The Secret Ingredient of Wishes (9 page)

Laughing, Catch rinsed her hands and wiped them dry on her apron, leaving watery red smudges on the fabric. “Oh, I'm sure they do. But that's between them and the one who ordered the pie. Once the pie is made, I stay out of it.”

“Does it ever go wrong?” She didn't look at Catch when she asked. Couldn't. Not with the guilt of wishes she'd screwed up burning across her face.

“Wrong how?”

“I don't know,” she said.
Wrong like erasing a person.
“Do some secrets get out anyway?”

“Not unless the owner of the secret lets it slip. Then it's fair game for anyone to talk about,” Catch said. She worked her fingers under the dough and lifted it onto the waiting dish.

Rachel leaned against the counter, another question tumbling out in her desire to know as much as she could about Catch and her pies. To see if there was a way for Catch to bind her ability along with all the secrets she was keeping. To see if there was anything good that could come from granting wishes. “Do you ever turn people away?”

“Of course I do. Not everyone deserves my help. And besides, some secrets can make things better when they're shared.”

“How do you know what secrets shouldn't be kept?”

“I don't know until I hear it. And then it's just a gut feeling. But I'm big on trusting my gut.”

Rachel nodded. But she had no idea if her gut could be trusted. At least not when it came to making wishes come true.

 

9

Rachel started her new job the following week, after Everley rescheduled twice due to a design change in the new workspace that was taking all of her attention. Not that Rachel minded an extra few days spent baking with Catch and napping on the front porch. But she was grateful to get back to the routine that came with having a job. The busier she was, the less time she had to obsess over wishes and binding secrets, and whether the latter could cure her of the former.

“You do all this yourself?” she asked, scanning the dozens of different product types spread around the shop in even more jars and bars and tins and bags. All were stickered or tagged with LUX's logo and a pink or gray ribbon tied on for decoration.

“I do,” Everley said, looking around the shop with a proud smile. “I started with just soaps, but the more I learned, the more I wanted to do a whole line of face creams and lotions and scrubs. People come from all over the state to buy from me. I even have one woman in Texas who has me ship stuff to her.”

“That's cool. So, what's this?” Rachel asked, holding up a small vial of milky liquid. The cork stopper had been sealed onto the glass tube with dark red wax.

“That's chamomile and lavender bath scent. A couple drops in the bath water will make the whole room smell fantastic.” Everley waved an arm through the air. “Feel free to open things up and take a look. Smell stuff. Try to get a feel for the types of things we have and where they're displayed. I've got an inventory sheet in a binder behind the counter if you want to see what's on hand.”

Rachel hunted in the cabinet and found the binder buried under a stack of gift bags. She found the most recent inventory stats about halfway through the book and then flipped to the next page to start filling out a new form. The first item on the list: almond-and-honey salt scrub. For a girl whose beauty products consisted of black eyeliner, a tube of mascara, and one shade of lipstick, this should be interesting.

She wandered to the left front corner and started reading labels. As she worked her way down the list, she sniffed and rubbed lotions on her forearm that caused a slight tingling sensation as her skin cooled a few degrees and dabbed on a thin sheen of honey-flavored lip balm. She straightened as she went, aligning bottles and stacking bars of soap so their edges were straight.

The door let in a gush of hot air as an elderly man walked in, his shoes shuffling on the floor. The skin around his eyes wrinkled behind his glasses as he surveyed the shelves of products.

Rachel wrote down the number of honeysuckle candles she'd just counted and greeted him. Instead of moving to help him, Everley just smiled at Rachel, then tilted her head toward the man, encouraging her to assist him.

Setting the binder down, she caught his eye and asked, “Can I help you find something?”

“I hope so. I've never been in here before, but Martha at the drugstore sent me over. She said if anyone had something that might work, it'd be y'all.”

“Well, I hope so too. It's my first day here but I'll see what I can do.”

“I didn't think I recognized you,” the man said. He smiled at her, the papery skin of his cheeks sagging around the set-in laugh lines flanking his mouth. “I've lived in Nowhere all my life and delivered most of the babies born here for more than fifty years. Good to know I didn't forget someone.” He patted her arm, chuckling.

Rachel laughed with him. “Wow, strangers must really stick out to you, huh?”

“Yes, but I'm always happy to see a new face around here. Now that that's settled, I'm looking for some lotion for my wife. Back when we first got married she used this nice-smelling lotion, like roses. They don't make that kind anymore, but I thought maybe you'd have something that would come close. I know it would make her happy.”

“Let's see what we can find.” With his hand still on her arm, Rachel led him to the shelves of lotions. “I came across a wildflower lotion that reminded me of my grandmother. She used to wear tea rose perfume. Just let me figure out which one it is.”

She trailed her fingers along the embossed labels on the mason jars as she read their names.

“Far right, bottom shelf, rose-colored rubber band around the lid,” Everley called from across the room.

“Thanks,” Rachel said, locating the sample jar and holding it up for the man to test the scent.

He shook his head and said, “Do you mind putting it on? I don't want to go around smelling like I've been with some other gal when I go visit my Anne this afternoon.”

“Sure.” Rachel pumped a small drop onto her hand and rubbed it in. It was roses and dewy leaves and a hint of spice. “Does this smell like what you remember her wearing?”

He wrapped his cool fingers around her wrist and lifted her hand to his nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled and swayed slightly. “Now that brings back some good memories. It's different, but familiar. I might just have to get a bottle for me too. Not to wear, of course, but just to keep at the house to open and smell when I need a reminder of how things used to be.”

“Is your wife not at home with you?” Rachel asked.

“She has Alzheimer's,” he said, lowering his eyes. “She stays where she has people who can look after her and keep her calm when she doesn't remember where she is.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

“I know she's not going to get better, but I wish for just one more good day with her. Just one day where she remembers me and knows how much I love her.” He picked up one of the bottles and rolled it in his hands. “Since smells are supposed to help with memories, I'm hoping this lotion can bring back a little spark for her.”

A piece of paper no longer than her index finger fluttered around her feet, tickling her ankles. Her first instinct was to ignore it, like she had so many other wishes over the years. But this old man seemed so selfless, so sincere in his love for his wife, that letting his wish go unanswered almost seemed cruel.

For the first time in years, she contemplated purposely granting a wish.

Maybe in another life she could be like Catch, embracing her ability and helping those who were desperate enough to ask. But in this life, she had no control over how a wish turned out. And what if instead of restoring sweet, perfect memories, the wish only brought back painful ones?

Rachel waited until the door shut behind him and then bent to snatch it up. She hesitated a moment, her trembling fingers obscuring the black words. Then she wadded it up without reading. That was the only guarantee nothing would go wrong.

*   *   *

She worked on the inventory for the rest of the morning, her eyes darting to the crumpled wish buried in the trash can. She tested so many products, she joked with Everley that the scents might never come off. She ate a protein bar for lunch because it was the first thing she saw in the Village Market a few doors down. Everley tried to convince her to take a break, but Rachel did better when her hands and mind were occupied.

She was three quarters of the way through wiping down the shelves with a damp cloth when a brunette in a blush-colored shift dress walked in. Everley kissed the woman on the cheek when they embraced. The keyhole slit in the back of her dress ran from the neckline halfway down the spine and was just wide enough to show off a strip of smooth, tan skin.

Rachel pushed up from the floor and rubbed her palms on the apron Everley had given her. The woman swept her gaze right over Rachel and watched the doorway that led into the expansion.

“Don't you dare start any trouble, Lola,” Everley said.

“What? I'm just here to get some night cream. I can't seem to get rid of these circles.” She rubbed under her eyes at the flawless skin.

Something about her was familiar. It pecked at Rachel's brain, trying to make the familiarity known. She shook her head and looked away.

“Funny how you've been making special trips in here to get things I know you don't need since Ashe started working next door.”

“That's not why I'm here.” Lola unscrewed the lid of a mason jar and sniffed. “Did you change the scent on this one?”

“Nope. Still white tea and aloe. Why?”

“It doesn't smell the same. Are you sure nothing's changed?”

Everley took the jar from her, smelled it, then recapped it. “Positive. Now, quit stalling. Even if he does see you over here, he's not going to come talk to you.”

“Oh, thanks, Ev. Do you enjoy reminding me that my husband hates my guts?” Lola spoke slowly, adding extra emphasis to the vowels and the hurt in her voice.

Husband?
Neither Ashe nor Catch had mentioned him being married. But from the sound of it, Rachel guessed they had good reason not to. She kept her eyes trained on the inventory sheet as if she wasn't listening to every word.

“I meant that he won't be the way you want him to. He's not there yet. Maybe you should give him a little—”

“If you tell me to give him space, Everley, so help me, God, I will strangle you.”

“Then who would you go crying to?” Everley asked.

Lola shifted her attention to Rachel as if noticing her for the first time. “To her. She can be my new best friend,” she said. Turning back to Everley, she added, “Who is she?”

“This is Rachel. She's the one staying with Miss Sisson. Rachel, this is my best friend Lola.”

“Lola
Riley,
” she clarified, with a possessive curve to her smile.

“I thought you were dropping it,” Everley said.

“As long as we're married, I'm a Riley,” she said to Everley before turning to Rachel. “And it's so good to meet you, Rachel. I hope you're liking it in Nowhere so far.” Her voice was slightly higher pitched, like she was talking to a child or an animal, someone not worth her time.

Rachel bristled at being sized up. She was used to people treating her like that once they knew she'd been hospitalized for exhibiting delusional behavior. She'd hoped she was done with all that now that she was someplace no one knew her. She walked to them and set the rag on the table. Despite the three- or four-inch height difference, she met Lola's appraising stare. The crisp scents from the lotions seemed to sour for a second. Rachel glanced at Everley and forced a smile.

“Everyone's been nice so far,” she said.

“I hear Ashe has been showing you around town for Miss Sisson. He's over at her place a lot, but if he's bothering you, don't feel bad about telling him to come back home.” Lola's laugh came out light and easy, but Rachel sensed there was a lot more behind it.

“He's not,” Rachel said. “He's been really great, actually.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear that,” Lola said, though she looked anything but.

Everley put a warm hand on Rachel's shoulder. “Lola,” she said. The one word forced her friend to take a step back and smile almost like she meant it.

“Sorry,” Lola said. “I just wish he'd forgive me already and let me come home. Dragging it out is just ridiculous.”

A soft rustling of paper pulled Rachel's attention. She shifted slightly, trying to act like she was still paying attention to whatever Lola said, and looked up. A scrap of paper fluttered from an empty spot of air near the ceiling. She froze, unable to tear her eyes from it. It landed behind the counter with a soft swish of paper on wood.

Her fingers itched to hide the wish. To destroy it so there was zero chance of it coming true. Rachel forced herself to look away.

Ashe hovered just on the other side of the doorway separating the two rooms. He scowled at Lola as she continued complaining about how Catch poisoned Ashe against her. He fisted his hands at his sides and said, “Stop it, Lola.”

Lola had the good sense to look contrite. “Ashe, I'm—”

“Don't. I don't want to hear it.” He stormed back into the other side.

When Lola started after him, heels stabbing the floor with each hurried step, Rachel ducked behind the counter. She wanted nothing to do with the drama between Lola and Ashe. She had enough to worry about in her own messed-up life.

Something crunched under her foot. She extracted the slip of paper, careful to keep the words facedown so she couldn't accidentally read it, and ripped the wish Lola had made into half a dozen strips.

“No,” she whispered. “You don't get to come true. Not if this isn't something he wants.”

*   *   *