Page 54 of Your Every Wish

I’m out the door early the next morning. Kennedy is still sleeping. She didn’t get much rest last night. I could hear her through the walls, pacing. Panicking about the money.

But I’m aiming to fix that. Maybe. Hopefully.

I drive over to Bent McCourtney’s house in Kennedy’s BMW. His dogs go off like an air raid siren, blowing any chance I have of a surprise attack.

He greets me at the door holding a mug of coffee, looking like he’s been awake for hours.

“Morning.”

“Can I have one of those?” I point to his mug, which is inscribed with I T’S NOT THE SIZE OF THE SPREAD, IT’S THE SKILL OF THE RANCHER .

Ha-ha. I guess that’s what passes around here for cowboy humor.

“You bet. Come in.” He escorts me to the kitchen, where he fires up his fancy coffee machine that probably cost more than I make in a year.

I forgot how large his kitchen is. It’s roughly the size of my old studio and Dex’s apartment combined. He can afford this, I tell myself.

“I came to thank you for what you did. Seriously, you went above and beyond and we’re deeply grateful to you, first for letting us tear down the wall.

But all the work you did to make it happen .

. . wow.” He’s a sweet man, despite what Kennedy says.

Even a blind person can see that their little cat-and-mouse game is feigned.

“We just want you to know that we’ll pay you back for everything—the wall and your time. ”

He eyes me over the rim of his mug. “Still nothing from the FBI?”

“Not yet.”

“You’ll hear something soon,” he says encouragingly. “So, what brings you here this morning, Miss Keil? Because I know it’s not my coffee.”

There’s no need beating around the bush, so I flat out tell him, “Kennedy says you want to partner with us on Cedar Pines Estates. We’re willing to cut you in on one condition: You put up forty thousand dollars in earnest money by the end of today.

” It is a big ask and probably impossible, but we’re out of options.

“Forty thousand, huh?” He folds his arms over his chest. “How’d you arrive at that figure?”

“It seems fair,” I say because I don’t have a better answer without going into the truth, which is none of Bent McCourtney’s business.

“I can make that work.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I can make that work.”

I have to sit down because I’m shaking so hard.

“You okay there, Emma? You look a little green.”

“How do you want to do this?” I say. “Check? Bank transfer?” Cash is good, too, but I don’t push my luck. As it is, I still don’t trust this is going to happen.

“Before I get out my checkbook, something legal will have to be drawn up. I can have my lawyer do it.”

“By today?” I blurt out because it seems impossible. Tomorrow is Saturday and the bank will be closed. If this happens it has to happen today.

Bent leans against the counter and gives me a long look. “Is there something I should know?”

“No. Only that there are other interested parties. First come, first served.”

He all but rolls his eyes. “You have someone who can look over the paperwork for you?”

“Yes. Our lawyer, Mr. Townsend. He’s in San Francisco.

” I take a big gulp of my coffee. “He’s very well known.

Very competent.” I don’t even remember his first name, let alone whether he does real estate law.

But I could always ask Sam to check over the documents.

“I’ll send you his contact information. Just remember, today is the deadline. You have the funds, right?”

“Emma, are you sure you don’t want to tell me what this is about?”

I look down at my feet and take an inordinate amount of time studying my shoelaces. “It’s nothing, I promise.” I pull my face up and meet his eyes. “We’re honorable people.”

“I know that or else you wouldn’t have called the FBI. Yes, I have the funds and I’ll get them to you today.”

And he does.

At three p.m. on the dot, he rolls up in his big truck, knocks on our trailer door, and hands over a check for forty thousand dollars. “We’re partners now,” he says, then jams his hands in his pockets, saunters back to his truck, and drives away.

“I can’t believe it’s this simple,” Kennedy says, the both of us reeling. “You think this is Misty’s doing?”

“Like she told him about our situation, and he decided to bail us out?”

“Nope. Like it’s all part of the wishes . . . part of her magic.”

I shake my head. “But it wasn’t part of it. We asked her to find the money, Willy’s money. We never said anything specifically about forty thousand to pay off Brock Sterling. No, I think this is real,” I say, still trying to grasp our good fortune.

“Not real until that check cashes. Come on, let’s go.”

Kennedy and I race to Ghost to deposit Bent’s check before the bank closes. We hardly speak during the ride. We’re still in a state of shock, still overcome by the fact that we managed to work a miracle—and maybe still a little suspicious that it’s too good to be true.

But the manager assures us that Bent’s funds are there, acting slightly put out that we’ve asked him to check a second time. “The McCourtneys helped found this town,” he says, and glares at us for extra emphasis.

In other words, Bent McCourtney’s checks don’t bounce.

While we’re there, we arrange a bank transfer. Brock Sterling will have his forty thousand dollars on Monday. Every last cent of it.

By the time we leave the bank, it’s almost dark. It seems like only hours ago that we stood at the edge of the bocce ball courts, watching the FBI agents cart away our last hope. Our only hope.

“Thank you.” Kennedy’s entire body trembles as she wraps me in a tight hug.

“Thank Bent. But yeah, it’s over. We’re good now. You’re free.”

* * *

It’s the day of the Halloween potluck and for reasons I can’t fathom Dex wants to come.

“The residents have been planning this party for more than a month,” I tell him. “If you’re just going to make fun of it . . . and them . . . you shouldn’t come.”

“Why would I make fun of them?”

“Because you think everything about Cedar Pines is freaky. You said the park is where old weirdos go to die, remember ?” It’s stuck in my craw ever since.

These people are my neighbors. My friends.

They may be a bit peculiar but they’re good people.

Kind people. “I don’t get it, Dex. This isn’t your scene at all. ”

“But you are,” he says. “I want to be where you are. Don’t you get that?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say Since when? But I stop myself because these are exactly the declarations of love I’ve always wanted him to make.

No, the truth is I simply don’t want him to come to the party.

I try to tell myself it’s because I don’t want him to feel awkward as an outsider, but the real reason is he’ll cramp my style.

I want to celebrate Kennedy making her forty-thousand deadline, Bent McCourtney partnering with us, and all the future plans for Cedar Pines.

And I want to do it with wild abandon. What I don’t want to do is celebrate under Dex’s always critical eye.

“You won’t have fun, Dex. And if you’re not having fun, I won’t have fun. And this is kind of a big deal to me. It’s the kickoff before the renovations. Even our new partner is coming. So think of it as a business thing.” If there’s anything Dex understands it’s business.

“Or is this just an excuse for you spend more time with that idiot Liam?”

“You’re being ridiculous.” But is he? Yes, he is, I tell myself.

Liam lied and is dead to me. “In a few days, I’m leaving here, and you and I will be starting a whole new life together.

I just think it would be better if I went to this party on my own.

If Kennedy and I are going to make this venture work, we need facetime with our residents.

This is that opportunity.” It sounds so superficial, so phony.

So transactional. The truth is I’m looking forward to the potluck and spending time with Misty, Harry, Rondi, Azriel—even Trapper—and all the rest of the residents.

But Dex understands transactional.

“You sure?” He sounds sad, making me almost change my mind.

“You’d be bored to tears, Dex. And by next week, we’ll be seeing each other every day.

” I wait for that familiar rush of excitement I used to get just before a date night or one of our infrequent lunch rendezvous.

But all I get is a sense of nerves. It’s normal.

Moving in together is a big step. How many times have I said the same thing to reluctant brides asking for advice?

“All right,” he says. “But if you change your mind I can be there in two hours.”

“Okay.” I start to tell him I love him but am distracted by Kennedy, who is standing in my doorway, motioning for me to wrap it up. “I’ve got to go, Dex. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I need help with my makeup.” Kennedy holds up a tube of white face paint. She’s going to the party as a sexy ghost. Not terribly original but a good excuse to wear a slutty dress.

“We’ve got at least three hours still. What’s your rush?”

“I guess I’m just excited. And if you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it.

” She smiles and the stress from the last few weeks is completely gone.

Her face is like sunshine. And for the first time, I notice how very much we resemble each other.

The same cheekbones, the same cleft chin, the same forehead. Willy’s face, I suppose.

“I talked to Mr. Townsend,” she says.

“On a Saturday?”

She nods. “He confirmed Liam’s account that there was more than three million dollars in the bag and that when all is said and done, we’ll get a cut. He didn’t know how much exactly but a substantial amount, enough for us to be comfortable.”

I grab her hand. “You’re a good person, Kennedy. You did the right thing by turning the money over to the FBI. You deserve this. You deserve the money. Now come on, let’s get ready. ”

A few hours later, we’re in the clubhouse, which has been decked out in monster mash regalia, including a giant blowup Frankenstein Monster.

A DJ (Hadley Ralston dressed as a member of Run-DMC) is playing “Ghostbusters,” while Zola Abdi packs the punch with dry ice for a smoky effect.

She’s dressed in one of her African-print outfits and when I ask her what she’s come as she says, “Whatever you want, baby girl.”

“Nice costume.” Harry reads the sparkly letters on my sandwich board that spell out G LITTERING G ENERALITY . I can tell he doesn’t get it.

“You too, Harry.” He’s a mailman. Clearly, he dug his old uniform out from one of his drawers.

“I’m going to grab a bite. Want to come?

” I stick my arm out for him, but he gets detained by Rondi.

So, I stroll over to the buffet alone, three folding banquet tables that have been pushed together and are sagging with food.

People went all out. A pumpkin throwing up guacamole, not the most appetizing but certainly living up to the spirit of the holiday. Bloody witch-finger sandwiches, monster-toe cocktail sausages, stuffed mummy breadsticks, spider deviled eggs, and eyeball tacos.

I fill a plate and the next thing I know Liam is standing beside me. “A glittering generality, huh?” He gets it. He gets me.

“A park ranger?” I hitch my eyebrows at what appears to be a hastily thrown together costume of khaki pants, a forest green flannel shirt, a broad-rimmed flat hat, and a makeshift ranger badge pinned to his breast pocket. Kind of lame but adorable.

“Kennedy says you’re leaving next week. Is that true?” We both know what he’s really asking: Am I planning to go through with Dex’s proposal?

“Yep.” I should tell him that I have to mingle now but I don’t want to mingle. I want to stay here—with him. With Liam Duffy, my late father’s henchman.

“Let me ask you something.” He locks his gaze on me, silently beseeching me to hear him out.

“If one of your readers were in our situation and asked you whether you should forgive a man who made a mistake—granted, a big mistake, but a mistake designed to help a man he’d grown to love like his own father find solace in his last years on Earth—what would you tell that reader? ”

“Not to break the law. Not to lie,” I say.

“Too late. He already did both. If he could go back and do it differently, he would. But he can’t. And it’s killing him. The thought that this woman . . . his friend . . . may be lost to him forever is killing him.”

He looks into my eyes, and I can see all the things he isn’t saying. All the things I’ve been feeling, and I force myself to look away.

“What would you tell her, Emma? Because I know you. I know what’s in your heart. You’d tell her to forgive him. To give him a second chance because if she does, it’ll be the best decision she ever made. He’ll spend the rest of his life making her happy.”

There’s a lump in my throat and my eyes well with tears. “I forgive you, Liam. I do. But everything else . . . everything else has been set in motion. It’s what I always wanted and now it’s mine. I can’t undo it, Liam. I don’t want to undo it.”

But as I walk away, I wonder if I’m lying to myself.