Page 87 of Wished

My stomach dips as I take in the chateau, its windows lit and reflecting the warm gold of the setting sun, its weathered stone painted a sparkling pink. The flower gardens around the house, planted in this new reality, give a welcoming feel. Even the swifts swooping between the towers and the chimneys have a sprite-like, playful feel.

It’s a home. It’s really, really a home.

I know now what this feels like. I was making onion soup last night for dinner, whiskey poured into the pot, a loaf of bread in the oven, when the thought struck me right over the head.

The last time I made onion soup, after I was fired, my mom said I had a problem with honesty. She reminded me of all the times I’d made us take the bus back to the store or turn around because I realized a store clerk had accidentally given us too much change. One franc. Two. Ten. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the money wasn’t mine and it was wrong to keep it. I returned it every time. Because if I didn’t, I would feel sick to my stomach, cold in my hands, and I’d worry until I did the right thing.

This wish. This marriage. Max’s love.

It’s the same thing.

The store clerk gave me too much change. It’s not mine and I have to return it.

This marriage isn’t mine, and Max’s love isn’t mine, and the longer I hold onto it without turning around, the worse it’s going to feel.

Because it isn’t right.

Max turns into the garage, pulls the car to a stop, and kills the engine. “Happy to be home?” he asks, smiling over at me. “Back to work. I’ll be late tomorrow night, but I imagine you’ll be out late too, catching up—although I expect everyone did an excellent job while you were away?—”

I set my hand on his arm and cut him off. “If you were at a shop and you realized they gave you five francs too much in change, would you give it back?”

Max lifts an eyebrow. “Of course.”

I nod, wetting my dry lips. “And if it were one franc?”

“Still yes.”

“What about a cent—something that seemed completely inconsequential?”

He nods. “Yes. Accounting is the devil. I wouldn’t wish an unbalanced end of day on anyone.”

My heart thuds painfully, sounding loud in my ears. With the engine off, the car is hushed and still. The air grows warm and heavy. The interior lights cast a cool glow over us.

“What if,” I ask, “instead of a franc, you were accidentally given something more? A million francs. And, say, you were poor and had always dreamed of a million francs because of everything you could do with it. No one knew that it wasn’t really yours, so you could keep it, enjoy it, experience ... love. Would you? Or would you give it back?”

Max frowns, studying the light glowing over my face. He’s thinking, taking his time with his answer. The leather of the seat is warm beneath me and the motor-oil scent of the garage spills into the car. It’s a comforting, normal sort of smell, a normal sort of situation, sitting in a car with a man in a dimly lit garage.

Except this question is more meaningful than the usual driveway conversations.

I’m asking Max whether or not he wants me to give him up.

Because, let’s face it, if I can’t undo this wish, then I’m going to have to leave him.

This love isn’t mine to keep.

I only wonder if he’ll agree.

“I would know,” he finally says, his voice thoughtful. “Perhaps no one else would ever know, but I would know. What I think of myself matters a hell of a lot more than what anyone else thinks of me. At the end of every day, I want to be able to say that I did my best, I treated others well, I told the truth, I didn’t do anything that later on I’d be ashamed of. I’d return it, love. Even if it hurt to give it up, it’d hurt worse to keep it.”

My throat is tight and raw, so instead of speaking, I nod. Finally, I swallow down the peach-pit-size lump and say, “That’s what I thought.”

“You’d give it back too.” He smiles at me, reaching out and brushing a knuckle over my cheek.

“Yes,” I say, knowing that even if I’m in this reality forever, I can’t keep what isn’t mine.

“Why the questions?” he asks, his hand lingering on my jaw.

I turn my face into his warmth. “Just wondering.”

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