Page 14 of A Box of Wishes
“Ben! Talk to me.” Ryan reached for Ben’s hands and found them icy cold. “Tell me what happened?” He chafed Ben’s fingers between his own, wondering how to get through to a man who wasn’t hearing him and didn’t seem to understand his words.
Ben needed help. The blaze in Ryan’s chest made that clear. But Ben didn’t know how the box worked, so how could he tell Ben to write a wish, if Ben wouldn’t explain what had happened?
Paula arrived then, bearing a tray with a pot of tea, a slice of cake, and a small jug of milk alongside the blue square of paper and the silver marker pen. Ryan shot her a grateful smile, and nodded when she mouthed,I’ll mind the store. He poured tea, added a tiny splash of milk the way Ben did, and set the cup in front of him.
“Ben. Drink. You need it.”
The scent of tea reached Ben where Ryan’s words had failed. Ben picked up the teacup and drank. Ryan waited until he’d drained half of it before he prompted, “Ben. What happened?”
A deep breath shuddered out of Ben’s chest, followed by a sigh that was almost a sob. “It’s Morris. He was… I don’t know… in an accident. I found him on the doorstep and there was blood everywhere. That’s why I was late. I had to take… take him to the vet… and they said… they couldn’t tell me… And I can’t—”
Ryan hugged Ben’s shoulders. He rubbed gentle circles on his back, hoping to soothe and comfort. His mind whirled, trying on this possibility and that, and coming up mostly empty. In the end, he settled for asking. “Who is Morris?”
“My cat. He’s the only one I have. He goes out, but he’s always there in the morning, wakes me up, better than any alarm clock. Today, he wasn’t there when I woke. I thought he’d found something exciting on his walk, but when I stepped out of the house…”
Ben turned anguished eyes to Ryan then. Eyes so full of hurt Ryan almost recoiled.
“He’s all I have,” he whispered. “If he were…”
Ryan had heard enough. He pressed the silver marker into Ben’s hand and set the slate blue paper square in front of him. “Here. Write your dearest wish. Then fold up the paper and put it in the box on the bar.”
“What?”
“Write your dearest wish. It’s important. It will help, I promise.”
Ben didn’t argue. He uncapped the pen, wrote two lines of which Ryan only caught the wordplease. Then he folded the little blue square into quarters and held it out. His hand shook.
“No.” The pain in his chest restricted Ryan’s breathing and turned his voice to rasp and gravel. “You need to put it in the box yourself and ask for help while you do it.”
Ben rose, and Ryan scrambled off the bench to make room. He followed Ben to the Box of Wishes, wondering what he thought of Ryan’s suggestion. Or whether, worried and imagining doomsday scenarios, he could think at all.
Ben dropped the little blue square into the box and then leaned on the counter, as if he had performed a Herculean task.
Ryan had seen other people act like this. He’d often wondered if asking for help could be as hard as it appeared. Or if all the work went into convincing the logical part of one’s mind that magic was real.
He waited for the pain in his chest to ease, waited for the customary wave of lethargy, of Fate letting him know he’d done his job, but it never came.
The heat in his chest resembled severe indigestion that neither a drink of water nor a good rub with the heel of his hand could soothe. The sensation was growing stronger, and that made no sense.
Had Ben made the wrong wish? Or was there another person in the room who needed help? Was that why the pain was so fierce?
School rush was over, but it was still early enough that only six of the tables were taken. Ryan’s gaze swept from customer to customer, but they were intent on their conversation, or focussed on their work. None of the men and women showed signs of distress. It was Ben, with his aura like grey sludge, who had triggered the familiar reactions. And Ben had made his wish and asked for help.
Frowning, Ryan stepped around the bar and pulled another square of paper from the cubbyhole.
This one was green.
Ryan’s stash of papers was extensive, but no green square had ever come to his hand. More to the point, this shade of green was his own colour. And he’d never required the help he’d seen others ask of the Box of Wishes.
Until now.
Was Morris’s case so desperate that it needed two wishes to fix it? Was the paper even meant for him?
Ryan never asked for reasons when he did Fate’s bidding. His ability to gauge people’s hurts and his body’s reactions guided him well enough. Ben’s aura was still a sludgy, wavering grey. And the pain told Ryan it was time to ask for help.
He picked up the pen, wrote his wish, and dropped the paper into the box with a silent breath of thanks.
Fate stopped nudging him. The fire in his chest dwindled to embers. And with the warmth came a swell of comfort that reminded him of his ma tucking him into bed when he’d been ill as a child. The wave was so strong he felt his eyes prickle with tears. He sniffled, unwilling to make a spectacle of himself in front of his customers. But when he looked up, he saw only soft, knowing smiles.
