Her friend, Becky, slipped her hand into Carole’s and asked if she could help blow out the candles. Becky always wanted to do everything Carole did, especially when it came to presents and candles. Not that there were many presents, just a doll from the dollar store and paper and crayons to draw with.
Her mom had written Happy B’day Carly in red frosting that was jagged and barely readable. Carly was what everyone called her. Her mom said she’d named her Carole for her grandmother, but it was too big a name for a little girl.
“Make a wish, baby, a secret wish that comes straight from your heart,” her mom said. “And make it a good one. Lord knows we need all the wishes we can get.”
Because they didn’t have much more than wishes, she thought. She was only eight, but she knew that with a certainty that would have surprised her mom and her aunt, who tried to whisper when they talked about the fact that her dad, Billy, had run out on ’em, taking all their money and all their dreams. She was glad he was gone. She didn’t miss her dad or the beer bottles in the fridge or the Saturday night fights that made her mom cry and wear long-sleeved shirts all weekend. She tried to take care of her mother and keep the house clean, but her daddy seemed to get mad anyway.
Her mom always said, “Don’t worry, Carly, Mama’s got your back,” but it wasn’t the truth. Sometimes her mother wasn’t there when her daddy came home mad.
She closed her eyes, trying not to think about him, and wished for a big house, piles of money, and plenty of milk for her and her mom. They liked to dunk Oreo cookies into the milk when they watched TV at night.
Certain that she had the right wish, she opened her eyes to blow out the candles just in time to see Alex push Peter so hard he fell headfirst into the cake, setting his hair on fire. He started screaming along with everyone else.
Suddenly everyone at the party was blowing on the cake, making sure all the flames were out and Peter was okay. That stupid Alex had ruined her party.
She looked down at her smashed cake and had a feeling her wish would never come true. She burst into tears and her mom’s arms came around her in a tight and loving hug.
“Don’t worry, Carly. The birthday fairy already heard your wish. It will come true. You’re a special girl, and God takes care of special little girls.”
Her mother had been right. Her wish had come true. She had a big house, piles of money, and plenty of milk. Only she didn’t drink milk anymore – it was too fattening. And she didn’t share her house or her life with her mother. For the first time in a long time, she missed her mom. She missed her children, too. She couldn’t see them anywhere in the crowd.
Her husband told her to hurry up and make a wish before the candles burned down. An unexpected wish filled her heart. I want my family back.
As she opened her eyes and blew out the candles, she regretted her foolish wish. Her family hadn’t gone anywhere. Her family was her husband and her children. So what had she been wishing for?
But as she stepped away from the cake so the waiters could begin serving, she couldn’t shake the feeling of hollowness. She had everything and yet it felt like nothing.
The band began to play softly in the background, and she realized she was standing alone in the lingering smoke from her candles. How was that possible? The birthday girl wasn’t supposed to be alone.
She needed to move, join a group and make small talk. She was good at cocktail conversation. Blake had always admired the way she could work a room. But she didn’t feel like working the room tonight. Her stiletto heels were pinching her toes, and her facial muscles were tired of smiling. At the very least, she needed to sit down for a few minutes and catch a second wind before the band started playing. There would be dancing and more toasts to endure. She had to find her party spirit – and fast.
“Mrs. Prescott, are you all right?” Lindsay, the party coordinator, a perky blonde in her early thirties, had a clipboard in her hand and a worried look on her face.
“I’m fine. The party is lovely. You did a wonderful job. Thank you.”
The tension in Lindsay’s face eased. “You’re very welcome. I hope you’re having a good time.”
“Yes, of course. Have you seen my children around?”
“They left right before you cut the cake. Your daughter told me that she was driving your son to a sleepover or something like that. I assumed you knew their plans.”
She’d known they’d each made plans to spend the night somewhere else since she and Blake had booked a room at the hotel, but beyond that she knew very little. She was disappointed that they’d left so early. They hadn’t even wanted to watch her cut the cake. They hadn’t wanted to do much of anything with her in recent years. She’d attributed their distance to the teenage years – Sophie was sixteen now and Michael was fifteen. They had their own lives.
But she knew the distance between them had started years earlier. Her devotion to Blake and his career had forced her to miss some of the children’s events. Blake needed her to host parties, to travel with him, to support his career, and she’d always believed that helping him achieve his goals would give her children a better life. And it had. They lived in a big house. Her kids had nice clothes, the latest electronics and computers. They lacked for nothing, and that was because of her effort. Still, deep in her heart, she missed having a real relationship with them.
Well, maybe she hadn’t been the best mother, but she was a fabulous wife. That she had no doubts about.
Speaking of being a wife, maybe it was time to find her husband.
She strolled through the ballroom, keeping a sharp eye out for Blake. As the minutes passed, she grew more and more annoyed by his absence. Lately, he never seemed to be around. She didn’t mind being in his shadow, as long as he was actually near enough to cast one.
The party had spilled out into the hallways that ran along the ballroom. She smiled and waved to several guests as she searched the halls for Blake. She turned the far corner, wondering if he’d gone into the kitchen or one of the banquet offices to speak to someone. She thought the corridor was empty until she saw a couple almost hidden by a tall plant.
She stopped abruptly, recognizing the broad shoulders of her husband. The woman with him had long red hair and she wore a very short black strapless dress. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old.
As Carole watched, the redhead leaned in and whispered something in Blake’s ear. Then she slid her lips along his cheekbone. The intimate gesture was unmistakable.
Carole’s stomach turned over and her heart skipped a beat. Oh, God! Was this it, then? Was her husband already having an affair with a younger woman?
She must have let out some kind of sound, because suddenly Blake whirled around and saw her. His eyes glittered the way they always did when he was nervous or guilty. The woman with him didn’t appear worried at all. She looked triumphant, as if she’d just won some big prize.
“Carole,” he muttered, walking toward her. “Have you met Krystal Cunningham? Her father just made a very large donation to my campaign.”
She heard the explanation. She didn’t believe it. She wanted to stamp her foot and scream at him that he was a liar and a stupid one at that, to fool around with this woman at his wife’s birthday party. But she couldn’t do any of those things. She couldn’t make a scene. That wasn’t who she was, or who she wanted to be. So she said, “I see. And you were just thanking her.”
“Exactly.”
She saw the relief in his eyes, the acknowledgement that they would both handle this with dignity and poise. Her hands clenched into fists. She had the tremendous urge to give him a hard, stinging slap across that handsome face, to shake him up, to make him realize that she wasn’t doing this for him, she was doing it for herself. The last role she wanted to play was the pitiful, betrayed wife at her own party.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Prescott,” Krystal said in a voice that almost purred. “I hope you don't mind me borrowing your husband for a few mom
ents. I find his thoughts on politics so intriguing.”
Carole wanted to slap her, too. Ignoring Krystal, she said, “ I’ll see you inside, Blake.” She turned and walked quickly back the way she’d come, her heart beating in double time, fury boiling her blood. She wasn’t sure if Blake was having an affair or just participating in a dangerous flirtation. Either way, he was stepping over the line. She’d never believed he would risk damaging his reputation with a sexual fling. Maybe she was wrong.
She suddenly had doubts about him and everything else in her life. It was this damn birthday making her want to re-evaluate her choices. And she was terribly afraid that if she looked too closely, she’d see nothing – no substance, no meaning, just pretty things, pretty people, and pretty lies.
Making a decision that was probably reckless and foolish, she bypassed the ballroom and headed for the escalator. She had a desperate urge to get the hell away from the party.
Her walk turned into a jog, then a dead run as she ran down the escalator, through the lobby, and toward the front door of the hotel.
Was that her husband calling her name?
She pushed through the revolving door and stepped onto the sidewalk. The valet gave her a curious look. She ignored him, spotting her limousine across the street.
She was so intent on getting away from the party that she didn’t realize there was any traffic. The shocking glare of headlights made her freeze in the middle of the street. She saw a car bearing down her… just a second too late.
* * *
Angela slammed on the brakes and held onto the wheel as her car skidded down the road, finally coming to a crashing stop just inches away from a beautiful blonde woman in an evening dress. For a moment all she could do was try to catch her breath. Her hands were shaking as she took them off the steering wheel. Then she unfastened her seat belt and stepped onto the street. “Are you all right?”
The woman didn’t reply. She looked as if she were in shock and frozen in place. Her blue eyes were wide and glassy.
“You’re not hurt. I didn’t hit you,” Angela said, trying to reassure herself as much as anyone.
The valet from the hotel joined them, asking if anyone needed help.
The woman finally woke up. She muttered, “No, I’m fine.” Then she ran across the street and jumped into the back of a white limousine.
“Carole,” a man called, running out of the hotel. “Come back. Damn,” he swore as the limousine pulled away.
Angela glanced at the man in the tuxedo, wondering if he was the reason the woman had run into the street without looking. A honking horn reminded her that her car was blocking traffic. With her heart still racing, she returned to the car, started the engine, and pulled away.
She could have hit that woman – maybe even killed her – and all in the matter of a few seconds. Thank goodness it hadn’t gone that way. She supposed she should offer up a prayer of gratitude, but she doubted anyone would be listening. The last eight years had certainly tried her once unshakeable faith.
Her cell phone rang for the third time since she’d left the apartment. She couldn’t ignore it again. Pulling over to the curb so she wouldn’t almost run into anyone else, she flipped open the phone and said, “Hello.”
“Angie, where are you?” Colin asked worriedly. “You’ve been gone for almost an hour.”
She thought it had only been a few minutes since she’d left the house to get wine. But she realized now she’d been driving around for a while. “I’m sorry. I got distracted.” She paused. “I don’t think I’m going to come back for a while. You better go out and get Uncle Rico his wine.”
“What are you doing, Angela?”
“Just taking a drive. I need some time to think.”
“Come back here and think. I’ll send everyone home. We’ll sit down and talk.”
“Are you going to change your mind?”
Her question was met with tense silence. “No,” he said finally. “I could lie and tell you I’d think about it, but it wouldn’t be the truth. And we love each other too much to lie.”
He was right. The time had come to put all their cards on the table. “I don’t think I’m going to change my mind either, Colin. I’ll be home later. Don’t wait up for me.”
“It’s your birthday. Of course I’m going to wait up for you.”
“That’s right, it’s my birthday. I’m thirty-five years old. I can take care of myself.” She ended the call before he could say anything else. She loved Colin, but right now he was standing between her and the baby she’d always wanted. She hated him for that. Why couldn’t he try one more time? It wasn’t as if it were his body going through the painful injections of hormones.
She put the car back into gear and drove down the street. As she stopped at a light, she suddenly realized where she was – North Beach, the neighborhood she’d grown up in. The church where she and the rest of her Italian Catholic family went to Mass every Sunday was just down the block. She hadn’t been to Mass with the family in a couple of years. She’d told her mother and sisters that she and Colin were going to a new church closer to their house, but the truth was that they weren’t going to any church.
The light turned green and she drove past the tall, massive building with the steeples and spires and found herself hitting the brake once again. She pulled into a spot nearby and shut off the engine. It was doubtful that the church would even be open on a Friday night. But maybe… maybe she’d just see. It was time she and God had a little chat.
* * *
Carole sat back against the cushy limo seat, her body shaking, her breath coming hard and fast. She’d almost been run over. If that woman hadn’t stopped her car in time, she’d be dead right now. God! She’d be dead. Forty years old and gone. She’d imagined dying a million times but it had never been like that – so sudden, so fast, and so irrevocable.
Someone had been watching out for her. She’d been given another chance.
To do what? She had a feeling she was supposed to know the answer to that question, but she didn’t. She was in new territory tonight. She’d done something she’d never done before: run out on her own life.
Actually, that wasn’t completely true. She’d run away once before, on her twentieth birthday. She’d left the old neighborhood behind. She’d turned her back on friends and family to go after her dream.
And now she was running away again.
There would be repercussions. Blake would be furious. The guests would wonder where she was and why she’d left so abruptly. There would be speculation about whether she was sick, or if she’d drunk too much, or if – God forbid – she’d seen another woman kissing her husband. Greta Sorenson, San Francisco’s society columnist, would probably gossip about her sudden departure in tomorrow’s edition of the Tribune. What she really needed to do was go back to the party.
It wasn’t too late. She’d only been gone a few minutes. She could laugh off her disappearance with some smooth explanation about fixing a broken strap on her high heel or something like that. The only problem was… she didn’t want to go back.
How could that be? How could she suddenly not want what she’d always wanted?
Reaching into the liquor cabinet, she pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and a shot glass. She filled it to the brim and then tossed the liquid down her throat. It tingled and burned, making her feel like she was really alive. After the second shot, she felt calmer.
She glanced out the window, watching the city go by. She loved San Francisco, loved its changing neighborhoods, foggy nights, and windswept views of the bay and the ocean. She’d spent her entire life in this city – a city of many cultures and neighborhoods that changed from one block to the next. For the first twenty years of her life, she’d called a low-income housing project in Potrero Hill home, and for the last twenty years, she’d resided in the expensive Marina District. She’d lived two lives. And now she was wondering where the next twenty years would take her.
It shocked he
r that she had no real idea of what was supposed to come next. From the time she was a little girl, she’d always been focused, driven. Every step she’d taken had been deliberate, purposeful, with one goal – to change her life for the better. She’d hated the run-down one-bedroom apartment she’d shared with her mother after her father took off. She’d hated the lumpy single mattress on the floor in the corner of the living room that had been her bed for so many years. She’d hated feeling like she wasn’t good enough. So every night, she’d looked out at the bright downtown city lights and imagined a different world.
She’d made a plan to get an education, find a job and a better place to live, marry well and have children who would never have to grow up the way she had. And she’d done it all. She’d been ruthless and a little selfish. She was honest enough with herself to admit that, although she doubted she’d admit it to anyone else. She’d carefully cultivated an image, and very few people really knew her – certainly none of the people who had been at her birthday party.
She hadn’t thought about her childhood in a very long time, and as she settled back in her seat, some good moments flashed through her head. They hadn’t had money, but she had been very close to her mom – the two of them against the world, her mom used to say. But her mother hadn’t really wanted out of that world, or if she had, she hadn’t had the courage or the determination to get out. So Carole had gone without her.
Sighing, she poured herself another shot of whiskey and drank it down. Even if she found peace in the liquor, it wouldn’t last long. She’d tried that before, more than a few times.
“Mrs. Prescott?” The chauffeur’s voice came over the speaker. “Shall I take you home now?”
A Secret Wish Page 3