Page 1 of With This Wish

Chapter One

Maya

The sound of metal cutting wood greets me as I walk toward the converted storage shed, the smell of sawdust hitting my nose and the noise growing steadily louder with each step I take that brings me closer to my brother’s workspace. When I finally make it to the open side door, I peek my head around the corner as inconspicuously as possible as to not spook my brother while he works with his power tools. Carter has his large, noise-canceling headphones on to block the buzzing sounds that echo around the small space, but even with that one sense blocked he is still very aware of his surroundings. I know that if he catches even a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye, he’s going to jump right out of his skin and possibly cause a small accident, or worse, a not-so-small one. Carter is easily startled to an almost comical extent. It probably has to do with all the thriller and mystery novels he reads, something he should probably change since there’s no way he’ll give up his profession as a woodworker anytime soon.

Woodworking was a trade Carter learned from our father, Stellan Johansen. The Norwegian Viking of a man had tried teaching me as well, and while I can still probably put together a pretty decent cutting board or footstool, I haven’t ever been nearly as talented or as interested in the trade as Carter always was. Instead, I chose to focus mainly on the acquisition side of the business. Hodgepodge, the aptly named space where we sell a varied collection of goods and furnishings, has been around for decades. Years ago, our maternal grandfather started the business, bringing together items from local artisans, craftsman, and vendors to sell in one place to the people of Starlight Lake, Colorado, as well as members of other surrounding mountain communities and tourists of the area. Our mom, Olive, worked at the shop from the time she was a teenager, manning the cash register and interacting with the customers. At the age of twenty-two, she met our dad when he traveled to the store to sell his hand-carved chairs, stools, and benches. According to both our parents, it was love at first sight, and after a whirlwind romance, they married and had Carter less than a year later.

Ours were the greatest parents any two kids could ask for. They were endlessly supportive of my and Carter’s endeavors, even when I decided to pursue a major in Art History my freshman year of college in Boulder. Sadly, that degree is incomplete, the space on the wall in the office for my diploma as empty as my desire to finish my studies. My senior year at Boulder University didn’t quite go as planned, with Mom and Dad getting killed in a fatal car accident derailing everything. It was late fall, and I only had a couple of weeks of classes left before I would head home for winter break when I got the call from Carter that would forever alter the course of my life. Our lives. That call is seared into my memory. As much as I try to forget the sound of my brother’s broken voice as he said the words I can never forget, it’s the same sound I felt in my heart the minute his words registered. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to erase that call from my mind. Time continues to pass, but the memory remains.

“Maya, it’s Mom and Dad.” The echo of Carter’s voice comes flying back from the past and I rub at the pain in my chest at the thought of that night. Who would have thought I would go from sitting in my dorm room, hanging out with my roommate, to packing my bags and moving home for good? I had to do it. Carter and I were all the other had left, and truthfully, after your parents die, finishing college just doesn’t seem that important anymore. As if that hadn’t been enough change for one lifetime, about three weeks after our parents’ car was run off the icy mountain road by a drunk driver, Carter and I got more bad news. Our parents had taken out a second mortgage on their house to cover recent renovations to the store, leaving Carter and I with the choice of either trying to take over the monthly payments ourselves, or selling our childhood home. I remember Carter and I looking at each other dumbfounded when our parents’ lawyer, Mr. Barnaby, delivered the news.

“What does this mean for us?” Carter had asked incredulously. “I thought Dad paid off the house a long time ago?”

The lawyer shook his head sadly. “It was still a few years from being paid off, and your father took out a second mortgage a few months back,” he informed us.

“Why?” I asked. “Why would Dad do that?” Their dad would never have risked their childhood home for a new paint job.

Barnaby simply shrugged. “It seems there were some repairs needed after termites were discovered a year or so ago. I’m guessing your father figured he would do a total refresh on the business while he was at it, but that’s only a guess. We can’t really know his motivations.”

Right, because he was gone now. My head turned to my brother, and I gawked at him, still in shock. “Did you know about any of this?”

My brother’s red-rimmed eyes met mine. “I knew about the termite damage and needing to fix it, but I had no idea about any of the money stuff.” He sniffled and wiped at his wet eyes with the sleeve of his flannel. “I’ve just been working on building things, Mai. I didn’t know anything about the house.”

“I can’t believe they didn’t say anything.” How could neither of us have known about this?

He shook his head. “You were at school, I live above the store. They didn’t really have a reason to tell us anything about the house,” he said quietly.

I turned back to Barnaby. “What are our options?” I had asked, panicked at the thought of losing the house Carter and I grew up in. We created so many happy memories there and I couldn’t imagine losing the space that held them.

The lawyer gathered up his papers and tapped them on the kitchen table where we held the meeting. “Well, you can take over the payments yourself…” he had started, but when he saw the look of despair on our faces, he cut himself off with a sigh. “Then you’ll have to sell it to pay back the bank. If you’re lucky, there might be enough left over to do something nice for yourselves.”

“Like what?” I asked with a snort. “We can’t buy new parents.” I winced at my snarky tone and looked up at the man apologetically. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I wish you both the best,” he told us. He shoved the papers in his briefcase and turned to leave, barely noticing that he just ruined our world for a second time in a month.

A splintering sound rockets me from the difficulties of the past and back to the present. I shake my head to clear away the unpleasant memories and walk toward my brother, watching as he curses under his breath before tossing the split wood into his scrap pile. Now that he’s at a break in his work, I can do what I came here to do. My fingers reach up and tap lightly on Carter’s shoulder, trying to touch as little of his sweat-soaked t-shirt as possible.

My brother reaches up and pulls his headphones off from the top of his damp hair. “What’s up, Mai?” he asks, using the nickname he’s had for me since the day I was born. Even though we’re both in our twenties, Carter still calls me Mai in just about every situation. Whenever he uses my full name, though, I know something is wrong.

“Not much,” I say, passing over the cool bottle of water I snagged from the office mini-fridge. My fingers tap against the side of my wool leggings as I muster up the courage to ask him my question. “So, what are you working on?” That’s not the question I want to ask, but it’s a whole lot easier than the other one.

Carter wipes some sweat from his brow. Despite it being November and the temperature in the mid-forties, the garage is warm and Carter seems to have been at it since early this morning. He was always a hard worker, but since our parents passed, he’s been more singularly focused on his projects. “Well, I was attempting to curve the wood for the back of a rocking chair, but the damn thing split on me,” he grumbles. He pulls off his work gloves and runs his hand through his hair, the brown darker than normal due to how damp it is. “I just can’t seem to do anything right today.”

Carter’s inability to focus isn’t surprising seeing as how tomorrow is the second anniversary of our parents’ passing. Last year, Carter had spent the anniversary camping out near the lake in quiet retrospection while I spent it with our Aunt Sue, distracting ourselves from our grief by reminiscing about the good times we had with them before they left us. Sue isn’t our aunt by blood, but she was Mom’s best friend since they were little and has always been a part of our lives in some small way. She lives in Los Angeles now, working as a successful salesperson. Sue is always busy, but she makes time for us, coming back to visit a couple of times a year. It’s not the same as having Mom here, but it helps.

The toe of my boot scuffs at the concrete floor as I gaze around the workshop. It would be easy to make more small talk to avoid the inevitable, but I’ve put it off long enough. “Hey, Car?” When my brother’s moss-green eyes meet mine, I can see just how tired they are. We both have a hard time sleeping this time of year. I had hoped things would get better for the two of us with time, but it seems that two years hasn’t been enough. “Will you come to the holiday lighting with me tonight?”

The Starlight Lake holiday lighting ceremony is something we always used to do as a family. Each year in early November, the citizens of Starlight Lake gather in the town square to countdown the moments before the mayor flips a switch that turns on thousands of white twinkle lights strung up in trees and on buildings throughout the downtown area. The lights themselves are beautiful, but it’s the spectacle and the comradery of gathering with hundreds of other people that my family and I enjoyed most. We attended every year. Once the shop was closed, our parents would take us to dinner at the local café and then we’d walk toward the town square, stopping at the large fountain to toss in a penny and make a wish for the upcoming year. After that, we would grab a hot chocolate from the coffee cart and wait with the rest of the townspeople for the lights to come on, listening to local bands play holiday music as people danced and sang along. Those nights were magical, and while it was too painful to attend last year, I’m ready to go and be a part of things again. We’ve been putting our lives on hold long enough.

“Come on, Carter,” I beg my brother, but by the fixed stare on his face, I can tell my plea is falling on deaf ears. “Please?”

He’s already shaking his head and turning his attention back to his project. “Sorry, Mai. I’m really behind on a few things and then I’m going camping later.” He grips the edge of the table tightly, his posture stiff for a moment before he looks over his shoulder at me. “I’m just not ready yet,” he breathes out, his expression pained.

In two quick steps, I’m at my brother’s side, wrapping my arms around him to give him comfort and let him know that even though I would love to have him with me, I understand better than anyone just how much pain he’s dealing with. We all grieve differently, and I won’t rush him no matter how much his being there would mean to me. Carter takes a deep breath and pats my back. “Maybe next year,” he tells me, but I won’t hold him to it. The memories tied to the lighting festival are special. I don’t want to risk tainting them.

“That would be nice,” I tell him, giving him one more squeeze before releasing him to go open the shop. I make my way to the door, but pause to give Carter one last smile. “How about you join me for lunch later? We can eat at the counter while people shop.”

Carter smiles sadly at me and nods. “That sounds nice.”

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