Birthday Girls by Jean Stone Page B

for me to make a wish. If there’s anything I want, I think I can take care of it myself.” She paused. “Not that there is anything, of course.”
    The room grew silent.
    “Abigail,” Maddie said, “why don’t you play the piano? Remember how you used to play?”
    Abigail sighed. “I haven’t played in years. Not since Grandfather died.” She stood up. “But I’ll put on some music if it will help you two relax. God,” she added, walking toward the lacquered oriental cabinet that held the CD player, “one might think I’d asked you to witness an execution.”
    Maddie set down her camera and returned to the sofa. She slipped off her boots, tucked her feet under her, and covered her legs with her long denim skirt. The sounds of strings and French horns filled the room. She closed her eyes and let the music soothe the ache in her head, wondering why she and Kris were being so Abigail-edgy. She considered that Kris might be as hesitant as she was to talk about wishes that probably wouldn’t come true.
    Still, they were here. And a promise was a promise.
    Finally Maddie spoke. “Well,” she began, “Kris may believe there’s nothing she wants, but that’s not true for me. And what’s more, I’m not going to be too proud to admit it.”
    Abigail moved toward the fireplace and leaned against the mantle. “Okay then, Maddie, you go first. What’s your wish?”
    She opened her eyes. “What happened to writing them down and putting them in the bottle?”
    “Because this time we need to share them if they’re going to come true. We need each other to help make them happen.”
    Maddie laughed. “I really don’t think either of you can help.”
    “We’ll determine that later,” Abigail said. “First we’ll each say our wishes. Then together we’ll work out our plans.”
    “Okay, okay. There are lots of things I could wish for …” Her voice trailed off. “Remember the year Betty Ann wished for world peace?”
    “Don’t change the subject,” Abigail said.
    Maddie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s a little difficult to tell you what I want, because I know that if you never thought so before, you’ll probably now think I’m out of my mind.” She wished one of them would say something, reassure her of her sanity,
something
. But they said nothing.
    “Okay, here goes. What I want, more than anything in the world, is that by the time I am fifty …” she paused, pushed the image of Sophie from her mind, then closed her eyes again. “By the time I am fifty, I want my ex-husband back.”
    Her words hung in the air.
    Kris moaned. “I can’t believe it. With everything in the world you do not have, I cannot believe you want that two-timing scum back in your life. Where’s your self-esteem, girl?”
    The hangman’s noose constricted Maddie’s throat again. “I didn’t think we were going to judge each other,” she said, her voice cracking. “I thought we were supposed to be honest. Well, the honest truth is, I want Parker. I want my life back the way it was.” Quickly she wrote her wish on the paper Abigail had provided, and then, with a vengeance, stuffed it into the bottle.
There
, she thought.
Now it’s official
.
    Abigail lowered her eyes. “Maddie is right, Kris. We agreed not to be judgmental. If that’s what she wants, we have to help her find a way to get him back.”
    “Heaven help us,” Kris said. “The nineties are almost over and there’s still one woman on the face of the earth who thinks she can’t live without her man.”
    Maddie felt like a fool. She untied and retied the yarn on the bow of her black crocheted vest, aware that this wasnot the first time she’d sat in this room and felt inferior to her best friends.
    “You’re next , Kris,” Abigail announced.
    “Why me? Why not you?”
    Abigail smiled. “Because it’s my house.”
    “Good old Abigail. Still as snatchy as ever.”
    Only the music filled the dead air.
    “Care for a