As You Wish

by Chelsea Sedoti

  “I miss you so much, Ebs.” My voice catches, and tears start to fall like someone turned on a tap.

  I try not to cry at the nursing home. My mom hates it when I cry, thinks it’s a sign that I’ve given up. And what if Ma is right? What if Ebba is here, watching us? I don’t want her to hear me sobbing, know how miserable I am. She’s fighting a battle that’s hard enough without my pain adding to it.

  Deep down, I know she’s not fighting a battle though. She’s not. I can cry tears to wash away the entire nursing home, and Ebba will never know any different. She’s never going to wake up, the doctors have told us over and over again, gently at first but more firmly the longer my mom refuses to believe them.

  So I don’t try to fight it. I let myself cry.

  I’m never getting my sister back. Everything that we shared, that we were supposed to share in the future, is gone.

  And it’s my fault. I wasn’t the one driving the car, but I should have been there for her. Ebba should have never been riding her bike that day. I’m her big brother, and it was my job to protect her, and I didn’t. I let her down. I let my whole family down.

  For as much as I hate Fletcher Hale, as much as I blame him for Ebba’s accident, there’s no denying that I hate and blame myself too.

  • • •

  “How is she?” Merrill asks when I join him and Norie at Del Taco.

  I sit down at the table, take one of Norie’s fries. “The same.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  Silence descends on us as we all contemplate topics that are way too heavy for a fast-food joint. I’m having trouble pulling myself out of Ebba’s room. It’s always hard to walk out of the nursing home and back into normal life.

  “Is there any chance of recovery?” Norie asks carefully, like I’m so fragile, her words might shatter me.

  I don’t respond, because I’ll break down again, and sobbing in the middle of Del Taco isn’t high on my to-do list. Thankfully, Merrill answers for me, speaking in the same gentle voice.

  “Not really,” he says, glancing at me quickly to make sure it’s OK. “Eldon’s parents, they just don’t want to…you know, pull the plug yet. Not until Eldon’s wish.”

  “I see,” Norie says. And she does see. She looks at me as if she suddenly knows everything about me.

  I clear my throat. Concentrate on wishing instead of Ebba in that terrible room. “My mom thinks I can save her.”

  “Can’t you?” Norie asks.

  “Maybe if she was in Madison.” Though the situation with Fletcher has me questioning that. “But even if I could wish for her to get better here, it won’t go unnoticed. The doctors know how bad she is, and if she suddenly recovers, it’ll be a miracle. Like, articles in medical journals and segments on the news. It would break the rules of wishing.”

  “Can’t you bring her home to Madison then?” Norie asks. “Right before your wish?”

  “She wouldn’t survive the trip.”

  “Besides,” Merrill says, “what then? People here know about her. Someone would find out she’d been magically cured. The other option is that the whole town fakes her death. And even in Madison, that charade is too much.”

  “It was a mistake bringing her to Vegas in the first place,” I say. “But no one knew how bad it was. We thought she would be in the hospital for a week or two.”

  Though truthfully, right after it happened, no one knew what to think. We were all so upset, it was impossible to make smart choices. Sheriff Crawford rushed Ebba to Vegas, and maybe we could have called him back in time, but no one knew.

  Norie frowns and twists her ring around her finger. “I don’t get it then. What exactly does your mom want you to wish for?”

  “Money. My mom thinks if we throw enough money at people, we could get Ebba into the best hospital in the world, and they could find a way to make her better.”

  “What do you think?” Norie asks.

  “I think there are some problems money can’t fix.”

  And deep down, I think my mom knows it too. She knows that what she’s doing is terrible, prolonging Ebba’s life when the outcome has been inevitable from the start. No amount of wishing can change what happened.

  I also know that if I don’t try, my mom will hate me forever.

  The easiest choice would be to do what Ma wants. Wish for money. But how long will this go on? How many specialists will she fly to Vegas? How many years will pass before the doctors say enough is enough? Ebba deserves better than that. I don’t want her hovering around in some kind of half-life. I want my sister to be at peace.

  I can do what’s best for my mom or what’s best for my sister. What’s best for me has never even been a factor.

  “Let’s go,” Norie says.

  “Back to Madison?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Let’s do something fun. You should get your mind off all this for a while.”

  I don’t know if that’s possible, but I’m willing to try.

  • • •

  Merrill wants to ride the High Roller. It’s a new addition to the Las Vegas playground and supposedly one of the tallest observation wheels in the world.

  “Isn’t it expensive?” I ask. I don’t have much cash on me.

  “I’ll spot you,” Merrill says.

  So we end up on the Strip after all.

  At the top of the High Roller, we can see the whole city spread out below us, a grid of houses and streets extending right up to the mountains. I think of my own town, farther out in the desert. Hidden in the middle of the Mojave and more magical than the entire city of Las Vegas.

  Merrill leans forward, taking in the view. His eyes shine, and he’s got a huge grin on his face.

  “It’s like flying,” he says.

  “Have you ever been in a plane before?” Norie asks him.

  “Well, no,” Merrill says. “But this is how I imagine it. Looking down and seeing the whole world below you and feeling free.”

  Norie smiles at Merrill. “You’ll fly one day.”

  “Damn right I will.”

  I’m not trying to ruin the mood, but I’m having the opposite reaction of Merrill. Seeing the world from above doesn’t make me feel free. It makes me feel small. Insignificant. There’s a whole city down there filled with people. And each one of those people has their own problems, their own pain. What does my life mean in the mix? “I don’t know,” I say. “It doesn’t really look special when you see it from here.”

  “Nothing looks that special when you see it from above,” Norie replies.

  Merrill laughs and nudges Norie. “Don’t you ever give it a rest?”

  After the High Roller, we get hot fudge sundaes at the Ghirardelli ice cream shop. We push our way to the front of the crowd to see the water show at the Bellagio. Merrill wants to ride the roller coaster at New York-New York. Norie wants to see the white tigers at the Mirage. I don’t care what we do. I’m happy to go along for the ride.

  Security kicks us off the casino floor at Treasure Island. We go back outside and walk the Strip, rubbing elbows with tourists who are beating the heat with two-dollar margaritas.

  “Wanna see if anyone will serve us?” Merrill asks, stopping at a bar.

  “Dude, we’re not in Madison,” I say.

  “Maybe I should have wished for a fake ID.”

  Norie rolls her eyes. “It’s possible to have fun without being inebriated, you know.”

  Merrill laughs and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Who says I’m not having fun?”

  Believe it or not, I’m having fun too. If I’d been knocking back cheap margaritas, I probably would have thrown my arms around Merrill and Norie and thanked them for being such amazing friends.

  Instead, I say, “You guys hungry?”

  The sun is setting when we return to the Must
ang. All three of us are sunburned and exhausted and a little dazed from all the lights and noise and activity.

  “Can we make one more stop before we leave town?” Norie asks.

  “I’m not in any rush to get back to Shitsville,” Merrill says.

  Norie’s directions take us away from the center of the city. We pass through residential neighborhoods and work our way to the edge of town, until a majestic white building appears in front of us. The expertly—and probably expensively—manicured lawn looks ridiculously out of place against the backdrop of the mountains. I lean forward and crane my neck to see where the building’s spires touch the sky.

  “What the hell is this?” Merrill asks.

  “The Mormon Temple,” Norie replies.

  We should have known.

  Merrill groans but parks the car without argument. We wander up to the building, and Norie looks at it in awe. I imagine the expression on her face isn’t so different from when a kid sees the wish cave for the first time.

  “You gonna go in?” Merrill asks.

  Norie shakes her head. “I can’t. There are steps you have to take first.”

  Merrill raises his eyebrows. “That’s pretty messed up.”

  “It’s a sacred place,” Norie says. “I don’t think it would be right for just anyone to be allowed to waltz in.”

  “Like us heathens?” Merrill jokes.

  Norie grins at him. “Something like that.”

  I can’t help but ask the obvious. “So, uh, why are we here then?”

  “I wanted to see it. And walk the grounds. I don’t need to go inside to feel close to God here.”

  “Well,” Merrill says, “while you’re having a moment with God, I’ll be over there, having a moment with rest.”

  Merrill wanders to a tree and collapses beneath it, stretching out on his back in the grass. I shrug at Norie and follow him.

  “I can’t believe this is where we’re spending our last moments in Sin City,” Merrill says while Norie starts away from us down a flower-lined path.

  “It was either here or home.” I’d happily stay at the temple forever if it meant not facing what is waiting for me in Madison.

  “Good point, Eldo. Good point.”

  Merrill takes off his glasses and tosses them in the grass. I pick them up and put them on my face. I did this all the time when we were kids. Merrill and I figured if he had his glasses off and I had them on, we were seeing the world in the exact same way.

  “Do you get any of this?” Merrill asks, waving a hand toward the temple.

  “No.” I take off the glasses and set them down. “But I bet the people who pray here wouldn’t get wishing.”

  Merrill props himself up and looks around dramatically. “Did Norie come back? Because I’m pretty sure those are her words coming out of your mouth.”

  I shove him playfully, catching him off balance so he falls back. “Maybe Norie knows what’s up.”

  “Please don’t get religious on me,” Merrill says. “I don’t think I could handle you adopting a puritanical lifestyle.”

  “No worries on that front. I’m probably more likely to end up with a substance abuse problem like my Uncle Jasper.”

  “Dude,” Merrill says, his voice suddenly serious. “Don’t even joke about that. You’re never going to be like Jasper.”

  He’s right—at least, I hope he’s right. I want to be something. I want life to take me somewhere. It’s past time for me to figure out what or where that is. The longer I hesitate, the more likely a path will be chosen for me without my consent. And I’m pretty freaking sick of not being in control.

  “You know, part of me hopes Norie’s right about all this,” I say, nodding at the temple.

  Merrill doesn’t say anything. Then he sits up and puts his glasses back on. “Hey, Eldo, speaking of Norie—”

  “Why are you speaking of Norie?” Norie asks from behind us.

  Merrill hesitates but recovers quickly, grins at her. “Just wondering how your chat with God was going.”

  Norie rolls her eyes. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  I let Norie ride shotgun on the way back to Madison. I crack open my window and close my eyes, enjoy the air on my face as the world rushes past us. Merrill turns on the radio, and I smile when I hear, “Live from the loneliest corner of the Mojave, you’re listening to Basin and Range Radio, where we keep an eye on the night sky. This is your host, Robert Nash.”

  I hope, wherever Ebba is, she has her own version of Robert Nash to listen to. I hope she’s surrounded by everything she loves.

  “Was the temple all you were hoping?” Merrill asks Norie, so quietly I can hardly hear him over the radio, over the wind whipping in from outside.

  “Yeah,” she replies. “Sometimes, when you go to a good place, you feel lighter from simply being there.”

  I listen to Robert Nash talk about crop circles. I listen to the low hum of my friends’ voices from the front seat. I do feel lighter than I did earlier. But it doesn’t have anything to do with the temple. It’s because of Merrill and Norie. Because I have people in my life who will try their hardest to make me feel better, even though we all know it’s hopeless.

  I fall asleep and don’t wake up until we’re back in Madison.

  Chapter 20

  Countdown: 9 Days

  Fletcher Hale is only technically alive.

  He limps into art class on Monday morning, dragging one of his legs behind him. His breathing is labored. One of his ears is mostly gone, and a huge scar runs up that side of his face. Penelope’s wish fused Fletcher’s bones back together, but from the jerky way he’s moving, I’m guessing he’s not exactly good as new.

  It’s his eyes that are the worst. I’ve never seen a person look so empty. So resigned. No wonder Penelope was terrified.

  The entire classroom watches him make his way to his desk. He sits down stiffly.

  “OK, class, let’s talk about the progress we’ve made on our projects,” Ms. Dove says, like it’s business as usual. But her face has gone completely pale.

  I stare at Fletcher. I can’t not stare. I try to keep myself from shuddering.

  “You have something to say? Then say it,” Fletcher snaps.

  I look away guiltily.

  When Ms. Dove gives us time to work on our projects, no one does. Everyone pretends to work while shooting glances at me and Fletcher. I have no idea what to do.

  “We should probably talk about the project,” I say.

  Fletcher gives me a long look. “What could possibly make you think I give a shit about the project?”

  “I don’t know. Harvard, I guess.”

  He starts laughing. It’s a horrible, choked sound. “Yeah, Harvard. Can’t wait. I’ll be the most popular dead guy on campus.”

  I clear my throat. “So, the project. Maybe we can go out this week and take some pictures after school?”

  “What, you and me together?”

  I nod.

  He laughs again. “Now we’re best buddies, huh? You feeling guilty? Spend too much time wishing something like this would happen?”

  I take a deep breath and remind myself that, considering the circumstances, I should be patient.

  “I’m trying not to make the situation worse than it already is,” I say evenly.

  “Too late, Eldon. That bitch screwed me out of the one thing that could have made me happy.”

  “Penelope only wanted to help you.”

  “Well, she didn’t,” Fletcher says. “It was my choice. Mine. I’d spent months thinking about it. I’d made my decision. And she wished it all away like it was nothing.”

  “But…this is a second chance,” I say, still unsure if I believe it myself. “You can start over.”

  Fletcher snorts. “Jesus, you really are as stupid as you look
.”

  That’s when I discover that even an almost-dead kid can piss me off. “Do it again then. If you want to die so bad, why are you sitting in art class?”

  “Because Penelope Rowe didn’t wish for me to live,” Fletcher says. “She wished for my suicide to fail.”

  Oh. I get it.

  Penelope’s wish doesn’t only apply to Fletcher’s recent suicide attempt; it would apply to all of them. No matter how many cliffs Fletcher Hale throws himself off, no matter how many pills he takes, no matter how close to the brink of death he steps, he’ll come out of it at the end.

  Suicide is no longer an option.

  You’ve gotta hand it to Penelope Rowe. When she decides a job needs to be done, she sure does it well.

  • • •

  The entire school spends the day whispering about Fletcher and staring at him while trying to make it look like they’re not.

  I pass Penelope in the hall and stop her, ask how she’s doing.

  “How am I doing?” she asks blankly. “Who cares how I’m doing?”

  I shift back and forth, try to think of something to say. “You have any fund-raisers coming up?”

  “Yeah, because it worked out so well last time I tried to help someone.”

  “Maybe it did, Penny,” I say. “Give Fletcher some time to process before you beat yourself up.”

  Penelope’s eyes fill with tears. “People keep praising me, Eldon. They’re telling me I’m a hero. But I look at Fletcher and how devastated he is, and I know that I caused that. Me. I’m not a hero. I’m a monster.”

  “No,” I say. “Fletcher was depressed before any of this. Your wish didn’t do it to him.”

  Penelope shrugs and wipes her eyes.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say gently. Penelope nods, and I continue. “If you had the chance to do it over again, would you make the same wish?”

  She thinks about it. The bell rings, and the hallway clears out, everyone except us making their way to class.