Three Wishes by Barbara Delinsky Page A

diner was over, Flash came to the hospital and drove Bree home. She didn’t tell him what the doctor had said, didn’t see the point, since she didn’t know how she felt about it herself. All her rationalization notwithstanding, there was still an unexpected emptiness. So she pushed it from her mind.
    The weather helped. The sun was bright and the air warm; the roads were dry. It was the type of autumn day she loved, the type when the smallest pile of raked leaves, heated by the sun, perfumed the air for miles. If the jostling of the Explorer as it barreled along caused her discomfort, it was soothed by the rush of the breeze past her face.
    The roads grew progressively familiar. Not a thing had changed while she had been gone, it seemed. The Crowells’ rusted Chevy still sat in the tall grasses of the field beside their house, the Dillards’ front lawn was still filled with pumpkins for sale, the Krumps’ three-year-old triplets still clustered on the big old tire that swung from the sprawling oak at the side of their house.
    Everything was just as it had been prior to the snow a week before—just the same, yet different. The trees looked larger, the sun brighter, the colors richer. The smiles of the people they passed were broader, their waves higher. Even Bree’s old Victorian seemed less prim as it welcomed her home.
    She went up the front walk hugging the bubble bowl that Julia Dean had sent. The few flowers left in it were so feeble that Flash had wanted to leave it behind, but Bree wouldn’t hear of it. Julia’s arrangement had been the first splash of color she had seen, waking up in her hospital room. Then, it had seemed a link between the world she had glimpsed beyond and the earthly one to which she’d returned. Her need for that link was greater now than ever.

Chapter
5
    T om was unsure of his place, with Bree suddenly home. Each time he drove past her house that first day, a different car was parked there. Talk at the diner revolved around who was sitting with her when, who was cooking for her when, who was cleaning for her when. Directly or indirectly, most everyone in town had a role.
    For the first time in years, he thought about his own hometown, small and so like this one. He hadn’t appreciated it then, but he did now. Having lived in the city, having been one of those who were too busy—or self-important—to care about a neighbor’s woes, having felt the brunt of isolation during his last few months there, he found it heartwarming to see Panama rally around Bree. A schedule was drawn up to ensure that during those first few days, at least, she was never alone.
    No one asked him to take a turn. So he approached the group that surrounded Flash, making final arrangements. Jane Hale had known Bree since childhood, LeeAnn Conti had worked with her for years. Dotty Hale and Emma McGreevy, both a generation above, spoke for the town. Liz Little was simply a friend.
    â€œI’d like to do my part,” he said. “I feel responsible for her needing the help.”
    All six regarded him with eyes that ranged from cautious to cold—a sobering experience for a man who had once had the power to charm by virtue of simply walking into a room.
    â€œThank you,” said Emma, with a curt smile, “but we take care of our own.”
    He absorbed the rebuff as his due. But it didn’t stop him. “I’d like to be considered one of your own.”
    Emma looked at his fading shiner and the livid line beneath it. “After half a year? I think not. Besides, we don’t need help with Bree. We have it all arranged.”
    â€œAll but the nights,” he said, when she would have closed the circle and shut him out. He had overheard enough to know where they stood. “You’re still working that out. I can help.”
    Emma fingered the short strand of pearls that circled her neck. “You wouldn’t know what to