Page 46 of Your Every Wish

I hear them in the room next door (thin walls), whispering.

And now it’s me wishing I’d gotten a room at the Ghost Inn.

I’d managed to spend most of Friday night hanging out with Harry, who isn’t bad company if you like talking about the U.S.

Postal Service and his late wife. By the time I’d snuck into bed, Emma and Dex were fast asleep.

No such luck tonight.

It’s fine, I tell myself, because it really is.

It’s not like they’re banging against the headboard, making sex noises.

They’re simply talking in super-low voices, which is frankly more distracting than if they were talking in their regular voices.

But it’s after midnight and they’re trying to be respectful of me.

In return, I should try to be respectful of them, turn over, and go to sleep. But I can’t. There are too many thoughts swimming around my head. Top among them is Willy. What would he do if he were me?

It’s funny because all through my childhood he was this mythical figure. Willy Keil, professional gambler, businessman extraordinaire, multimillionaire. Larger than life. And now, from all outward appearances, he was a felon who died alone in prison, penniless. Even I’m starting to buy into

Emma’s theory that the so-called buried golf bag treasure was Willy’s idea of a joke, a way to toy with the FBI if they found the note first, which they should’ve. The only reason we did is because of Misty’s clairvoyance or whatever she has.

The fact is there’s no hidden money, not even a pricey golf bag. And Willy’s laughing his ass off from the grave. At least he had a sense of humor. If I wasn’t in such a pickle, I’d be laughing, too.

But here’s the thing: If he were still alive, he’d know what to do.

And I’m at a complete loss with little time left.

A little more than a week, that’s all I have.

I turn onto my side and stare at Ginger’s clock.

Let me amend that to seven more days, twenty-two hours, sixteen minutes, and forty-four seconds left.

The next morning, Emma is all smiles.

“Where’s Dex?” I grunt, coffee deprived.

“On his way home. He has a busy day tomorrow. But I have news.”

I fix myself a cup of coffee and root around in the pantry for something to eat. Though the rain has stopped, it’s too wet and muddy outside for a morning run. And I don’t feel like it anyway.

“I’ll bite. What’s your news?” From the way she’s grinning from ear to ear, Dex plans to whisk her away to Bora Bora on an all-expense-paid vacation. Spare me.

“Dex wants me to move in with him.” When I don’t say anything, she clarifies, “His place in San Francisco.”

You’d think he’d proposed and offered to throw a destination wedding on the Amalfi Coast by the way she is beaming. “Mm-hmm. You planning to take him up on it?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? It’s all I ever wanted. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Make that face, the face of withering disapproval. It makes you look constipated.” She passes me the half-and-half. “I know you don’t like Dex. But can you at least try to be happy for me?”

“No, I can’t. Look, I may be a lot of things, including a bitch.

But I’m an honest bitch. And moving in with Dex would be a colossal mistake.

I bet he made it sound like he was doing you a big favor, offering you a way to come back to the big city just so you can be with him.

Cue the superhero music. Emma, before you inherited Cedar Pines you were about to be homeless. Where was Dex then?”

“I was never going to be homeless.” She juts her jaw at me. “There were plenty of places I could’ve lived, including my mom and Sam’s. Dex wasn’t there yet. But with time apart, he’s had time to think about us, about our future.”

“It seems to me that after nearly ten years of dating, he should’ve been there, even before you had to move here.

Furthermore, why does everything have to be on his timetable?

You needed a place to live, and he had one.

From where I’m standing, he should’ve offered then, regardless of whether he was ready yet.

” I see her face crumple and tell myself even if the truth hurts what kind of friend .

. . what kind of sister . . . would I be if I didn’t lay it out there? “Hey, you’re the one who asked.”

“I actually didn’t. And you’re just upset because I’m leaving, and you’re stuck here.” Emma gets up from the table, rushes out, and slams the door behind her.

She forgot her jacket.

I can hear my phone ringing from the other room and without even looking at caller ID, I know it’s Madge. Max needs a new transmission for his truck. He’ll pay me back as soon as his deal goes through.

Well, he can get in line. My boss from Caesars has left three messages, the last one marked urgent because by now he probably thinks I’m either dead or being held captive by a band of California tree huggers. So far, I’ve managed to avoid listening to the messages. No news is good news, right?

Stop being irresponsible .

There was a time when my phone was permanently attached to my ear. I wander into my bedroom, lift my phone off the nightstand, and stare at it. Oh, what the hell. I play the most recent message. And as predicted, it’s Madge.

“Kennedy, I’ve been trying to call you for days. Maybe you found the money and have been too busy to return my calls.” Translation: Maybe you found the money and have been too busy spending it without me. “Please call. I’m getting worried about you.”

The next three messages are all from the bossman. He wants to know the combination to my locker because he’s reassigning it to a new casino host. My replacement.

“When you come back, we’ll figure out something else for you,” he says. Translation: If you come back, and that’s a big if, we’ll give you a bottom locker in Siberia, otherwise known as Caesars’s basement, next to the garbage chute.

Well, screw him. He can figure out my combination on his own. But guilt has me dialing Madge.

“There’s no money, Mom.” That’s my greeting to her because that’s all she really wants to know anyway.

“You found the golf bag?”

“Yeah, and it was empty. It was Willy’s last fuck-you to the world.”

“Are you sure? Maybe the money is somewhere else.”

“Nope. There’s no money. Zero. Zilch.” For some zany reason it feels good saying that, not because I like pushing Madge’s buttons but because it feels like acceptance.

Like I can finally move on with my life, even if it means losing my job, going to jail, and whatever other bad things the universe has in store for me.

“What about the campground? That’s got to be worth a pretty penny.”

“First of all, it’s not a campground, it’s a mobile home park.” I’ve only told her that a million times. “And even if it’s worth a fortune, we’re not selling.”

There’s a long pause, Madge probably working out her next move because if nothing else my mother is shrewd. “Isn’t it generating income? The lot rentals along with all the other fees on those places are outrageous. You have to be raking it in.”

“The lot rentals here are stuck in the 1970s. And half of the spaces are empty. Don’t get me started on the property taxes and insurance. Do you know how much it costs to insure a place like this in the middle of a California forest? One match and the whole place goes up.”

“Are you telling me that you’re not making anything?” More than shocked, she sounds deeply disappointed.

“Yeah, Mom, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

“Why would’ve Willy purchased a place like that?”

The question of the century.

I plop down on my bed. “I have no idea. A tax shelter? A place to retire after he got out of the joint? Who the hell knows? What I do know is if I don’t come up with forty grand in the next few days . . .”

“I’ll talk to Max,” she says. Max of the art of the deals.

It’s all I can do not to let out a maniacal laugh, like Jack Nicholson’s in The Shining .

“Mom, you got me into this mess. It would be really great if you could get me out of it.” But even as I say it, I have zero hope of that happening.

She would if she could but the only way she’ll ever be able to come up with forty thousand dollars on the fly is to steal it.

“Look, I’ve got to go. Let me know what Max says. ”

Other than getting a sick satisfaction from telling Madge that there is no money, the call was rather unproductive. I’ve managed to disappoint both my mother and Emma in one fell swoop.

I shrug into my denim jacket and on second thought, take it off, and put on my wool coat, then change out of my slippers into a pair of tennis shoes. Something Madge said is niggling at the back of my mind.

I trudge across the driveway and hike over to Misty’s, trying to avoid a succession of mud puddles on the way. Like always, she opens the door before I can even knock.

“I was expecting you,” she says and ushers me inside.

“Why? Because you’re psychic?”

“No, because you’re a pain in the ass. Have a seat and I’ll make tea. Or would you rather wine?”

“It’s not even eleven.”

“Tea it is.” She disappears inside the kitchen.

“Did you hear that Dex wants Emma to move in with him?” I call.

“No, but it was only a matter of time.” She returns a few moments later with a biscotti in her mouth, holding more cookies on one of her dainty blue-and-white china plates, which she places in front of me.

“Why, because you made it happen?”

She hitches her shoulders as if to say Maybe . I roll my eyes.

“You do realize it’s never going to work, don’t you?” It’s not a very nice thing to say, but it’s the truth. Emma is too good for the dumbass.

Misty wipes some crumbs off her sweater and gives another hitch of her shoulders. “The odds are not good on her end. As for Dex, he’ll love her until the end of time. That’s the way this works. But that’s what she wanted.”

“That’s what she thinks she wants. Hopefully she’ll come to her senses.”

“From here on in, I’m out of it,” Misty says.