A Secret Wish

by Barbara Freethy

  She suddenly realized that the chauffeur had been doing exactly what she’d requested: driving around.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I want to go home.” But not to the mansion that overlooked the Golden Gate Bridge. She pushed the intercom again. “Potrero Hill,” she said. “I’ll give you more specific directions when we get there.”

  Leaning back against the seat, she hoped she hadn’t just made the second worst decision of the night.

  Chapter Three

  Angela walked up the steps to St. Catherine’s Church. The front door was locked. She tried the side doors, but they were also locked. There were lights on in the nearby rectory where the priests resided, but she didn’t want to go that far. The fact that the church was closed seemed prophetic. She was on her own in every possible way. She didn’t know why she’d bothered to stop.

  “Can I help you?”

  She whirled around in surprise at the sound of a male voice – and a familiar one at that. The tall, fair-haired man with the light blue eyes and the smattering of freckles across his nose had once been her very best friend and the object of a teenage crush. Now he’d traded his blue jeans and T-shirts for black slacks, a black shirt and a priest’s collar.

  “Patrick O’Brien,” she said with a disbelieving shake of her head. She and Patrick had gone to Catholic school together until the eleventh grade, when his family had moved away. She remembered her mother telling her that Patrick had become a priest, but she hadn’t realized he was working here at St. Catherine’s. She wondered why her mother hadn’t told her that. Or maybe she had. Lately, Angela tried to avoid any conversations about old friends from the neighborhood. The stories usually involved someone getting married or having another baby.

  “Angela Razzini,” Patrick said with the same boyish grin that had once made her heart tumble over in her chest. “It’s about time you dropped by.”

  “It’s Angela Payne now. I’m married.”

  “Your mother said you were.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I guess you must see her a lot.”

  “Every Sunday. As well as your sisters, their spouses, and their children. But no Angela, never Angela. Why is that?” he asked with a thoughtful smile.

  “I live on the other side of town.”

  “So it’s a question of geography?”

  She hesitated, wondering how bad it would be to lie to a priest, even if she had once swapped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with him. “How long have you been here?” she asked instead.

  “Six months. I was in L.A. for a while, but San Francisco is home. How have you been?”

  “Great. I’ve been great.”

  He smiled in that way that priests do when they know you’re not telling the truth. “Is that why you’re trying to get into my church on a Friday night?”

  “It was an impulse. I was driving by, I saw the church, and I started thinking about the past.”

  “Of course,” he said with a knowing nod. “It’s your birthday, a good time for reflection.”

  “How on earth did you remember that?” she asked in amazement.

  “I remember a lot of things about you, Angie, like your smile and the way it lit up your face when you got excited about something. You made all the kids feel good, including me. And you had such a passion for your art. You used to paint on every available space – the back of your parents’ garage, my bedroom wall, and even Mrs. Murphy’s fence. She did not appreciate your artwork, however,” he added with a laugh.

  “That’s true. I thought she was going to put a curse on me.” The old woman had lived in the corner house that all the neighborhood kids thought was haunted. They’d been convinced she was a witch. One boring summer day Patrick had dared her to draw a picture on the back fence, and she’d sketched a witch flying over the moon on a broomstick. Mrs. Murphy had been furious. Angela had been grounded for a month, not to mention having to go to confession, say hundreds of Hail Marys, and write a letter of apology. “You made me do that,” she said, pointing her finger at him, “and I was the one who got into trouble as usual.”

  “You were a loyal friend. You didn’t rat me out. I appreciated that.” He paused. “Do you still paint?”

  “Not as much as I used to, but I have a small art gallery in Noe Valley. I show the work of local artists.”

  “I’ll have to stop by. Do you sell any of your own work?”

  “Not lately.” She hadn’t been inspired to paint during the last few years. That part of her body seemed to have dried up along with everything else.

  “I’m not surprised you own your own business. You always inspired me with your determination to succeed, to get what you wanted.”

  “Sometimes it takes more than determination.” Sometimes it takes a miracle. But she couldn’t say that to him. He was a priest. Although who better than a priest to get her that miracle?

  “Sometimes it does,” he agreed. “I’ve always found prayer to be helpful.”

  “Always?” she asked, unable to keep the doubt out of her voice. “I never thought you would become a priest, Patrick. You loved trouble.”

  He laughed. “Hey, I wasn’t that bad, and we went to Catholic school together. I was an altar boy.”

  “I never thought that you, of all people, could live a life free of sin. You certainly had some sinful ideas when we were kids – like the frog in Mr. Martin’s suit pocket and the time we took the tops off the salt shakers at the Snack Shack.”

  “Innocent childhood pranks,” he said with a grin. “I grew up, confessed my sins, did penance, and now I try to do better. God helps me.”

  “Lucky you,” she muttered, reminded of why she’d stopped here in the first place.

  “What kind of man did you marry? Is he good to you?”

  “Yes. He’s in advertising. I met him when I worked for an agency doing graphic design. That was ten years ago. His name is Colin.”

  “And where is he tonight – on your birthday?” His eyes grew speculative, and she remembered that she’d always had trouble lying to Patrick. He had a way of seeing straight into her heart. That trait probably made him a very good priest. At the moment, it just made her feel uncomfortable.

  “He’s at home. My family decided to throw me a surprise party after I told them not to.”

  “You used to like surprises. What happened?”

  “Thirty-five happened. This birthday reminds me of what I don’t have.” She shook her head, feeling the emotions beginning to well up inside her. “I should go.”

  “Don’t run away. You came here for a reason. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I didn’t come here on purpose.”

  “But you still got here. Do you want to go inside?” He pulled a key ring out of his black slacks. “I can give you a few minutes alone. Maybe you want to say a prayer.”

  She thought about his offer and decided against it. “There’s nothing for me inside the church.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His blue eyes were both curious and compassionate, and she found herself wanting to confide in him. “I can’t believe any more, Patrick. God doesn’t answer my prayers. He’s deaf where I’m concerned.” The words came out in a rush. She’d never told anyone her doubts. Her religious beliefs were supposed to be unshakeable.

  “Maybe you’re the one who’s not listening,” Patrick said quietly.

  “That’s just priest doublespeak. You don’t really know if anyone is listening to you, either.”

  “That’s why they call it faith, Angie.”

  She sighed. “I’ve lost mine. That’s why you haven’t seen me at church. I can’t pretend anymore. And don’t tell my mother or sisters I said that, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “If you don’t want to go into the church, come into the rectory. We’ll have hot chocolate. I think I can drum up some whipped cream. You used to love that.”

  “I’m not that girl anymore. And you can’t fix me, Patrick. I’m – I’m broken,” she said, feeli
ng a sense of overwhelming defeat.

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “It’s true. What do all good Catholics do? They have big families and pass on the traditions of the family and the church. But not me. I can’t seem to have a baby. The girl you thought could do anything can’t do the simplest, most natural thing of all – bring a child into the world. I’ve tried in-vitro three times and nothing. Tonight Colin told me that he wouldn’t do it again. He’s forty years old. He wants us to plan a future with just him and me. But I can’t find a way to give up on my dream of having my own child. I also can’t imagine a future without Colin. I have no idea what we’re going to do.”

  His eyes were gentle and sad. “I’m sorry, Angie.”

  “Yeah, me too.” With tears pressing her eyelids, she turned to leave. She didn’t want to break down in front of him.

  “Come back,” he called after her. “Don’t worry about when or what time. Just come back when you’re ready.”

  She paused on the sidewalk. “I won’t ever be ready to come back to the church. Not unless I have a child with me.”

  “God likes a good challenge,” he said with a smile.

  “Then he must love me.”

  “He does. You just don’t know it.”

  * * *

  “Is your name really John?” Liz sat back in her chair at the hotel bar. She felt pleasantly relaxed and a little buzzed after two and a half glasses of very expensive champagne. They’d spent the past hour conversing about nothing important – music, books, movies, and San Francisco. John was smart, funny, amazingly well read, and hot, a ridiculously good combination. There had to be something wrong with him. She was just not this lucky.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” he countered.

  “You don’t look like a John, with your golden hair and your dark blue eyes. John is too plain, too average, and you are not either of those things.”

  “So what name would you like?”

  “I don’t know. Morgan or Drew or maybe one of those names that could be first or last, like Taylor or Tyler.” She paused. “And besides the fact that John doesn’t seem to fit you, every time I say your name, you seem a little surprised. So what’s the story? Did you give me an alias? Are you running from the law?”

  “Nothing that exciting. My first name is John, but my family mostly called me by my middle name, Eric, to differentiate between myself and my father, who was also named John.”

  “Then why didn’t you introduce yourself as Eric?”

  He ran his finger along the rim of his empty champagne glass, his gaze growing distant. “My dad is gone now, and everyone else who called me Eric is also gone. My mother died when I was a teenager. I don’t have any siblings. It’s just me.” His voice was pragmatic, no hint of any emotion, but the tight line of his lips revealed his tension.

  Now she better understood the hint of darkness that seemed to linger behind his smile. She didn’t offer the usual, “I’m sorry.” It wouldn’t mean anything. His pain went soul deep. “Shall I call you Eric, or should I stick with John?”

  He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Let’s stick with John. I have my reasons,” he added with a smile.

  “You’re good at turning the lights back on,” she commented, taking another sip of champagne.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You get serious, then you shrug it off. Are you trying not to think about your dad?”

  Surprise flashed through his eyes. “Maybe,” he conceded. “You’re very astute.”

  “I’ve always been a people watcher.”

  “Part of the job?”

  “Yes. I like to be able to give someone what they need, even when they can’t tell me they need it.”

  He met her gaze. “I like to do that, too. It feels good.”

  She smiled back at him. “That’s why you brought me out for champagne. You didn’t like my party of one, and you took pity on me.”

  “This is better, don’t you think?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good. Where is your family, Liz?”

  She stiffened. She should have guessed that the inevitable personal questions would come up eventually. It was her fault. She’d started it by asking him about his name. If she’d just kept them focused on trivial topics, she might have been able to avoid this moment.

  So tell the lie. It’s no big deal. It’s not like you haven’t told it before. It’s not like he’s going to think you’re not telling the truth.

  “No one close by,” she said vaguely.

  “That’s too bad.”

  She shrugged. “Since we’re getting personal, what do you do for a living?”

  “At the moment, I’m in between gigs, as they say.”

  “That’s usually said about actors or musicians,” she said pointedly. “Are you either one?”

  “I always wanted to be a rock star, but unfortunately, I couldn’t sing.” He paused as the waiter stopped by their table to ask if they wanted another drink.

  Liz put a hand over her glass. “I won’t be able to walk if I have any more.”

  “Well, we can’t have that,” he said, waving off the waiter. “It’s early. I was thinking that we should keep the celebration going.” A mischievous sparkle entered his eyes. “I know a great dance club south of Market.”

  She was tempted. She hadn’t gone dancing in a couple of years. “I’m not dressed for it. I should be wearing a short dress with high heels and a pound of makeup.”

  “Who cares? We’ll never see those people again.”

  “If they even let us in.”

  “Oh, we’ll get in,” he said confidently.

  “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?” She wondered what it would be like to attack life without any fear of rejection.

  Another shadow filled his eyes. “Not if I can help it. So what you do say?”

  “It might be fun,” she said, very tempted to keep their party going. “You’re not going to put down some incredible dance moves, are you?”

  “You won’t know unless you come. I dare you to say yes.”

  She smiled at his words. “Nobody has dared me to do anything since I was twelve years old and played Truth or Dare in Marcy Bennett’s attic during her birthday slumber party.”

  “Did you pick truth or dare?”

  “Dare.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why is that interesting?”

  “The choice says a lot about you. You’d rather do something crazy than answer some truth about yourself.”

  “Yeah, and from where I sit, you’re exactly the same,” she said pointedly.

  He tipped his head. “Okay, tell me about the dare. What did you have to do?”

  “I had to go into her parents’ room and steal her father’s slippers from under the bed without anyone waking up.”

  “Did you succeed?”

  “No. I tripped over the dog. He started barking. Marcy’s mother screamed because she thought I was a burglar. Mr. Bennett jumped out of bed stark naked. At the time, it seemed to me that his penis was enormous. I had never seen a grown man fully erect. It scared the hell out of me. Pretty soon we were all screaming. And that was pretty much the end of the game and the end of the party.”

  John started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop.

  “It’s not funny,” she said, biting back a laugh. “I was never invited back to Marcy’s house again.” She drank the last of her champagne. “So I don’t do dares anymore.”

  “Yes, you do. I dared you to come out for a drink with me, and you came,” he reminded her.

  “Okay, but you caught me at a weak moment. I’ve been wanting to make some changes in my life, and your invitation seemed like a good place to start over, or again, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “Why do you want to change your life?”

  “Because I want more,” she said simply. “I want what everyone else has.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes curious. “An
d what do they have, Liz?”

  It would sound silly to say it out loud, but the alcohol she’d consumed was acting like a truth serum. “Excitement, passion, all that crazy mad-about-you stuff. I want to fall in love.” She drew in a breath. “And now I’ve probably scared you, and you’re thinking, God, I hope she doesn’t expect me to give her all that. I just asked her out for a drink.”

  He laughed. “I wasn’t thinking that. You’re very honest, Liz. I like it.”

  “I haven’t really been that honest,” she said slowly. “But I should probably start.”

  “What do you lie about?”

  “Different things.”

  “Lies to keep people from knowing the real you?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Why?”

  “That is way too long a story for tonight.” She sighed as he gave her an expectant look. “I'll tell you this much. I had a boyfriend for three years. Kyle. I wanted to make it work, but he dumped me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “The worst part is that I should have been the one to walk. I was just too afraid of being alone. I hated being the single one with all my married friends. I didn’t like going to the movies by myself. It was a very stupid reason for staying in a relationship.”

  “The devil you know…”

  “Exactly. Kyle was solid and stable, had a good job, with goals and plans and budgets.”

  “That sounds exciting,” John said dryly.

  “He was someone I thought I could count on, and I needed that.”

  “You couldn’t count on him that much – he dumped you.”

  She made a face. “Thanks for the reminder.”

  “Your words, not mine. In my opinion, you might be better off. Now you’re free to find the person who’s right for you.”

  “Yeah, that’s going to be real easy.”

  John gave her a grin that was quickly becoming addictive. She’d never felt so comfortable with a man. She’d never been so honest, and it wasn’t just the champagne. She liked him. He was charming and sexy, smart and quick, and he got her, and that was a heady mix of appealing. She needed to get a grip. He’d be gone in the morning. Tonight was not the start of something. It was just a few hours of fun. She didn’t even know if he was involved with anyone, although she really hoped not. She probably should have asked that question an hour ago. Instead, she asked another. “What about you, John? Have you ever been in love?”