The Secret Ingredient of Wishes (21 page)

“I can get you some water or a cold washcloth. Maybe some crackers if you think you can keep them down,” Rachel said.

“I don't think any of that's gonna help at the moment.”

“Okay. But I'm staying out here in case you need anything.”

Rachel sat on the floor in front of the door. The carpet was old, fraying where it met the baseboards, and she traced the flattened loops of fabric with a fingertip. She guessed the carpet had once been navy, but now it was a dull bluish gray. The dark wood furniture in the room absorbed what little light seeped through the curtains. She rested her head against the doorjamb and waited.

Catch threw up twice more. Then she was silent for so long that Rachel considered forcing her way in or calling Ashe. After checking her watch for the eighth time in two minutes, she knocked on the door.

“Rachel?” Catch said. Her voice was faint.

“Yeah?” She scrambled to her feet and gripped the cool doorknob.

“I don't think I can get up.”

Rachel opened the door and found Catch half-sitting, half-lying on the floor. Catch wasn't stuck that Rachel could see, but she was so pale her skin was almost translucent. The purple veins created roadmaps up her thin arms. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the toilet.

Crouching down, Rachel slipped her hands under Catch's arms to lift her. She was even lighter than she looked. When they were both standing, she settled her hand on Catch's waist and took slow, shuffling steps to the bed. Rachel lowered her onto the edge, then helped her lie down but didn't let go. “Do you want me to call a doctor? Or Ashe?”

“That boy's got better things to do than make a fuss over me,” Catch said. And for a second she sounded like herself. Strong and in control.

“Just because he's busy doesn't mean he won't find out you're sick.”

“I'll be better before he does.”

“Don't think so, Catch. You know how I knew something was wrong?”

“You're nosey.”

Rachel went to the bathroom and poured a glass of water. When she returned to the bedroom, she pressed a glass into Catch's shaking hand and held it until the tremors stilled and Catch took a small sip. “I knew something was wrong because there are no pies in the oven,” Rachel said.

“Damn it. I knew I should have done a couple anyway.” Catch slid a leg over the side of the bed. The other one was sluggish, and she used both hands to haul it off after the first.

“You're not getting up. And you sure as hell aren't going to bake, so get that thought out of your mind right now.”

“What? Are you gonna go do it for me?”

Rachel picked up one of the pillows and plumped it between her hands. She set it back in place, smoothing the pillowcase. “If you won't let me tell Ashe, and he'll know something's wrong if there are no pies when he shows up this afternoon, then that's really our only option, right? But I'll only help you on one condition.”

“And what's that, Miss-Bossy-Pants?” Catch asked. But she let Rachel tuck her legs back under the covers.

“I want to know what's wrong with you,” Rachel said.

“I've got a stomach bug.”

She wouldn't get a straight answer out of Catch by calling her on what was most likely a lie. Maybe letting her worry show would. “Seems pretty bad. You're sure that's all it is?”

“I'm seventy-eight, for Pete's sake. Don't you think I know what a virus feels like?”

“If you're lying to me, I'm going to…” But she couldn't come up with a threat strong enough to make Catch tell her the truth, so she just left it at that.

*   *   *

She'd called in sick to work, knowing she couldn't leave Catch alone. Not with how frail she looked or how she'd given up arguing with Rachel after only a minute.

The sunlight flashed off a sheet of tinfoil as Rachel ripped it off and pressed it around the pie she'd made. The glass dish was still warm but did nothing to chase away the cold, hollow feeling that had haunted Rachel since she'd found Catch that morning. No wish had appeared with words that would link Catch's sudden sickness to Rachel, but she couldn't help feeling like it was somehow all her fault. She wrapped her fingers tighter around the pie and whispered, “God, I hope this isn't because of me.”

After checking on Catch and finding her still asleep, Rachel went back to the kitchen in case she woke up and needed anything.

She came out of a daze when Ashe walked in sometime later. A jolt of nerves danced up her arms as her conversation with Lola pushed through her worry for Catch. She now had the answer to the one thing he wanted. As much as she didn't want to keep Lola's secret, she didn't want to see Ashe hurt. She rubbed at the hairs that stood on end along her skin.

“Ev said you had a migraine earlier. Feeling better?” he asked when he reached her. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

Her heart beat frantically at the simple touch. When her brain kicked in, she stepped back. “Mostly, yeah,” she said in a hushed voice.

“You still look a little flushed.” Ashe pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, then her cheek. A dusting of flour floated in the air from her skin when he broke contact. “This doesn't have anything to do with what happened yesterday, does it? I mean, you're not making yourself sick over what people are saying, are you?”

“No,” she said, and wondered how many others were blaming her for wishes like the mother had the day before. “I'll be okay, but thanks.”

He pushed up on the counter and sat just close enough that he could absently toy with the ends of her hair that escaped the hasty knot. His fingers skimmed the back of her neck. He dropped his gaze to the wooden spoons and knives she'd left soaking in bowls of water. The soapsuds had long since dissolved and the water turned tepid. “Does Catch know you've been messing in her kitchen?”

Her eyes darted down the hall toward Catch's room and then settled back on him. “What makes you think I have?” Rachel asked, one worry instantly replaced by another.

“I left a dirty fork on the counter once and had to eat pie with my fingers for a month.”

“Your problem was that you got caught.”

“Always was,” Ashe said. “So, any chance I get to try some of whatever you made?”

“Maybe.” She turned on the tap to reheat the water in the sink. Her arm brushed his leg as she squirted fresh soap into the water.

He trailed the back of his fingers across her bare skin and smiled when she playfully swatted his hand away. “What if I do the dishes? Can I get a piece then?” he asked. He jumped off the counter without waiting for a response and, caging her between him and the sink, dunked his hands into the blazing water with hers.

Rachel stiffened against him, then forced herself to relax. His rough hands slipped over hers, fingers tangling in the popping bubbles. She nudged him back a few inches and turned to face him. Water dripped from her hands onto the front of his shirt.

“I could probably make that happen,” she said. “But shouldn't you be at work?”

“I had a few meetings early and things are almost finished at Everley's, so I figured I could take a break and come check on you.”

“Who has meetings before seven thirty in the morning?”

“You know when I went to work today?” He tilted his head down so their eyes were closer to level.

“I was just up and noticed you were gone already,” Rachel said, shrugging. Hoping he didn't see the truth of his words on her face.

Ashe dropped a spoon back into the sink. “I think you purposely looked to see if I was there. That you were hoping I was so you could come over,” he said.

Ashe looked over her shoulder. Whether he was looking for Catch to come out and interrupt them or praying she wouldn't, Rachel couldn't tell. He caressed her cheek, rubbing his wet thumb back and forth on her jaw.

“You think a lot of yourself, don't you?” Rachel asked.

“Sometimes. But I think a lot of you too.”

“I guess you got tired of the dishes and decided to try and sweet-talk your way to some pie?”

“I can do both,” he said, releasing her.

Rachel reached around him and snagged a knife he had already washed. Before he could argue—or pull her to him again—she scooted out of reach, unwrapped one of the pies, and cut two slices. The orangey insides of the peach pie were dotted with specks of dark red. The sweet, tangy scent teased her tongue as she breathed it in.

“What else did you put in it?” Ashe asked.

“Raspberries,” she said and dumped the knife back into the water. “It sounded like a good combo. But in case it sucks, we're gonna eat it instead of sending it to the coffee shop with the others.”

“Didn't Catch take some over already? She usually does that first thing.”

Biting her lip, Rachel kept her back to him. Hoping her voice was steady as she lied to him, she said, “These are for tomorrow.”

“Right. 'Cause whatever is going on with her today is gonna keep her from baking in the morning too, huh?”

“She's fine, Ashe.”

“Never said she wasn't. So, are you gonna tell me what's wrong or do I have to go back there and see for myself?” he asked, nodding toward Catch's closed bedroom door.

Rachel leaned on the counter next to him, letting her hip settle against his. She hooked her finger through an empty belt loop on his jeans. Not that it would keep him in place if he decided he didn't like her excuse. “She's not feeling well. She said it's just a stomach bug and didn't want you to worry.” It was as much of the truth as she could share without feeling like she was betraying Catch's confidence.

“If it's just a bug, why would I worry?”

“Because you're you,” she said. She met his stare, allowing all the pain and loneliness and longing she usually kept buried beneath layers of fierce independence pour out of her.

All she could think about was how he could break her if she wasn't careful. And how maybe finally letting someone get close enough to her to do that wouldn't be such a bad thing.

 

21

The piece of paper stuck to the windshield of Rachel's SUV was too large to be a wish. Ashe hadn't come by for breakfast, and she jogged the last few steps at the prospect of the note being from him. The top edge curled from the humidity, obscuring the message scrawled in thick red marker. She smoothed out the paper, her hand stilling on the wiper as she raised it to free the note. The words wiped the half-formed smile from her face.

We all get our secrets bound for a reason. It ain't your place to let them out no matter what someone else wishes.

She'd tried to be so careful to avoid wishes, especially since the incident in Everley's shop. But a few still slipped through her defenses. They'd even started to invade her dreams so she'd wake up with a light sheen of sweat coating her skin because she'd turned a shy boy invisible and wished away a young woman's unwanted pregnancy. But those had just been dreams. Nightmares, really. Unless somehow she was making wishes come true in her sleep without meaning to.

Unlocking the car, she jumped inside and tossed the note onto the passenger seat. She sat there for a few minutes, key dangling uselessly from the ignition, and stared out into the backyard. The trees danced in the breeze, their leaves flipped upside down, a sure sign of an oncoming storm. Despite the heat outside, a chill raced up her bare arms to settle at the base of her neck.

“I'm not letting these secrets out. It's not possible,” she told herself, her voice loud in the silence of the car. “This is just about that woman blaming me the other day. That's all it is.”

She kept the windows down as she drove into town, hoping the muggy air would help, but the sensation still hadn't dissipated by the time she circled the square looking for a parking space. Pedestrians walking along the sidewalks and lounging on park benches and pockets of green grass turned to watch as she passed. They narrowed their eyes and cupped their hands around their mouths to shield their conversations as if she could somehow hear them across the distance.

Rachel found a spot a block down from LUX. More people stared as she made her way down the street, head held up, eyes focused on the stretch of concrete in front of her. A small cluster of people blocked the shop's entrance. Their voices, like the dull drone of bees, ticked up in pitch as she neared. She made for the construction entrance and a stocky woman in what more closely resembled an old tablecloth than a dress blocked her path.

“I see you decided to show up today,” the woman said in a shrill voice.

“Did you think one day off would make us forget what you can do?” another one asked.

Tucking her hands in her back pockets, Rachel met their hard stares with one of her own. “I needed a day off to deal with an illness.”

“Something else you caused?” the first woman, Georgia something, asked.

“No,” Rachel said.

“Yeah, but would she admit it if she had?” another woman asked.

“Doesn't matter,” the lone man in the group said, scrubbing a hand over his sparse beard. “We know the truth now.”

A fortyish woman with a severe widow's peak and sharp cheekbones, whom Rachel recognized as one of Everley's regulars, added, “Yeah, and because of her, lots more people are learning the truth about things whether we want them to or not.” Her clipped words hung in the air for a moment as the rest nodded their agreement.

“It's not my fault,” Rachel said. After the last few wishes had tricked her into reading them, she had been even more careful not to read anything before she was confident it wasn't a wish. Whatever this was, she wasn't responsible.

“So you're telling me that I just happened to tell my sister that the antique time clock she's always wanted didn't get ruined in the fire at our mother's house like I told her but is instead sitting in my living room?” Georgia fisted her hands on her round hips, causing the fabric to swish around her thick ankles. “Because I've had that clock for seven years and she's never called me on my lie. Not until yesterday when she dropped in for a visit and said our cousin Mabel told her about you and it got her to thinking. And you know what she did after she wished to know the truth about the clock, she went right over to Mother's and took the apothecary table we've been squabbling over for years home with her out of spite. And Mother just sat there and let her.”