Shelly's Second Chance (The Wish Granters, Book One) Read online

  “Do you remember how you got here? Or where you came from?” Her abrupt questions seemed to stun him.

  He looked away and began to blink rapidly and she realized this was all even newer to him than it was to her. She remembered what the coordinator had told her about patience and decided she’d better take it slowly at first.

  She smiled. Somewhat tentatively, he smiled back.

  Okay, so his name was Joe, and now that she’d had a moment to consider it, he was definitely attractive, in an oh-so-very-slightly-past-his-prime sports guy kind of way. Not really her type. She liked men who were tall and thin and sophisticated-looking, more like . . .

  There. There it was again. That feeling in her chest again. That pressure like a weight on her.

  “I guess I’m from somewhere,” he said, with a rueful laugh, rubbing his palm against his chin almost as if to feel for a stubble in case he’d gone without shaving. But his face felt smooth and that was odd, too, because he reasoned that time had passed. “I mean, I’d have to be, wouldn’t I? But I can’t really remember.”

  He was taking her in all at once, with an expression Alanna had seen many times before. Well, at least that’s good news, she thought. Nice to know that even in this state—Transition that is—she was still attractive. In her previous life, men had always been approaching her—offering her drinks, trying to catch her eye—and she had been both flattered and annoyed by their attentions. She was lightly-muscled, with the look of an athlete in training, a girl who had time to care for herself, and her soft hair, bleached by the sun, complimented her face. So, of course the men had looked, and yes, it had been flattering and at times useful to be able to rely on a steady supply of male interest.

  But Alanna had often wished there was some way to turn it on and off like a TV. There had been days when she hadn’t wanted to deal with their comments, their stares, their hunger, their expectations. Perhaps that was why she had gotten in the habit of swimming so far away from the lifeguards. Lifeguards, she thought, the corners of her mouth turning up a little at the memory. How funny that word seems to me now.

  Joe noticed her smile and returned it eagerly. All right. This guy was confused, and confusion was making him a little goofy. Based on his grin, he was also obviously responding to her which was probably adding to the goofy equation as well. But if the past world had taught her anything, it was how to deal with a man on the prowl. For the first time since her feet had left the sand on that faraway beach in Florida, Alanna felt like she was on solid ground. No memory needed for this, the most basic rhythm of life.

  “I think it’s normal not to remember at first,” she told him. “But after a while, apparently things will start to come back to you. Did they give you a folder?”

  “Folder? Yeah, right, there was a folder,” he said, with some caution. ”It’s Alanna, right? Pretty name. Yeah, that must have been in there. But the old guy took it away so fast, I’m not sure I absorbed much. Where are you from?”

  “Delray Beach, but you probably don’t know where that is anymore. It doesn’t matter.” She looked at him carefully. “I think you’re from Massachusetts. I remember that from the file. Does anything about that sound remotely familiar?”

  “Go Sox,” he said, definitively. “Celtics. Patriots. I don’t know why I’m saying this but I can’t seem to stop myself.”

  “Yep, definitely Boston,” she said, and suddenly, without understanding exactly how and why, the two of them were laughing.

  Chapter Four

  Ben was headed out of town for a two-day company training, so he and Shelly decided to meet at Red Lobster for a quick goodbye dinner. He’d texted that he had a surprise for her and, when she arrived, he was already seated at the bar talking on his cell with a half empty glass of beer in front of him. She sat down next to him and kissed him on the cheek. He reached out and squeezed her butt but kept talking. Finally he hung up, at least from this particular call.

  There would be more. There always were.

  After they ordered and the waitress brought those little fried cheese fritter things, Ben grinned like he was about to burst and reached into his jacket pocket.

  “So, I did it. Called the inn,” he told her. “They’re giving us a prix fixe menu with two choices for the main course. You know, in case someone doesn’t eat meat. To reserve a room for the one night for us and make reservations for the engagement dinner is going to be pretty steep. But I’m willing if you are.”

  Of course Shelly was willing. “Honey, that’s fantastic,” she said, as the waitress returned with more food. As the girl left, Shelly leaned across the table and whispered, “Does that mean you’re ready to set the date?”

  “One step at a time, Shell,” he said. “Baby steps. I thought at the engagement party would be a good time to announce a date. If that’s okay with you.”

  Shelly reached out her hand and threaded her fingers in his. She understood this was his way of formally proposing.

  “And here’s the best part. Ready? If we pay in cash they knock ten percent off the total.” Ben sat back in the booth, clearly pleased with himself. He could never resist a little wheel-and-deal, no matter what the circumstances. He took a forkful of flounder with one hand and slid a fat envelope across the table to Shelly with the other. “Just don’t buy shoes with it.”

  They both laughed. Shelly did like her shoes. She shoved the envelope into her purse, noting its heft. She was tempted to glance inside but stopped herself. Marcus had always said that putting cash in front of people like them was like offering an alcoholic a drink. An image of his face at the last meeting flickered before her eyes. His serious expression, his reassurances that she could call him if she needed anything. But that didn’t seem likely, did it? Everything she needed was right in front of her. She was engaged to a great guy, a successful guy, a man who now trusted her completely. And who was finally willing to set the date. No more stalling until her “problem” was resolved. Handing her the cash to give to the Inn was proof of Ben’s complete confidence in her.

  Shelly shot Ben a brilliant smile, and then started in on her shrimp.

  Later they parked in Ben’s BMW outside her apartment building. Shelly waited for him to come around and open the door but he just sat there. Even though it was late, she heard the cell in his pocket buzz that a text message was coming in and his hand went instinctively to his pocket.

  “Aren’t we going up?” Shelly asked. She leaned toward him in a kiss, which he eagerly returned. But just when things were getting interesting, his cell buzzed again.

  “Sorry. I really need to check this. It may be about the trip.” He pulled back and looked at the phone. “Yeah, it’s about tomorrow. I have to swing by the office before I head to the airport. Damn.”

  “You’re spending the night, aren’t you? I can wake you up any time you need. No matter how early.” God, I’m close to begging, she thought and imagined grabbing his cell phone and tossing it into a nearby dumpster. Then she managed to talk herself down from a familiar, neglected feeling and glanced down at her purse, nestled at her feet, a corner of the white envelope he had given her sticking out of one of the zipper pockets. It was a small reminder that things really were okay, that she needn’t worry. He’d given her the money. He’d made the reservation. They were going to announce the date.

  Ben got out and walked around the car to open her door. Shelly smiled to herself. So he was coming up after all. Then they were suddenly kissing, with Shelly pressed against the side of the car, Ben’s hands on her hips. But his cell buzzed again, right against her thigh this time, and he pulled away.

  “Oh shit, sorry Babe,” he said and reached in his pocket for the phone. “I really do need to get home and pack or I’ll never make it tomorrow. Save it all up for me and we’ll celebrate big time when I get home from St. Louis. All night long, just me and you and a bottle of champagne and that bed. You understand, right, honey?”

  *****

  Joe wasn’t sure how
long he’d been here or even where “here” was but he was starting to figure out a few things. As far as he could tell, Transition was a bit like going to another country to study. You just had to wing it, trusting that you’d understand more as you went along. He may not know exactly what it meant to be a Wish Granter, but at least he’d gotten lucky with his partner assignment. Alanna was definitely a girl to die for, and apparently he’d done just that.

  According to the file, he and Alanna were supposed to grant the wish of a woman named Shelly. That’s all he knew so far, just her first name. Not where she was or what she wanted and he sure as hell had no idea how they were supposed to go about making this girl’s wish come true. But he supposed those were earth problems and could wait until they were back on earth.

  In the meantime, Transition itself was an interesting puzzle. You were still you, whoever that was, only different in certain ways. You didn’t need a last name anymore because you didn’t have to sign checks or file with the IRS. You didn’t need a car or a phone and you never watched the news. But, for Joe, the really incredible part was that you could time travel. The guy with the clipboard had called it The Manifest. Joe couldn’t figure out exactly how manifesting worked but apparently he’d just show up where he was supposed to be. Sort of like I Dream of Jeannie meets Nascar. It sounded very cool.

  Joe wondered what the Jesuit priests back at his old elementary school would make of all this. Transition was neither a heaven nor a hell, but one of many levels between the two. Apparently he and Alanna were somewhere between down there, where nobody wants to go, and up there, where everyone wants to end up eventually. And apparently if they completed their tasks correctly they could move on. That was how the senior coordinator had phrased it. Move on. A phrase that raised a lot more questions than it answered.

  He was only at Stage One. A Newbie. But so far he liked it where he was and didn’t see any reason to get all worked up about what might be next. Especially now that he’d seen what his new partner looked like. Yep, no reason to rush to the next level. No reason at all. Anyway, just like the senior coordinator had told him in their briefing, “The future comes soon enough, even here.”

  Chapter Five

  Shelly walked up the stairs and into her dark apartment. She was disappointed to find herself alone yet again, but she supposed this was the price of falling in love with a workaholic. And heaven knows, on the flip side there were certainly advantages to Ben’s ambition.

  Starting with this envelope in her purse. This envelope that held twenty-five hundred dollars in cash.

  Shelly headed toward the bedroom, unbuttoning her blouse as she walked, and carefully placed her purse on the night table beside her bed. In the bottom drawer of that same table—the one she’d bought at Goodwill for three dollars —was a stack of overdue bills and two termination notices. One for her car insurance and another for wifi service. Oh well. She still had the car, except one of the overdue notices was from the bank about her car loan. Only one of her credit cards had not been suspended and she’d already raided her 401K from work. Her salary was spent long before she cashed the checks. It would take her at least two years to get clear. Two years, that is if she didn’t have to pay her rent and buy groceries and live. Basically, Shelly was broke six ways to Sunday and Ben had no idea.

  With a sigh she dropped to the bed, stretching out across the wide empty space, and once again, her mind turned to Marcus. He was an irritating guy, no doubt about it. A know-it-all, a scold, and half the time he looked at her like a high school teacher who’d just caught a student skipping class. But he certainly had a way of getting under her skin, to the degree that sometimes it felt almost like he was haunting her. What had he said while walking her to the car?

  Oh yeah. “You know my number, Shelly,” he’d said, and then he’d opened the car door for her, just as Ben had done tonight. “Don’t be a stranger, now.”

  Don’t be a stranger. It was a funny expression. On one level you can never be a stranger to someone you know. But there are ways of being strangers that don’t hinge on proximity in the same room with someone, or the same house, or the same bed. We’re all strangers in some way, she thought.

  Marcus would not be happy to know that earlier, over at the Mobil station on Grand Avenue, she’d broken the pledge and, after using plastic to pay for a tank of gas, spent her last fifty in cash on Super Lotto tickets. That jackpot was up to thirty million but he wouldn’t be happy to hear that either, or that she’d set her phone to buzz her with a notification whenever the total rose.

  And he certainly wouldn’t be happy to know that now Shelly had twenty-five hundred dollars in cash in an envelope inside her purse.

  *****

  Joe and Alanna were seated at what looked like your typical bar. Any bar, any place on earth. Bottles lined up neatly on shelves in front of a long mirror. Music playing. The clink of glasses and ice. But the drinks in front of them were nothing recognizable, nothing like a beer or margarita. Alanna picked up hers and drained the glass. Joe followed suit and whatever slid down his throat wasn’t liquid exactly, wasn’t alcohol, but it had the same effect because he immediately felt better. Confident. More sure of himself. Hell, more like himself in general. Alanna turned slightly toward him on the stool, her shapely legs crossed.

  “How long is it going to take me to get my bearings?” he asked Alanna. “It’s been tough to calculate time, I have to say,”

  “I know.” She signaled to the bartender who was wearing a crisp, white, long-sleeved dress shirt with the sleeves half rolled up to his elbows and a black apron tied over black slacks. His face was half hidden by a baseball cap with a large green M on the front. He promptly brought them both another round of not-drinks.

  “My impression is that how long we stay here is linked to how well we do on a series of challenges. Apparently, we grant wishes to people . . .”

  “Women,” Joe blurted out. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but, just as promised, things from the file were coming back to him on a need-to-know basis. It eliminated the need for planning—or for reflection—and he guessed that was by design. But where was memory in all this?

  “All the people we grant wishes to will be women, but I don’t know why,” he said, noting Alanna’s quizzical gaze.

  “Wait a minute,” she said. She drained her second not-drink. “I’m pretty sure this part was in my file. Okay, got it. We grant wishes to women only because it’s so hard for women to wish on their own behalf. You know. Women want good things for their husbands, their kids, their friends . . .”

  “Yeah,” Joe said. “Yeah the wish has to be something they want and it can’t—wait a minute—I’ve almost got it . . .”

  “Another?” the bartender asked. Without really looking at him—because honestly who really looks at a bartender—both Joe and Alanna nodded in unison and two more not-drinks appeared before them. Apparently this was another thing different from their old world, Alanna thought, because whatever substance they were putting in these not-drinks actually helped you think more clearly.

  “The wish can’t be given away,” Joe finally said. Retrieving this particular piece of information had obviously cost him, judging by the small beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “Are you sure?” Alanna asked skeptically. “Suppose the woman has a child who needs an operation or something?”

  “Well them’s the rules, honey. I don’t make them. I’m just reporting what I remember from the folder.”

  “Yes, I know,” Alanna said, but her expression was still a little guarded. Suppose the wish didn’t last? That would be terrible. It seemed almost cruel to give a woman what she wished for, if there was a chance she might lose it again down the road.

  “The first woman is named Shelly,” Joe said, slapping the bar with his palm as he pulled another piece of the assignment from memory. “It’s April I think. Down there.” He pointed down towards his feet and then grinned. “Silly, isn’t it? I have no idea where up and d
own are anymore. We could be anywhere. Another galaxy, another time.”

  “I remember something, too,” said Alanna. “A phrase. ‘We grant your wish, but what happens next is up to you.’ I guess that’s the Wish Granters motto.”

  “Sounds more like a legal disclaimer,” Joe muttered, chugging the rest of the not-drink.

  “But you know what I don’t understand?” Alanna said, thoughtfully swirling her glass. “When we offer the wish, do they have to take it? I mean do they have to let us help them?” The question surprised Joe. He knew what most men would say if they’d been offered a wish. They’d say hell yes, thank you sir, gimme gimme gimme and I’ll deal with the consequences later. In fact, Joe thought a little dizzily as Alanna leaned over to signal again to the bartender, exposing a delicious-looking wedge of flesh at the base of her neck, if the senior coordinator offered me a little bit of heaven right now, I’d be a happy man. The thought was so fervent it was on the verge of a prayer. He had to remind himself that this was not heaven and they were not at a real bar and Alanna was not his date.

  “But no,” she said, answering her own question. “They don’t have to accept our help. It must have been in the file.”

  “Do you know what our first assignment looks like because I’m sure that wasn’t in my folder.”

  “She looks like she’s about twenty-eight or so. Not over thirty that’s for certain,” Joe explained. “She looks a bit like Meg Ryan in French Kiss. You know, the movie? She had a big smile and curly hair. And she always looked kind of casual except when she got all dolled up to seduce the guy who got away. I remember that scene particularly . . .” but Joe had stopped talking because Alanna had stopped listening and was staring at something at the far end of the bar.