The Secret Ingredient of Wishes (27 page)

“You might want to check the front page,” Catch said. She pointed to the newspaper she'd left on the counter.

Rachel took the glass of orange juice Catch handed her and sat at her usual spot at the island. Ashe's seat was empty. She tried not to feel disappointed. She'd seen him in passing at work, but they hadn't been alone together in days. She wasn't sure yet if that was a good thing or not.

“Did you give a tell-all to the paper?” she asked.

“I'm not in the business of
sharing
secrets, Miss-Smarty-Pants. But you should've given Lola that pie when you had the chance.”

“Oh, no. What did she say?” Rachel's juice sloshed over the side of her glass when she knocked it in her haste to get to the paper. She unfolded the cover. A picture of a man she didn't recognize took up half the page. His smile looked out of place on his gaunt, stubbly face.

The headline read,
FARM DEED REVERTS TO WILBANKS FAMILY AFTER PAPERWORK MISFILED.

Her hands were sweaty. The newsprint rubbed off on her fingers as she continued to read.

When asked about this miraculous turn of events, Ricky Wilbanks, 38, gave credit to a woman he's never met for giving his family their farmland back. “My wife said she asked a woman to help us after I'd been conned out of the farmland that's been in my family for four generations, like a handful of other down-and-out families in Nowhere. Apparently this woman can make wishes come true, or something,” Wilbanks explained. “Helen heard about her after someone else almost died because of a wish at the local barbecue festival and tracked her down at that fancy beauty supply shop where she works. She begged the woman to wish for us to keep our home. I thought it was some scam to take what little money we had left, but she didn't want the money. I don't understand how it works, I'm just glad it did.” Both declined to name this “wish doctor.” But whether it was divine intervention, karma, or just luck of the draw, Wilbanks is thankful to still have a home to go back to with his wife and children tonight.

“I assume they're talking about you?” Catch said.

Rachel continued to stare at the article as if the letters were going to rearrange themselves into words that said she'd accidentally turned the property into unusable swampland, the wish gone awry. But the black type continued to say the same thing.

The Wilbankses had their home back.

The wish had worked.

She smiled at the plate Catch set in front of her, the scent of the egg-and-pepper pie so spicy it made her eyes water.

“Do you know who he was talking about? The one who conned them in the first place?” Rachel asked.

“If I had to guess, I'd say Ashe's worthless father. He's handled a number of property sales in the past few years. All in the same area out by the piece of land Ashe built that fancy new house on for his parents. Rumor has it, most don't remember why they wanted to sell in the first place, but it was too late to do anything about it. I wouldn't put it past him to try and charm someone out of something he wanted.”

“Why would he want the land?”

Catch jerked one bony shoulder up in a half shrug. “Who the hell knows. Probably has something up his sleeve to get him more money and influence.”

“I remember Ashe saying something about his dad having the ability to charm people. Kinda like your pies and my wishes,” Rachel said.

“I'd say what he can do is more of a curse for the rest of us,” Catch said, slapping at the paper. “Anyway, I'm a little surprised you're not asking me to hide this.”

“Could you really make them all forget I was behind it?”

“Not after that. There's too many people that know now. I couldn't cover it up without some serious consequences.” Catch clutched at her side and sucked in a sharp breath. She glared at Rachel, effectively warding off any questions about how she was feeling. “It wouldn't work the way you'd want it to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Changing something that big always has side effects. Asking that many people to forget one thing could erase that thing altogether. Not just from their memories, but from other people's memories as well,” Catch said.

Rachel's heart pounded in her ears. Catch's lips continued to move, but the words didn't penetrate. She latched on to the small thread of hope dangling in front of her.

If Catch can make people forget me, maybe she can make them remember too. Maybe she's my loophole to get Michael back.

Catch dug her fingers into Rachel's shoulder and shook. “Are you hearing me, girl?”

“Sorry,” Rachel said. Blinking, she tried to clear her head. “I was just wondering, once someone's forgotten, is there any way to bring them back?”

“That's tricky business. You'd best not get yourself in a position that we have to find out,” Catch said. She dropped a fork next to the plate of breakfast pie that was going cold on the counter in front of Rachel. “Now quit asking me about things you've got no business asking and eat your damn breakfast.”

*   *   *

A young girl waited in Catch's front yard, half-hidden behind the hydrangea bush. Her dark hair and green shirt blended into the garden as if she were one of Catch's prize-winning plants. But the flowers swayed in the breeze—and the girl stood motionless, staring wide-eyed at the house.

Rachel peered out again, hoping it was a trick of the light.

“She's been out there for an hour,” Catch said. Her voice rang with the same annoyance she'd had at breakfast.

“What does she want?”

“You, I'd expect. If she wanted a pie, she woulda come to the back door already.”

Even from the safety of the foyer, Rachel could see the desperation as plainly as if it had been tattooed on the girl's skin.

“How do you do it?” Rachel asked.

“Do what?”

“I know you like helping people and don't mind them coming around at all hours of the day, but I don't know if I can do that.”

Catch reached around her and pulled the cord on the blinds. The slats clicked shut. “Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you went and got yourself on the front page of the paper.”

“I didn't do it on purpose. Get in the paper, I mean.”

“Lots of things happen that we don't mean. Doesn't change the fact that they happened. You'll have to figure out what you're gonna do the next time someone asks for your help.”

“What should I do about her?” Rachel asked, gesturing to the young girl still half-hidden in the front yard.

“Since she doesn't look like she's going anywhere, I'd suggest you talk to her.”

Shielding her eyes from the blinding morning sun with her hand, Rachel headed to the yard. “Can I help you with something?” she asked the girl, who now stood at the edge of the driveway.

The girl couldn't have been more than seven or eight. Her hollow cheeks stretched thin and her legs were bone and skin, no muscle to speak of. “I hope so,” she stammered.

“You know, ringing the doorbell might've gotten me out here sooner.”

“I didn't want to bother you.” The girl hugged her arms across her chest. She raised her eyes to Rachel's. Sniffling, she tried to keep her composure. “Mama told me not to come, but I just wanted to thank you for saving my home.”

Rachel took a step back and toed the gravel driveway. “You're Helen and Ricky Wilbanks's daughter?”

“I'm Jody.”

“I'm really glad you don't have to move out of your house.”

“Thanks. Me too.” Her timid smile revealed two missing teeth on the top row. “Mama said you didn't want anyone to know it was you, but I heard her telling Daddy how you live with the lady who makes the pies. That's how I knew where to find you. But I won't tell anybody.”

“I appreciate that,” Rachel said, returning the smile.

The girl turned to leave, then looked back at Rachel. “I think you should tell people, though. There are lots of people who need help—not just with keeping their homes—and if they knew about you, their wishes might come true too. And that would be really good.” She raced off before Rachel could respond. Her sneakers ground against the gravel in the driveway for a few seconds, then she reached the pavement and picked up speed, leaving Rachel to question how good things really could be if she let them.

*   *   *

All morning at work, Rachel couldn't stop thinking about what Mary Beth had said about her being at home in Nowhere. She hadn't wanted something to be true that badly in a long time. Not since Michael first disappeared and she was desperate to believe he had been real. But most of the townspeople were still of the opinion she could only bring trouble.

Somehow Everley had convinced Rachel that making some of the wishes she'd been collecting come true would help her show the naysayers that she not only belonged in Nowhere, but that they needed her too. Everley had also offered up her home as the place to do it. At the time, it had made sense. Now, curled up in a plush chair in Everley's living room, Rachel couldn't remember why.

Since she'd left her shoes in a cubby by the front door, she tucked her bare feet under her and sank farther into the cushions.

Dropping into the chair next to Rachel, Everley asked, “Will it ruin anything if we have some wine?”

“I don't think so. Actually, it might mess things up if we don't drink,” she said, hoping a little alcohol would calm her nerves.

Everley uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses of pale white wine. “To making wishes come true.” She tapped the rim of her glass to Rachel's. Wine sloshed over the edge and dribbled down the glass. After wiping it off, she licked her thumb clean. “All right, so how does this work exactly? Is there a chant or spell or something you have to say?”

“I just have to think about it. That's how it's always worked before,” Rachel said.

“Okay. What can I do?”

“Pick one.” She held the box of paper slips out to Everley like they were selecting a raffle winner.

Everley swished her hand around the box. The papers shuffled against each other. She pulled one out with a triumphant flourish. “Any way I can test one? You know, just so I can see it work since these will happen to people who aren't in my living room?”

“I don't know, Everley. I've done that before and it never worked out right.”

“Just something little. Unimportant. Please?”

Rachel's stomach fluttered. She took a sip of the wine. “Tell me what you're thinking, but don't actually wish for it yet. I get to veto it if I don't want to do it, okay?”

“Okay, okay. How about another bottle of wine.”

“That's one I can live with.”

Rachel looked at the open bottle sitting on the table. The label was slick from the condensation beading on the green glass. She wished for a second one sitting on the top shelf of the fridge next to a double slice of chocolate raspberry cheesecake. The air fluttered around her, and a crisp white piece of paper landed in her lap.

“Did it work?” Everley asked.

Reading her own wish sent a thrill through her she hadn't felt since she was little. “Go check the fridge.” She twisted her fingers together to keep them from shaking and held her breath.

Everley gathered her skirt in one hand and launched off the pillow. Her bare feet padded on the floor as she jogged to the kitchen. “Oh my God! It totally worked. You just imagined a bottle of wine out of thin air.”

“There should be some cheesecake too,” Rachel called.

“Holy shit. Cheesecake!” Everley peered at her around the doorjamb, her smile half awe, half jealousy. “This is amazing.
You
are amazing.”

Rachel smiled back at her and laughed.
Maybe this will work. Maybe I can make everything right.

Everley left the wine in the fridge, but carried the cheesecake into the living room with two forks.

Glancing at the box of wishes, Rachel asked, “Okay, what's first?”

Everley unfolded the wish she'd pulled earlier and laughed. “Oh, this is gonna be fun. Someone really wants Deborah Anne to find a husband. Any man will do. It really says that, see?” She passed the wish to Rachel, who tried to keep her face straight despite her friend's infectious laugh.

“Let's hope she means that because I don't get to pick the guy. I'm just the messenger.”

Rachel's fingers shook as she took the paper. She closed her eyes and wished. The wind gusted again, fluttering her hair and sending a chill up her spine.

“How will we know if it worked?” Everley asked.

“I guess we just have to wait and see if Deborah Anne starts going around town with a new guy.”

Everley dug deep into the box again and said, “I've got a good feeling about this one.”

“Don't make me regret doing this with you,” Rachel said.

“I can be serious. Watch. Okay, this person wishes—” She dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Rachel snatched the paper from her.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Everley said, holding her stomach while she laughed. “But how am I supposed to keep a straight face when someone's wishing to marry Nathan Fillion? Not that I blame her for wanting it, but not even you can make something like that happen, can you?”

“It doesn't always work out the way people want. Like this person will probably meet and marry another guy named Nathan Fillion or someone who's into cosplay, but not Captain Tight Pants himself.”

Everley laughed harder, then when she caught her breath, asked, “But you have some control over it, don't you?”

Rachel put her wineglass down, suddenly feeling light-headed. “Not really. I don't get to shape the wishes. They are whatever the wisher wants them to be. I'm just the conduit.”

Everley dropped the wish onto the table, looking closely at Rachel. “We can stop if you want.”