Summer of Two Wishes by Julia London

third of her age group. Wyatt had taken the picture of her just after she crossed the finish line, when she was still wondering what she was doing out there in hundred-degree heat. With her hair in two ponytails, she’d stood with her hands on the small of her back and her legs planted wide apart, gasping for air while Wyatt snapped his pictures.
    Why he’d framed it, she’d never know.
    Macy picked up the picture. And a paperweight that looked like a miniature golf bag. And a few other things.
    In fact, Macy wandered from room to room in something of a fog, picking up things that reminded her of Finn or Wyatt, filling her arms until she was forced to dig a gym bag out of the hall closet to hold all the mementos she wanted to take with her. When Finn had supposedly been killed, people had told her to get rid of his stuff if she wanted to move on from her grief. It had taken her a long time to do it, but she’d finally given in, only to discover that even though the things were gone, the memories were still there.
    She should never have gotten rid of so much.
    Wyatt came in, carrying two coffees, and found her wandering about like a madwoman. “What’s the matter, kid?” he asked gently.
    “Just picking up a few things before I go,” she said with an insouciant shrug. She gave the gym bag a yank; it slid across the polished wood floor and the threshold of the master bedroom behind her.
    “You’re still determined to leave?” he asked, his gaze flicking over her bare legs.
    “Yep.”
    “Are you certain?” He lifted his gaze and took a tentative step toward her, putting the coffees down in an art nook built into the wall. “I’ve been thinking…you don’t really need to go, sweetheart. We can work through this. If you want space, I’ll give you space, but you don’t need to go to find it.”
    “No,” Macy said, shaking her head.
    “We’ve always been able to work through things,” Wyatt said, and abruptly reached up to stroke her cheek with his knuckle. That small touch of his finger sent a shiver through her, and Macy closed her eyes.
    “You know that whatever you need, I will give you. Everything will be all right, Macy, because I will walk to the ends of the earth for you if I have to.”
    Wyatt was her savior. Everything will be all right . He’d told her that on their first date, when she’d felt so awkward and uncertain about dating. He’d said it the first time they’d made love. She hadn’t been with anyone for so long. Everything will be all right . He’d said it on the anniversary of Finn’s death, and other occasions when she hadn’t been able to face the world. He had saved her, had lifted her up from the depths of despair.
    Macy opened her eyes and looked up into the face of the man she’d married. With his blue eyes, his thick black hair, and his easy smile, Wyatt was a handsome man. Everyone in town thought so—she’d heard it a million times. And he was a good provider, a hard worker, a good lover. Macy knew how much he loved her, and he…he was the sort of man any woman would want as a husband.
    But he wasn’t Finn . She could not seem to rid herself of that traitorous thought. He wasn’t Finn .
    “Everything will be all right,” he said again.
    She was married to this man, and he looked so earnest, so hurt. She didn’t want to hurt him; that was the very last thing she wanted. Tears began to blur her vision. She nodded and glanced at the floor.
    His hand moved from her face to her shoulder. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”
    Macy didn’t know what to say. Confusion paralyzed her.
    Wyatt stepped closer, bent his head, and touched his lips to hers. His kiss was so soft, so full of devotion, that Macy felt a familiar longing in her groin. “Don’t go,” he whispered, his lips now against her temple. “Don’t go.”
    Macy tried to breathe; she tried to make her body move, but instead she just stood there, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her body wanting his