What You Wish For (9 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: What You Wish For
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“We did it for you, Izz,” Artie said gently.
“Yeah, we did, Izzie,” Gerry said just as gently.
“Good for you. Good for all of us. This calls for a drink,” Isabel said, handing over the bottle to her friends. “Do you agree? It's an omen?”
Both men shook their heads.
“Then, gentlemen, you may each take one of my arms and walk me back to my house that is shortly going to be redone. I have a plan.”
“Ah, she has a plan,” Artie said.
“I love a good plan. Especially when it comes together. Why don't you skip your breakfast meeting and Izzie can have her housekeeper make us some of her famous Belgian waffles?” Gerry said.
“Okay. I'm certainly dressed for it,” Artie said, pointing to his pajamas and slippers.
Isabel stopped in her tracks. She turned around to face her two old friends. “A person is rich if he or she can claim one good friend. I'm rich beyond measure since I have two such good friends. I don't know what I would have done without you two.”
“It's the other way around, Izz. Gerry and I are the lucky ones. Whoever would have thought, all these years later, we'd still be coming here and still be friends,” Artie said gruffly.
“Let's eat on the patio,” Isabel said.
“Sounds good. I can't wait to hear this plan of yours,” Gerry said, his eyebrows knitting into a straight line across his wrinkled forehead. “It's about Helen Ward, isn't it?”
“Yes. It's about Helen Ward.”
 
“So are you ready?” Sam barked through the closed door. “C'mon, the fish are biting, and I want to eat fish tonight. I'm going to load the car. You bring the dogs and whatever you think you might need, okay?”
Helen opened the door. “Are you always this cheerful in the morning?” Overhead, birds chirped as the sun began to peek through the new growth on the trees. It was going to be a wonderful day.
“I'm trying to make up for canceling our dinner the other night.”
“I told you I didn't mind. It's still dark out, Sam.”
“It's getting light. Sometime I'll take you night fishing. Just you and the moon and the stars. No stress, no strain. Just you and the fish.”
“I'm throwing mine back if I catch any.”
“You're what?” Sam said, pretending horror.
“I could never kill something and then eat it.”
“You eat meat, don't you?”
“Hardly ever. I'm basically a vegetarian. The chicken I made the other night was the first meat I'd had in months. I
never
eat red meat.”
“I'm carnivorous.” Sam grinned. “I packed us a lunch just in case.”
“I'm ready. Does Max bring his blanket with him?”
“No, leave it behind. He'll be so busy chasing squirrels and rabbits, he'll forget about it, and he has your dog to play with.”
“Are there ticks there? If a dog gets a tick on his spine, it will paralyze him until it's taken out.”
“I didn't know that. We'll keep a sharp eye. How do you know about that?”
“I saw it on the Internet.”
Helen picked up Lucie and settled her on the backseat of Sam's Chevy Blazer. “Be a good girl now and don't jump off.” She smiled when Max leaped onto the seat and nudged her hand away from Lucie.
“I think he's trying to tell you something.” Sam laughed.
Helen frowned. “Your dog is very possessive. I'm not sure I like that,” Helen said defensively.
Sam slammed the door of the cargo hold and stared at her. “You're serious, aren't you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I don't understand. The dogs like each other. You should be glad, like I am, that they have someone to keep them company all day when they're alone.”
Helen felt flustered as she walked around to the passenger side of the 4 x 4 and climbed in.
“Is this something you don't want to talk about, or is it none of my business?”
“Both,” Helen said.
“I guess I can respect that. Would you rather talk about the world situation or how about that business you're starting? By the way, how's the job going?”
“Waitressing isn't easy. The tips aren't what I thought they would be. The people are nice, though, so that helps. I can eat and drink all I want. The hours are good, too, so I can't really complain. It isn't my life's work. What are you going to be doing this summer?”
“I teach a few courses at Rutgers a couple of days a week for extra money. I'm helping a couple of my more promising students study for the GMATS. Like you, the hours allow me to do other things. Max likes to hike, and I fish or just get in the truck and go. I do some tent camping a few times during the summer. All things considered, I lead an uneventful life. Then there are the barbecues and the blind dates my friends insist on.”
“Oh.”
“Oh? That's it, oh? Does that mean you don't like blind dates or you don't like me going on blind dates?”
“Do blind dates ever develop into anything?”
“Not for me. You know what my true test is when I meet a young woman?”
“No. What?”
“Max. Some women just aren't animal people, dog people in particular. I cross them off my list right away. I can't imagine life without an animal in it. Sometimes they pretend they like old Max, but I can see through that right away. If he doesn't warm up to someone I bring home, I don't bring her home a second time. Take you. He liked you right away. Hell, he even licked your hand. There was only one other female he liked, but she didn't like me. She told me right to my face accounting people were boring and unimaginative and she didn't want to waste her time on someone like me.”
Helen laughed. “Did she really say that or are you making it up?”
“So help me God. She designed galoshes. You know, rubber boots. Fishing boots and rain boots. All the colors of the rainbow, red, purple, bright yellow. Those babies sell like crazy, too.”
Helen continued to laugh.
“You should do that more often. You're pretty when you laugh.”
Lucie barked sharply, Max joining in. Helen laughed again. “I'll have to remember that.”
“You were supposed to say I'm handsome when I laugh. No, no, don't say it now, it's too late.”
“Actually, what I was going to say was I admire a sunny disposition so early in the morning. Truly, I admire anyone who can get up early and be cheerful. I'm pretty much of a grouch until I've had three cups of coffee.”
“You're forgiven. Do you know how to cook fish?”
“You mean a whole fish or a filet?”
“Either-or?”
“Assuming we catch some fish and assuming you clean them up and fillet them, I think I can do my part. What did you pack in the picnic basket?”
“Tell me what you packed first,” Sam said craftily.
“I asked you first.”
God, I'm flirting.
A warm feeling spread up and down Helen's arms. A nice feeling, she decided, and long overdue.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and apples. Good stick-to-your-ribs food. What'd you bring?”
“Tuna and egg salad. I wasn't sure which one to make so I made both and then mixed them together. Overall, it's an interesting taste. Nut rolls that I made myself last night and some apple wedges and orange slices. I bought some treats for the dogs. Lu . . . my dog loves them. I guess none of us will starve,” Helen babbled, aware that she'd almost slipped again. She risked a glance at Sam to see if he'd picked up on the slip. He seemed oblivious.
The balance of the ride to Round Valley was made with small bursts of chatter mostly centering on the weather, Sam's students, and tales of both dogs.
“Wow, I thought we'd be the first ones here. Just goes to show the fish must be biting. You are going to get an education today, Miss Baker.”
“I can hardly wait. What about the dogs?”
“Just let Max take over. He knows the boundaries, and he knows the rules. I assume you brought your whistle.”
Helen yanked at the string around her neck. “Two toots and they come back. One toot means they have to bark to give us their location, right?”
“You got it,” Sam said, taking the fishing poles from the back of the Blazer. “You're like an overanxious mother. Is there a reason for that?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Hey, hold on a minute. You need to carry your share,” Sam said, reaching for Helen's arm to pull her toward him.
Helen's face drained of all color as she flinched and cowered close to the Blazer.
“Whoa,” Sam said, backing up, the palms of his hands straight out in front of him. “Easy, Nancy.”
“I . . . I . . . I'm . . . sorry. I don't . . . what it is . . . I don't like to be . . .
touched.
”
“Okay. I can respect that. Are you okay?”
“I'm . . . okay.”
“Then I say, let's go fishing.”
“Sam . . .”
“It's okay, Nancy. You don't owe me any explanation. You ready to fish?”
“I'm ready to fish. And, I'm ready to make a bet. A dollar. I bet I catch more fish than you.”
“You are on, lady. Show me the color of your money.”
Helen forced her facial muscles into a smile as she withdrew a crumpled dollar bill from her jeans pocket. “Let's see yours.”
“You're gonna have to trust me. I locked my wallet in the glove compartment.”
“I hope you didn't pull that tired old excuse on the lady with the rubber boots.”
“Ya know what, she was the boring one. I'm a fun guy, don't you think?”
“Absolutely.” Helen giggled and flushed a rosy red.
“Why do I get the feeling you don't laugh much?”
“Oh, I can giggle with the best of them,” Helen said flippantly.
“You can, huh? I'm going to remember that.”
He was flirting with her. It was going to be a wonderful day.
As she trudged alongside Sam, she was aware of how bright the new sun was, how pungent the pine-scented air had become, and how beautiful the water was with the sun shining down on it. Simple things. Things she'd never paid attention to. Now, all of a sudden they were in her face just the way Sam was in her face. Oh, yes, it was going to be a glorious day.
9
Helen turned on her computer and waited, hoping Boots would be on-line that evening. She had so much to tell her, so much to share since they'd last communicated. Her gaze went to the small desk calendar sitting alongside her computer. Was it really three days since she'd logged on to talk to Boots? She'd sent almost a dozen e-mails, with no response to any of them. She was worried because it was unlike Boots, who was so conscientious about the on-line counseling. True, it was a little over fifteen months since she'd moved there and begun the late-night counseling sessions, and it wasn't imperative that she cleanse her mind every single night. At least that's what Boots had said in her last e-mail, but surely Boots didn't think it was time to cut her loose. Her heart took on an extra beat at the mere thought of being totally on her own, with no support to fall back on. Certainly Boots would have discussed a major decision like that with her. Besides, it had to go through channels, and Isabel Tyger had the final say in such matters.
She wished she knew more about her faceless counselor. What she did know, she liked, and plans were in the works, providing the shelter's board agreed, for a meeting in Asbury Park between her and Boots. It was something she looked forward to, something she anguished over when she sent her letter to Isabel Tyger asking for permission to meet with her counselor. All she wanted was one day and the opportunity to thank Boots in person, to walk on the boardwalk and the beach and maybe get a hot dog. It was supposed to be a great day for Lucie and Max, too. Boots loved animals, and said she would love to meet Lucie and Max. Come to think of it, the last sessions were more about Lucie and Max than about her. That was okay, too. She loved talking about the dogs. Anything she had to say on the on-line sessions was now redundant. Except maybe her fears, fears she knew would never go away until the day Daniel Ward died. Sam was helping with all those emotions, though. There were now days, sometimes weeks, when she didn't think about Daniel at all.
Where are you, Boots?
Helen's fingers flew over the keyboard. She checked her old mail, checked to see if mail she'd sent to Boots had been opened and read, checked to see if she'd missed any mail during the past days. Everything came up negative. She frowned. Something was wrong, she could feel it, sense it. Once again, her fingers flew over the keyboard. She entered the private chat room where she and Boots talked for hours on end. The room was empty. She felt her shoulders slump, and she wanted to cry. Instead she clicked on her e-mail to compose a new letter to Boots. She typed quickly, expressing her concerns and ending with, “I have this eerie feeling I'm being watched. I'm not afraid, though. My dog is nervous. That, more than anything, worries me. I want to talk to you about Sam Tolliver. Our friendship this last year has progressed to where I think he's expecting more than I think I'm ready for. I was very up-front with him. I told him all I wanted at this time was friendship, and it has been a wonderful friendship. He's introduced me to things I'd only read about. He never makes demands. I trust him. I really do. He doesn't ask questions aloud. His eyes say it all. I like him. A lot. He's good for me. I know that. He makes me get out and about. We do things as a couple. I like that, too. We went to New Hope, Pennsylvania, and bought all kinds of stuff. Mostly junk, but it was fun. We colored eggs for Easter and he made me an Easter basket.
“Sam said he might be going away for six weeks. He has a teaching opportunity somewhere in Vermont. He wants me to go with him. I told him no.
“The business is building slowly and steadily. I'm about to the point where I need to think about renting some store space. The apartment is so full of boxes and materials, it's hard to maneuver. The three ladies I have sewing for me are having a hard time keeping up with the demand for Lassie Lassie undergarments. I'm going to have to hire more help. I'm still waitressing, but I cut my hours to four a day and just do the lunch trade. It's paying the rent. I haven't really touched the funds Ms. Tyger's foundation lent me.
“I guess that's it for now. Good night, Boots.” She signed the e-mail the way she signed all her correspondence—TTLS.
Helen turned off the computer and sat for a moment staring at the blank screen. It was amazing, she thought, how a piece of electronic equipment and a person she'd never met face-to-face, could literally help her become a sound, normal, mentally healthy person again.
Where are you, Boots?
“Time for bed, Lucie. We'll clean up this mess tomorrow when we pack up our deliveries. We'll have some walking-around room once all this stuff is out of here. Get your leash and we'll go outside.”
Lucie ran to the door and tugged at the leash hanging from the doorknob. Helen fastened it to her collar. “Let's make this a quick one, girl. I'm really tired tonight. You miss Max, don't you? I miss him too. I even miss Sam. I never thought I'd say something like that. He's a good friend. Good girl. Okay, run!”
Lucie ran for the steps leading to the second-floor complex and then ran to Sam Tolliver's apartment door, where she sat down and whimpered. Helen bent down to pick her up. She crooned to her as she made her way to her own door. “Just a couple more days, baby. I bet Max misses you as much as you miss him. Sam had to go away. His best friend is getting married, and Sam is the best man. He didn't want to make the trip without Max. You get a cookie, and then we're going to bed.”
The little dog waited patiently until Helen fastened all three locks on the door before she entered the kitchen. “Okay, two cookies!” Lucie took them daintily and walked off to the bedroom, where she would chomp on them while Helen brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas.
In bed with Lucie snuggled tight against her, Helen turned off the light. As tired as she was, sleep eluded her. She felt wide-awake. Wide-awake and worried. She'd had many nights when she wasn't able to fall asleep but this time she felt something different tugging at her. Did she miss Sam
that
much? Was it possible that she was beginning to feel something besides friendship for the college professor? Or was it something else entirely? Boots? Or Daniel?
Helen shifted Lucie and rolled over on her side. She shouldn't even be thinking of Daniel. Not hearing from Boots these last three days had pushed Daniel forward in her mind. Had he surfaced somewhere? Did Boots's absence mean Isabel Tyger's people were taking care of things to ensure her safety?
Damn, it always comes back to Daniel. Always.
Maybe what she needed to do was really think about Daniel. Instead of pretending he never existed, maybe she needed to break the rules and let her mind remember all the terrible things he'd done to her. Maybe she needed to do that. Maybemaybemaybe. Boots and the others said Daniel Ward was in the past, someone she used to know, someone not worthy of her thoughts and feelings. “The thing is, Lucie, I don't want to be Nancy Baker. I want to be Helen Stanley again. Not Helen Ward but Helen Stanley. I wish I was divorced. I'll never be free of him as long as I'm still married to him. I worry that all these phony credentials are going to catch up with me. I'm just not a good liar. If the authorities confront me, I'll fall apart. If Sam confronts me, I don't know what I'll say or do. It's not like I have good or fond memories of Daniel. I just don't want anyone to
know
. It's my dirty little secret. I feel so ashamed, so inferior, so . . . stupid. Sam would never understand someone like Daniel. He would never understand a woman allowing something like that to happen to her. Perhaps once, but not repeatedly. If I don't understand it, how can I expect someone like Sam to understand it?”
How could she ever explain to Sam the fear she lived with? His first question would be, why didn't you leave? Why?
Helen stroked Lucie's head as she forced her mind to recall each and every slap, every punch, every kick. She roll-called every bruise, every laceration, every broken bone, every fracture, and every trip to the ER, every trip to all the different doctors she'd used, every lie she'd ever told to protect her husband.
Lucie moved and bellied up to the top of Helen's pillow. “Stay, Lucie. I'm going to make some tea and go back on the computer.”
The time flashed on the bottom line of the computer: 1:36
A.M.
She logged on and waited. She checked her buddy list to see that RB, better known as Robin Bobbin, was on-line. She immediately sent her an Instant Message. Do you know where Boots is?
No.
Helen sent another message. I'm having a hard time today. I need to talk. Want to go to the chat room?
Sure, came the reply.
Robin Bobbin was a four-month
newbie
to the on-line counseling sessions.
Newbie
was a word computer people used for first-time computer users. Boots was also her counselor. Helen thought she could smell the woman's fear.
A rapid-fire series of questions flew from Helen's fingers. RB's responses were curt and always in the negative. “I'm scared,” she wrote.
“Me too. Just follow the rules. Someone will be in touch. Something must have happened. Maybe the computer system is down. It's happened before. Boots might have some problems or she might be away. Keep sending your e-mails, and if you have fears or questions, put them in the e-mails, too. Someone from the foundation will be in touch. I'm waiting just like you are. You can always reach me after ten. My sessions are scheduled for eleven o'clock. If I hear anything, I'll e-mail you. Relax. Everything will be okay. Listen, this might sound silly, even off-the-wall, but do you have a pet? No? Get a cat or a dog. They make all the difference. Go to the pound and rescue an animal. Boots will approve. I'll e-mail her to explain it was my suggestion. Tomorrow is another day. That's kind of funny now that I think of it. It is today. Is there anything else I can help you with in Boots's absence?”
“I'm afraid of my own shadow. I hear sounds, voices, and I think . . . I think he found me somehow.”
“Sometimes I still feel like that. I have three locks on my door. It's over fifteen months. It's rather like waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you follow the rules, he will not find you. Do you have family?”
“Yes. That's what makes it so hard. I miss them. I read a book once on the Witness Protection Program. This is just like being in that program.”
“I know. You're alive. That's how you have to think of it. You need to get a pet. You need to be able to love something again. It's a start.”
“Thanks. I'll do it tomorrow. Maybe I'll get two pets, a dog and a cat.”
“Make sure the cat is a kitten and the dog is a pup so they learn to get along. LOL,” Helen added—the symbols that meant “laughing out loud.”
Helen signed off, finished her tea, and fixed another cup. She smoked two cigarettes as she stared at the dark screen of her computer.
Somewhere, something was wrong. It was the same kind of feeling she always had when she knew Daniel was going to use her as a punching bag. She was so wide-awake, it was scary. Rather than waste her time just sitting, Helen reached for her computer book.
For weeks she'd been again toying with the idea of setting up a web page and selling her Sassie Lassie lingerie on-line. Sam said it was a terrific idea and volunteered the services of one of his students to design the web page. If she did that, she would have to quit her job in the mall and really concentrate on getting store space. She'd been reading up on Internet selling, and if her little business took off, she would be working twenty hours a day filling orders. As Boots said, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
The biggest hurdle would be finding enough people to do the sewing. Again, Sam had come to the rescue, saying some of his students would be likely candidates. She agreed. She was on a roll now, excited with the prospect of branching out. Perhaps the three seamstresses on her payroll could cut the patterns and the college girls could sew them at her new location. She could sew and sell under one roof. Packaging could be done in the back of the store. Sam said it would only take a few days to get a working version of the web page on-line. You can fine-tune it as you go along, he'd said, and then volunteered to keep her books. All in the name of friendship.
She really needed to talk to Boots. She knew she was capable of making the decisions, of working hard to make the small business work. Still, she wanted . . . no, she needed Boots's approval.
Could she do this? Was she capable of starting a business and making it work? Oh, yes. Maybe if she worked really hard, one day she would be in a position to buy a small house with a backyard for Lucie to run in. A house with a real kitchen, where she had room to move around. A house with a family room and a fireplace that burned real wood. If there was extra money left over after her bills were paid, she'd donate to the animal shelters in the area. She vowed then, at that precise moment, to give back as much as she could to make some other woman's life a little easier.
Helen pulled out her sketch pad. Her pencil raced across the pages as she drew pictures of sexy, lacy underwear. She giggled when she thought of the college student looking at the garments, taking pictures of them, and then scanning them onto the web page. It was going to be fun. She was going to need some power words to attach to her web page. Decadent. Delicious. Sensual. Sassy. Definitely sassy. Feathers. She was going to need feathers on the web page. Maybe eventually she would need live models. Uh-huh. She giggled again. Life was starting to look really good.

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