Wish Upon a Star (21 page)

But I hadn’t. I’d found the will to resist. I’d found the will, and I’d maintained the power.

I clutched the edge of the granite counter.
I had maintained the power.

I had never had power in any relationship with a guy. Sure, I’d bargained over my virginity, back in college. But I’d ultimately decided to give that gift away. And ever since, I’d been struggling to figure out who I was, what was important to me, what
mattered
when I was with a guy.

I’m sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with all the reasons I acted the way I did. I was the last-born in my family, and I was used to giving in to my pushy older sister’s demands. I was orphaned at a relatively young age, and I didn’t get to study my parents’ successful marriage, never got to pattern my own serious dating after their solid relationship. I made my career as an actress, as a person who made her real personality as transparent as possible, as insubstantial as I could, so that I could assume the colorful roles I performed onstage.

Or maybe I was just a scaredy-cat wimp, afraid to trust my instincts with men.

With
men
. But not with a genie.

I’d taken a stand with Teel. I’d withheld my fourth wish. I’d done it, in the never-world of the Garden, in a place where I could barely stand on my own two feet without being overwhelmed by dizziness. I’d stood up for what I believed, for what I wanted, what I needed. And
damn,
it felt good!

And that was what I would gain by seeing the Master Plan through to the end. I would discover that sort of power in all of my relationships, with all men. I’d be strong. Powerful. In control.

I glanced at the bedraggled peace lily in the corner. It wouldn’t be a great witness to my being such a strong person. But Tennessee would speak up on my behalf, wouldn’t he?

Er, if fish could speak.

I tapped the side of the stainless-steel bowl, making the water ripple. Tennessee deserved a better home. Something with a view of more than the ceiling. I’d track down a goldfish bowl for him after dinner.

Dinner. I’d have to hurry, or I’d be late to meet Amy and Justin. And Teel.

Sure enough, Justin launched himself across the flagstones of the Garden Variety courtyard as soon as I made my appearance. He flung his thin arms around my neck, crying, “Aunt Erin!”

I returned his hug. “Don’t you look all handsome, in your big-boy shirt and your khaki slacks!” For just a flash, the khaki of his pants reminded me of the bowling pin, of the near miss in my battle for Soldierman. Oh, well. Justin couldn’t have any idea of the treasure that had nearly been his. He didn’t know what he was missing.

And I sure wasn’t going to tell him. I had no intention of mentioning Tennessee to anyone that night. Least of all, my sister, who would be fast to accuse me of violating the Master Plan because I’d skipped ahead a week.

“Mommy said we were going to meet lots of your friends tonight. I have to be extra-special good, because you might be in a bad mood.”

“Is that what Mommy said?” I asked, rolling my eyes at Amy. She smiled innocently.

“Are you in a bad mood, Aunt Erin?”

“Not yet,” I said. But the butterflies that attacked my stomach from the inside hinted at a different story. I reminded myself that I had just gained the upper hand in the Garden. Dinner was going to be fine. Just fine.

I hoped and prayed.

In any case, Justin’s smile was as bright as Teel’s lamp had been, post-genie-release. He pointed to the bright geraniums that blazed in puddles at the edge of the courtyard. “Mommy said that I shouldn’t mention the flower she gave you. The special lily.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his eyes grew to the size of baseballs.

I forced a smile onto my lips. “Don’t worry, Justin. I don’t mind your mentioning the flower.”

Amy eyed me with suspicion. “Do you still have it?”

“Of course!” Well, that wasn’t a lie. It was still on the counter, dust, desiccated leaves and all. That was still “having” it, wasn’t it? Maybe I could crumble the leaves and feed them to Tennessee. Cover up the evidence of my failure while sustaining the next step in my personal evolution. I’d look into the suitability of peace lilies as fish food the first chance I got.

Justin reached up and tugged at my hand. “What type of restaurant is this, Aunt Erin? Can I get pizza?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “This restaurant serves a different type of food every day. They probably don’t have pizza. But you’ll like something else they have.”

“I don’t like a lot of food,” Justin said, wrinkling his nose in anticipation.

“That’s because you haven’t eaten at Garden Variety.” Rebellion was sparking in my nephew’s eyes, and I suspected that my simplistic response wasn’t going to take us very far. Instead of trying to find another conversational path, I looked at Amy. “Ready?” I asked.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” she said. I saw the amusement in her face, the certainty that I wasn’t up to keeping the Master Plan. I was ready to show her, though. I was ready to prove that I could handle anything. I opened the restaurant door, waiting for the two of them to precede me inside.

Timothy was waiting for us. “Erin,” he said, darting a private smile just for me before he reached out to shake my sister’s hand. I quickly made introductions, forbidding myself from thinking about what Timothy’s quick glance had meant, about what he might be thinking. While we’d spoken the morning after Justin’s hospital stay, I hadn’t seen him for the rest of the week. I’d purposely kept my distance, determined not to fall off the man-free wagon.

That was all part of the Master Plan.

Timothy gained innumerable coolness points by offering his hand to Justin. My nephew shook gravely, his eyes going wide. Before we could make small talk, though, the door opened again. I turned, bracing myself to see Teel, to make the stilted introductions that would no doubt amuse my sister to no end.

Instead, I bit off a string of curse words that would have taught Justin more than he’d ever heard from his father. Or his father’s platoon. Or division. Or however swearing soldiers were organized.

“Shawn!” I ladled years of onstage experience into the frosty greeting for my fellow actor. “What are you doing here?”

“Erin!” He matched my brittle greeting with an expansive shrug, leaning in to kiss me on both cheeks. “Darling, I’m here for moral support.”

I darted a glance at Timothy, who looked a little confused. He had no idea why I might need support, moral, immoral or otherwise.

Sure, I’d told Shawn about dinner. I’d wanted some sympathy. I’d wanted someone to remind me that I could juggle the evening with perfect aplomb, that I could stay sparkling and witty while my all my romantic worlds collided.

But I hadn’t expected an audience.

“I don’t need any moral support,” I said through gritted teeth.

Shawn wasn’t at all perturbed. “Then I’m here to celebrate Flag Day. Three cheers for the red, white and blue!”

Justin tugged at Amy’s hand and asked in a stage whisper, “Mommy, is that one of Aunt Erin’s friends? Is he the one who’s going to give her a bad mood?”

I barely kept from snapping at my nephew. Instead, I took my frustration out on Shawn. “Where did you leave Patrick?” I asked nastily.

“Patrick?” Shawn contrived to look utterly confused.

“Patrick Ferguson?” I demanded, planting my hands on my hips. “Your boyfriend? Let me guess. His Uncle Sam costume hasn’t come back from the cleaners.”

Shawn’s laugh was a sharp bark. “Uncle Sam is strictly amateur night, sweetie. You should see what he really wears to show his patriotism!”

Justin whispered loudly, “Mommy, what’s amateur night?”

Timothy swooped in to the rescue. “Table for four, then?”

I slanted a glance at Amy. I could see her giving Shawn the once-over, completely approving of his outrageous sense of humor, even if she immediately recognized that he would never be a challenge to the Master Plan. To the wreck of my love life. It was going to be a long, long night.

“Five,” I said through set teeth. “There will be five of us.”

Timothy shrugged. “No problem. Let me just slide that table over.” He matched actions to words, along the way producing a packet of crayons for Justin. He settled us in our chairs with an easy grace. “Wine, while you’re waiting?” he asked, already gliding toward glassware. Timothy poured generous amounts of Chianti into goblets and promised a glass of milk for Justin before disappearing into the kitchen.

Shawn watched him leave, cocking his head to one side to take a more appraising view of Timothy’s jean-clad backside. “Oh, sweetie, I think I’m going to like
this
restaurant.”

I glared at him before rolling my eyes in the general direction of my innocent nephew. “Don’t even get started,” I warned.

Before Shawn could reply, Justin shouted, “Dr. Teel!”

“Inside voice,” Amy said automatically, as we all turned toward the door. I barely heard her, though, because the temperature in the room shot up a thousand degrees. I staggered to my feet, as if I were a hostess greeting a treasured guest at a dinner party.

Teel strode across the room, comfortable, commanding. He wore a white dress shirt and charcoal slacks; he looked like he’d just come from a photo shoot at GQ. The smile that he flashed at me was so smooth, we might never have had our little confrontation in the Garden.

In fact, he looked so stunning, I found myself reconsidering the logic behind withholding my fourth wish. I’d been thinking about punishing him, about paying him back for trying to manipulate me. Maybe I should go with a different motivation instead. By holding on to my fourth wish, I could keep Teel close to me. Bind him to me forever in his sexy doctor guise…

As if he could read my thoughts, Teel walked directly to me. He kissed me hello as if he had every right to do so, not hesitating to settle his blunt fingers on my arms. Our kiss wasn’t as passionate as the one we’d shared at the hospital, but it felt more intimate, here in public, where I knew people were staring at us. I felt the corners of his lips curl against mine; he was smirking, even as he made my knees grow weak.

One tiny corner of my mind said that it was all right for me to respond to him that way. It was perfectly acceptable. He was a genie, not a man. He was wholly outside the boundaries of my Master Plan. I was going to explain that to Amy, use this dinner to illustrate the exception that proved the rule, the progress I was making with reforming my love life.

A throat cleared behind me, and I leaped away as if I’d been burned.

Of course, Timothy stood there, holding Justin’s milk. A jaunty Mickey Mouse straw sprouted from the lidded cup, the squeaky-voiced little rodent waving a cheerful hello to anyone willing to pay attention.

Which, at that moment, was precisely no one.

“Aunt Erin,” Justin said, “why are your cheeks all red?”

Surprising salvation came in the form of Shawn, who rose and offered Teel his hand. “Shawn Goldberg,” he said, and I could tell from the roughness of his voice that he, too, was smitten by my genie. Poor Patrick—he might end up regretting his decision not to honor the Stars and Stripes with the rest of us. “Pleased to meet you.”

“And this is Timothy,” Amy said, gesturing to our host. “Timothy, this is Dr. Teel. A long-time friend of my sister’s.” She didn’t bother to disguise the amusement in her voice. I wondered what made her immune to Teel’s charms. She seemed to be the only person in the room not throwing herself at my genie’s feet.

Amy, that was, and Timothy. Timothy Brennan definitely did not warm to the genie in our midst.

He wasn’t rude. He couldn’t afford that, in his own restaurant. Instead, he became excruciatingly polite. Without asking, he poured a glass of wine for Teel as we all took our seats. He offered the Chianti with a steady gaze that would equal throwing down a gauntlet in some corners of the world. Or niches of history. Whatever.

If Teel recognized that he was being challenged, he didn’t say anything. He took up his goblet with a nod, half saluting with the glass. Timothy’s lips froze partway between a smile and a snarl, and the two men continued to take the measure of each other.

Once again, Justin broke the tension. “I’m hungry, Mommy. What are we going to eat?”

My laugh was an octave higher than I wanted it to be. I tore my gaze away from the Neanderthals in front of me and gave Justin an impossibly bright smile. “That’s just what Mr. Brennan was just going to tell us!”

Timothy shrugged back on his role of host. “In honor of Flag Day, I’ve got a fruit salad with strawberries, white peaches and blueberries. Or, if you’d prefer, there’s a green salad with cherry tomatoes, white radishes and a blueberry vinaigrette. For main dishes, I have molasses braised short ribs and firecracker shrimp.”

Justin wrinkled his nose. “What’s firecracker shrimp?”

Timothy addressed him directly, as if a five-year-old could be the most important food critic in his universe. “They’re shrimp, cooked in a spicy sauce. They still have their shells on, and you can see their eyes.”

“Cool!” Justin said with excitement. I didn’t know if he’d ever tried to eat crustaceans, but the notion of food staring back at him obviously had substantial appeal.

In the end, we ordered two plates of short ribs and three of shrimp, with fruit salad to go around. As the food came out of the kitchen, I forced myself to relax. I covered my most awkward moments with a clever application of fresh, hot bread, spread thick with creamery butter. What were a few extra calories, when I had my sanity to maintain?

Shawn and Teel devoted themselves to entertaining Justin, telling stories to make him laugh. They took turns drawing Soldierman on the table’s butcher paper, and each of them spun out a story about the superhero’s adventures.

Once again, I regretted not winning the giant plush doll for my nephew. For all I knew, though, Justin was continuing to misbehave at home, continuing to drive Amy nuts with his disobedience. I certainly didn’t want to do anything to encourage my nephew to resume his flying career, or to do anything else to upset the balance in Amy’s challenging life.