How to Make a Wish

by Ashley Herring Blake

  I can’t even respond. I don’t have any words and I feel myself crumpling, folding in on myself, disintegrating, right there in Luca’s entryway. A million emotions war for dominance, and I can’t see straight. My vision is blurring, and I can’t tell if the world is going wonky or if I’m about to cry. I can’t feel my face, my hands, my heart.

  I want my father.

  That’s all I can think. I don’t even know where the thought comes from, but something in me, something small and scared and exhausted, rises up and grasps onto that single need.

  I want my father.

  I’m about to scream or cry or something when I feel the phone slip from my hands. I expect a crash to the floor, but instead I hear Emmy’s calm voice. She’s talking to Eva on my phone, getting details, telling her to breathe, telling her we’ll be right there. Luca comes up behind me and wraps both arms around my shoulders, pulling my back to his chest.

  Emmy ends the call and hands me my phone. Her keys are already out and her jaw is clenched tight, tears gathering in her eyes. But they don’t fall. She holds them in and opens the front door, gesturing us outside.

  I should say I’m sorry, I think vaguely. I should’ve been there. I should never have left Maggie alone. I should’ve told Eva about everything sooner. I should’ve taken Mom’s keys, her phone so she couldn’t call Eva, should never have started that first piano lesson with Mr. Wheeler all those years ago, because maybe that’s it. Piano is pulling me away from her. Eva is pulling me away. Luca. New York. The world.

  Fantasie.

  In the car, Luca buckles me into the back seat. I should probably apologize for that. For the dot of pizza sauce still on his chin. Near the hospital in Sugar Lake, we seem to hit every red light. I’m sorry for that, too.

  I’m about to say it all, an apologetic vomit, but then Luca reaches behind him from the front seat and grabs my hand. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t say it’s okay. We both know it’s not. He just squeezes my fingers and I squeeze back, and I keep squeezing until the car comes to a stop at the emergency room entrance.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  AT THE HOSPITAL, EMMY IS A FORCE. SHE BLASTS INTO the waiting room, ponytail flying, purse slapping against her hip, Luca and me trying to keep up. I let her talk to the nurse behind the counter, a young guy in bright orange scrubs that make me think of inmates in a prison. She talks calmly, evenly, with that tone she used to use whenever Luca and I jumped on his bed when we were kids, catapulting ourselves off and crashing to the floor over and over again.

  Mom’s name comes out of Emmy’s mouth, and she gestures toward me. Should I wave? Raise my hand? I feel totally numb, like I got pumped full of some prescription painkiller on the way here.

  “This way,” she says after talking a bit more with the nurse, whose name tag reads Bryce.

  “Gray?”

  I snap my eyes to Luca, who’s starting toward the double doors that lead into the patient rooms with Emmy. I blink at him, trying to make this whole scene make sense. When I don’t move, he frowns and starts walking back toward me.

  “You okay?”

  I don’t answer him, just grab his hand and follow Emmy, who’s blazing a trail, her flip-flops squeaking over the tile floor.

  We get to Eva’s room first. It’s not really a room, just one of those pleather examining tables behind a sea-foam-green curtain. A nurse in blue scrubs with little sunshines all over them is fitting a butterfly bandage over a cut on her forehead, just over her left eyebrow.

  “Oh my god,” Emmy says, eyeing some bloody gauze and what looks like a huge pair of tweezers on the metal tray next to the table.

  “I’m fine,” Eva says weakly. Her eyes go to mine, but I skirt my gaze away.

  “Fine, my ass,” Emmy says, popping her hands on her hips.

  “Whoa,” Luca says. Even I blanch a little. Emmy never swears.

  “She really is fine,” the nurse says with a smile, but it quickly fades as she looks between Emmy and Eva, a confused pucker between her brows. “Are you . . . I’m sorry, are you Eva’s mother?”

  Silence fills the room until Eva inhales a choked sob, one hand covering her mouth to hold it in.

  “No. I’m Emmy Michaelson,” Emmy says quietly, firmly. “I’m Eva’s guardian.”

  “Oh.” The nurse swings her head around, staring at all of us, her brown ponytail bobbing. “Well, that explains how different you two look from each other!”

  Emmy just stares at the woman.

  The nurse clears her throat and pastes on a professional smile. “I just brought Eva up from some tests. No concussion, just a cut on her head from some glass. Not too deep, though. The doctor will release her shortly.”

  “Fine. Thank you,” Emmy says.

  “Can I go now?” Eva says, barely a whisper. She’s staring at her lap, her shoulders rising and falling with deep desperate breaths. “Please. I want to go home. I want to go now.”

  “Soon, honey,” Emmy says, brushing a curl out of Eva’s face as the nurse cleans up the dirty bandages. Eva tangles her fingers with Emmy’s, gripping tight. “I’ll go find the doctor and ask, okay?”

  Eva nods and releases Emmy’s hand. My own hands tingle, needing to touch her, hold her, press a kiss to that ugly butterfly bandage with the little peek of red seeping out the side, the harsh crimson burn on her neck from her seat belt.

  But I don’t.

  Suddenly, my fingertips feel heavy—​too dark purple, too Maggie, a hurricane waiting to make landfall.

  So instead, I walk out of the room, ask a nurse heading down the hall where Mom is. She asks my name. I tell her and she spits out a number.

  Luca doesn’t follow me to her room. Neither does Emmy.

  It’s just me, just us, Maggie and Grace, blasting through the world and breaking shit on our way through.

  Mom’s in a real room at the end of the hall. She’s lying on a bed, clad in a hospital gown, a blue blanket over her legs. Her left arm is in a brace, and there are a few other scratches here and there, including a large bandage near her right temple, but she’s awake.

  “Baby,” she says, smiling through droopy eyes.

  I don’t return her greeting, but sit on the edge of the bed and gesture to her arm. “Is it broken?”

  “No, just a sprain. But they’re keeping me overnight because I bumped my head pretty bad. Hit the door or something.”

  All I can think about is how the hell we’re going to pay for all this. For that tube in the crook of her elbow. For that bandage on her head. For that sling on her arm. It’s not like we have health insurance. We’ve never had health insurance. As a kid, I got all my shots at the county health department.

  Emmy took me.

  “And I have to talk to the police,” Mom says, spitting out the last word like it’s a swear. “It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

  “Why is it ridiculous?”

  “It was just a little accident. They’re making it into this huge deal.”

  I rub at my eyes, hoping this isn’t really happening, that I’m not actually seeing her annoyed expression or hearing her flippant tone get rolling on her just parade again. “You were drunk, Mom. You had a minor in the car.”

  “Oh, Eva’s fine.”

  “Eva’s freaking out!”

  Suddenly I’m standing. And yelling. Loudly enough to draw attention.

  “Everything all right?” a deep voice asks from the doorway.

  It’s Bryce.

  “Yes, thank you,” Mom says.

  “No, Bryce, it’s not.”

  “Gracie,” Mom hisses. Then she smiles at Bryce. “We’re fine.”

  He frowns but nods, eyeing me warily as he leaves.

  “For god’s sake, Grace.”

  “What were you thinking? How could you drive with Eva in the car?”

  “Baby—​”

  “Why did you even call her to go with you to Ruby’s? Do you know how screwed up that is? Taking a kid to that dump? She could’ve been h
urt, worse than she already is.”

  “You were always fine.”

  “Was I? Do you know how many nasty guys hit on me? Tried to buy me drinks? Handed me drinks already made? Did you know some asshole followed me to the bathroom one time? I had to pretend I was about to puke just to get him to leave me alone.”

  Mom’s eyes widen. “You never told me that.”

  “I did!”

  “I would’ve remembered that, baby. Did he touch you?”

  “You wouldn’t have remembered. Even if you had, you probably would’ve said he was just being friendly. And no, he didn’t touch me. I learned how to fend off that kind of miscreant at a really young age, so thanks for that, I guess.”

  I pace the room, so fucking angry and sad. So fucking over it.

  “You know what?” Mom says, sitting up a little, her chin thrust out like it does when she gets mad. “I don’t like this attitude of yours lately. Everything I do seems to piss you off, and I’m a little tired of it. I think we need a fresh start.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means as soon as I get out of here and settle this with the police, we’re leaving. Away from Cape Katie. I’m tired of all the small-town mealy-mouthed crap here anyway. Everyone is always in everyone’s business. We need something bigger. Portland maybe. Some place where there will be more opportunities for you to find a job after you graduate next year.”

  “After I grad—​”

  But the words die on my tongue. I stare at her. She watches me, her annoyance melting into something hopeful, something needy and desperate, that same look that’s always simmering just underneath every other look, even when she’s telling me her grand plans for a trip to New York. That It’s you and me forever kind of look.

  Before I can say anything, two uniformed police officers knock on the door. They look bored and tired and ask if I could please give them a few minutes with Mrs. Glasser.

  I barely hear them. Barely register their scruffy faces and badges. I just nod, still trying to wrap my mind around Mom’s words.

  “Go back to the motel and get our things together, all right?” Mom calls, and I drift out the door. “The car’s totaled, but I’ll figure it out when I get back in the morning.”

  I don’t say okay. Nothing is okay. But as I walk down the hall, I know I’m going back to a dank motel room to pack up all of our belongings. There’s nothing to else to do.

  Maggie and Grace, together forever.

  I sit in the waiting room. Around me, everyone is coughing and hacking and sneezing and bleeding, and it’s a general cesspool of humanity, but I barely notice any of it. My nose burns from the bleachy and medicine-y odors wafting through the air. I’m not sure how long I’m there, blinking heavily at CNN on the TV, before Emmy comes out with her arm around an exhausted-looking Eva, Luca trailing behind them and carrying Eva’s bag.

  “Are you coming with us now, Grace?” Emmy asks, digging through her bag for her keys. “Or do you need to stay?”

  “Yes,” I say, standing. “I mean, no. I’d like to go now. If that’s okay.”

  She pulls her keys out of her purse and takes a deep breath. I’m not sure what I expect from her. Whatever it is, what I get is a weary smile and a whispered “Of course, honey.” She hasn’t looked at me once. Just takes Eva’s arm and guides her out the door, Eva’s gaze on me the whole time.

  Tears pool in my eyes, but I can’t let them fall. Not yet.

  Luca’s hand slips into mine. “Mom’s just freaked out, Gray. This whole thing shook her up. Remember when Macon was sixteen and got in that fender-bender? Barely a dent on the car, the airbags didn’t even deploy, and Macon didn’t have a scratch on him. She still she took him to the emergency room.”

  “She’s mad.”

  “She’s mad at Maggie. Not you.”

  I don’t say anything. Luca squeezes my hand, but I pull away and walk outside into the silvery drizzle.

  The drive back to Cape Katie is silent. Nothing but a few soft drops of rain on the windshield, the wipers swip-swapping every few seconds. No one asks about Maggie. I don’t offer any information.

  It’s like we’re both already long gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A FTER YOU GRADUATE . . .

  After you graduate . . .

  After you graduate . . .

  By the time Emmy pulls up to the Lucky Lobster, Mom’s words have already rolled through my head about a million times. They’re so loud, her voice so tinny in my mind, I barely hear Luca telling me to wait when I toss the car door open and get out.

  I’m halfway to the stairs leading up to our crappy entrance-on-the-outside motel room when I hear the door of Emmy’s Accord squeak open again.

  “—​let me do it,” Eva’s voice says. “I’ll be right back . . . No, I’m okay.”

  I walk faster.

  I don’t want to talk to her. If I do, I’ll cry or scream or try to kiss her, and I can’t do anything of those things.

  “Grace?”

  The stairs are in front of me. They’re right there with their tarnished handrail and paint-chipped wood. All I have to do is take them two at a time and our room is the second on the right. Safety.

  “Grace.”

  But I can’t take the steps two at a time. Her voice stops me, holds me, turns me around.

  “What?” I try to say it forcefully, angrily, even meanly, but it comes out a cracked whisper.

  Now, she’s right there. Right in front of me. She smells like Band-Aids and smoke.

  “Grace.”

  “Please stop saying my name.” I finally lift my eyes to hers, to that cut on her head, to her red-rimmed eyes haunted by another hospital hours away. The rain falls softly, tiny sparkling diamonds on our skin.

  “Is Maggie okay?”

  I blink at her. I didn’t expect that question. It seems like a simple one because, yes, my mother is okay. Bumps and bruises, that’s all. But I can’t say yes. I can’t answer it, because in that moment, with a thin mist of rain coming down on us, Eva’s eye makeup smudged and her hair a mess, I don’t know the answer.

  “You promised me,” I say quietly.

  She looks down, but not before I see a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes. “I know.”

  “You promised me, Eva. And you . . . you got hurt.” And it’s my fault. Instinctively, my hand comes up and swipes away one tear from her cheek before I force my arm back to my side.

  “I’m sorry,” she says again, stepping closer, but I step back. “She called and I told her I was at work, but she was so set on going to Ruby’s tonight.”

  “She’s always so set on doing whatever’s in her head, Eva.”

  “I know. Or maybe I don’t. I don’t know, but I could tell she was in a bad place, so I went with her. I was worried.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  She presses her eyes closed. “Things were already so awful with you and her. I didn’t want to make it worse. You were so sad and angry. I was trying to help. I thought I was helping.”

  “You promised me.” I say it again because it’s my only point, really. Her own reasons make a sort of sense, and I can’t argue with her. Don’t have the energy to. “You promised me and then we . . . we spent that night on Emmaline and barely two days later you broke that promise.”

  “I wasn’t trying to. I was—​”

  “I’m tired, Eva.” And I’m almost shocked by how much my voice sounds it. “I’m tired of broken promises. And this”—​I wave my hands between us—​“it’s just one more thing I have to worry about. And I can’t . . . I can’t be the person you need me to be anyway.”

  “Don’t say that,” Eva says.

  She tries to take my hand, but I wrench it back. I’m so sick of this. No one is safe with Maggie, and, by extension, no one is safe with me. Not even me. But this is my life. I’m used to it, stuck in it, for better or worse, and I’m sick of wishing for it to change. Sick of feeling happy only for all of it to
go to crap. Even if I did leave for school, I’d never feel okay about it, never feel right.

  Because it’s Maggie.

  It’ll always be Maggie. Not because that’s what I want, but because it’s all I have. It’s all that’s mine, all there’s room for.

  Maybe Mom’s right.

  Maybe we have outgrown this town, our lives here. Or maybe we never fit in at all.

  Just a home.

  Just a girl.

  “I have to go,” I say. I start to turn away, but she hooks her hand around my elbow and whirls me back around.

  “Are you for real?” Eva asks, tears sparking her eyes again. But underneath that, there’s a flare of anger. And I know she’s finally seen it. Too much. Not enough. Whatever. She’s finally sick of it all too. “You’re actually mad at me?”

  I just stare at her because I don’t know what I am.

  “I really was trying to help,” Eva says, taking a step back. “Yeah, your mom’s a mess, Grace. But she’s still here. She’s alive and breathing, and you get to call her Mom every single day. But fine. Go tell yourself whatever you want about us, about who you are, about what you think is your fault.”

  She wipes rain and tears from her eyes, her face all hard edges and determination. She looks at me, waiting for me to say something. Comfort her, yell at her, I don’t know. Just something. But I can only watch her. Watch us unravel.

  Eva’s expression goes soft and slack, realization spilling over her face like a sunrise.

  Love isn’t enough.

  It never is.

  If it were, Eva would still have her mom. I’d have a house I’ve lived in for years and a sober mother with a normal job whose eyes would light up every time her daughter sat down at the piano.

  “Maybe you’re right,” Eva says. Her eyes are on mine, but they don’t see me. They look through me, like what she’s about to say has already been said. Because it has, at least in my head. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea, you and me. Maybe you really can’t love me the way I want you to. Maybe I can’t either.”