Page 37 of Wished

“Wow,” I whisper.

Max looks forward again, back at the road and the estate. He lets out a surprised exhale. The car slows as he lifts his foot, and the engine noise settles into a soft purr.

“It almost looks like a home,” he says, his mouth twisting.

“It is a home. You live there,” I say, although I know what he means. A house isn’t always a home. Sometimes it’s just the place you stay until you’re strong enough to leave.

Max gives me a wry look. “Yes. I live there.” Then he asks, “Why marriage, Anna?”

The limestone gravel crunches under the tires and I squirm in my seat. My skin is warm. There’s a cavernous emptiness in my center and an embarrassed niggling in my chest begging me not to admit the truth.

I can’t tell him.

Hi, Max. I fell in love with you three years ago. You probably don’t remember it, but it was life-changing for me. I made the wish because I’m an idiot and for some reason I thought we were meant to be together.

I know what his reaction would be. Disbelief. Disgust. Anger. Antipathy. Take your pick. One or all of the above. The reaction that won’t occur is “I love you too.”

So, instead of telling the truth, I give a reflection of the truth. “I wanted to know what it was like.”

He looks over at me quickly. “Whatwhatwas like?”

In his question is the answer.

As he pulls the car to a stop, parking it in front of the door, I say, “This.” I gesture at the glittering estate, at the interior of the car, at Max. “I’ve been cleaning your house for three years. I’ve been looking from the outside in. I wanted to know what being married to you was like.”

The words beat their wings against the walls of my chest. A partial truth. A distortion of what’s real.

He cuts the engine and the car descends into a heavy silence. Max stares straight ahead, taking in the new shine on the gray stone and the patchwork of colorful flowers dotting the lawn.

“You made a wish on a necklace to see what it was like to live in my house instead of clean it? You saw me, thought I had a nice place, and decided you wanted it? And what the hell, while you were at it, you’d take me too?” His jaw clenches and his hands tighten on the steering wheel.

My stomach drops at his accusation. It doesn’t feel right, having him think that of me. But what’s worse: Max thinking I wanted a Cinderella moment, or Max knowing I fell in love with him years ago and never quite got over it?

The first, he’ll think I’m greedy and perhaps dislike me.

The second, he’ll think I’m naïve and he’ll pity me.

So instead of denying his accusation, I lift a shoulder in a careful shrug.

“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry to be the one to disillusion you, but the saying is true. Not all that glitters is gold.”

At that he swings open his door and says, “Let’s go.”

11

The doorto the safe is wide-open, the oil painting on the wall swung aside. The library is quiet, with the scent of books and leather shifting between us. Nothing in the library has changed. It’s the same as it was yesterday, and likely the same as it was decades ago.

Max and I stand facing each other behind the wooden desk. The metal safe is built into the wall and its mouth gapes wide. There are other items inside. Documents. Jewelry. A few stacks of crisp bills in multiple denominations and currencies.

Max holds the sapphire necklace in his hand. The mid-morning sunlight stretches across the library and hits the stones so they shine like a cascading waterfall.

“Do it,” Max says. “Reverse your wish.”

I tilt my head, stare up into his eyes. I wonder what he remembers about the past seven years. I wonder if he’ll remember any of it when we go back to the way we were.

It doesn’t matter. It’s not real.

I lift my hand and press my fingers into the cool surface of the sapphires. “I wish,” I say, my voice shaking, “Max and I weren’t married.”

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