The Wish(53)

“Are you kidding? This is great. I don’t have a tree in my apartment, so this is the only chance I’ll have this year.”

He found the box, freed the lights from their plastic packaging, then plugged in the extension cord. Like Bryce long ago, he moved the tree out from the corner to string the lights, making adjustments as Maggie suggested. The silk ribbons came next, then finally a large matching bow, which he placed on top in lieu of a star. He finished by dispersing the ornaments throughout the tree, following Maggie’s instructions. After scooting it back into place, he retreated to Maggie’s side, the two of them evaluating it.

“Good?” he asked.

“It’s perfect,” she said.

Mark continued to stare at the tree before finally reaching for his phone. He took a series of pictures, then began tapping the screen.

“Abigail?”

She watched him actually blush. “She wanted to see the tree as soon as it was finished. I’m not sure she trusted me to do a good job. I’m sending it to my parents, too.”

“Did you hear from your folks today?”

“They texted some photos from Nazareth and the Sea of Galilee. You’ve been to Israel, right?”

“It’s an incredible country. When I visited, I kept thinking to myself that I might be following in Christ’s footsteps. Literally, I mean.”

“What were you photographing?”

“Tel Megiddo, the Qumran cliffs, and a few other archeology digs. I was there for about a week, and I’ve always wanted to go back but there were too many other places to see for the first time.”

Mark leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he stared up at her. “If I could visit one place in the world, what do you think that should be?” Light flickered in his eyes, making him appear almost childlike.

“A lot of people have asked me that question, but there’s no single answer. It depends on where you are in life.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“If you’ve been stressed and working a zillion hours for months, maybe the best place to go would be a tropical beach somewhere. If you’re in search of the meaning of life, maybe go hiking in Bhutan or visit Machu Picchu or attend mass in St. Peter’s Basilica. Or maybe you just want to see animals, so you travel to Botswana or northern Canada. I can say that I see all those places differently—and I photographed them differently—based partly on my own life experiences at the time.”

“I get that,” he said. “Or at least I think I do.”

“Where would you want to go? If you could only see one place?”

He reached for his eggnog and took a sip. “I like your Botswana idea. I’d love to go on safari, see the wild animals. I might even be convinced to bring a camera, though I’d stick with the automatic setting.”

“I can give you a few photography pointers if you’d like. And who knows? Maybe you’ll have your own gallery, too, one day.”

He laughed. “Not a chance.”

“Going on safari is a good choice. Maybe think about it for your honeymoon?”

“I hear it’s kind of expensive. But I’m confident we’ll get there one day. Where there’s a will, there’s a way and all that.”

“Like your parents and their trip to Israel?”

“Exactly,” he said.

She leaned back in her chair, finally beginning to feel closer to normal again. She wasn’t yet warm enough to take off her jacket, but the bone-deep chill had passed. “I know your dad is a pastor, but I don’t think I’ve ever asked about your mom.”

“She’s a child psychologist. She and my dad met when they were both getting their PhDs at Indiana.”

“Does she teach or practice?”

“She’s done a bit of both in the past, but now she mainly practices. She also assists the police when necessary. She’s an on-call specialist if there’s a child in trouble, and because she often serves as an expert witness, she testifies in court quite a bit.”

“She sounds smart. And very busy.”

“She is.”

Though it took some effort, Maggie tucked her leg up, trying to get more comfortable. “I’m guessing that in your house, there wasn’t a lot of shouting when emotions were high. Since your dad’s a pastor and your mom is a psychologist?”

“Never,” he agreed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard either of them raise their voice. Unless they were cheering for me in hockey or baseball, I mean. They prefer talking things out, which sounds great, but it can also be frustrating. It’s no fun to be the only one shouting.”

“I can’t imagine that you ever shouted.”

“I didn’t do it much, but when I did, they’d ask me to lower the volume so we could have a reasonable discussion, or they’d tell me to go to my room until I calmed down, after which we’d have the reasonable discussion anyway. It didn’t take long before I understood that shouting doesn’t work.”

“How long have your parents been married?”

“Thirty-one years,” he said.

She did the mental calculation. “They’re a little older, then, right? Since they met when they were getting their PhDs?”

“They’ll both turn sixty next year. My mom and dad sometimes talk about retiring, but I’m not sure that day will ever come. They both love what they do too much.”