Page 93 of Wish Upon A Star

We rise together. Choose to trust, choose to let go and hope. Choose to feel everything and be vulnerable. Let the wind carry you.

It’s flying.

We spent a week in the Bahamas, last year, Mom and Dad and I. We went parasailing. Being in love with Wes, rising into love with him, feels like parasailing. You don’t have much control, and you’re oh-so-high, and it’s kind of scary and exhilarating and your heart flutters and you can’t help but laugh, but if you trust the structures around you, the thrill of the ride soon replaces the fear of falling.

Please, God. Just give me a little more time.

One Day More

Westley

It’s hard to not be angry.

She’s sick again.

I’m angry because when it’s good, it’s all too easy to pretend everything is fine.

But then I wake up and she’s running a fever and shaking, curled into herself and clutching her stomach and moaning.

Wan, pale. She breathes shallowly, as if even breathing hurts.

“Mom?” she whimpers. “Wes, can you get my mom?”

“Yeah,” I choke out. “Yeah, I’ll get her.”

She grabs my hand with unexpected strength. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave. I’m scared.”

My eyes water, and my chest seizes. I don’t let go of her hand as I stretch across the bed to my bedside table and snag my phone, yank the charging cord out, and call her mother’s cell.

“Wes, hi,” she answers. “Is…is everything okay.”

“She’s asking for you,” I manage to get out.

“I’ll be right there.”

Click.

Less than a minute later, she’s bursting through my front door, out of breath and red-faced. “Jo?”

“In here,” I say.

I’m in a pair of running shorts and nothing else, and she’s still naked—I cover her with the sheet as her mother comes in.

Kneels at the side of the bed, hand hovering over Jo’s cheek as if to caress, but doesn’t touch. Knowing even a gentle touch will hurt.

“Jo,” she murmurs. “I’m here.”

“Make it stop, Mama,” Jo whimpers. “Please.”

“I wish I could, love.” Her voice is remarkably steady.

Jolene’s eyes crack open, fix on me. “Do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“You won’t like it.”

I brace myself. “Anything.”