Ashe, want me to give him a call and tell him where you are?”

  Her pulse had slowed to an almost normal pace and she let out a steadying breath. “If you don’t mind. I don’t want him to have to tell Catch I got lost on his watch.”

  “You definitely don’t want to piss off Miss Sisson. Gimme just a minute,” Everley said.

  As Everley pulled out her cell phone, Rachel turned to check out the store. White built-ins lined the blush-colored walls. Milk bottles and mason jars and round metal tins with screw-on lids glinted in the sun. Their milky contents were offset with labels and tags with the shop’s logo printed in charcoal and pink. Baskets on a table in the front window overflowed with slabs of soap that were swirled and lined with a fusion of sultry colors. Rachel touched one. One side was rough with crushed almond shells and bit at her fingers through the plastic.

  A slip of paper was tucked into the weave of one of the baskets. Before realizing what it was, she smoothed it out with a finger and read it. I wish I could tell her no.

  With a sharp breath, she let the wish curl back on itself. But it was too late. She’d granted the wish without meaning to. And whoever had made the wish in the first place would have to live with the consequences. All because Rachel had hoped the wishes wouldn’t follow her here and she had let her guard down.

  Everley’s husky laugh pulled her attention back. She hung up and said, “Good thing I called. He was fixing to deploy a search party for you.”

  “Oh, God.” Heat rushed to Rachel’s cheeks, and she turned to look for him out the window.

  “I’m kidding. He just noticed you were gone. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  Rachel glanced down at the curled paper in the basket and then quickly turned back to Everley. “Thanks.”

  “So, how do you know Ashe?” Everley’s eyebrow cocked in interest.

  “‘Know’ is a strong word. We just met yesterday when I ran out of gas and Catch let me crash at her house. He’s showing me around as a favor to her.”

  “Ah, that explains it. I thought I was going to have to give him hell for seeing someone and not telling me.”

  “So the two of you are friends?” Rachel asked. She bumped the water bottle against her thigh and drops of cool condensation dribbled down the skin below her shorts.

  “Since we were kids,” Ever
ley said. “My boyfriend, Jamie, is his best friend, so we’re sorta like family.”

  The door opened a few minutes later, letting in a wave of hot air and Ashe a step behind. His eyes swept over Rachel and settled on Everley. “Thanks for calling, Ev,” he said.

  Everley winked. “No problem, cutie.”

  “You okay?” he asked Rachel.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry I walked away,” Rachel said, hoping the flush was gone from her cheeks. “Just wanted to do a little sightseeing.”

  “C’mon, Ashe, what do you think’s gonna happen to her here? Nowhere’s like the safest town ever.”

  “Have you looked at her?” Ashe gestured to Rachel. He didn’t look happy. “She looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

  There’s no way he knows. Rachel pinched the crook of her arm. Snap out of it. She looked up, his icy-blue eyes narrowing on her. She forced a smile.

  “It’s just the heat. I gave her some water. She’ll be fine,” Everley said.

  “Yeah, ’cause your water’s about as refreshing as drinking a salad.”

  “I gave her bottled water, smartass.”

  Ashe grinned at her and turned to Rachel. “You ready?”

  She nodded. “Thanks for your help, Everley. It was really nice to meet you.”

  “Sure thing. Come back and see me sometime, okay?” Everley said.

  Ashe cupped Rachel’s elbow and ushered her out into the steamy air. Whether he was trying to steady her or keep her from wandering off again, Rachel couldn’t tell.

  “Please don’t tell Catch about this,” she said. “I don’t want her to worry.”

  “Wasn’t planning to. But are you gonna tell me what happened?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “Sure it’s not,” he said. His voice was a mix of annoyance and amusement. But he didn’t push. He turned a corner and gently pulled her with him.

  “Do you think we can just go—” Rachel stopped herself. Nowhere wasn’t home. It was just a town she was temporarily living in. “Back to Catch’s?” she said.

  “Whatever you want to do.”

  The thought of lying to Catch about why she’d left Ashe made her dizzy. She concentrated on the steadying hand on her arm. His palms were calloused, his fingers rough. She stared at the spot of sweat that blossomed on the front of his shirt instead of watching where they were going.

  They reached his truck within minutes. She’d walked up and down the street and still had no clue where she’d gone or how she’d gotten there. She swiveled to look at the ancient buildings and wooden street signs behind her, but it was like seeing them all for the first time. No flash of navy or mop of brown hair in sight.

  7

  Rachel would’ve told him not to walk her in, but she somehow knew he wouldn’t listen. Her legs held steady as she slid from the truck into the gravel driveway, all shakiness from her brief hallucination gone. Ashe walked beside her with his hand resting on her lower back. The air smelled like rain. Damp, sweet, and electric. She heard the first rumble of thunder as they walked in the back door.

  The kitchen was empty. Without Catch, the room seemed sterile, like a demonstration kitchen that was all for show. The stand mixer was tucked under one of the cabinets, gleaming, and bowls of whole fruit were lined up on the island looking almost too perfect to be real.

  “You gonna be all right?” Ashe asked.

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “I’m fine, okay?”

  “Want me to wait around until Catch gets back? She usually goes out delivering pies in the mornings. Depending on how many she made, she could be a while.”

  “Thanks, but like I said, I’m good. I think I just need to go lie down for a bit.”

  “Okay, well, my cell number is in there.” He pointed to the top drawer on the end. “There’s a whole list of numbers. You can’t miss it. I can be here in ten minutes if you need me.”

  Southern gentleman to the core. It made her smile.

  “Go,” she said. “And thanks.”

  The smile he gave her made her legs go weak again. She held on to the counter until he’d jogged down the steps and she heard his truck growl to life.

  Sitting on a stool at the island, she lifted a corner of the tinfoil covering one of Catch’s pies and sniffed. It was buttery and nutty with a hint of something dark. Comfort in pie form. She sighed and peeled off the rest of the foil. The surface of the pie was jagged with pieces of pecans that jutted out at all angles. One slice was already gone.

  After opening a drawer and finding whisks and spatulas and measuring spoons, she tried another. She located the knives and forks in the third one she opened, then cut a sliver of pie, not even enough to be called a slice. The filling oozed as she scooped it onto her fork, dribbling melted chocolate and pecan chunks in gooey brown sauce onto the plate. She wiped the blade of the table knife with her finger and thumb. Then she licked them clean.

  The bitterness of the semisweet chocolate lingered on her tongue.

  Rachel took a full bite of the pie and reached for the stack of recipe cards held together by a rubber band. Curiosity got the better of her manners, and she slipped the band from the cards. Pale dust settled on the counter along with pieces of brittle rubber when it broke.

  The recipes were in shorthand, only a third of which she understood. She’d always thought baking was about precision, and Catch’s methods were anything but. The measurements consisted of a handful of this, two scoops of that. One called for a half bucket of what she thought said key limes. She skimmed half the pile before shuffling them back into one stack. She tossed the rubber band in the trash, rinsed her plate, and loaded it and the utensils into the dishwasher.

  A clock chimed from one of the other rooms. She followed the deep tolling through the dim dining room, its thick tan curtains flanking the shuttered windows into the foyer. The front door was propped open with a crumbling brick. The screen door was latched, as if one hook and eye would keep anyone out. Not even the sunlight had to force its way in.

  She hesitated at the foot of the stairs as the spines of dozens of books in the room to the left of the door caught her attention. The wood creaked beneath her feet. Before she could talk herself out of it, she moved into the room. It was small, cozy, with wall-to-wall bookshelves and two faded wingback chairs. A fireplace was set into the middle of one bookcase. The hearth was swept clean. Fresh logs sat in the dormant cavity.

  Like the rest of the house, the library was stuffed with cookbooks with titles like Whip It: 25 Quiches in 25 Minutes, The Secrets of Vegan Baking, and Soufflés and Cakes That Won’t Fall Flat. There were books on hot peppers and fruit-producing trees, and cheeses of the world, and harvesting your own honey. Some were still shiny and stiff. Others were the muted yellow of the inside of a lemon peel. Rachel left finger smudges on their glossy covers when she pulled them from the shelf at random.

  Nestled in among the books was a frame made of twigs. Bubbles of dried hot glue held the crumbling sticks in place. Bark shavings flecked off when she picked it up. They scattered to the floor when she blew on them. She studied the boy in the picture. Ashe’s face was rounder and his smile unrestrained, but she could see how the boy had grown into the man.

  “Making yourself at home?” Catch asked from behind her.

  The frame made a cracking sound when Rachel dropped it back onto the shelf.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop,” she said, heart pounding. She hoped she hadn’t broken the frame.

  “If you went through my underwear drawer, it would be snooping. Otherwise, it’s just getting familiar with your surroundings. Now, how about keeping me company while I make a few more pies? I picked some peaches on my way in.”

  “Sure,” Rachel said, even though Catch hadn’t waited for a response before heading back to the kitchen. She glanced at the photo again and then followed.

  “So, I hear you went and got yourself lost again,” Catch said.

  Rachel stared at her, mouth dropping open. “As
he said he wouldn’t tell you.”

  “He didn’t. But things have a way of coming out around here. Some people take precautionary measures to keep their secrets, well, secret. Others just let things happen as they will. And there are a few that simply ain’t worth helping.”

  “Where do I fit?” Rachel asked.

  “Jury’s still out.” Catch plucked a peach from the cloth sack on the counter and held it out to Rachel. “Now, how are you at peeling peaches?”

  She took it and rubbed her thumb over its velvety pink skin. It was still warm from hanging in the sun a few minutes before. It smelled sweet and hopeful. “I’m sure I’m not near as good at it as you, but I’m happy to help.”

  Catch placed a paring knife on the counter before setting a pot of water on to boil. “You gotta blanch ’em first, and then the skin peels right off.”

  “How long have you been baking?” Rachel asked.

  “Too damn long.”

  “Do you still enjoy it?”

  “Some days yes, some days no. But it’s what I do, so I can’t turn my back on it.”

  They worked side by side, dropping a few peaches at a time into the boiling water for thirty seconds, and then transferring them to a bowl of ice water to stop the heat from cooking them.

  Rachel fished them out of the ice bath and lined them up by the cutting board. When she slid the blade into the first one, red juice dribbled down her fingers. She made a second incision and pried out the wedge. Her fingertips sank in, leaving subtle indentations. Setting it on the counter, she worked on the next slice, piling them up until there was nothing left but a knobby pit, which she dropped in the sink with a metallic thud.

  The skin was soft, pliable. She picked at the edge with the tip of the knife and peeled it from the yellow meat of the peach. It came off in one long, flimsy strip, curling around her thumb. She flicked it onto the counter.

  “Not exactly the way I woulda done it. But it’s effective. I’ll give you that,” Catch said.

  “It’s how my mom always did it.” Because Michael loved peaches, but didn’t like the fuzz. Even when her mom didn’t remember him anymore, she still skinned the peaches. It was one of the ways Rachel tried to convince her mom that he had existed. It was one of the things that helped push her mom over the edge.