Wishtree(18)

“What a nice surprise,” BigYou said between slurps.

“This is not nice,” Bongo said. “This is people at their worst.”

“Still,” said HairySpiders, licking her paws, “it’d be a shame to let perfectly good egg goo go to waste. One creature’s nastiness is another creature’s nibble.”

BigYou gave a satisfied burp, and the animals scampered back to their homes.

The door to Stephen’s house opened. He walked over to me, saw the eggshells scattered like puzzle pieces, and scowled.

Samar was next, a backpack slung over her shoulder and books clutched to her chest. She leapt over a muddy puddle and joined Stephen.

“Jerks,” he muttered, gesturing toward the egg remains. “Sorry, Samar—”

But Samar held up her hand. “Stephen,” she said in a low voice. “Last night.”

Stephen nodded ever so slightly, his eyes locked on me.

“Last night,” he repeated, as if they were speaking in code.

“The tree.”

“The tree.”

“You heard what I heard?” Samar asked.

“I did.”

Samar looked right at Stephen. “You heard … the tree?”

“I heard the tree.”

Samar gave a little nod. “So it was, maybe, a trick? Somebody playing a joke on us?”

“Or maybe we were both sleepwalking at the same moment,” Stephen suggested. He nodded, as if trying to convince himself. “Yeah. Sleepwalking.”

“Have you ever sleepwalked before?”

“No, but there’s a first time for everything.”

They stood there, looking at me expectantly. Willing me to speak. At least that’s how it felt.

I stayed silent. I’d said my piece, and I regretted it.

“Stephen,” Samar said softly, “whatever happens, we can’t tell a soul about this. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Ever.”

“Ever.”

Samar sighed. “People would say we were crazy.”

“And they’d probably be right,” said Stephen.

Samar jutted her chin at me. “Tree? Do you have anything to add?”

I didn’t say a word.

Samar and Stephen shared a smile. “Figured it was worth a shot,” she said.

They headed off to school together.

Stephen’s father came out onto the porch. He was holding a cup of coffee. He caught sight of Stephen and Samar and frowned.

A moment later, Samar’s mother stepped out of the blue house, her keys jangling, a briefcase over her shoulder. She followed her neighbor’s gaze.

Both parents watched in silence until Stephen and Samar, walking side by side, disappeared from view.





42


I didn’t have much time to mull over my mistake. We had a steady stream of visitors as the hours passed.

Early wishmakers came throughout the day. A little girl who wanted twenty hamsters. The grocer down the street, hoping for a summer of sweet peaches. The usual.

The local reporter returned. She peeked at some of the new wishes hanging from my boughs and took a photo of the broken eggshells on my trunk.

Sandy and Max came to remove the police tape surrounding me. Francesca joined them. Today she had Lewis and Clark on thin leather leashes. Each cat was wearing an embarrassingly sparkly harness.

Francesca discussed the broken eggs with Sandy and Max, while Lewis and Clark wove around her legs. “I’ve got a tree cutter coming out later to give me an estimate,” Francesca said.

“So you’re definitely cutting it down?” Sandy asked, in what I liked to think was a disappointed voice.

“Yep. No question. See that muck? All the water in the yard?” Francesca pointed at the soggy lawn. “Plumber told me this dang tree is plugging up some of the pipes. Least bit of rain and the yard turns into a giant mud puddle.”

“Still, people are going to be sorry to see it go,” Max said. He reached for Clark’s leash and tried to unwrap Francesca.

“I know. It’s a good old tree. But sentiment doesn’t pay the plumber.”

Sandy grabbed Lewis while Francesca attempted to unknot herself from the leashes. “What about the animals and birds that live in the tree?” she asked.

“Ah, that’s where I’m using the old noggin,” Francesca said. “Every year, the opossums and owls and such vacate the premises on Wishing Day. Strangest thing. It’s like they know what’s coming.” She hopped over the web of leashes. “S’pose they don’t like being disturbed. In any case, I’m hoping the cutters will come late tomorrow afternoon. Most of the wishing will be done by then.”



“What will you do with all the wishes?” Sandy asked.

“Put ’em in the trash when no one’s looking. That’s what I do every year. Whole thing’s nonsense anyway.”

Max and Sandy looked at me sympathetically.

“I know. I know. I don’t have a sentimental bone in my body.” Francesca paused to address the cats, who were yanking her in opposite directions. “If dogs can do this, why is it such a challenge for you two?”

She turned her attention back to the police. “But it’s time. More than time.”