Three Wishes(123)

Maxine and Laura came up on either side of her.

“Lily, I think it’s time that I –” Laura said.

“Party! It’s time to party!” Lily cried and then, without caring what they thought, she ran into the house.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Nate

They had rooms at the Royal Crescent Hotel in Bath.

Nate had taken them out to dinner and then walked his exuberant, excited daughter through the opulent Georgian city with a quiet Fazire and Victor following them. Back in their rooms, Nate let Tash read to him before she went to sleep in one of the two bedrooms in their suite. This was not an easy task, considering her anticipation for the festivities of the next day.

Through this all, he’d kept tight control on his thoughts and put up with Fazire, who he knew was barely containing his desire to make some grand statement, and his father, who was also barely containing his desire to have a heartfelt talk with his son.

Nate was coasting on pure, adrenalin-fuelled fear.

He hadn’t felt fear since he was a young boy. But he remembered what it felt like, though fear of a pummelling from one of his mother’s drug-addled lovers was nothing to the gut-twisting fear he had of losing Lily.

Again.

His insane, misguided, absurd decision to show her who he was in his unique, obscene way, to hold her guarded against her own loving heart, had been the most extraordinary mistake he’d made in his life.

And he remembered each one he’d ever made.

Vividly.

And he’d thought the last one, not following Lily to Indiana when her neighbour had told him she’d gone home, was bad enough.

This one had been worse. This time he didn’t have Danielle and Jeffrey to blame. This time he’d broken her all on his own.

The glass of vodka he was holding snapped in his hand, he felt the shards tear through his flesh and watched, removed, as the blood formed, dripping mingled with vodka, to the carpet.

As he was watching, detached, as he bled there came a knock at the door. This was a strong knock but it was quickly followed by an overbearing one or, more aptly described, an overbearing succession of knocks.

His father and Fazire.

Nate took out his handkerchief and wrapped it around his hand. Ignoring the glass, vodka and blood on the floor, he went to answer the door. Both men stood outside. Victor’s face was grave. Fazire’s, Nate registered in a distracted way, was the same. Fazire was also holding a photo album.

“We need to talk,” Victor announced.

Without hesitation, Nate nodded and stepped aside. Fazire and Victor shared a surprised glance, clearly thinking they’d meet resistance.

Nate was beyond resistance, he didn’t have the energy for it. He left them at the door, walked into the sitting room and lowered himself onto a settee.

“What have you done to your hand?” Victor asked in alarm and Nate watched as his father checked himself from rushing forward.

“Broken glass.” Nate calmly motioned to the glass on the floor and didn’t explain further. He didn’t need to.

Both Fazire and Victor stared at the glass then stared at each other again. Victor closed the door; they walked forward in unison and sat opposite him.

“Is everything all right between you and Lily?” Victor asked and at his question, Nate threw back his head and laughed. It was much like Lily’s laugh that morning, stronger but just as mirthless and bitter.

When he was done, he levelled his dark gaze on his father and saw Victor had gone pale.

“No,” he replied honestly.

“I didn’t think so,” Victor murmured, showing, to Nate’s surprise, that he didn’t know what to do next.

Fazire wasn’t so uncertain. Lily’s bizarre friend slammed the album on the table between them.

“It’s time,” he announced.

“Fazire –” Victor put in.

Fazire’s gaze swung haughtily to his compatriot. “It’s time,” Fazire insisted.

Victor leaned back and looked at Nate. “Son, steel yourself,” he warned in a dire tone.

Nothing, Nate thought, could penetrate the fear of what tomorrow would bring, not even Fazire.

Again, Nate was wrong.

Fazire started talking and Nate turned his eyes to the outlandish man. “Many years ago, a man bought my bottle –”

“Your bottle?” Nate interrupted.

Fazire’s hand came up. “Do not interrupt me, Nathaniel.”

Nate looked at Victor then shrugged. Best to get this over with so he could make himself another drink, then another, then another until he was drunk enough to sleep and so that he could be hungover enough for tomorrow, when Lily came to her senses, he would have something else to think about when she left him at the proverbial altar.

“As I was saying,” Fazire continued, “a man bought my bottle and sent it to a woman, his wife. She lived in Indiana and she became my friend. Her name was Sarah…”

Then, for half an hour, Fazire talked. He told Nate he was a genie. He told Nate about Lily’s parents, Becky and Will. He told Nate about baseball games and lying in innertubes, floating hot summer days away on a pond. He told Nate he’d actually created Lily. Then he’d opened the photo album and showed Nate what Fazire called his “greatest mistake”.

Nate’s somewhat alarmed gaze swung to pictures of Lily, pictures he’d never, at a glance, recognise were Lily if he hadn’t looked closely enough to see her remarkable blue eyes, or, in some of the photos, her quirky smile.