A Secret Wish

by Barbara Freethy

  He hesitated and then said, “Once.”

  “Care to expand?” she prodded.

  “It’s not that good a story. I think we should continue on with your birthday celebration. Hey, this could be your birthday resolution: a night of new experiences.”

  “You’re determined to have me make a resolution, aren’t you?”

  “It seems like a good one to me.”

  It seemed like a good one to her, too. “I’ll go to a club with you, but after that I’m going home.”

  “We’ll see.” He pulled out his wallet and put some money on the table.

  “Let me pay for half,” Liz said, reaching for her purse. Unfortunately, she knocked it off the seat and the contents spilled onto the floor. “Damn,” she muttered. Maybe she should make a resolution to not be so clumsy in the future.

  She slid out of the booth to collect the contents of her purse. John knelt down to help her, and she saw his fingers close around the envelope a second too late. “Give me that,” she said quickly.

  He stared down at the envelope in his hand and then looked at her in surprise. “You know someone in prison?”

  She swallowed hard. “Could I have it, please?”

  He flipped it over. Happy Birthday was written across the back flap. “It’s a birthday card. You haven’t opened it yet.”

  “I’m not going to open it.” She snatched the card from his hand. “Look, we can either go dancing or I can go home, but what we aren’t going to do is talk about this. So what's it going to be?”

  * * *

  After leaving the church, Angela felt too restless to go home. Maybe she should have stayed with Patrick, talked to him more about her problems, but what did a priest know about trying to have a baby or working out a compromise with a spouse? Not that there was any way to compromise on the issue. They either tried again or they didn’t. She wished she had someone in her life she could talk to who would be on her side. But all of her supporters had tired of the topic.

  Her sisters continually reminded her that there were worse things in life than not being able to have a baby.

  You should be grateful, Angie. Things could be worse. You could have cancer. You could lose all your money. You could get hit by a car tomorrow. Be happy with what you have.

  She did have a lot of good things in her life, but that didn’t make it easier to face a future without a baby in it. Her sisters had children, families to love and nurture, to watch grow and develop.

  She couldn’t call her mother, either. Her mom would just tell her that she’d waited too long to get started.

  If only you’d listened to me, you wouldn’t be in this predicament, Angela. You wasted the best childbearing years building a career and you waited too long to get your priorities straight.

  And her friends would just offer false platitudes.

  It’s good that it’s just you and Colin. You’ll have money to travel around the world if you want, buy a bigger house, stay up late and make love in the middle of the kitchen. Kids aren’t everything.

  No, there was really no one she could talk to – so she drove aimlessly for another ten minutes, circling the Embarcadero, a street that ran around the outside of the city with the bay on one side and the skyscrapers on the other. There were seafood restaurants and tourists still lingering by Fisherman’s Wharf and Ghirardelli Square. The city was alive and happy. She tried to take it in, soak it up, and feel better.

  She had to think in practical terms, to stop whining about what she didn’t have and what Colin wouldn’t give her. She had to explore the alternatives. She could try the in-vitro on her own, using donor sperm. But would Colin support that? And if he didn’t, was having a baby worth losing her marriage?

  She could investigate surrogacy; have another woman carry her eggs and Colin’s sperm and hope for a better outcome. She wouldn’t have the experience of being pregnant, but she would have a baby at the end of it. It would be expensive, but she’d give up her business to make it work, if she had to. There had to be a way to get what she wanted.

  Patrick had reminded her that when she wanted something, she usually made it happen. She’d been mentally defeated for too long. It was no wonder Colin didn’t want to go through it all again. Her depression had been hard on him, too. She needed to convince him she could handle whatever came their way, as long as they didn’t give up. She just needed a plan.

  Spotting a small convenience store, she decided to stop for coffee and think for a few minutes before she headed back to the apartment. She would need all of her persuasive skills to convince Colin that a child was still in their future.

  She pulled up along the curb, grabbed her bag, and got out of the car. A moment later she heard footsteps behind her. She suddenly realized how empty and dark this part of the street was. Except for the store on the corner, all of the other shops were closed and some had bars over the windows. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t even considered her surroundings. That was stupid. She’d lived in the city long enough to know better.

  She quickened her pace, but the footsteps were bearing down on her. She could hear the sound of someone breathing heavily.

  Then a hand grabbed her arm.

  Maybe there were worse things than not having a baby.

  Chapter Four

  As her assailant tried to yank the bag from her shoulder, something inside Angela snapped. She’d been feeling like a victim for too long. She couldn’t let one more thing be taken from her, so she fought back. The figure in the dark hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans was not that big, she realized, but they were determined. So was she.

  She grabbed her bag and shoved her attacker backward. The hood slipped off her assailant’s head, and she stared in shock as a long, tangled ponytail fell out.

  Her mugger wasn’t a man, but a girl – a young teenage girl with big brown eyes and dirty blond hair.

  As the girl turned to bolt, Angela grabbed her arm. “Hold on.”

  “Let me go. I’m sorry,” the girl blurted out, her eyes round and scared. “I’m just hungry.”

  “So you decided to rob me? How old are you?”

  “Eighteen.”

  There was no way this child was eighteen. “Try again,” she ordered.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because you just attacked me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. Please don’t call the police. I’m really sorry, and I swear I won’t do it again,” she said, struggling to break free.

  “I’m not going to let you just walk away. Where do you live?”

  “Nowhere near here.”

  Angela didn’t believe her for a second. “I need a better answer, or I will call the police.” She paused. “You’re just a child. What were you thinking?”

  “It wasn’t for me,” the girl said. “My sister is sick and I need to buy her some cough medicine.”

  “Where is your sister?” Angela asked, glancing around.

  “She’s at home. I gotta go. I can’t leave her alone for long.”

  As the girl tried to break free, Angela found herself hanging on. There was fear in the girl’s eyes and she obviously needed some help. But why did she care about a kid who’d just tried to steal her purse?

  “Let me go,” the girl pleaded. “My little sister gets scared when she’s alone.”

  “Why is she alone? Where are your parents?” she asked, unable to let the matter drop.

  “They’re – out.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. You need help.”

  “No one wants to help us. They just want to split us up. My sister needs me. I have to protect her.”

  She was getting in over her head, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Where’s your sister?”

  The girl hesitated. “I can’t tell you. You’ll call the cops.”

  “I won’t call the police – not yet, anyway,” she amended. “But if your sister is sic
k and she needs medicine, maybe I can help.”

  “If you want to help, give me some money.”

  “First I need to meet your sister.” She paused. “I have sisters, too, one younger, one older. I’d do anything for them.”

  “You seem nice,” the girl muttered, as if she was afraid to believe it.

  “Then let me help you,” she said impulsively, trying not to think too hard about her offer. She could be getting herself into a dangerous situation. The girl could be working for someone. There might not even be a sister.

  “I don’t know why you’d want to,” the girl said, but despite the fear in her eyes, there was also an edge of hope to her words.

  “What’s your name?” she asked again.

  “Laurel.”

  The name seemed too pretty and soft for her boyishly dressed, desperate attacker, but she could certainly understand why Laurel might feel safer out on the streets if she looked more like a boy.

  “Okay, Laurel. Take me to your sister.”

  “I hope I’m not making a mistake,” Laurel said worriedly.

  Angela met her gaze. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  Carole grew tense as the limo took her toward the streets of her youth. Potrero Hill was in the southern section of the city. On one side of the hill, the houses and apartment buildings were well kept, rented or owned by families and professionals, but on the south side of the hill were two large low-income housing projects.

  Second thoughts ran through her mind about this impulsive trip, her instinct for self-preservation telling her to turn back while she still had the chance. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to tell the driver to stop. Something was missing from her life, and maybe if she retraced her steps, if she went back to where it had all begun, it would become clear exactly what that something was.

  Or maybe she’d just realize that nothing was missing – that she had it all, every last item on the wish list she’d made as a child. Then she could go home and go on with her life.

  Thankfully, her mother had moved out of the projects and into a small apartment building about four blocks away. While the three-story building showed signs of wear and tear, the yard was well kept, and there were even a few flowers in the first-story window boxes that hid the metal bars protecting the windows.

  The driver opened her door and she stepped out on the sidewalk, shivering in the cold. She probably should have stopped to get her coat before leaving the hotel.

  “Is this the right place?” the driver asked doubtfully.

  “It is.” She’d never visited, but this was the address she’d sent the compulsory Christmas card to every year for the last ten years. “Wait here. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  The front door to the building was ajar. If there was a security system, it was broken. She glanced down the list of residents and saw her mother’s name, Nora Dennis, next to 2B. She walked into the lobby and skipped the elevator in favor of the stairs. She might not have lived in this type of neighborhood for a long time, but she knew better than to take an elevator in an old building.

  Once upstairs, she took a deep breath and knocked on her mother’s door. For a moment, she thought no one was home, and an odd mix of disappointment and relief swept through her. Then the door opened.

  Her mother stared at her in shock. “Oh, my Lord,” she muttered, putting a hand to her heart.

  Carole squared her shoulders, trying not to feel shocked as well. But it was difficult. She hadn’t seen her mom in more than a decade, and time had taken its toll. The woman standing before her was a shell of her former vibrant self. Her hair was still red, but it was streaked with gray, and while her mother had always been skinny, a product of her cigarette-smoking habit, she was now so thin her cheeks were hollow and the shadows under her eyes were very pronounced. She was only sixty-three years old, but she looked at least ten years older. Probably the alcohol, Carole thought cynically. The last time she’d seen her mother, Nora had been falling-down drunk.

  “Hello, Mom,” she said, finally finding her voice.

  “I can’t say I ever expected to see you here, Carly," Nora said, shaking her head in bemusement.

  “I never expected to be here.”

  “Is something wrong – your children–”

  “No, she said, cutting her off. “My kids are fine, and so is my husband.”

  “Then…”

  “It’s my birthday.”

  “I know what day it is. I was there when you were born. I would have sent a card, but after the last few came back, I figured it was pointless. You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t want anything to do with me.” A bright pain filled Nora’s eyes.

  “Can you blame me? The last time I invited you to a birthday party, my thirtieth, you showed up drunk. You insulted Blake. You called my daughter by the wrong name and made her cry, and you humiliated me.” The words flew out of her mouth, fueled by some of the whiskey she’d drunk in the limo.

  “And you’ve waited ten years to tell me that?” her mother asked wearily. She stepped away from the door and walked back into the apartment.

  Carole followed her inside, closing the door behind her.

  As she glanced around the small living room, she was struck by how much it looked like the home she’d grown up in. The coffee table was the same one she’d colored on. During one of her craft periods, her aunt had crocheted the afghan that hung over the back of the couch. And the pictures on the table were all from her childhood. Some were school pictures, others taken with kids in the neighborhood, a few of her mom and aunt with some of their friends. They were all from another lifetime.

  She moved across the room and picked up the photo of the scene that had flashed through her mind only hours earlier. It had been taken on her eighth birthday, the candles blazing, just before Alex had shoved Peter into her cake. She put down the photo and turned around.

  Her mother sat on the couch and reached for her cigarettes.

  “I’d rather you didn’t smoke,” Carole said quickly. “I can barely breathe in here as it is.”

  Her mother reluctantly set down the pack. “Why don’t you say your piece and then you can go.”

  She wanted to do exactly that, but now that she was here, she couldn’t find the words.

  “You look pretty, Carly,” her mother said, a sad, wistful note in her voice. “That’s a beautiful dress. And you’re so tan. Have you been on vacation?”

  “It's a spray tan.”

  “Well, you look good. Were you at a party?”

  She nodded. “My party.”

  “It’s over early.”

  “It’s not over; I left.”

  “Why?” Nora tilted her head, giving her a questioning look. The familiar gesture reminded her of all the times her mother had tried to figure her out. But as close as they’d been, they’d also been very different.

  She sat down on the edge of a chair and clasped her hands together. “I’m forty.”

  “It’s hard to believe,” her mother acknowledged.

  She blew out a breath. “I have no idea why I’m here.”

  “Maybe you missed me,” her mother suggested.

  That idea would have seemed unthinkable only a few hours ago, but now in her mother’s presence, surrounded by her past, she felt the ache in her heart go deeper. “Maybe,” she conceded.

  “Well,” her mother said, surprise in her eyes, “that’s something.” Her gaze narrowed. “What did he do?”

  “Who?”

  “Your husband. Blake hurt you, didn’t he?”

  She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. “Not physically. Blake would never hit me the way Daddy–”

  “I wasn’t suggesting he hit you,” Nora interrupted. “Only that he hurt you.”

  “I saw him with a woman. There was something between them. She was really young and very confident.”

  “They usually are.”

  “She gave me a smirking, pitying smile, as if she had something up
on me. It was disgusting.”

  “So he’s cheating on you?”

  “No. Maybe. I hope not. I don’t know.” The words tumbled out of her, and she got up and walked restlessly around the small room. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

  “Why not run to one of your friends?”

  “I wouldn’t want to suggest to any of my friends that Blake was cheating on me. That’s the last thing I would say.”

  “No one gets to see anything you don’t want them to see,” her mother said cynically. “Don’t you get tired of the pretense, Carly?”

  “Don’t call me that. My name is Carole.”

  “Not in this house. You’ll always be Carly to me no matter how expensive a dress you’re wearing, or how much you spend to highlight your hair or do your nails. Underneath it all, you’re still the girl who dipped Oreos into milk and played hopscotch on the sidewalk and snuggled with me in bed on Sunday mornings.”

  “My childhood was not all Oreos and hopscotch,” she retorted. “It was also worrying about whether or not we’d have money for food, or if dad would come home high or drunk and want to beat the crap out of you.”

  A flush covered her mother’s cheeks. “I can’t change what happened with your dad. I kicked him out as soon as I could manage on my own.”

  “I was ten by then.”

  “I know exactly how old you were,” Nora said fiercely. “If I could have found the strength when you were born or when you were two or five, I would have gotten away from him, but I was young and stupid, and I made mistakes. But through it all, I loved you with every ounce of my being. I have a lot to feel bad about, but I know in my heart I gave you a lot of love. And for a long time, you loved me back.”

  Now she was the one feeling guilty.

  “I don’t think you came here just to yell at me,” Nora added. “But I could be wrong. You’ve changed a lot over the years. Maybe you just needed to get rid of the hatred in your heart. Is that it?”

  “No, that’s not it. I’m just – confused. And I haven’t changed all that much. I just grew up, that’s all,” she said defensively.