Three Wishes

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Hi, guys,” said Bree, but her eyes were all for Tom, which made him feel even fuller than before, which should have been impossible but apparently wasn’t.

  The weirdest thing was that he hadn’t even noticed her the first time he had come to the diner. He had been too deeply mired in his own pain to be admiring a butt and legs. But Bree had nice ones. He had come to realize that in the months after his arrival, when the rawness of his situation began to ease and he started looking around him, but even then he wasn’t consciously aware of being drawn to her. He just knew he liked her. He liked her hair, which was dark and thick and slightly disobedient, and her eyes, which were hazel and warm. He liked the way a smile lit her face, as though her pleasure was thorough. And yeah, he liked her butt and her legs.

  Come late summer, he had begun looking forward to seeing her at the diner, but it wasn’t until after the accident, when he watched her for hours on end, when he touched her and let her lean on him, that he felt the force of physical attraction. By then, the emotional attraction was established and strong. He supposed that was what had made the physical one so powerful.

  And powerful it was, but not in the typical way. He didn’t need to look at her mouth or her breasts or her belly to feel it. All he had to do was look into her eyes.

  Eliot loudly cleared his throat. “Ah, kids, excuse me.”

  Tom jumped. He hadn’t realized Eliot was still there.

  Bree blushed. Sending Eliot an embarrassed grin and Tom a last look, she headed for the booths.

  Tom took a steadying breath.

  “You’re hit bad,” Eliot remarked.

  Slowly, Tom raised his head. His eyes found the stainless-steel wall panel and, in the reflection of the diner, found Bree. The image was vaguely distorted and pretty even then. He took another breath. “Tell me about it.”

  “Nah-uh. Got something else to tell you. Martin says you helped him on a case.”

  Tom looked at him in surprise.

  “Some business with the Littles,” Eliot went on. “They’ll be coming into some money that they didn’t think they’d get.”

  “Hey, Tom,” said LeeAnn in passing, “what an awesome ring.”

  Tom smiled his thanks but was glad she didn’t linger. “Martin told you I helped?” he asked Eliot.

  “Yup. Surprised me, too. I don’t know if Martin took your suggestions because he thought they were good, or if he was afraid that if he didn’t you’d do the work yourself, but the important thing is that the Littles are getting what’s due them.” He frowned at his coffee cup, tapped the rim with his thumbs. “Can I ask you something?”

  Tom steeled himself for a warning about butting in on Martin’s business.

  “I got a phone call the other day,” Eliot said, in a voice that was low and private. “Don’t quite know what to do about it.”

  Tom didn’t, either, if it was what he thought. “Media?” he asked, wondering if his praise of the discretion of the townsfolk of Panama had been premature.

  “No. It was a call from the family of one of the people who recently moved to this town.” Eliot ran his tongue over his lower lip, shot Tom a warning look. “Can I trust you won’t talk?”

  Tom was so relieved that he would have promised most anything. Confidentiality was a cinch. “Yes.”

  Eliot’s back curved around his secret. His voice went even lower. “It was from Julia Dean’s son. He said he thought she was in trouble. Thought someone was holding her hostage.”

  “Holding her hostage? I doubt that. I see her coming and going.”

  “I told him the same thing. He said he meant mentally. He thinks the woman’s been brainwashed or is somehow else being controlled by another person. He asked me to investigate. So I made a point of dropping by the flower shop to talk with Julia, and she seemed perfectly fine to me. When I called the son back and told him, I thought he’d be pleased.” Eliot shook his head no. “He wants me to charge her with theft.”

  “Theft of what?”

  Eliot’s eyes flew past Tom. Even before Tom could turn, his shoulder was clasped. “Hey, Chief, is this the guy?”

  Four large men stood there. Tom recognized them as truckers who had been at the diner before.

  “Sure is,” Eliot said. “Tom Gates, meet John Hagan, Kip Tucker, Gene Mackey, T. J. Kearns.”

  Four beefy hands shook Tom’s in turn, each one accompanied by a comment.

  “You got a great girl. Bree’s the best.”

  “One look at her face and we could see something was up.”

  “I’d’ a gone after her myself, if I wasn’t already married.”

  “Take care of her, man.”

  Tom watched them trail off. As he swiveled forward again, he felt the same fullness he had earlier. Celebrity status had never been so good.

  “Money,” Eliot said by his ear. “From the trust left by her husband. Seems she was supposed to use the interest only, but she went ahead and helped herself to more. When I told him she had the flower shop and a small house, he was surprised. He thought she was just working for a florist and renting a place. I thought it’d calm him to know where the money went. Just the opposite. He got more angry.”

  “How could he not know what she was doing?” Tom asked, but the minute the question was out, he realized its absurdity. His family didn’t know much more about his current life than his address and phone number, which was all he had shared with them, and that by letter. He had hoped they might write back and ask. When they hadn’t done so he blamed them for not wanting to know, which was probably a cop-out on his part.

  Probably? Definitely.

  For the second time in as many minutes, Eliot dragged him back to the subject at hand. “The son and a daughter live in Des Moines. Julia visits them twice a year, but she doesn’t talk about them much around here, so I’d guess she doesn’t talk about us much when she’s there. It’s like she’s got two separate lives.”

  “There’s no crime in that.”

  “That’s what I told him. He said it’d be okay if it weren’t for the money.”

  Tom didn’t know much more about wills and estates than he knew about intellectual property law, but certain things were basic law school fare. “If there’s a trust, there’s a trustee.”

  “She’s it.”

  “Then her husband must have trusted her.”

  “That’s what I told the son. He said she changed after he died. The thing is,” Eliot said, shifting awkwardly on his stool, “I could tell Julia about the calls, but I don’t much care to. She’s a nice lady, y’know?”

  Tom did. She was quiet and pleasant, she worked hard, and she was talented. She had sent Bree four flower arrangements in all, one at the hospital, three others during her recuperation at home. He often saw her arranging fresh flowers in the small table vases here at the diner. Flash had told him that her prices were dirt cheap.

  So she wasn’t a businesswoman. So she needed to take money from the trust fund to survive. That wasn’t a crime, either.

  “Does the son have a case?” Eliot asked.

  “You can’t know that without reading the trust instrument. Many trust instruments allow for emergency disbursement of money. If this one does, it may be a question of the son differing with his mother’s definition of emergency. In any event, there’s nothing you can do. If charges are brought, they have to be brought in Des Moines, if that’s where the trust was drawn up and executed. The son has to go to authorities there.”

  Eliot nodded. “I pretty much told him that. I just wasn’t sure if I should be doing anything more on this end. I wouldn’t want to be accused of shirking my responsibility.”

  “Will you look at her?” Flash interrupted to ask. Bree was serving an early-evening breakfast to the local boys Sam, Dave, Andy, and Jack. “She’s on cloud nine. Didn’t make a peep when another gallon of milk turned up bad.” He moved on.

  Tom watched Bree until she winked at him on her way back to the kitchen. Strengthened, he told El
iot, “I wouldn’t worry about shirking your responsibility. There isn’t much you can do in a case like this without violating Julia’s civil rights.” That was a field of law about which he did know a lot. Some of his most celebrated cases involved civil rights issues.

  Eliot took a deep breath that uncurled his spine. “Good. I like the woman.” He snorted. “If you ask me, I’d rather have Julia in my town than her greedy son, any day.”

  What stuck with Tom about the discussion wasn’t Julia or her son; it was the fact that their lack of communication was so common a problem. Things happened in families. Angry words were spoken, hurt was inflicted. Oh, those things happened among friends, too, but that was different. People were more vulnerable where family was concerned. The angry words were hotter, the hurt was more painful. Silences grew to become as obtrusive as the most bother-some of family members.

  Breaking the silence was the problem. It took strength, and in his instance it meant dealing with pride and with fear. He had been grappling with both for months. What made the difference now were his feelings for Bree.

  She was sleeping soundly when he left the bedroom and picked up the phone in his office. It was eleven at night. With any luck, his father would be asleep.

  He punched out the number and waited nervously, holding his finger over the disconnect button, wavering right up until the moment he heard Alice’s voice rather than his father’s.

  “Hi, Lissa. It’s Tom.”

  There was a stunned pause, then a soft “I know who it is. No one else calls me that anymore. No one else has your voice.”

  Compliment or complaint, he wasn’t sure. “It’s been a while.”

  “A long one,” she said. She had never been one to beat around the bush. Spunky, was what she was called.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Okay. And you?”

  “Not bad. Actually, I’m pretty good.”

  “Are you back in New York?”

  “No. I’ll be staying here in Vermont.”

  There was another pause, then a skeptical “Staying, as in permanently?”

  “Funny, isn’t it? I was in such a rush to see the world. Now here I am in another small town.”

  “They’re good for some things.” She sounded expectant, as if she was waiting for the second shoe to fall.

  He let it. “I’ve met a woman here. Her name’s Bree. We’re engaged.”

  “Engaged to be married?”

  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.”