One Wish Away (20 page)

Still chuckling and shaking her blonde head, she manages. “Honey, we converted those to electronic about ten years ago.” It's getting harder for her to hold her laughter in. “Were you even born then?”

I'm trying not to get frustrated or upset but my hands are balling into fists.
Deep breaths, Lyra
.

“Can I use a computer then?”

“Sure, dear. Just sign here.” She pushes the sheet toward me and I quickly scribble my name. The pen freezes as I see the signature a few lines above mine.

Ann Altair.

Ms. Cannon is joking about “silly students” when I cut her off.

“What was my mom here for?”

The laughter stops and her green eyes meet mine.

“Your mom's always here, Lyra. I don't know the exact piece she's working on now but she's been spending every waking moment with it.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.”

I practically run to the computer, I'm so embarrassed about the scene I've made. Ms. Cannon must think I'm crazy.

I spend the next six hours, until closing, scouring the references for differences between my memory and what they say. It turns out when millions of people are saved, a lot changes.

Ms. Cannon clears her throat for the third time and I look up to see I'm the only one left. I log off the computer and give her a sheepish grin, not daring to open my mouth again.

As I breathe in the early evening air, I feel a little lighter, a little less confused. There's something about confirming the changes that relaxes me a bit. There are no patterns, no simple answers. We've done pretty well with our predictive algorithms. And we can only get better.

A smile is winding its way onto my face when I hear a loud crash from the bar on my right. The door opens and a man stumbles out, yelling, “I don't want to come back here anymore anyway!”

I divert my gaze and focus on my feet, until he walks past. Something convinces me to walk up to the bar and pull the door open.

Just a peek.

My heart sinks when I see her at the bar, a far off look in her eyes. The bartender is saying something and she's nodding her head, but it's apparent she's not hearing any of it.

I walk through the door and rest a hand on my mother's shoulder.

“Hi Mom,” I whisper, stealing glances around me. I know it's just a bar, but judging from the guy who just left, it doesn't hurt to keep my guard up.

“Lyra?” Mom's eyebrows scrunch as she turns her head. “What are you doing here?”

She doesn't smell that strongly of alcohol. Maybe she doesn't really have a problem. Just has no idea where else to go. Doesn't feel like her home is really her home.

I can totally understand that.

I clear my throat. The guy behind the bar smiles through his beard, eyes kind, urging me to talk to her.

“I was at the library and, well, I thought maybe you'd be in here and we could walk home together or something.” I don't want to tell her I saw her name on the computer sign-out book. “The guy that left seemed upset…everything alright?”

My throat is getting tight. She looks so sad.

“That guy was an ass,” my mother says and tilts her head back, finishing her glass.

“He was,” the bartender says and takes the glass away. “Why don't you go on home with your daughter, Ann.”

“How'd you know I'm her daughter?” It comes out a little more defensive than I would have liked.

He looks me up and down with a pull on his lip.

“Even if it weren't for the fact you two are practically identical, she talks enough about you that I swear I could pick you out of any crowd.” He looks at her. “Time to go.”

“All right, Harry. All right.”

I'm in so much shock at the fact that my mother talks about me that she's halfway out the door before I realize.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Harry,” Mom shouts from the doorway.

“Why don't you take off a day from work? Spend time with that daughter of yours.” He winks at me, but overall he doesn't look happy.

I hurry to catch up to her. “Yeah, Mom, we should do something.” I give a small wave to Harry, that he returns, and I let the door close.

“I've got to get this story done. After the story we can do something.”

The pictures I saw last night explain why she's obsessed with this story, why she feels she needs to report every detail. But I have a feeling it still won't give her the satisfaction or happiness she's searching for.

“I'm sorry, Lyra,” she whispers.

“For what?” I choke out.

There's a few seconds of silence where I think she might not answer. But finally she shakes her head a bit.

“Everything.”

I don't know how to respond, so I don't. We just walk side by side, both staring at our feet. And while we might not exchange any words, I think we're making progress. At least a little. It is the most time I've spent with my mother in recent memory.

Dad's car isn't in the driveway, no surprise there. We enter the house and she immediately heads for the stairs.

“Goodnight, Lyra,” she says without turning around.

“Goodnight, Mom.”

Everything is so messed up, but I'm finally starting to believe that this, too, is a good thing. Having another chance is better than wondering if she'll ever come back.

The weekend went by way too fast. The party at Gary's Diner was the most fun I've had in a long time. But Monday, school was harder to get through than most days.

I throw my calculus book on top of British Literature. I could bring it home again, but am I really going to work the advanced problems? We have another meeting at SEAD about the next wish and then I have a ton of paperwork to file for Aunt Steph.

“Wait! Wait! Don't close it!”

I peer around the door of our locker and watch as Darren sidesteps a football player before reaching me.

“Thanks.” He rolls his eyes and smiles, his breath beating rapidly out of his chest.

“It's not like you don't know the combination.” A weird sort of laugh leaves my lips and I stand dumbfounded against the wall of lockers watching Darren shuffle through his messy shelf.

“Well it's easier this way. Plus, I wanted to talk to you before you left for work, since you said we probably couldn't hang out tonight.” He stands and dramatically closes the locker, then falls against it.

“Okay…” I draw out the word and give him a sideways glance. “We'll see each other tomorrow.”

“I know.” He shrugs and blows the hair out of his eyes. “But that's a long time.”

“It is?” My lip tugs at the sweetness in this statement.

“Yeah. It is.”

There's a beat of silence, where I can't make myself do anything but stare at him, wondering how I could possibly have someone who cared enough to go out of his way to spend a few seconds with me.

The warning bell for last period rings, sending everyone in the hall rushing, and shaking us out of our thoughts.

“Well, good luck with the big meeting. Can't wait to hear about it tomorrow.”

“Thanks. And you know you will.”

Darren kisses my forehead. Even though this has become his “thing”, it still makes my heart flutter every time. I watch as he walks away.

I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

It's strange how one minute it seems as though my life is imploding and the next I can't imagine being anywhere else, as anyone else, with anyone else.

I'm in a fog as I walk out of the school, having to float back to my locker because I left my stupid backpack resting against it.

It's eerily quiet out in the parking lot, since every other student is still in class. Surprisingly, my father's waiting for me when I get outside.

“How was school?” he asks as I slowly pull myself into the passenger seat.

“Fine.” I'm sure he can sense the distance in my voice.

I know I can.

“Hm. Okay. That's good to hear.”

Typical Dad. Sense an awkward moment, confusion or confrontation and avoids it. He still hasn't told anyone at SEAD his wife has returned. Can't wait till Aunt Steph finds out. Thankfully weekly family dinners have kept the recent pattern of
monthly
family dinners.

I watch the desert-like landscape as Dad drives us to the SEAD building.

“You'll never guess what happened to me today,” Dad says and I try to change my expression so I seem interested. What's wrong with me? Only a few weeks ago I couldn't wait to have a real conversation with him. Now my mind is occupied with other things. Like wishes and Mom returning and terrorists and diseases. And Darren.

“Got a call on my direct line from some reporters, wanting to know my stance on the missing stars. I was wondering how long it would take them to call the best.” He chuckles and rubs his hands up and down the steering wheel. He glances at me, his voice more serious. “I really wanted to tell them the truth, Lyra. To say I invented the most miraculous contraption the world has ever seen.” There's a moment of silence as he stares out the window. “I had to give them the usual response. ‘We don't know and we're looking into it.' It makes me seem rather incompetent.”

“You're anything but incompetent, Dad,” I say, knowing how much he needs my supportive words right now. I give him a large smile, which he returns with a nod. Once I feel like he's in a better mood again, I turn to look out the window.

My heart stops and I sit up in my seat, my eyes glued to the side view mirror. I'm fairly certain a red car turned onto the road behind us. It's so far back, and with the sun bouncing off the sand and road. I can't be one-hundred percent sure.

“Dad, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“We're almost there, kiddo—”

“
Now!
”

He veers into the only gas station, technically the only
building
, between where we are and SEAD.

“Pull around. The bathrooms are in the back.”

“Are you okay? Do you feel sick?”

“Yes. I feel sick.” The car hasn't fully stopped, and I jump out and run for the bathroom around the backside of the building, hoping my father follows my lead.

I breathe again when he does, the tires rolling to a halt, hiding the car from the road. I don't stop at the bathroom. I move around the corner of the building and wait, watching the street for the vehicle.

The speed limit was fifty-five and he was probably about a mile behind us so that would mean he should pass the station…

Now.

My knees buckle as I watch the car fly down the road. Immediately, I try and convince myself it's a coincidence. But it can't be. I haven't taken many statistics courses, but the chances of this have to be slim. Someone is watching us. And since they're doing it in an expensive, red vehicle, they're not too worried about us knowing.

So why do they want to freak us out?

And what do they want?

“Lyra? Honey?”

I bend over and pretend to dry heave. My father's hand rests on my shoulder.

“I think we should get you home. No work for you tonight.” He rubs up and down my back, oblivious to the fact someone is stalking us and we don't know why.

The drive back is silent, my eyes transfixed on the side mirror. The red car doesn't reappear, but I'm still freaking out.

“I'm going to bed,” I say as I get out of the car and walk to the front door.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

He doesn't say it but I know the silent part of that last sentence,
before I leave
. He's going back to work.

He can't go. Who knows who's out there and what they want? How long have they been following him? Do they follow Aunt Stephanie?

I turn halfway up the staircase. “Please don't leave. Don't go to work. They can do without you for one evening, right?”

My breathing is rapid and my limbs are shaking again. Before I realize it, Dad's hands are wrapped around my shoulders, his green eyes looking me over.

“Kiddo, you need to calm down. I know this is a lot right now, with your mother and all. But it will be okay. We're going to be okay.”

“It's not that,” I say it before I even realize. It is that, but it's also so much more.

“There's something else you want to talk about?”

I feel my eyes moving in their sockets. This is the perfect time to tell him.

But would he believe me? If I don't have any proof he'll dismiss my hypothesis. This is his life's work. His baby. Without definitive evidence he won't believe he's in danger.

“Just some stomach thing,” I say, looking at his worn jeans.

It's silent for a few seconds. His lips move around awkwardly. Then he says, “I'll stay here. Maybe I'll catch up on some sleep too.”

I nod and turn to go upstairs, relieved. Before I reach the last step I realize I am exhausted. Every part of my body, especially my mind is mush. Somehow I make it to my window and check the street for any sign of red. Satisfied there's nothing there, I flop into bed, throw the covers over me and beg myself to let it all go. To bury myself in sleep. Maybe when I wake up, life won't seem as overwhelming.

Yeah, you wish.

*

Soft, gentle fingers touch my cheek, brush back my hair. Immediately, I know who they belong to.

“Hey,” Darren whispers as I open my eyes.

“Hey.”

Darren's eyes are level with mine. He's kneeling next to my bed, his chin on my mattress. I hope there's not a puddle of drool under my right cheek.

“Your Dad called me. Said you got really sick on the way to work.” His fingers continue to run over my cheek, threatening to put me to sleep again.

“He also said he was worried something else was bothering you.”

My eyes, which had drifted closed, pop open. “He said that?”