Three Wishes by Barbara Delinsky Page B

do.”
    â€œBree says he does,” Jane said in a quiet voice.
    Dotty scowled at her. “What’s there to do in a hospital? This is at home.”
    â€œI can help there, too,” Tom said.
    â€œCan you cook?” asked Liz.
    Emma waved a hand. “No need for him to cook. We have plenty of food.”
    â€œIt’d be nice if he could heat up what’s there.”
    Emma tried shaking her head. “No matter. He can’t stay with her.”
    Jane dared a soft “Why not?”
    â€œGood God, Jane,” Dotty flared, “how can you even ask that? He said it himself. He’s responsible for putting her there.”
    â€œIt wasn’t his fault,” offered Flash. “She doesn’t blame him.”
    â€œStill,” Dotty insisted, “looking at him will only remind her of bad things.”
    â€œHe’s famous,” said LeeAnn, with a curious glance Tom’s way.
    Emma granted. “More like in famous. Goodness, LeeAnn, Dotty’s been waving those articles in front of your nose for a week now.”
    â€œDo you really want Bree to spend the night with a womanizer?” Dotty asked.
    â€œAlleged womanizer,” Tom corrected. “Just because the tabloids loved writing about me doesn’t mean everything they said was true.”
    Dotty brushed his comment aside. “You can’t stay with her. It isn’t proper.”
    â€œWhy not?” Jane asked again.
    â€œBecause . . . he’s . . . male.”
    â€œSo’s Flash,” Liz said, “and he’s spending the night.”
    â€œBree’s like my sister,” Flash reasoned. “I’ve known her for years.”
    â€œSo have you,” Dotty told her daughter. “You’re a selfish one, wanting him there to spare you the work.”
    â€œThat’s not it at all. I do want to help. In fact, I can sleep better at her house than at ours. You wake up all the time.”
    â€œDo I tell you to get up with me? I do not. It’s not my fault you sleep so lightly every little noise spooks you. Good God, Jane. I’m your mother. You complain about me, you complain about Bree . . .”
    Tom saw Julia Dean watching them from a booth. She looked torn, as though she wanted to join the group but didn’t dare. What with the way they weren’t welcoming him, Tom didn’t blame her. What with the way Dotty was going after Jane, he really didn’t blame her.
    â€œThe thing is,” he said to end the last, “you all have other things to do during the day. I don’t. I can sleep all day if I want. Look at you, Liz. You can’t sleep all day. You have three young kids.”
    â€œBut I love Bree,” Liz said. “She house-sits with our cats whenever we go away, and she never lets me pay her for it. I owe her this.”
    â€œMe, too,” Tom said, but Emma was moving on, paper and pencil in hand.
    â€œAll right. It’s Liz tonight, LeeAnn tomorrow night, Flash Sunday, Jane Monday. Abby wants Tuesday night, and then we’ll regroup.” Throwing a smug look Tom’s way, she drew a line across the bottom of the list, and that was that.
    Â 
    But Tom couldn’t stay away. He left the diner at eight, saw two cars in Bree’s drive, drove past and down the turnpike to the mall, where he rented a movie. Reversing the trip, he arrived back at Bree’s shortly after nine. The two cars had been replaced by Liz Little’s Suburban. Satisfied that Bree was in capable hands, he went home and put the movie in the VCR. He watched it for half an hour, before turning it off and snatching up the keys to his car.
    Bree’s Victorian was a behemoth of a house. It was tall and lean, made all the more so by its setting on a rise. Staid was one word Tom might have used to describe it, stark another. In the absence of a moon, not even the dim lamplight seeping from the lower-floor windows added cheer. The house felt cold.