Wishful Thinking (9 page)

“Sorry,” he said eventually, stopping at a crooked wooden dock that jutted out into the water. “Sometimes I just need to walk.”

Hazel stopped beside him and followed his gaze down the dock. The pond was still and dotted with lily pads. It looked like something out of a picture book.

“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s none of my business. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

Luke shook his head and looked up at her. His light eyes looked cloudy and sad.

“You’re going to find out eventually,” he said. “And you’re a part of things here now. It
is
your business.”

Luke held her stare for a moment before shuffling out to the end of the dock. Hazel walked after him, her head spinning. She’d never really been a part of anything before. Even if it was bad news, she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest twinge of hope at the idea that she was about to be included.

At the end of the dock, they sat, their feet dangling over the water. The reflection of a tall row of evergreens rippled
across the pond’s surface, and dragonflies zipped between their ankles. Luke fiddled with a stick he’d found, snapping off little nubs with his fingers.

“Rosanna’s sick,” he said. “She has cancer.”

Hazel’s heart dropped, and her palms were suddenly cold. She closed her eyes, her mind flashing back to the night before she’d left California. The conversation she’d overheard between the couple at the buffet.

“It all happened so fast.”

“Rosanna was so strong.”

Rosanna’s death had seemed sudden. A surprise. Hazel had never considered the possibility that she’d have already been sick, eighteen years in the past.

“Are you …” Hazel’s mind raced, and she didn’t know what she was trying to ask. “Are you sure?”

Luke nodded. “We’ve all known for a while,” he explained. “But now it’s getting worse. She needs more treatment, but the doctors aren’t sure if it will work.”

Hazel stared beyond Luke at the trees, his profile blurring into a neutral smudge. Suddenly, a wave of relief passed through her, softening the strong line of her brow, loosening the muscles she hadn’t realized she was holding tight.

It
will
work,
she thought. The doctors were wrong. Rosanna wasn’t getting worse, at least not for a while. She had eighteen years ahead of her. And when the alternative was tomorrow, eighteen years seemed like a very long time.

Hazel looked quickly back to Luke, her eyes wide and hopeful.

But there was absolutely nothing she could say. There was no way to explain how she knew the things she knew. Not without sounding insane.

“I’m sorry,” she finally managed. She
was
sorry. Sorry she couldn’t do anything to make him understand that it wasn’t as bad as any of them feared.

“There’s more,” Luke said quietly. “They’re selling the estate. Rosanna is going to need to be in San Francisco fulltime, until her treatments are over. And afterward, it will be too much for them to keep coming back and forth. My mom was even surprised that Rosanna wanted to make the trip this year,” he mused, looking out at the water. “I guess they wanted the chance to say good-bye.”

Hazel gripped the edge of the dock with her fingers. She wanted so badly to tell Luke that he wouldn’t have to say good-bye. Not yet. She even wanted to run and find Jaime to tell her the good news, too.

“Jaime’s taking it the hardest, I think,” Luke said, as if reading her mind. “She’s the only one of us who lives here all year long. And she and Rosanna have always been close.”

Hazel nodded. She remembered the way she’d felt when she ran out of the Ferry Building and cried on the boat. She’d thought there could be nothing worse than losing somebody before you’d even gotten the chance to know her. Now she wondered if she’d been wrong. Maybe knowing was worse.

Luke shifted by her side, leaning forward to toss the twig into the pond. “Anyway,” he said. “I just thought you should know. It’s actually probably why she hired you in the first place. Rosanna and Jaime will both need a lot of help getting everything ready. It’s not going to be easy.”

His voice was soft but there was distance inside of it. He sounded like he was talking to a coworker. Hazel looked up at him. The glimmer in his eyes was still there, but it looked
stifled and far away. He was uncomfortable talking to her, and Hazel knew why.

“Luke,” she said, turning to him. “I’m sorry about last night.”

Instantly, he blushed, pink patches spreading beneath the surface of his smooth, tanned skin. His eyes darted back to the pond. “Don’t worry about it,” he muttered. “I understand.”

Hazel laughed choppily before she could stop herself. “No,” she said. “You don’t. But that’s okay. I just want you to know that it’s not what you think. You’re … great. You’re all great. And of course I’ll help. I’ll do everything I can. All right?”

He glanced back at her, confusion knitting his brow. “Sure,” he said tentatively. “All right. Thanks.”

Hazel turned back out to the pond, biting the inside of her lip, her feet swinging above the water’s edge.

“I should get to work,” Luke said, crawling to his feet. “See you around?”

Hazel peered up at him and smiled. “I’ll be here,” she said.

Luke opened his hand in a little wave and started back toward the shore.

“Luke?” Hazel called after him from the dock.

He turned. “Yeah?”

Hazel swallowed and tugged at a stray piece of hair clinging to the side of her cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “Okay?”

Luke nodded and waved again, before disappearing behind the trees.

Hazel looked back at the water. She swung her feet harder now, and felt her bare heels skip along the cool, wet surface.

Now, it all made sense. Rosanna already knew she was sick. She thought she didn’t have much time left. That’s why she’d given Hazel up. She hadn’t wanted Hazel to grow up without a mother, and so she did what she had to do. She found her a new one. It was the only possible explanation. Why else would somebody so wonderful, and so obviously ready to be a mother, not want to raise her own daughter herself?

Hazel hopped to her feet. For the first time since she’d woken up on the boat, she finally felt like she knew what she was sent back to the island to do.

But first, she’d need another dress.

T
he sun was in no hurry to set.

Hazel was perched at the edge of her bed, her knees bouncing up and down. After dinner—Emmett’s crab cakes and a summer salad, eaten on the patio—Hazel had rushed back to the guesthouse and flung open the closet door. Jaime had disappeared before dessert, and Hazel was relieved. She had no idea what kind of lame excuse she’d rattle off if Jaime caught her, sitting alone, staring out the window, and wearing a gown.

Because that’s exactly what the dress was: a gown. Made of rose-colored silk, it had subtle accents: a muted trail of flowers at the hem, and a delicate chain that dangled from the clasp. Hazel had stopped breathing when she’d pulled it out of the bag. It was, hands down, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

But it would be a nightmare to explain.

Which was why she had waited until dark. Once the sun finally tucked itself behind the glowing horizon, a shadow
falling over the fields, Hazel ran barefoot out of the cabin and down to the path in the woods.

She’d known right away that the pond was where she was headed. It was the perfect place to make her second wish. It was there that she’d had the idea, after all, and something about the stillness of the water, and the cover of the towering trees, already felt like magic.

Hazel followed the path to the dock where she’d sat with Luke. The moon was full and white in the indigo sky. She closed her eyes, a soft breeze rustling the cool silk against her legs.

She was ready to make her wish. All afternoon she’d been thinking of the exact words, the perfect turn of phrase. If Rosanna only knew. If she knew she had eighteen full years ahead of her, she wouldn’t be so scared. And when she discovered that she was having a baby—which, if it hadn’t happened already, would have to happen soon—she wouldn’t give her up. Of course she’d want to keep her. Hazel knew she would.

And everything would be different. Hazel would grow up with her real parents. She’d be loved and cared for, not shuffled around like a piece of lost luggage. She’d grow up with answers instead of questions. With an idea of the kind of person she was supposed to be. It was exactly what she’d always wanted, and this was her chance to make it real.

Hazel had spent the day rereading Posey’s letter in her mind. Curing Rosanna wasn’t an option; it was too big, too “universal.” But what about wishing for Rosanna to make a different choice? Wishing for Rosanna to keep her, and raise her, for as long as she could?

Hazel took a deep breath. She saw the words, lit up like
fireflies inside of her. She was about to whisper them out loud, when she heard a faint whimpering coming from behind her on the shore.

It sounded like a bird at first. Hazel opened her eyes and turned, waiting for another sound. But all was quiet.

Hazel turned back to the water and closed her eyes again. As soon as she’d taken a full, steadying breath, the distant whimper was back, this time followed by a rustling of leaves.

Hazel lifted up the edge of her dress and walked back toward the shore, the old dock creaking beneath her feet.

The noises grew louder, and Hazel followed them along the edge of the marsh. Just beyond a cluster of beech trees was a rusted metal bench. A figure was huddled in one corner, and she could tell from the silhouette of dark, springy curls that it was Jaime.

Hazel stopped short. Jaime hadn’t seen her yet. There was still time to turn around. Jaime would probably want to be left alone, anyway. She’d been upset and keeping to herself all day. Maybe Hazel could sneak back to the guesthouse without Jaime ever knowing she was there.

But it was as if her feet refused to move in any direction other than toward the shadowed bench. And her heart knew why. She had done her fair share of crying to herself, and never once had she been grateful to go through it alone. Even a misguided something was always better than nothing at all.

“Jaime?” Hazel started quietly, hovering at the far end of the wrought-iron bench. It wasn’t the most comfortable-looking piece of furniture, and Hazel marveled at how small Jaime had managed to make herself, perched between the wide metal bars. “Are you okay?”

Jaime’s head was buried in the sleeve of her hooded sweatshirt and she didn’t move to answer. “Do I look okay?”

Hazel glanced back at the pond, the pitched roof of the cabin looming on the other side. She could have made her wish and been back to her room by now. If only she’d just kept walking.

“Do you want me to get someone?” Hazel asked. Maybe if she could pass Jaime off to somebody else, somebody Jaime would actually talk to, they could all pretend like this never happened. “Rosanna, maybe?”

Jaime snorted, her shoulders heaving in a sarcastic chuckle, which gradually stretched into longer, quieter sobs. Hazel looked away. There was something about seeing someone as tough as Jaime cry that felt wrong, like it almost shouldn’t be possible. It was the first time Jaime had let her guard down, even if it was accidental, and Hazel knew she was in too deep to just walk away now.

She slowly lowered herself to the bench beside Jaime. While she knew that some people were the “just sit with me while I cry” type, she had a strong feeling that Jaime was not one of these people. She was going to have to say something.

“Luke told me about Rosanna,” Hazel began, her voice low and soft. So soft, in fact, that when Jaime didn’t say anything back right away, Hazel wondered if she hadn’t heard her. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking and loud.

Jaime turned away, her breathing shaky and shallow. Hazel squeezed her knees together and tried again. “You’ve been living here for a while, right?” she asked. “It must be hard to think about leaving.”

“I don’t care about leaving,” Jaime spat, sniffing and
slapping at the wet corners of her eyes. “I don’t care about anything, okay?”

Hazel’s pulse throbbed in her veins. Something in Jaime’s voice sounded so familiar. Cold, lost, and aloof. It was the voice she’d heard deep inside herself, on all of the nights she’d been alone. Convincing herself that nothing mattered. Nobody else cared. Why should she?

“Jaime,” Hazel started again, gripping the bench’s cool railing. “I know it’s scary, Rosanna being sick. And I know how much she means to you, but—”

“You don’t know anything,” Jaime blurted, and turned her face toward the woods, her shoulders rocking against the tops of her folded knees.

Hazel sat quietly beside her. Jaime was wrong; Hazel knew lots of things. But there wasn’t anything she could say, and her vague sympathies were clearly only making the situation worse. Hazel sighed, ready to walk away, but something nagged at her to try one last time.

“Look, I know you don’t like me very much. But if you ever feel like you want to talk about it …”

“I don’t!” Jaime shot at her, lifting her head and turning to face her with wild, bloodshot eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t even
know
you! How could I possibly like you? Just leave me alone!”

Hazel’s face burned and she rose to her feet. She could think of a thousand things she’d rather have been doing than trying to comfort Jaime in the dark. And now she was being yelled at? For trying to be nice?

Hazel shook her head and started toward the dock. She was at the water’s edge when she heard Jaime’s voice. Her head
was still pressed against her sleeve so the words were muffled and quiet. Hazel stopped and turned around. “Did you say something?” she asked quietly, half-hoping she’d imagined it.

Jaime raised her head and looked at her again. Her eyes were wide and empty, and her shoulders rose as she took a deep, calming breath. “If you tell anyone, I will kill you,” she said. “I’m not kidding. I know where you sleep.”

Hazel nodded. She felt the skin around her eyebrows tightening, her eyes burning from not blinking for so long. “Okay,” she finally said. “What is it?”