The Wishing Tree

by Marybeth Whalen

  Macy relaxed and smiled back at her mom.

  “The last time we all went on vacation together was ten years ago.” Brenda looked at Emma with a wry smile. “Your grandpa had just died, and we were all very, very sad, sweetie. The beach was your grandpa’s favorite place in the whole world, and it was just … awful … to be there without him. Every corner of that house”—she looked at Macy and Max—”remember the house we used to visit every June?”

  They nodded in unison. Unbidden, an image sprang to Macy’s mind: the name of the house—Time in a Bottle—on a plaque hanging beside the front door. Her dad had whistled a few bars of the Jim Croce song every time he walked in. To this day, she never caught Jim Croce on the oldies station without tears forming in her eyes.

  “Every corner of that house was filled with memories of him. We decided not to go back, because it was too painful for any of us to be there.” Brenda smiled at Emma. “Now I think that was a mistake. I think we should’ve kept going, should have pushed through the hard memories and made new ones. I’ve … regretted … that decision. So this year”—she took a deep breath—”this year, as we mark ten years without your grandpa, I started wondering how I could make that … significant.”

  Max looked up, catching on. “So we’re going to the beach?”

  Macy pictured him at fourteen years old, laying out shells on the kitchen table, a smug smile on his face. She shot him a look as the unpleasant memory surfaced.

  “What?” he asked. “What’d I say?”

  Her mother waved her hands to silence him, and Macy wrapped her arms around Emma.

  “Is Uncle Max right?” Emma asked. “Are we going to the beach for real, Grandma?”

  Brenda smiled and nodded. She looked much the same to Macy as she had ten years ago, only softer, like a drawing whose lines had blurred slightly over time and with wear. Her mother, Macy realized, was still an attractive and not-so-old woman. It was too bad she had devoted ten years to living with a ghost. Macy smiled back at her and wondered if maybe—just maybe—this trip was some sort of sign that Brenda was ready to stop living in this haunted house. A haunted house that was now missing a few pictures. If so, Macy would do whatever Brenda needed to make the trip happen. She would pack up her daughter, take time off work, and head back to the place they had all once loved, a place tainted by loss yet still—she imagined—beautiful and breathtaking. She could do beautiful and breathtaking. In fact, it sounded like just what the doctor ordered.

  “I’ve reserved the house for two weeks,” Brenda said.

  Macy could scarcely believe she’d be returning to Sunset Beach for two whole weeks. Two weeks of sun and sand and swimming, of bikes and beaches and blue skies. Two weeks in a place that—until moments ago—she had tried hard to forget about. Her mind flashed to a guest book lying open on her lap, a drawing of a sand dollar filling the page. The corners of her mouth turned up reflexively.

  Two weeks away from real life sounded just short of heaven. Macy kissed the top of Emma’s head and looked over at Max before asking Brenda the only question she had left to ask: “When do we go?”

  Two

  Macy was almost home when her cell phone rang in her purse. She scrambled to fish it out while keeping her eyes on the road. Max’s face lit up the screen. Emma had taken the photo, and it was horribly off center, with the top of his head cut off mid-forehead. But the picture made her smile every time she saw it. “You took longer to call than I thought you would,” she said.

  “You sure agreed to that beach trip fast,” he said. She heard the sound of a beer can being opened and grimaced. She didn’t bother to reply as she heard the sounds of him drinking deeply. “Ahhhh,” he added. “That’s better.”

  “Where are you?”

  He paused. “At a friend’s.”

  Macy wondered—but didn’t ask—what his friend looked like. “Just be careful. Don’t—”

  He sighed in frustration. “I didn’t call you to get a lecture, Sis. I could call Mom for that.”

  “Okay. Excuse me for caring.” She turned her car into the driveway of her tiny rental house but didn’t cut the engine.

  “You sure got out of Mom’s in a hurry,” she said as she looked at Emma, who had fallen asleep in the backseat, her head lolling uncomfortably to one side. Macy laid her head back on the headrest. She should be racing around; Chase was due any minute, and she was nowhere near ready.

  “I had to be somewhere,” he responded a bit too quickly.

  “Are you sure it’s not because you didn’t like Mom’s plans for the beach?” She had stayed for a bit after Max left, planning the trip with her mom. Both of them had had giddiness in their voices as they spoke of the trip. It had been an unexpected but welcome end to a morbid birthday tradition.

  He exhaled loudly into the phone. “I just don’t think it’s wise, going back there after all these years. Dredging all that up.”

  “Dredging all what up?”

  She heard a feminine giggle in the background of wherever her brother was. He didn’t respond for a moment as she heard him take another long pull from his beer. “Dredging up the memories of Dad and the beach. Those were …” His voice trailed off as if he’d run out of words.

  She waited a moment. “Were what?” she asked, looking at the clock on her dashboard. The minutes were ticking away, and she needed to get inside. She had left the house a complete mess and didn’t relish Chase walking into that. She had hoped to shower before he showed up, but remembering Brenda’s and Max’s admonishments earlier, maybe it was better if she didn’t.

  “They were good times,” Max said, “but they ended when Dad died.”

  Macy could recall the good times at a moment’s notice. She thought of her dad and Buzz, the man Macy had always thought of as their family’s “beach friend,” returning from a day of fishing, their faces red and their eyes dancing as they pretended to chase her with the fish from the cooler.

  “I’m not sure our good times should’ve ended just because Dad died. I think that’s what’s wrong with all of us.” She smiled at Emma, who had roused from her nap, her eyes looking far too tired for a backyard campout. “Someone told me earlier today that I need to move forward. Well, I think we all do. I agree that I definitely do, but it would be really nice to move forward together, doncha think?”

  Only silence came over the cell phone line. “Max? You there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m going to support Mom on this. I think it sounds fun. A real vacation would be nice. I hope you’ll come.”

  “Doesn’t sound as if I’ll have much choice,” he grumbled.

  “There! That’s the spirit!” She laughed. “Glad to hear you’re jumping on the bandwagon! I love your enthusiasm!”

  “You’re crazy.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Yeah? Well, I hear that craziness is a family trait. So I get it honestly, big brother. Have a great night with your friend.”

  The female giggle was getting louder, and Macy heard the sound of another beer being popped open.

  “I plan to,” he said, and hung up. Macy hoped she wouldn’t be getting one of Max’s infamous midnight calls later.

  As her hand reached for the door handle, headlights swung into her driveway behind her. She had no choice but to plaster a smile on her face as she opened the door. She couldn’t help but whistle a few bars from “Time in a Bottle,” imagining ocean waves and sandy beaches as she helped her daughter out of the car and turned to face the rest of her evening.

  Macy heard the sounds of the door downstairs being opened and heavy footsteps crossing the linoleum.

  “That didn’t take long,” she said aloud, rolling off her bed and tossing aside the magazine she’d been pretending to read as she waited for the inevitable.

  While they’d been sitting around their campfire, Chase had thrown out enough hints about his plans for after Emma was asleep that Macy had expected this. She knew he wanted to get to know his daughte
r, but his motives for coming over weren’t exactly pure. Part of her was flattered, as desperate as that made her sound. She had missed the companionship of having someone around. But she’d promised Brenda and Max—and herself—that she’d try to be wise about this relationship this time.

  She met him on the stairs, intending to talk, but he covered her mouth with a kiss, halting her words. She used both hands to push him away, smiling as she broke free and brushed past him. She headed to the kitchen before he could grab her again. He followed her, his body exuding heat even though it was cold outside.

  “You can’t leave her out there like that. What if she wakes up?” Macy asked, peering out the kitchen window into the tiny backyard where the small tent stood.

  He wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed his lips into her hair. “You’re such a mom,” he teased.

  She turned to face him, their noses nearly touching. She could feel his breath against her face. He smelled smoky and sweet—like fire and singed marshmallows.

  “I’ve been a mom for five years,” she said, a reminder of the time he had missed, the length of time he’d stayed out of her life—and Emma’s. She crossed her arms in front of her and pressed her back against the cold glass of the window, creating as much space between them as possible.

  He wrapped his hands around her forearms and pulled her closer, erasing the space she’d just created. “You know, you could be a little happier that I’m back. That I chose to come back. For you.”

  She jerked her thumb in the direction of the tent where their daughter slept. “For her. You came back for her. Don’t forget that. Because no matter what happens with us, Chase, I want you to be here for her.” She thought of the sad dinner she and Emma had had earlier. She thought of the hole a father’s absence can cause. “She’s important.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll be there for her. Don’t worry so much.” He hugged Macy close again, his chin resting on top of her head, feeling at once familiar and strange, cozy yet frightening. “Trust me,” he added.

  A laugh bubbled up from inside her, uncontained.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I struggle with trusting people,” Macy mumbled into his T-shirt. “And you’re one of the main reasons for that.”

  She pushed away from him, finding it easier now that she’d been without him so long. “Now get back outside and keep your eye on the real reason you’re here.”

  He started to argue but she held up her hand. Chase needed to be here for Emma; but she was realizing she wasn’t sold on the idea of him being here for her.

  After Chase stole back out the door he’d snuck in, re-joining their sleeping daughter in the tent under the stars, Macy congratulated herself for being strong. Once upon a time, she’d been helpless to his charms, but not anymore. She fell asleep making herself promises and slipped into a dream that took her back to Sunset as a child.

  Her dad was holding her high above the waves as she looked down at their foamy tops from her perch on his shoulders. When her dad set her down on the sand, she ran along the beach, scooping up the tiny, fragile, pastel-colored shells she called butterfly shells.

  “Look, Daddy,” she said, holding them out for him to marvel over.

  “They’re beautiful,” he said. “Just like you.” He tweaked her nose and helped her put the shells in a plastic baggie to carry safely home.

  “I think these are going to win the contest for sure,” she said.

  “I think you’re right,” he said, turning back to begin packing up for the day.

  She studied the shells for a moment—trying to decide if she liked the pink one or the purple one better. When she looked up, her daddy was gone. She scanned the deserted beach, calling for him.

  She woke up to a dark room, her heart racing, the space beside her in bed empty like always. She sat up, gathered the covers close around her, and wished she could close her eyes and return to the dreamworld where her father had been—if only for a few minutes. She had heard his voice, seen his smile, felt his warm hands holding her. In the dream, he had been alive. The talk of Sunset Beach had brought him back to her.

  She smiled as she remembered the contest they’d had years ago, and how mad she’d been when she lost to Max with the shell he’d found. She’d thought of it almost immediately when Brenda had brought up Sunset Beach.

  The year she was five, her dad had thought it would be fun to have a family contest to see who could find the best shell, with everyone voting on the winner. The prize was twenty dollars, and Macy had set her sights on a doll she could buy with the money. She’d scoured the beach daily, submitting several possible shells based on whatever the ocean offered up as she combed the shore for treasures. She’d felt certain that her best entry was the butterfly shells, tiny yet perfect, a trio of pastel colors. Max, being the ornery teenage boy he was, hadn’t participated the whole week, and as the week drew to a close, Macy started counting her money in her mind, dreaming about her parents taking her to get that doll.

  But on their last full day at the beach, Max had snuck out at dawn and found a large, perfect conch shell, its interior a glossy petal pink. Even Macy had had to concede that his shell was the best. But not without tears, and not without an especially emotional outburst at Max. He had waited to enter his shell until the last minute, just to be mean, knowing Macy would think she had won the contest. She’d told him he couldn’t come to her wedding, the meanest thing she could think of at that moment. Max had merely turned away from her, leaving her fuming as tears tracked down her face.

  Later that afternoon, their dad had announced that there was a second-place prize he’d forgotten to mention, and he and Macy had piled into the car to buy real pastel colored pencils so she could draw a picture in the guest book he’d found her flipping through. Since she was too young to be able to write about their trip in the guest book, he’d suggested she draw a picture that reflected what they’d done that week. Seeing a way to immortalize her precious butterfly shells, Macy had seized on the idea. Riding to the store with her dad, she’d caught his eye in the rearview mirror, seen the kindness and love that radiated from his gaze. And though she was still angry at Max, she’d been happy to have the new colored pencils, thrilled to be able to draw in the guest book, and certain she had the best daddy in the world. Years later, she thought about how winning second prize ultimately changed her life.

  She burrowed back into her cozy nest of blankets, thinking about her mother’s plans and finding herself wishing the trip wasn’t so long away. A getaway to the place she’d once run from might just be the answer her heart was searching for.

  She pulled the photo from the drawer she kept it in. Through all these years, it had occupied that honored spot—the top drawer of her nightstand, reachable at all hours of the day and night. The photo was creased from an unfortunate run-in with a notebook that had been carelessly thrown on top of it years ago, the crease running just to the left of the boy’s ear, cutting the sand dollar he was holding neatly in half. As always, she smoothed the crease with her fingertips as she peered at his face, thinking, as always, about where he might be now, what he might look like. A smile filled her face as she pressed the photo to her heart and reflected on her mother’s announcement. She was going to be near him, possibly even close enough to see him, maybe even to know him.

  She pulled the photo away from her just far enough to be able to see again the image of the six-year-old boy holding his prized sand dollar, waves crashing in the background as he smiled for the camera. His smile came complete with dimples. He—you could already tell—would grow up to be incredibly handsome.

  She squinted her eyes at the image until it blurred. The boy in the photo was no more. Somewhere out there was the man this boy had become, bearing the same dimples, the same smile, the same brown eyes that had seen every picture she’d ever drawn for him. Just like she’d seen his for her. Somehow she’d find a way to see him again, her past and future meeting on the pages of a guest bo
ok she’d never forgotten. She hoped he had not either.

  About the Author

  MARYBETH WHALEN is the wife of Curt and mom of six children. She is the director of She Reads, an online book club focused on spotlighting the best in women’s fiction. Marybeth is the author of The Mailbox and The Guest Book. She spends most of her time in the grocery store but occasionally escapes long enough to scribble some words. She’s always at work on her next novel. Marybeth and her family live in North Carolina. You can find her online at www.marybethwhalen.com.

  Advance Acclaim for The Wishing Tree

  As I started reading The Wishing Tree, I was instantly drawn into a story filled with complex family relationships and characters I cared about. I felt Ivy Marshall’s pain as she faced past issues and cheered her on during her happier moments. Marybeth Whalen has earned a place on my must-read list.

  —DEBBY MAYNE, AUTHOR OF PRETTY IS AS PRETTY

  DOES, BLESS HER HEART, AND TICKLED PINK

  A betrayal, a bakery, and a beach: all three combine to woo you through Ivy Marshall’s conundrum. Will she forgive? Is that enough? Or is it time to move on with her love life? Strong characters, a terrific setting, and stunning baked goods make this a terrific beach read.

  —MARY DEMUTH, AUTHOR OF THE MUIR HOUSE

  Sink your toes in the sand, let the salty breeze tease your hair, and be swept away to Sunset Beach. Marybeth Whalen writes with an authentic voice, full of deep introspection and insight into relationships and the questions we all have about whether or not we’ve made the right choices. And there are cupcakes! The Wishing Tree delighted me from start to finish. Highly recommended!

  —CARLA STEWART, AWARD-WINNING

  AUTHOR OF CHASING LILACS AND STARDUST

  Marybeth Whalen writes with a light hand, skillfully blending issues of faith and the realities of modern life into a compelling and believable read.

  —MARIE BOSTWICK, NEW YORK TIMES BEST-SELLING