Careful What You Wish For Page 4

  Finally I threw the baby food in the garbage and put some Cheerios on his tray. This white high chair made out of some space-age plastic was a new addition to Brady’s world, and any food that went on the tray immediately became something to play with. Brady is never one to stay mad; his tears quickly stopped. Within seconds he was having a good time pushing the Cheerios off the tray edge, and Baby Kitty was knocking them around the floor. Brady thought that was hilarious.

  I wasn’t laughing. I was worried out of my mind about that bottle in the cupboard, but I did what I had to do. I pulled out the blender and, using the goodies sealed up in Tupperware that my mother had brought over—I chose creamy mashed potatoes and baked chicken—I made some homemade baby food. A few minutes later, as I sat there feeding my happy little guy, my brain wouldn’t quit thinking, going over the same subjects again and again.

  I had so much on my plate lately—no pun intended—that the last thing I needed was a genie in my kitchen cupboard. Coming back to my grand-father’s house and having a baby had changed my life irrevocably. And while I thought I’d miss the city, in fact I rarely thought about it. Until the recent cold snap, every day I had put Brady on my back and we walked through the fields. My legs had gotten hard and lean from our hikes. I had worn a path through the grass and up toward the old apple orchard. I realized one day that I felt like the maples and oaks that lined the stone walls. This land is where I had my roots. I was profoundly connected to this place whether I chose to be or not. The rolling hills that stretched in every direction, the clouds that dropped so low I could almost reach up and touch them, and the solitude that embraced my baby and me as we walked where there was no other house or human in sight brought me a kind of peace I had never felt in Philadelphia.

  Yet lately I had been waking up at night with recurring worries. Did I really have a future here? I needed to start making money, for one thing. But I didn’t want to leave Brady all day, even though my mother would gladly take care of him. I definitely didn’t want to join another large law firm. I could practice law at home, but did I want to? Putting out my shingle might not earn me much, and my savings were running close to empty. I could always ask the diaper genie for a million dollars. Let’s not even go there, I thought. I still hadn’t figured out if I had imagined the whole thing or if I was truly losing my mind, but that bottle in the cupboard was scaring the bejeezus out of me.

  Brady had long since finished his bottle. I took him out of the high chair to cuddle in my arms, the sun went down, and the weak light of the gray November day turned into the murky shadows of dusk. The same thoughts kept running through my mind like a toy train around a track. Finally I stood up and turned on the kitchen lights. Brady had fallen asleep. I gently put him into his baby seat and carefully strapped him in. I kissed him and told him I loved him. He was the sweetness in my life.

  I let out a deep sigh and straightened up. I was hungry. I remembered the pot of chicken soup on the stove and I ladled out some into a bowl. It was delicious; the broth was rich with just the right amount of pepper. Light green celery and vivid orange carrots floated in it. Little bits of chicken lay on the bottom of the bowl. My mother couldn’t have made it; she makes plain, hearty foods, nothing gourmet. I took another spoonful and realized I was starved, hungrier than I had felt in months. I ate the entire bowlful quickly, and I admit I felt better with a full stomach. My usual evening meal was a Healthy Choice frozen dinner which—on nights that I was feeling stressed, depressed, or tired (check all of the above most nights)—I followed up with a dish of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream.

  Tonight I skipped the ice cream and sat there at the kitchen table not knowing what to do next, besides the dishes, so I picked up my bowl and headed for the sink. I was saved from having to make any serious decisions by the sound of my cousin Frederika Ann’s voice calling, “Ravine? You home? Hello!” from the sunporch. I leave my front door unlocked except at night; my relatives walk right on in. As crime creeps out into the boondocks from the nearest city, Wilkes-Barre, I should be locking up all the time, but we never had out here, and I still wasn’t in the habit of doing it. A locked door wasn’t neighborly, somehow.

  “Freddi! I’m in the kitchen! Come on back,” I answered.

  My cousin, as short as a fireplug, came bursting into the kitchen, her nose red with cold and snow clinging to her boots. “Wow, your house looks great. You must have spent all day cleaning,” she said as she peeled off her coat and put it on the back of a chair.

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “Your house. It’s spotless. I mean, I’m not criticizing how it usually is, but the dust bunnies are the size of grown-up rabbits, no offense.”

  I got up without answering her and walked into the dining room, then the living room, then the sunporch. I could smell Lemon Pledge. The rugs were vacuumed. The furniture was dusted. The normal clutter of magazines and books was neatly piled on the coffee table. I shook my head in amazement.

  “Great chocolate chip cookies,” Freddi was saying when I came back to the kitchen. “I hope you didn’t mind me taking one.”

  “No, take as many as you want. Would you like a glass of milk? Cup of tea?”

  “Tea would be great. I didn’t know you baked,” she added, as she polished off a cookie.

  “I don’t,” I said as I put the teakettle on the burner, leaned back, and put my butt against the counter as I mulled over what I wanted to do. My cousin Freddi, sole proprietor of Freddi’s Beauty Shop, is a little younger than I am, but she and I are close. She had married her high school sweetheart, and she always thought she’d have a half-dozen kids. It didn’t happen. Three months ago she had made the decision to start taking fertility drugs. If she thought it unfair that I ended up pregnant without trying, she didn’t say so.

  That was Freddi’s nature. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. A sweetheart, a softie, a friend through thick and thin, that’s my cousin Freddi. I made my decision as I poured her tea and set the mug in front of her.

  “Freddi, can I show you something? It’s a little weird,” I asked as I opened my kitchen cupboard and pulled out the brown bottle. “Tell me if you see anything inside this? But don’t pull out the cork!” I added as I handed it to her.

  “Sure,” she said, and held the bottle up to the light. “Euccch. There’s something moving in there!” She nearly dropped the bottle. I grabbed it out of her open fingers before it fell, my heart racing.

  “What is it? Did a mouse crawl in there? That’s gross! Why don’t you let it out?”

  “It’s not a mouse. Now hang on to the damned thing and look again, please.” I handed the bottle back. “I mean it now, get a grip and tell me what you see.”

  Freddi took the bottle in both hands and held it up to the light again. “Wow! Oh wow!” she said. “What is this, a trick bottle? It looks like there’s a little man in there. And he’s waving at me. He’s so cute!”

  I snatched the bottle out of her hands. “No!”

  “Yes! Honest, he’s in there,” she insisted.

  “Yes, I know. I meant no, he’s not cute. Okay, he’s sort of cute. You really do see a guy in there, right?”

  She looked at me with a question in her eyes and answered in a puzzled voice. “Yes, there’s definitely a little guy in there. He’s got shorts on and a bush hat. What is it? A projection game? A hologram?”

  “No, it’s a genie. At least he says he’s a genie,” I said, watching her face for a reaction.

  She pressed her lips together and wrinkled up her nose. “Get out of here. Genies aren’t real. What is it? A little computer thingie?”

  “No, Freddi, I’m serious. He says he’s a genie. His name is Gene. He’s Australian—at least that’s where he told me he was from.”

  Freddi’s eyes were getting round like saucers. “He talks? He’s spoken to you? In the bottle?”

  “No, not in the bottle. He was here, in the house. I let him out. He did the cleaning—and
the baking.”

  “Shut up. This is a joke, right? Ravine, what’s going on?”

  “It’s not a joke. And I don’t know what’s going on. I need you to help me figure it out.”

  “Serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “I swear, Ravine. This could only happen to you. Hey, he’s rapping on the glass.” She reached over and pulled on my hands to put the bottle up close to her face. “He’s pointing at the cork. You know he is really cute. I think he’s saying he wants to get out.”

  “No! Don’t—” I started to say, but it was too late. Freddi had yanked the cork out. To the accompaniment of those damned tinkling bells and a puff of white smoke, Gene appeared, all six feet two inches of apparently hale and hearty Aussie man, standing with his sandy combat boots on my clean kitchen counter and stooping to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

  “Get down off of there!” I said testily.

  “Right, lady,” he said, and suddenly he was standing on the floor near Freddi and me.

  Freddi’s eyes were almost popping out of her head and her mouth was a little O.

  “My name’s Ravine, not ‘lady.’” I bit off the words. I don’t know why having Gene in my kitchen made me feel more irritated than frightened, but it did. Now that I knew I wasn’t crazy—unless Freddi was bonkers too—I wasn’t scared. I felt out of sorts. Gene rubbed me the wrong way. He had cooked me dinner, cleaned my house, and I felt pissed. I wasn’t sure why. I mean, I could feel his body heat even though he was positioned maybe two feet away from me. I was acutely aware that his shirt was unbuttoned and I could see his chest with its well-defined pecs and light sprinkling of bleached blond hair.

  I hadn’t been this close to a young male since, well, since Jake. My body was reacting in a traitorous way even though my mind was saying, This guy isn’t even real. He’s a genie, a spirit. And he’s, what, if he was chasing Rommel in the Sahara? Ninety years old? Okay, he looks twenty-eight or something, but he was in World War II! My body, however, wasn’t listening to a word. Gene was staring at me with those big blue eyes of his. A blush was creeping up my neck into my face and I felt hot all over.

  “G’day, Ravine,” Gene drawled in his Aussie way. “Who’s the pretty lady with you?”

  “This is my cousin Freddi,” I snapped, feeling even more annoyed as his eyes left me and looked Freddi over from head to toe. Then he stretched out his hand and said, “Please to meet ya, Freddi gal.”

  Freddi giggled and shook his hand. I gave her a dirty look. “So you’re a genie?” Her voice became girlish and shy. “A real genie?”

  “As real as they come,” Gene answered. “Kept by magic in a bottle, and now a slave to your cousin here. Raah Vine. It’s sort of a strange name, ain’t it? Is she always this grumpy, by the way?” he asked, his voice teasing.

  “Grumpy—why you, you—” I sputtered.

  “Oh no,” Freddi jumped in. “Ravine’s not grumpy. She can have a temper, but she’s an up person, really. You surprised us, that’s all. Isn’t that right, cousin?” Freddi looked at me.

  Before I got a chance to answer, I heard the front door open. Freddi and I froze as my mother’s voice called, “Hello! Anybody home?”

  Panic overwhelmed me. “Get back into the bottle!” I hissed at Gene and he vanished in a puff of smoke. I grabbed the bottle and held it with one hand behind my back. “Not a word!” I said to Freddi, who was nodding yes as my mother walked into the kitchen.

  “Hello, Aunt Clara,” Freddi said.

  “What’s going on?” my mother asked. I was afraid she’d see my guilt written all over my face.

  “Nothing!” I said quickly. “Freddi stopped by, that’s all. You look nice. How come you’re wearing lipstick? You wouldn’t want a cookie, would you?” I asked, picking up the blue plate and shoving it toward her, hoping to change the subject.

  My mother shook her head and said, “Don’t tell me you baked,” her voice filled with suspicion.

  “No! Of course not,” I said. “Freddi brought them, didn’t you, Freddi?”

  “Oh yes, Aunt Clara. I stopped by to drop them off.” She looked at me. “Look, I have to run. I’ll call you…uh, later.”

  “Wait. Why don’t you hang out a while,” I pleaded, not wanting to be left alone with my mother and that damned bottle. I managed to set it down on the counter and was trying to shove it behind a loaf of bread.

  Freddi was shaking her head in a definite no. She grabbed her coat and ran for the door.

  Coward! I mouthed at Freddi from behind my mother’s head.

  “You’re in an awful big hurry, Frederika Ann,” my mother said. “How’s your mother?”

  “She’s fine, Aunt Clara. Really, I’ve got to go. See you, Ravine. And…and good luck!” she said as she beat it like a bat out of hell from the kitchen.

  “What do you need good luck for?” my mother asked while she turned her attention to Brady. “How’s my little prince tonight?” she cooed. “Did you have a good din-din?”

  Brady had woken up and was babbling something that sounded like “Ga ga ga.”

  “It’s dinner, not din-din, Ma,” I said.

  “Whatever,” she said, straightening up and looking me right in the eye. “I asked, what do you need good luck for?”

  “Nothing. Really. We were talking about me getting back to work, trying to figure out how to do it, you know, that’s all,” I said while I leaned my elbows back on the counter, trying to keep my body in front of the bread and the bottle. “I thought you were going to bingo tonight.”

  “I am,” she said. “I’m on my way. But it’s funny you should bring up your going back to work, because that’s why I’m here.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I have a case for you.”

  “A legal case? What do you need a lawyer for?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Ravine. I don’t need a lawyer. That sweet young couple who bought the B and B up on the hill need legal advice. They’re Buddhists, you know.”

  I had heard that the Yeager farm had been bought and turned into a yoga meditation retreat. The sale happened about the time I moved back to Noxen. The whole town had talked about it for weeks. Most people were worried about some cult moving into the neighborhood and the rumors got pretty crazy for a while. The “cult” turned out to be a married couple from Japan who renamed the B and B Jade Meadow Farm. After a few months people seemed to accept them better than I’d expected.

  This summer the Katos had opened a small roadside stand where they sold organic produce and free-range eggs. Whenever they sponsored a Buddhist retreat, the guests kept to themselves, never even coming into town to the post office. Every now and then somebody would mention meeting a monk in a red robe walking on the road, but the locals had gotten pretty used to the new neighbors.

  “Yes, I know they’re Buddhists,” I said, hoping that I completely blocked the bottle from my mother’s view. “What happened? Somebody bothering them?”

  “Not exactly,” my mother said. “It was a murder attempt on one of their hens, and they’re all upset.”

  “Murder attempt?” I said, thinking this sounded totally wacky.

  “Maybe not really murder. The hen was almost hit by a pickup truck. Mihoko and her husband—his name is Ken—felt the driver was intentionally trying to hit it. I told them you’d stop by and talk with them.”

  “Me? Why? Chickens get hit by cars all the time if they’re wandering in the road. What can I do?”

  “I’m not sure, but they’d like to know who did it and then, well, they have something in mind, I guess. I told them you were a lawyer, and they asked if they could discuss it with you. I said you’d be happy to see them.”

  “I would? Ma, I don’t know if I’m going to go into private practice, and this isn’t really a legal issue anyway. If the hen had been killed, maybe we could get the driver to pay for the dead chicken—”

  “Ravine, before you jump to any conclusions, go ta
lk to them. Tomorrow morning, around ten. I’ll come by to watch Brady. Now look at the time. I’ll be late for bingo if I don’t get going.” She turned away, then stopped and looked back at me, her eyes soft and kind. “You know, I think it’s a really good thing that you cleaned up the house so nice. It’s time you got back to living again,” she said, and before I could protest that I was living, that I had a son who took up all my time, before I could say anything at all, she had gone, and a few seconds later the scent of Lemon Pledge came wafting back on the cool draft from her opening and closing of the front door.

  Chapter 4

  That night in bed I tossed and turned except for the hours between three thirty and six a.m. when I lay on the mattress flat on my back, wide awake, staring into the darkness toward the ceiling. I didn’t know what to do about the genie in the bottle, and throughout the slowly passing hours, no wisdom descended upon me, just more worries: Was Gene dangerous? Was he telling me the truth? Was he real? Could he really grant three wishes? Make that two wishes. I had already used up one wish on getting new sheets and a few hours’ sleep. If Gene’s magic was genuine, what should I wish for? Would he leave after he granted the wishes? He was really a good-looking guy. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him…

  As soon as the last thought crossed my mind, I sat up as fast as if someone had thrown cold water on me. Whoa! What was I thinking? No! I definitely did not want to make out with Gene. This guy, this genie or Aussie or whatever he was, could complicate my life in so many ways. And the complication I definitely didn’t want to deal with was that he was sexy and he made me feel…what? Desire. He made me feel like making love with a man and losing myself in the feeling. And that was something I never wanted to feel again, not for anyone—and definitely not for a guy who said he had been living in a bottle for over sixty years.