The Wish

A Chapter by writergirl10

Chapter I

The Wish

Cars skid on the cold, wet road and the pavement sparkles on the sidewalk ahead of me. Lights two doors down from me light up as more and more college kids usher in out of the rain. I trudge myself down the slippery sidewalk and up the hill to my house.

My dad just died so it’s just my mom and I, and my older brother, who only drops by a couple times a year. He studies at University of South Carolina, USC, and rarely comes home lately. My mother has been a train wreck ever since my father was found dead in our Victorian-style luxurious mansion. I was coming home with my friends, on a day like this, and I saw him lying in a puddle of his blood all around him. My mother was devastated and losing it.

My mother has been working at the real estate office, ever since she married my father, twenty-one years ago. Lately, she hasn’t had the strength to get out of bed, however. I have to wake her up sometimes and drag her out of bed. She is in a bad place right now. She used to be so full of life, now she’s"so full of nothingness, like she has nothing to live for anymore. She used to take care of me"now I take care of her. I walk up the steep hill up the pathway to my house. My parents moved us here about four years ago when my dad got transferred here for a promotion as an executive in a corporate office.

“Aria? Is that you?” my mom calls out hoarsely as I walk through the double Rotunda doors. I run to her in the study. She sits in there a lot, sitting in my dad’s old chair. “Can you bring me some water?” she sniffles. I run to the huge kitchen and get the water from the fridge and then run into our housekeeper, Berta. Berta has been working for us ever since I was a baby, back in Brooklyn, where we moved from.

“Hello,” she says quietly. She looks around. “Your mother has been speaking today. She was just asking for food, but that’s the most I’ve heard from her since"well, that day.” She sighs.

“I’ll go talk to her, Berta, thank you,” I dismiss her. I walk to the study with a glass of water in hand. I knock on the study doors before I slip in quietly. “Mom?”

“Aria,” she sighs my name, “oh, Aria, I need water. I need water.”

“I have it, Mom. Would you like anything else?” I say as I hand over the water. I feel her cold, unpainted nails hand. She usually has her nails painted. Now, ever since Dad’s death, she hasn’t touched her nails, except to bite her nails.

“I had a dream about your father. He came back, came back to this very house. He wrapped me up in his arms and said he’d never leave us. Oh, Aria! He will come back!” she exclaims in a helpless, innocent tone. I back up. She reaches out for me, looking helpless and crazy. Sometimes, since the unexpected death, she has been having these crazy nightmares she thinks that will appear to be real. Our doctor, Dr. Sullivan, ordered a therapist for her, but my mom refused. She said therapists were not necessary.

I back out of the room and close the doors behind me. I sigh and lean my body on the doors.

“Is she okay?” Berta asks, coming back into the foyer. “Is everything alright? Do I need to make dinner?”

“What do you think?” I snap. She jumps back. “I’m sorry. My mom is not okay. She hasn’t for a long time, and I don’t think she will ever be.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Berta puts her arm around me. “Everything will be alright.” She then leaves to prepare dinner. I trudge my backpack to my room and shut the door behind me. Before my father’s death, I always had friends over. All of my friends loved my house, and I loved entertaining. Now, I don’t see the point anymore. I don’t see the point of entertaining when my dad’s not around or my mom’s never around mentally. I only have had my best friend in the entire world, Rosalie, over once, and that’s it. Rosalie Hoff is the daughter of Rick and Carla Hoff, who live next door. Rick is a CEO and Carla is the leader of The Ladies Club, which my mom was a part of, until she totally checked out. Carla and my mother have been best friends since high school, where they went where I go now, Westerfield High School.

As I finish my Algebra problems assigned for homework, I stare at the picture on my study table. I remember where the picture was taken. It was last summer, when my family went to a quaint little beach. The picture was at this little seafood restaurant. I remember I ordered the crab legs, and my dad had to help me because I complained about killing animals/crustaceans was wrong, about halfway through. My dad explained in a nice manner that these crustaceans sacrificed themselves, so it wasn’t really murder. My dad knew the perfect answer to every problem. I loved my dad. I looked up to him. That picture was the last picture of all four of us together, my dad, my mom, my older brother Scott. We all looked so happy. I remember that day as it was yesterday…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Scott, hurry up. I need to use the bathroom, like now,” I complain as I continue pounding on the blue painted door.

“What do you really need to do that’s so important?” he demands. “You’re only fourteen.” He snorts.

“I need to powder my nose and fix my eyeliner! C’mon!” I pound heavily on the door until the doorknob squeaks and turns to the right.

“There!” he says sarcastically. “Happy now?” I give him a threatening look and walk inside.

“Ew, gross! Did you just take a poop?” I demand. He laughs in triumphant. I flip the fan switch and flip through my make-up bag until I grab my eyeliner. I fix my line around my eye and then I brush my teeth. My mom yells down to me.

“Aria! We’re going to dinner! Hurry up!” my mom yells.

“Yeah, Aria!” my brother yells. “What is taking you so long?” my brother walks past the open door, says sarcastically. I throw my hairbrush at him but miss his head by a couple of inches. “Miss me, miss me, you’re not gonna catch me!” I slam the door in his face and fix my make-up. Five minutes later, I step out of the bathroom and run upstairs to the living room. My brother and I sleep in the basement. We have our own house here, what we bought of it when I was four. We’ve been vacationing here for ten summers, in a row.

“Finally!” my mom throws her hands up in exasperation. “We’re going to be late for our reservation!”

“Honey, I don’t think this restaurant takes reservations. It’s not that kind of restaurant,” my dad explains gently. My mom looks at him with a puzzled look.

“Of course they take reservations! They wouldn’t have said 7:15 on the phone earlier,” my mom explains. I share a look with my dad, and he just laughs.

“Well, we don’t want to miss that,” he says, tousling my hair. I smooth it over quickly after.

“Mom, can I go down to the beach after? Some friends of mine are throwing a bonfire party at the beach and they invited me,” my brother asks. My mom sighs and nods. Scott is five foot seven and all athletic. He plays linebacker for the Westerfield Jays, center on the basketball team, and is president of the Student Council and the newspaper. On top of all that, he is top of his class with 32 credits and five scholarships to colleges, two of them including out of state. Not that he needs them. My parents are more than happy and rich to support him in four years of college. They expect me the same way. I grab onto the door handle and let myself out into the warm but breezy air outside.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When the timer goes off for the baked potatoes, I take those out and put it on the cooling rack. At first, when my dad died, my mom cooked everything from cereal to the Thanksgiving turkey. But lately, she’s been walled up in that room. That leaves me to cook for myself. Our housekeeper, Berta, shows me everything I need to know about cooking. It gives me something to keep my mind away from certain things. I drain my macaroni and cheese, like Berta tells me to do, and place the macaroni back into the pot and stir in the cheese, milk, and butter.

“You’re improving well, I see,” Berta smiles over my shoulder. “You will be a great Momma.”

“Thank you. I wouldn’t be good if it weren’t for you,” I thank her.

“Oh, you’re just saying that!” she exclaims. I give her a look. “Right, right, thank you!” she beams. As I place my macaroni and cheese in two separate bowls, I make my potato as well as my mother’s. I set her bowl and potato on a plate, on a tray, and I carry it to my mother.

“Mom? I have dinner for you. Would you like it here, or the dining room?” I ask as I push open the study doors with my elbow. Of course I know the answer to that one. She will never come out of this room.

“I will come to the dining room,” she starts to get up. I start to set the tray down, but she dismisses it. “No, do not help me. I’m not sick, I’m just sad.” I walk with her to the dining room, following her every step just in case if she falls as if she’s fragile. Berta gasps but keeps dusting the fireplace as my mom passes her slowly. My mom smiles weakly as she sits down at the head of the table, in her usual spot. I set the tray down. I sit down also, placing a napkin in my lap. A few moments later, my mom opens her mouth to speak, pausing before every word. “Your father was going to surprise me with a trip all over Europe. I only found about it because I looked in his desk drawers.” She smiles weakly. “Your father always wanted to go to Italy. I remember him drawing a picture of the Leaning Tower of Piza. He lived to draw. He drew a portrait of me standing on the balcony, when I was pregnant with your brother. I was so mad at him that day because I thought of myself as fat, but he always, every second of the day, told me I was beautiful and looking like those models on TV.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. I look down at my empty bowl.

After a long pause, my mom gets up. I jump out of my seat and run to help her. She waves her hands dismissively.

“I’m fine. I’m going to bed now,” she states. “Make sure you do your homework.”

“Alright,” I reply. “Good night. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiles and heads up the stairs to her bedroom. Berta cleans up our dirty dishes while I walk around. I find myself in the study. I decide to sit in his chair. My dad always let me sit in his chair and play office with my friends as he went outside to talk to his clients. My dad was an architect. He had his own firm and he designed very important buildings, especially in New York, Pennsylvania, and even Washington D.C. I shuffle around in his desk drawers, until I come across a peculiar manila folder. My dad was famous for his folders. He was always so organized. But this one had Top Secret written across in red ink, like someone had just written it. I open it. My dad’s dead. He can’t do anything to me about this. Inside, I find just stacks of papers and I dump it all out.

Among the papers, one paper sticks out to me. Its blueprints for a building, but not just an ordinary building, no, but some sort of building meant for magical powers because at the top it reads"Wonderland. The building shows different levels, many, hundreds of levels. I don’t know how my dad could’ve drawn this. He must’ve had some help"and not his usual help. Some weird help. I quickly stuff it back inside and put it neatly back in his desk drawer. I silently walk on my tiptoes as if someone can hear me out of the study and up the grand steps to my bedroom.

Until the morning.

END OF CHAPTER 1: THE WISH