A Secret Wish

by Barbara Freethy

  This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted a party. She loved her family, but lately she couldn’t stand being around them. Her sisters and cousins were all married. They had children. Some even had teenagers. She was so far behind the curve it was ridiculous. She was jealous. She knew it. They knew it, too.

  In the bathroom, she closed the door and stared at her face in the mirror. She’d never imagined she’d be thirty-five and without a baby. But three attempts at in-vitro fertilization had left her with an empty womb and a bankrupt savings account. Time was running out. She might have only one more chance. Colin had recently received a big bonus at work, and she knew just how she wanted to spend the money. She had hoped to talk to him about it tonight, but that would have to wait until they were alone. She certainly didn’t want any input from her mother or her sisters.

  She washed her hands, splashed water on her face, and reapplied her lipstick. She was too thin, too pale. She’d always had a tendency to wear her stress on her face and today it was all there. She forced a smile. She just had to get through the next few hours. Her family had gone to a lot of trouble for her. She had to at least pretend to be happy. As Gina said, it wasn’t always about her.

  Leaving the bathroom, she walked down the hall and into the dining room. Colin was filling a plate at the buffet table. At forty, her husband could still make her heart skip a beat. He was a very attractive man, tall and lean, with light brown hair and golden brown eyes. He’d taken off his suit jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to his elbows. His hair was mussed. He had a habit of running his fingers through it whenever he was tired or worried. She could always tell what kind of day he’d had by the way his hair looked. Tonight it was a mess, probably because her mother had railroaded him into throwing her a surprise birthday party.

  Turning, he caught her watching him and gave her an apologetic smile. “I made this for you, Angie.”

  She walked over and took the plate out of his hands. “Thanks.”

  He handed her a fork. “No knife for you. I’m afraid you’ll use it on me.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Your family loves you so much. They wanted to make you happy. I got swept up in their enthusiasm. By the time your mother finished talking to me, I was convinced that throwing you a surprise party was the best idea in the world, until you walked through the door a few minutes ago.”

  “It’s okay. Your intentions were good.” She looked around the crowded apartment, knowing she was lucky and blessed. “Everyone wants me to be happy, including you, and I have an idea about that.”

  “So do I. Come with me.” Colin led her into the kitchen, which was surprisingly empty. He took an envelope out of the drawer and handed it to her. “This is your real birthday surprise.”

  Her pulse leapt with expectation. “What’s this?”

  “Your present. I’ve been thinking about what to do with that bonus I got from work, and I came up with the perfect idea.”

  “Me, too,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I wanted to talk to you about it tonight. It seems like fate that your bonus is exactly the amount we need to…” She opened the envelope, expecting to see a letter with an appointment time at the fertility clinic, like so many they’d received in the past. Instead, she saw tickets – tickets to some sort of cruise.

  “The Caribbean,” Colin said with excitement in his voice. “Ten days cruising the high seas, just you and me. Miles of ocean, music, casino action, and all the food you can eat. It will be a second honeymoon, a new start. We can talk about what we want to do with the rest of our lives.”

  “You spent your bonus on a cruise?” she asked in shock.

  “Yes. Why?” His smiled dimmed. “What’s wrong, Angie?”

  She looked into his eyes, wondering how he could possibly be confused about her reaction. “I thought we would use the money to try IVF one more time. It’s the exact amount we need.”

  The blood drained out of his face. His jaw tightened. “We agreed that we were done after the last time.”

  “We didn’t agree. We just ran out of money. But now we have the money.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not about the money. It’s about you and me. I can’t watch you go through it again. I can’t see the hope in your eyes and then the despair. I’m afraid one of these days you’ll break, and I won’t be able to put you back together. Some things are not meant to be. We have to accept it.”

  “The doctor still thinks it could happen for us. I’m only thirty-five. There’s still time – but not a lot of time. Each year the odds go down.”

  “You hear what you want to hear. The doctor told you it might never happen, Angie.”

  “He also said it might,” she argued. “How can you give up?”

  He put his hands on her shoulders, gazing into her eyes. “We’re happy, aren’t we? We love each other. We have good friends, family, nieces and nephews to spoil. You have your gallery, your painting. Why can’t that be enough for you?”

  “Because it can’t.” She stepped away from him, unable to bear his touch. He was trying to take away her dreams.

  “You have to be realistic–”

  “No, I need to have a baby. And I don’t want to look back in five years and say, What if I had just tried one more time? Don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to take one last chance?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. She wanted to see him weaken, watch the reassuring smile come into his eyes and spread across his face. She wanted him to say, “Yes, that’s what I want, too.”

  “I can’t.”

  His words didn’t register for a moment, but slowly they sank in. His expression was definite, unyielding. God! He wasn't going to change his mind. A feeling of desperation swept over her. Was this it? Was this really the end?

  If Colin wouldn’t agree to the insemination, they were done. It was over. She would never have a baby. She would never feel that tiny life inside her. She pressed her hand to her empty womb, an ache spreading down deep in her soul.

  She’d touched her sisters’ pregnant stomachs many times, feeling the kicks and flutters of their babies, and she’d wanted that incredible and special feeling inside her own body. She’d always thought she’d have that moment. The idea that she wouldn’t was too much to handle. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, as though the walls were closing in on her.

  “It will get easier,” Colin told her, a hint of desperation in his voice. “We’ll fill up our days. We’ll make ourselves happy. It will be all right.”

  Before she could say anything else, the kitchen door flew open and her mother walked in, holding a cake lit up with candles. Her sisters, their husbands, their children, and the rest of the party crowded into the small kitchen.

  She stared down at the cake, the blaze of thirty-five candles surrounding the words Happy Birthday Angela.

  “Make a wish,” her mother said, setting the cake down on the table in front of her.

  She had tried wishing. It didn’t work. But everyone was waiting. They were calling out suggestions for wishes… A new car… A trip around the world. They were suffocating her with their desire to have her move on, give up her dream and wish for something that wouldn’t take a miracle. Then they could go on, too. They wouldn’t have to watch what they said or worry about her.

  She had to give them what they wanted. It was what she always did.

  But when she closed her eyes to make her secret wish there was only one thought in her mind.

  Please, God, give me a baby.

  She blew out the candles to applause and laughter and an off-key version of Happy Birthday. Her mother suggested they take the cake back out to the dining room to cut it, and Angela was grateful when the group moved out of the kitchen, leaving her and Colin alone again.

  He gave her a pleading look, silently begging her to stop arguing, to accept what was done. “Let’s get some cake,” he said. “It’s your favorite.”

  “I’m not hungry.�
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  Her Uncle Rico popped back into the room. “We need more wine, Colin. Time for the secret stash every good Italian keeps down in the cellar.”

  “I don’t have a secret stash or a cellar,” Colin said. “But the liquor store down the street has plenty of wine.”

  “I’ll go.” Angela grabbed the excuse like a lifeline. She had to get out of this room, out of this party, out of this life.

  “You can’t leave – it’s your party. I’ll go,” Colin said.

  “No, I need some air.”

  He frowned, obviously unhappy with her decision. “What do you want me to tell your mother?”

  “Tell her I’ve had all the surprises I can take for one night.”

  “Angela.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t take too long.”

  “I’m just going to get wine,” she said. “How long could that take?”

  Chapter Two

  Liz felt an excited shiver run down her spine as she stepped out of a cab in front of the thirty-story glass building that housed one of San Francisco’s newest luxury downtown hotels, the Remington. She still couldn’t believe she’d hopped into a taxi with a perfect stranger who was intent on buying her an expensive glass of champagne. It felt more like a scene from a movie than real life – at least, not her real life.

  “After you,” John said, waving her toward the revolving doors.

  She hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere else? Neither one of us is dressed for this place.” She’d changed out of her scrubs into a pair of blue jeans, a knit shirt, and a black sweater, her usual out-of-work clothes, which were definitely not high class, sophisticated, or even unwrinkled, for that matter, having been stuffed in her locker all day.

  “It’s your birthday. You deserve the best,” he said.

  “You’re right, I do deserve the best,” she said slowly. It was not the way she usually thought about her life, but maybe it was time she did. “I might have to find an ATM first, though.”

  “This is my treat.”

  “I’m used to paying my own way.”

  “Tonight you don’t have to. Don’t worry, I can afford it.”

  “I’d feel better if you told me a little more about yourself, including your last name.” So far, he’d only provided her with John. And she wasn’t even sure that was his real name. There’d been something odd in his voice, another reminder that she was taking a risk by going out with him, but she’d been playing it safe for so long that she was ready to shake things up.

  “I don’t think we should exchange last names,” he said with a grin. “It will make tonight more fun.”

  She wanted to argue, but it was just a drink, for God’s sake. She didn’t need two forms of ID to accept a glass of champagne, did she?

  “Come on, Liz, let’s start the celebration. You’re not getting any younger,” he teased.

  “Fine. No last names.”

  John took her hand as they headed toward the door. His touch made her feel warm all over. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held hands with a man. Kyle had hated holding her hand. He'd said that he felt constrained. That had probably been a clue that he was not going to want a future with her if he couldn’t even hold her hand, but she’d overlooked that clue along with plenty of others in her desperation to be as attached as everyone else in her circle of friends.

  As they entered the hotel, she couldn’t help but be impressed by the cathedral ceilings, the marble floors, and the glass chandeliers. The people walking through the lobby were just as pretty, the men in designer suits, the women in expensive evening gowns. If there had been a red carpet, she might have thought they were at the Oscars or a movie premiere where everyone was someone.

  She’d been someone once – someone famous – but not in a good way. And she’d felt immensely relieved when her fifteen minutes of fame had elapsed.

  John led the way up an escalator to the second floor. She assumed he was heading for the bar until he stopped in the doorway of a ballroom, which was jammed with at least a few hundred people.

  “What is it – a wedding?” she asked, trying to peer around his shoulder.

  “Looks like a birthday party.” He tipped his head toward a poster on an easel by the door. “Carole Prescott’s fortieth birthday party. Hey, she shares your birthday. I think it’s a sign.”

  “Of course it’s a sign, John. That’s what they call words on big posters.”

  “Funny girl. I mean a sign that we’re in the right place.” A mischievous glint came into his eyes. “We should join the party.”

  “No way. We can’t go in there. We don’t even know her. You said a glass of champagne in the bar.”

  “I bet they have champagne here.” John squeezed her hand and pulled her into the darkened room while she was still protesting. She waited for someone to kick them out immediately, but everyone’s attention was focused on the far end of the room, where a huge, three-tiered cake decorated with multicolored roses had been rolled into the center of the dance floor.

  “Look at that,” John muttered. “It’s big enough to feed a small country.”

  It was certainly bigger than the cupcake she’d bought. “That must have cost a fortune.”

  “Kind of puts your little party of one to shame, doesn’t it?”

  “Hey, just because a party is small doesn’t mean it’s not good,” she protested, but she was lying, and they both knew it. Who wouldn’t want a celebration like this?

  “I think there’s going to be a speech,” he said.

  Liz watched as a distinguished man in a black tuxedo escorted an equally stunning blonde in a turquoise beaded evening dress to the nearby microphone.

  “Before we light the candles,” the man said, “I’d like to make a toast to my incredible wife, Carole.” He picked up two glasses of champagne from an attending waiter and handed one to the woman by his side. “You’re an amazing wife and mother. You’re tireless in your efforts to take care of your family and others. You’ve given me an incredible seventeen years of marriage and two beautiful children. I’m the luckiest man on the face of the earth. Happy birthday.” He kissed her on the lips as the crowd murmured “Happy birthday” and raised their champagne glasses.

  It was a beautiful, loving toast, Liz thought, watching as two waiters began to light the candles. It took a few minutes to get all forty lit. When they did, it looked like a royal bonfire. She’d never seen such a spectacular sight. Carole Prescott was a very lucky woman.

  For a moment she tried to imagine that this was her party, that the man in the black tuxedo was her husband, that the guests were all there for her. But her mind came up blank. Her imagination wasn’t that good.

  As Carole stepped toward the cake, her gaze ran around the room, settling on Liz and John. She frowned.

  “Uh-oh,” Liz whispered.

  “Time to go,” John said. They ran to the door like two kids who’d been caught sneaking into the movies. They didn’t stop running until they reached the bar.

  Laughing, they grabbed a booth in the corner. It took a moment for Liz to catch her breath. She hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. “I have a feeling you are going to be a bad influence on me.”

  “That’s funny. Because I was just thinking that you might be a very good influence on me,” John replied.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you – before the night is through.”

  * * *

  If Carole Prescott could have skipped any birthday, it would have been this one.

  She didn’t want to be forty. She didn’t want to deal with the ugliness of aging and the fear that her husband would find someone younger and prettier. She didn’t want to get left behind. And she was terribly afraid that could happen.

  Her husband, Blake, had big ambitions. He was a high-profile corporate attorney who wanted to be a United States senator, and he’d used the occasion of her birthday to network and raise funds for his u
pcoming political campaign. More than half the people in the room were here for him. They didn’t give a damn about her birthday. But they’d smile and pretend to care, and she’d do the same. It was what she always did.

  She couldn’t complain. She’d chosen this life. She’d worked hard to get it. And she’d never allowed herself to look back or regret any of her choices…until tonight.

  While she normally loved parties and being the center of attention, she would have preferred not to have this particular party. She didn’t want to mark this day, have the society columnists shouting to the world that Carole Prescott was forty years old. It would only mean more scrutiny in the future and gossip about whether or not she’d had a face lift, Botox, or plastic surgery.

  It was different for men. Her husband loved being forty. For him, aging gave him life experience and wisdom, the perfect combination for a senator. But what did aging give her but a time bomb ticking down the days to the end of her life?

  She was being dramatic, but it was her nature. She’d always wanted to live bigger than life. From the time she was a little girl living in a seedy, run-down apartment building, she’d believed that some day she would be somebody. And she was somebody. She’d just had no idea how difficult and wearying it would be to wear a mask of perfection twenty-four hours a day. She could never relax, kick off her shoes, let down her hair, put on old sweats and dance around the living room the way her mother used to do every single night after waiting tables at the local burger restaurant.

  Not that she wanted her mother’s life – God, no! She’d done everything she could to get away from that world.

  As the crowd chanted Make a wish! Make a wish! Carole closed her eyes, trying to shake off the past and focus on the present, the future. It was difficult to concentrate. The noise from the crowd made her head spin and the heat from the candles drew beads of sweat along her forehead. All she could see in her mind was the past in bright, living color, reminding her of who she’d once been and what she’d left behind.

  There were eight candles on her cake. Her mom wore her flashy red hair in a ponytail and there was a cigarette hanging out of her smiling mouth. Her aunt held a cheap disposable camera in her hand. The other kids crowded around the scratched-up picnic table in the city park. Alex, who lived across the hall, asked for one of the red roses on the cake. His younger brother, Peter, wiped his hand across his face, smearing the mustard and ketchup from the hot dog he’d eaten from ear to ear. They kept shoving each other, trying to get the best spot on the bench.