The Wish

by Nicholas Sparks

  Because, Maggie silently acknowledged, her mom made it hard, and she’d done so for as long as Maggie could remember. To her, Maggie was more of a shadow than a real person, someone whose hopes and dreams felt incomprehensibly alien. Even if they shared the same opinion on a particular subject, her mom wasn’t likely to find comfort in such a thing. Instead she’d focus her attention on a related area of disagreement, with worry and disapproval as her primary weapons.

  Maggie knew her mom couldn’t help it; she’d probably been the same way as a child. And it was childlike in a way, now that Maggie thought about it. Do what I want, or else. For Maggie’s mom, tantrums were sublimated into other, more insidious means of control.

  The years after returning from Ocracoke, before she’d moved to New York, had been particularly trying. Her mom had believed that pursuing a career in photography was both silly and risky, that Maggie should have followed Morgan to Gonzaga, that she should try to meet the right kind of man and settle down. When Maggie had finally moved away, she’d dreaded speaking to her mom at all.

  The sad thing was that her mom wasn’t a terrible person. She wasn’t necessarily even a bad mom. Thinking back, she’d made the right decision to send Maggie to Ocracoke, and she wasn’t the only parent who cared about grades, or worried that her daughter was dating the wrong kind of guys, or believed that marriage and having children were more important than a career. And, of course, some of her other values had stuck with Maggie. Like her parents, Maggie drank infrequently, avoided recreational drugs, paid her bills, valued honesty, and was law-abiding. She didn’t, however, attend church any longer; that had ended in her early twenties when she’d had a crisis of faith. Well, a crisis of pretty much everything, in fact, which led to her spontaneous move to New York and a series of awful relationships, assuming they could be called relationships at all.

  As for her dad…

  Maggie sometimes wondered whether she had ever really known him. If pressed, she would say that he was a product of another era, a time when men worked and provided for their family and went to church and understood that complaining seldom offered solutions. His general quietude, however, had given way to something else since he’d retired, a near reticence to speak at all. He spent hours alone in the garage even when Maggie visited, and was content to let his wife speak for him during dinners.

  But the call was completed, at least until Christmas, and it made her realize how much she was dreading the next one. No doubt, her mom would demand that Maggie return to Seattle, and she’d use every guilt-based weapon at her disposal to try to get her way. It wasn’t going to be pretty.

  Pushing that thought away, she tried to focus on the present. She noted that the pain was getting worse and wondered whether she should text Mark and cancel. With a grimace, she made her way to the bathroom and retrieved the bottle of pain pills, remembering Dr. Brodigan telling her that they were addictive if used inappropriately. What a silly thing to say. What did it really matter if Maggie became addicted at this point? And how much was inappropriate? Her insides felt like a pincushion and even touching the back of her hand triggered little flashes of white in the corners of Maggie’s eyes.

  She swallowed two pills, debated, and then took a third, just in case. She decided to see how she felt in half an hour before making a final decision about today and went to sit on the couch while they took effect. Though she’d wondered whether the pills would work as usual, like magic, the pain began to fade. When it was finally time to go, she was floating on a wave of well-being and optimism. She could always watch Mark skate, if it came down to it, and it was probably a good idea to get some fresh air, wasn’t it?

  She caught a cab to the gallery and spotted Mark standing outside the doors. He was holding a to-go cup, no doubt her favorite smoothie, and when he saw her, he hailed her with a wide grin. Despite her condition, she was certain she’d made the right call.

  * * *

  “Do you think we’ll be able to skate?” Maggie asked when they arrived at Rockefeller Center and saw the crowds overflowing the rink. “I didn’t even consider the idea we might need reservations.”

  “I called this morning,” Mark assured her. “It’s all set up.”

  Mark found a place for her to sit while he went to wait in line and Maggie sipped her smoothie, thinking the third pill had done the trick. She felt a bit loopy but not as ebullient as earlier; in any case, the pain had diminished to an almost tolerable level. Moreover, she actually felt warm for the first time in what seemed like forever. Though she could see her breath, she wasn’t shivering and her fingers didn’t ache, for a change.

  The smoothie was going down easily as well, which was a relief. She knew she needed every calorie, and wasn’t that ironic? After a lifetime of watching what she ate and groaning every time the scale ticked a pound upward, now that she actually needed calories, they were almost impossible to ingest. Lately, she was afraid to get on the scale because she was terrified to see how much weight she’d lost. Beneath her clothes, she was turning into a skeleton.

  But enough of the doom and gloom. Mesmerized by the mass of moving bodies on the ice, she only vaguely heard her phone ding. Reaching into her pocket, she saw that Mark had texted, saying that he was on his way back so he could escort her to the rink and help her with her skates.

  In the past, his offer of assistance would have humiliated her. But the fact was, she doubted she’d be able to put on the skates without his help. When he reached her, he offered his arm and the two of them walked slowly down the steps to the changing area, where they’d don their skates.

  Even though he was supporting her, she felt like the wind would topple her over.

  * * *

  “Do you want me to keep holding you?” Mark asked. “Or do you think you have the hang of it?”

  “Don’t even think of letting go,” she replied through gritted teeth.

  Adrenaline, amplified by fear, had a way of clearing the mind, and she decided that ice skating was much better as a concept than in practice. Trying to stay upright on two thin blades over a slippery sheet of ice while in her condition hadn’t been the brightest of ideas. In fact, a pretty strong case could be made that it was idiotic.

  And yet…

  Mark made it as easy and safe as possible. He was skating backward in front of her, both hands firmly on her hips. They were near the outer edge of the rink and moving slowly; inside, pretty much everyone from little old ladies to toddlers was zipping past, looking carefree and joyous. But with Mark’s help, at least, Maggie was gliding. There were a few people who, like Maggie, clearly had never donned ice skates before, and they gripped the outer wall with every slow shuffle, their legs occasionally shooting out in unpredictable directions.

  Ahead of them, Maggie witnessed just such an incident.

  “I really don’t want to fall.”

  “You’re not going to fall,” Mark said, his eyes fixed on her skates. “I’ve got you.”

  “You can’t see where you’re going,” she protested.

  “I’m using my peripheral vision,” he explained. “Just let me know if someone takes a tumble right in front of us.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Thirty minutes,” he said.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to last that long.”

  “We’ll stop whenever you want.”

  “I forgot to give you my credit card. Did you pay for this?”

  “It was my treat. Now stop talking and try to enjoy yourself.”

  “Almost falling every second isn’t enjoyable.”

  “You’re not going to fall,” he said again. “I’ve got you.”

  * * *

  “That was fun!” Maggie exclaimed. In the changing area, Mark had just helped her remove her skates. Though she hadn’t asked, he’d also helped her put her shoes back on. In all, they’d circled the rink four times, which had taken thirteen minutes.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “Now I
can say I actually did the big New York tourist thing.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “Did you have a chance to see the tree? Or were you too busy keeping me from breaking my neck?”

  “I saw it,” he said. “But barely.”

  “You should go skate. You still have a few minutes.”

  To her surprise, he actually seemed to consider it. “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  After helping her up—and offering his arm—he walked her to the side of the rink and made sure she could support herself before letting go. “You okay?”

  “Go ahead. Let’s see how you do without a sick old woman slowing you down.”

  “You’re not old.” He winked, and duckwalking over to the ice, he took three or four quick steps, speeding into the turn. He jumped, rotating in the air, and started skating backward while accelerating even faster, flying beneath the tree on the far side of the rink. He spun again, speeding forward into the next curve, one hand nearly at the ice, then flew past her. Almost automatically, she retrieved her iPhone from her pocket. She waited until he was beneath the tree and snapped off a couple of photos; on the next lap, she shot video.

  A few minutes later, after the session ended and Mark was in the changing area, she took a peek at the photos and found herself thinking about the shot she’d taken of Bryce on the ladder. Just as she’d done back then, she’d seemed to capture the essence of the young man she’d come to know. Like Bryce, Mark had also become strangely important to her in a relatively short period. And yet, as she’d had to with Bryce, she knew she’d eventually have to say goodbye to Mark as well, which suddenly made her ache in a way that eclipsed the physical pain lurking in her bones.

  * * *

  Once they were back on solid ground, she texted the pictures and video to Mark and they had a stranger snap an additional shot of the two of them with the tree in the background. Mark immediately began fiddling with the phone, no doubt forwarding the images.

  “Abigail?” Maggie asked.

  “And my parents.”

  “I’m sure they’re missing you this Christmas.”

  “I think they’re having the time of their lives.”

  She pointed to the restaurant adjacent to the rink. “Is it okay with you if we swing by the Sea Grill? I think I’d like a hot tea at the bar.”

  “Whatever you’d like.”

  She hooked her arm through Mark’s and walked slowly to the glass-enclosed restaurant. She told the bartender what she wanted and Mark ordered the same thing. When the teapot was placed before her, she poured some of the tea into her cup.

  “You’re an excellent skater.”

  “Thanks. Abigail and I go sometimes.”

  “Did she like the photo you texted?”

  “She replied with three heart emojis, which I take as a yes. But I’ve been wondering…”

  When he paused, she finished for him. “About the story?”

  “Do you still have the necklace that Bryce gave you?”

  Instead of answering, Maggie reached behind her neck and unhooked the clasp before sliding the necklace off. She handed it to him, watching as he carefully took it. He stared at the front before flipping it over and examining the engraving on the back.

  “It’s so delicate.”

  “I can’t think of a day I haven’t worn it.”

  “And the chain never broke?”

  “I’m pretty careful with it. I don’t sleep with it on or shower with it. But other than that, it’s part of my everyday ensemble.”

  “And whenever you put it on, you remember that night?”

  “I remember that night all the time. Bryce wasn’t just my first love. He’s the only man I’ve ever loved.”

  “The kite was pretty cool,” Mark conceded. “I’ve done the campfire-and-s’mores thing with Abigail—at the lake, not at the ocean—but I’ve never heard of a kite strung with Christmas lights. I wonder if I could build one.”

  “These days, you can probably Google it, or maybe even order one.”

  Mark appeared contemplative as he stared into his own cup of tea. “I’m glad you had a night like that with Bryce,” he said. “I think everyone deserves at least one perfect evening.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “But you do understand you were falling for him all along, right? It didn’t start when the storm rolled in. It started on the ferry, when you first saw him in that olive-green jacket.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you didn’t walk away and you clearly could have. And when your aunt asked if Bryce could be your tutor, you agreed pretty quickly.”

  “I needed help in school!”

  “If you say so,” he said with a grin.

  “Now it’s your turn,” she said, changing the subject. “You took me skating, but is there anything you really want to do now that we’re here in Midtown?”

  He swished the tea around in his cup. “You’ll probably think it’s silly. Since you’ve been living here so long, I mean.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want to see some of the department stores’ window displays on Fifth Avenue—the ones that are all decorated for Christmas? Abigail told me it was something I have to do. And in an hour and a half, there will be a choir performing outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral.”

  The choir she could understand, but window displays? And why did it not seem out of character that he’d want to do something like that?

  “Let’s do it,” she agreed, forcing herself not to roll her eyes. “I’m not sure how much I’ll be able to walk, though. I feel a little wobbly.”

  “Great,” he said, beaming. “And we’ll travel by cab or Uber whenever we have to, okay?”

  “One question,” she said. “How do you know a choir will be performing today?”

  “I did some research this morning.”

  “Why do I get the sense you’re trying to make this Christmas special for me?”

  When his eyes flickered with sadness, she knew he didn’t have to explain.

  * * *

  After finishing their teas, they stepped outside into the chilly air and Maggie felt a sharp pain deep in her chest, one that continued to flare with every heartbeat. It was blinding white—knives, not needles—worse than ever. She froze, closing her eyes and pressing hard with a fist, right below her breast. With her free hand, she gripped Mark’s arm and his eyes went wide.

  “Are you okay?”

  She tried to breathe steadily, the pain continuing to flash and burn. She felt Mark’s arm wrap around her. “It hurts,” she rasped out.

  “Do you need to go back inside and sit? Or should I take you home?”

  With clenched teeth, she shook her head. The thought of moving at all seemed impossible and she concentrated on her breathing. She didn’t know if that would do any good, but it was what Gwen had told her to do when she was suffering through the agony of labor. After the longest minute of her life, the pain finally began to fade, a flare slowly dying out as it sank to the horizon.

  “I’m okay,” she finally croaked, even though her vision seemed to be swimming.

  “You don’t seem okay,” he countered. “You’re shaking.”

  “Pac-Man,” she muttered. She took a few more breaths before finally lowering her hand. Moving slowly, she reached into her bag and pulled out her prescription bottle. She tapped another pill free and dry-swallowed it. She squeezed her eyes shut until she was able to breathe normally again, the pain finally receding to a bearable level.

  “Does this happen a lot?”

  “More than it used to. It’s becoming more frequent.”

  “I thought you were going to pass out.”

  “Impossible,” she said. “That would be too easy, since then I wouldn’t feel the pain.”

  “You shouldn’t make jokes,” he chided. “I was just about to call for an ambulance.”

  Hearing his tone, she forced a smile. “Really. I’m okay now.” />
  A lie, she thought, but who’s counting?

  “Maybe I should take you home.”

  “I want to see the windows and listen to the carols.”

  Which, oddly, was the truth, even if it was kind of silly. If she didn’t go now, she knew she never would. Mark seemed to be trying to read her.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “But if it happens again, I’m bringing you home.”

  She nodded, knowing he might need to.

  * * *

  They rode first to Bloomingdale’s, then over to Barneys, then to Fifth Avenue, where every store seemed to be trying to outdo the next with its window decorations. She saw Santa and his elves, polar bears and penguins with holiday-themed collars, artificial snow in rainbow colors, elaborate installations highlighting selected apparel or items that probably cost a fortune.

  By Fifth Avenue, she’d begun to feel better, even a little floaty. No wonder people got addicted to the pills; they actually worked. She clung to Mark’s arm as people swarmed past them in both directions, carrying bags bearing the labels of every brand on the planet. Many of the stores had long lines of people waiting to enter, last-minute shoppers hoping for the perfect gift, none of whom appeared happy in the slightest to be standing in the cold.

  Tourists, she thought, shaking her head. People who wanted to go home and say things like You wouldn’t believe how crowded it was or I had to wait an hour just to go inside the store, like it was a badge of honor or act of courage. No doubt they would tell that same story for years to come.

  And yet she found the stroll curiously pleasant, maybe because of the floatiness, but mostly because Mark was so clearly gobsmacked. Though he kept a firm grip on her hand, he was constantly straining to see over the shoulders of the crowds, eyes widening at the sight of Santa crafting a Piaget watch, or smiling in delight at oversize reindeer decked out in Chanel harnesses, all of them wearing Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses. She was used to grimacing at the crass commercialization of the holiday, but observing Mark’s sense of wonder made her regard the stores’ creativity with new appreciation.