What You Wish For

by Janet Dawson

  “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a while.” Hal buttered a square of cornbread and dipped a spoon into his bowl. “Not unless I cook it myself, and I don’t cook much. I eat lots of Chinese takeout. This is great.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you like it.” The chili was spicy hot in her mouth. “I don’t go out much, even takeout. Not on a grad student’s budget.”

  “Yeah, I remember those days, when I was working on my master’s. How’s the dissertation coming along?”

  She glanced at her desk. “It’s not. I’ve been wrestling with it all week. I like to think I’m winning. But I haven’t been able to con­centrate.”

  “It’s spring break. That implies taking a break from your studies.”

  “Not if you’re a doctoral student. It just means the library’s less crowded.”

  “Sounds very nose-to-the-grindstone.”

  “I have to finish this dissertation and get on with my life. I want to teach at Berkeley.”

  “What about marriage and a family?” he asked.

  “Eventually. Career first, though. What about you? I mean, ­career-wise, not marriage and family. You went to Penn and got your master’s at Wharton School of Business.”

  “I was lucky to get to college at all, let alone Wharton,” he said. “My family doesn’t have much money. Good thing I had scholarships and grants. Even those didn’t stretch very far. I’m from a little town northeast of Pittsburgh. My father owns an auto parts store. My mother works in the city clerk’s office. Neither of them went to college. My folks scrimped and saved, my sisters and I worked, and we all got college scholarships.”

  “Your family sounds like mine,” Lindsey said. “Dad owns a hardware store in Paso Robles, and Mom teaches elementary school. There wasn’t much money for things like college, but they started a college fund for me and my brothers, and added to it over the years. I got scholarships, too, and worked part-time jobs, starting with baby-sitting in junior high.”

  “Same here.” Hal chuckled. “Not baby-sitting, unless you count looking after my sisters. I worked in my dad’s store. Stocking shelves and running the cash register.”

  “I’ve stocked a few shelves myself. Cash register, inventory, ­ordering. I can even mix paint. We have a lot in common. How did we wind up here, with these rich people?”

  “Answered an ad for an accountant.” He finished his chili. “How about you?”

  “Answered an ad for an apartment.”

  “Serendipity.” He looked at her for a moment. “Your chili’s really good. I’d like more.” She reached for his bowl at the same time he did. Their hands met and neither of them pulled away. “I’ll get it. You want more?” She shook her head. While he was in the kitchen, Lindsey looked at her hand where he’d touched it. Was that a sign? Or was she seeing signposts that didn’t exist?

  Hal returned to the table. “My family hoped I’d come back to Pennsylvania after I graduated. But I got this job in San Francisco. Which, believe it or not, reminds me of Pittsburgh. I guess it’s the hills and the water, the neighborhoods, and the history.”

  She started a pot of coffee. They washed and dried the dishes. Then they sat on the sofa, drinking coffee with the brownies, listening to music as they talked. He put his arms around her and they kissed. She didn’t know it was going to happen. But she hoped it would, and she was glad.

  * * *

  The next morning she woke up early, nestled next to Hal in bed, watching him sleep as she thought about how much she loved him. He woke up and smiled. After breakfast they drove up to the wine-tasting in the Napa Valley. Late that night, when he brought her home, she drew him toward her bedroom, and they spent another night together.

  In so many words that never got said, they didn’t talk about their relationship. They went out together and Hal spent many nights in Lindsey’s bed. Afterward, she wondered if it had been too precipitous. Maybe the stars were not aligned for romance.

  Maybe it was just bad timing. That morning in May was fixed in her memory, like glass etched with acid. She was in the garden, enjoying the sunshine as she cut roses. She inhaled the fragrance of a lush, red blossom, then snipped the stem with shears.

  A bikini-clad Claire came out the back door, carrying a towel and bottle of suntan oil. “Heard the latest bombshell? Annabel’s getting married. Right after graduation.”

  Lindsey stared. “What? Annabel’s going to Europe this summer.”

  “I guess that will be her honeymoon.”

  “But who? Why so sudden?”

  “Hal, the designated suitor.” Claire pulled petals from a rose and tossed them to the dirt. “Annabel’s pregnant. Hence the reason for what my mother calls unseemly haste.”

  Lindsey froze. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Loss, betrayal and hurt overwhelmed her, suffocated her.

  How could he? How could Hal do this to her?

  She went back to her apartment and put the roses in the kitchen sink. Blood seeped from her fingers, scratched by thorns. Nausea swept over her. She ran to the bathroom and threw up. She flushed the toilet, dampened a washcloth in cold water, and scrubbed her lips. Tears leaked from her eyes.

  How could he? He’d toyed with her, marking time, using her until he obtained his primary objective, the boss’s daughter.

  All the time he was with me, he must have been with her, too. What a fool I’ve been.

  Nausea hit her again. She leaned over the commode and retched. Nothing came up but bile.

  This is crazy. All I had for breakfast was oatmeal.

  In the bathroom mirror her face went white. She counted back the days in her mind. Usually she was careful to put in her diaphragm. But not always. At times she let herself be swept away by the passion of the moment, as she had a month ago, making love with Hal on a secluded beach.

  Oh, dear God. I can’t be pregnant. I just can’t.

  Morning sickness. She’d heard stories about how awful it could be. And it was. She reeled through the next few days and finally went to a doctor, confirming what she feared. She was pregnant, with Hal’s child.

  What now? In her head she played a crazy movie of Annabel’s wedding ceremony, the part where the minister asked if anyone knew of a reason why this man and this woman shouldn’t be joined together in matrimony. She saw herself float down the aisle toward the bridegroom. That fantasy wouldn’t play in real life. Hal wanted Annabel. Knowing Lindsey was going to have his child wouldn’t change that.

  She had to face reality. She wasn’t equipped to be a single mother. What about her career? Normally it took three to four years of classes and research to get a doctorate. She’d finished her coursework, but she still had to complete her research and write her dissertation. A baby could derail her plans. It could take years to get her degree. Or she might never complete it.

  She could have an abortion. She considered herself a feminist and she’d cheered when abortion became legal. But somehow that decision was easier when made by someone else. This was Hal’s child.

  What if I never get married? What if I’m alone the rest of my life? What if this is the only child I’ll ever have?

  “I’ll support whatever decision you make,” Aunt Emma told her one afternoon as they talked over tea and shortbread.

  Lindsey stared into her teacup, then raised her head. “I want to have this baby. It’s going to be tough. Mom will have a fit.”

  “She’ll get over it.” Emma poured more tea. “It will be tough. But you’ll manage. I’m sure of it. Give up the apartment and move in with me, so you won’t have to pay rent.”

  Lindsey nodded. “I can work as a researcher through fall semester. And pick up editing and writing jobs. The baby’s not due till February. I’ll put away as much money as I can. After I have the baby, I’ll get a job. I don’t have to have my doctorate to teach, even at the college level. All it takes is planning.”

  When she drove back to the house on Hillegass Street, Hal was on the porch, talking with Annabel. Lindsey pulled he
r Volkswagen to the curb and waited until he left. She fought back tears, determined to move ahead and leave the past behind.

  36

  Lindsey pushed away the memories that lurked around the periphery of her life. If she wasn’t careful, those feelings she had ­buried would emerge. It was pointless to get mired in thoughts of what might have been.

  Her cell phone rang. Tess? No, it was Flor’s number on the screen. Lindsey let the call go to voicemail. She turned to Rod. “Someone from headquarters is going to come along and wonder why you’re here with me, and not back at the office taking over the reins of power.”

  “Power,” Rod said. “How much do you know about the company operations?”

  “Very little. When Mr. Dunlin died, Hal became CEO. Simple as that.”

  “Not quite. There was a lot of upheaval.” Rod gazed down California Street at the Dunlin Building as though he could see past the brick façade, to the people inside. “Mrs. Megarris said Hal didn’t have enough experience. She wanted the job. She even had support from some board members. Max reminded the board that Dunlin designated Hal as his successor. So Hal was elected CEO. But that wasn’t the end of it. Claire was moving up. It was only a matter of time before she joined the board. Claire is her mother’s proxy.”

  “We meet for lunch,” Lindsey said. “The four of us, every month or so. Claire talks about her work. Much of what I know about the company is filtered through her. Last week I saw something in the newspaper, about the board vacancy and the direction the company is headed. The article hinted about internal dissension.”

  “It’s a battle for control, Max on one side, Claire on the other, and Hal in the middle.”

  “You’re allied with Max,” Lindsey said. “Claire’s at odds with him. Gretchen told me she had a candidate for the board vacancy. But you were elected instead. She doesn’t like that.”

  “We don’t work well together. El Salvador poisoned our relationship.”

  “Claire had such an angry look on her face after the meeting this morning. It disturbed me.” Lindsey frowned as the pieces fell into place. “Claire is trying to oust Hal so she can take over.”

  Rod nodded. “Claire thinks she’s entitled to the company, as her birthright, because her father started it. She ingested that attitude with her mother’s milk. Mrs. Megarris has been feeding that line to Claire since she was a child. Megarris was a lousy businessman and an alcoholic. After Dunlin forced him out, he was dead within the year, leaving Mrs. Megarris with a pile of debts. She had to take charity from her brother and she hated it, resents it to this day. Eventually Dunlin put Mrs. Megarris on the board. But she wasn’t grateful to him. As far as she was concerned, he owed her that.”

  His generosity had less to do with charity and more with self-preservation, Lindsey thought. Mrs. Megarris helped her brother cover up his wife’s murder. How many times had she collected on that debt?

  “Claire had been scheming for quite some time, according to Max,” Rod said, “waiting for a board vacancy so she could engineer the election of someone who’s in her pocket. She’s done it before, with the woman who’s now the general counsel. Another vacancy had to happen sooner or later, given the age of senior management. Then Caldwell decided to retire. Claire saw an opportunity. So did Max. He got me elected instead.”

  “Claire doesn’t like being thwarted,” Lindsey said. “She has to get her own way.”

  “Not this time,” Rod said. “She tried to create another vacancy. By eliminating Annabel.”

  Lindsey winced at his choice of words. “How could she do that?”

  “By declaring Annabel incapacitated. Because of the stroke.”

  “But Annabel’s getting better.”

  “That’s good,” Rod said. “Because if Annabel is incapacitated after eight weeks, her board seat is declared vacant, as if she had died. There’s a provision in the bylaws for replacing an incapacitated director. Claire said, due to the lapse of time since Annabel’s stroke and her inability to perform her duties as a member of the board, she should be replaced. Mrs. Megarris seconded her motion and the board voted. Claire lost.”

  A vote wouldn’t stop Claire. She was dead set on her goal, ready to mow down anyone who got in her way. She hadn’t been able to eliminate Annabel from the board with a vote. But there were other ways. Lindsey grabbed Rod’s arm. “We have to go.”

  Rod stared at her. “Go? Where? Why?” Then it dawned on him. “Annabel?”

  “The look in Claire’s eyes after that meeting. Annabel may not be incapacitated. But what if she’s dead?” Lindsey stepped off the curb and snared a taxi with a wave of her hand. She gave the driver the address of Annabel’s convalescent hospital. The cab sped away from the curb. Rod took out his cell phone. “Max, I’m with Lindsey. She thinks—”

  Lindsey took the phone from Rod and spoke directly to Max.

  “Claire is going to try to kill Annabel.”

  37

  Annabel had been in rehab for several weeks now, speech and movement returning. She had too much time to think, though. Memories she’d kept at bay for years lurked in her mind, waiting to torment her again. Like Mother. Like the spring of 1974.

  She didn’t want to remember anymore. She wanted to feel like herself again, the Annabel who’d made peace with her life, who didn’t think about the past.

  I want to go home and sleep in my own bed.

  Soon. She glanced at the walker. Yesterday she’d made one lap, all the way to the end of the hall and back. She could talk now, and people understood her, even if she slurred her words.

  If it weren’t for the visits from her family and friends, she’d go crazy. Tess usually came by after work, easy enough since she lived in the city. Sharon drove in from Marin County in the evening, sometimes with her fiancé, Gil. Adam came when he could get away from school down at Stanford. Lindsey and Gretchen were regular visitors. Annabel was glad Lindsey had been able to get word to Lily, who’d visited yesterday afternoon and promised to return. And of all the surprising things, she’d gotten a phone call from Inspector Niebuhr.

  Hal came to see her daily. On a work day, he dropped in before going to the office and again in the evening, before going home. Today he’d arrived just after noon, bringing lunch from a nearby deli. Her bed had been raised to a sitting position. Hal maneuvered the tray in front of her. He reached into a bag he’d set on the floor, took out two plastic containers, and removed the lids. “I got chicken with pesto and prosciutto with melon balls.”

  Annabel smiled. Steady, reliable Hal, so considerate, so supportive. After all these years she had grown to love him. Their relationship was comfortable, without much passion. It wasn’t the way it had been with... No. She tightened her mouth. No more memories.

  Annabel tucked a paper napkin into the collar of her bed jacket and clenched her hand around the plastic spoon. She scooped up salad and aimed for her mouth. Salty prosciutto contrasted with the sweet marble-sized balls of honeydew melon and cantaloupe. Juice dribbled from her mouth and she used the napkin to blot it. Hal screwed the tops off two bottles of soda and stuck a straw in hers. “Root beer for me, cream soda for you.” Annabel sipped her soda, then picked up her spoon again, digging it into the chicken salad.

  Hal unwrapped a sandwich. “Roast beef and cheddar on an onion roll. Want some?” She shook her head.

  Annabel ate several mouthfuls of chicken salad without making a mess. That was progress. Movement, speech, the everyday activities that one took for granted, were getting easier. It was certainly an improvement over the previous week, when she’d dumped fruit salad in her lap. Who ever thought she’d be so proud of not spilling her food?

  They ate in companionable silence. Hal finished his sandwich and tossed the wrapper into the nearby wastebasket. Then he reached into the bag and brought out a small pink bakery box. He opened the lid, tilting the box with a flourish, to show her the contents. “We had tiramisu last time, so I got cannoli for a change.”

  Annabel
looked at the pastry tubes. She used to like cannoli, but not anymore. It reminded her of a deli in North Beach, a long time ago.

  Stop, she told herself.

  Someone knocked on the door, then pushed it open. The physical therapist, the tormenter. That’s the way Annabel had thought of her at first, when the therapist started the daily round of exercises. Now that she was making progress, she was grateful for the regimen.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Norwood,” the woman said. “I’m following up ­after our physical therapy session this morning.”

  “How’s she doing?” Hal asked.

  “Pretty good,” Annabel said.

  The therapist smiled. “Yes, you’re doing very well.”

  Hal squeezed Annabel’s hand. “When can she come home?”

  “The doctor and I think you’re ready,” the therapist said. “Now, Mr. Norwood, you said you’ve had a lift installed on the stairs in your home.”

  Hal nodded. “And I hired someone to help around the house. We’ll get a nurse if you think that’s advisable.”

  “In that case,” the therapist said, “you can go home tomorrow, Mrs. Norwood.”

  “Terrific,” Hal said. After the therapist left, he reached for one of the cannoli. “I’m so glad you’re coming home. I’ve missed you. We have plans and schemes. You’re supposed to be the mother of the bride in August. Sharon and Gil talked about delaying the wedding, but I told them no. You’ll be your old self by then. We can boogie at our daughter’s wedding.”

  “No boogie.” Annabel pointed at the walker. “Slow dance.”

  “It’s something to shoot for.” Hal grinned.

  “Board meeting this morning,” she said, carefully enunciating the words. “Tell me.”

  He hesitated, not saying anything as he fitted the lids on the ­salad containers. “It was...contentious. Look, I know I’ve talked about it a lot during my visits. Just to be talking. I wasn’t sure how much you were taking in.”

  “Enough.” She fixed him with a stern look. “What happened with Claire?”