If Wishing Made It So by Lucy Finn Page B

ate their way through the entire pizza, he started telling her about wanting to get out of real estate and start a detective agency. He described Jake Truesdale and how much fun he had working with him.
    Then he asked Hildy, ‘‘What do you think? I wouldn’t make the kind of money I’m generating in real estate. Am I being foolish?’’
    ‘‘It would be foolish to keep doing something that is killing your soul,’’ Hildy insisted. ‘‘If you can’t wait to go to work with Jake, then that tells you something—really tells you everything, right?’’
    ‘‘I think so too. My career in real estate was always about the money. In the beginning, the profits blew me away. I started chasing bigger deals. I took risks, spent days following up prospects, and nights crunching numbers. I was the young Turk, the guy to watch. One day I said to myself, why am I doing this? I was nothing but a salesman and I was full of shit most of the time.
    ‘‘I couldn’t stand the things I said to close a deal. I started looking for excuses not to take on a hot property. I hated going into the office. Pretty soon the money couldn’t compensate for feeling miserable every day.’’
    ‘‘Reality check,’’ Hildy broke in. ‘‘You told me not a half hour ago that you love your Mercedes. Did you think about that? Maybe you need to have expensive toys and the lifestyle wealth brings. Maybe you would be even more unhappy if you had to budget every dime and scramble to pay the rent.’’
    Mike shook his head. ‘‘I could handle the finances. To tell the truth, Hildy, I’m tired of the lifestyle I have. I can’t tell you how phony so much of it is. Sure, I like having a great apartment and nice car. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But they don’t make up for the’’—a shadow passed over his features and he thought for a minute—‘‘the emptiness. It’s outside me and it’s inside me, a dark void right in the center of my heart that threatens to swallow me up. At times I wonder what’s the point of life, what’s the point of me living.’’
    The words struck Hildy like an arrow, piercing her with a sudden agony, and prompting her to do what she did—reach out and take Mike’s hand. ‘‘Then you should start your detective agency, Mike. It’s the right thing to do.’’
    Mike squeezed her fingers. ‘‘I knew you’d understand, Hildy. But what about you? Are you following your bliss, as Joseph Campbell said?’’
    ‘‘Hey, I’m the one who goes around quoting literature!’’ She laughed.
    ‘‘I read books. I can quote with the best of them. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’ ’’
    Hildy lowered her eyes. ‘‘You are so full of it, Mike.’’
    ‘‘I mean it, Hildy. You are lovely, from the inside out. But you didn’t answer my question. Are you happy?’’
    ‘‘You might say I’m at a career crossroads too. Unlike you, I don’t know what I’m passionate enough about to quit my teaching job. I came down here to think and reevaluate. I realize I have to get out of my comfort zone, reach out, force myself to grow—’’ She stopped herself and laughed. ‘‘I must be watching too much Oprah. Does that sound too Dr. Phil to you?’’
    He shook his head. ‘‘No, it sounds genuine. And smart.’’
    The pie was gone. Their meal was over. Mike looked down at the few remnants of crust on the silver tray in front of them. ‘‘I am totally stuffed. I feel like a horse who will just keep eating until it dies. The pizza was so good, if there were any more, I would have kept going until I burst.’’
    ‘‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’’ she said.
    Mike held on to Hildy’s hand. He gave it a squeeze. ‘‘How about walking some of this off? Let’s go down to the beach, get some fresh air, listen to the waves?’’ His eyes asked more than his words did.
    Hildy felt torn between what she wanted to do and what was the smart thing to