Wish: Chapters 18–31

“You sure do look forlorn,” Howard said.
I didn’t know one other kid in the whole world who would use the word forlorn. But that was the perfect word to describe me.

“I’m gonna get my driver’s license in a couple of weeks. Did I tell you that? And Carol Lee got a car for graduation. Can you believe that? If I get some time off from my godforsaken job I could come to Colby. We could go to Asheville and hang out. They have vegan restaurants there. Did you know that? I’m thinking about becoming vegan and I bet if I...”

Bertha must’ve read my mind or noticed my slumping shoulders, ’cause when we got out of the car, she said, “And I bet Charlie’s dying to show you around Colby. She knows every nook and cranny now.”

Bertha must’ve read my mind or noticed my slumping shoulders, ’cause when we got out of the car, she said, “And I bet Charlie’s dying to show you around Colby. She knows every nook and cranny now.”

The next thing I knew, Jackie was out there raving about the view and the mountains and all.

I sat on the floor in the living room with Wishbone snuggled in my lap, listening to this new Jackie and wondering what had happened to the old Jackie. The one who went to my dance recital while Mama and Scrappy stayed home and yelled at each other.

And the next thing you know, she’s out there in the driveway squinting down at a carburetor or something like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.

Late that afternoon, me and Howard took Jackie down to the creek with Wishbone, and she didn’t waste a minute taking her shoes off and wading into the cold mountain water, her laughter echoing through the trees.

Jackie laughed her sparkly laugh, and in that very minute I wanted to be her. I wanted her easy way of making people love her. I wanted her knack for seeing the good in things.

Bertha bustled around the kitchen, and before long the house was filled with all kinds of good smells and the countertops were covered with bowls of black-eyed peas and turnip greens.

She went on to tell me about making a bird feeder by putting peanut butter on a pine cone and rolling it in bird seed. “And lanyards? I must’ve made about a hundred lanyards.”

We spent the morning making papier-mâché bowls and singing a song about Moses in the bulrushes.

Then we played some game where we had to wrap ourselves in strips of crepe paper like Joseph’s coat of many colors and race around an obstacle course.

So that’s how I ended up sitting on a church pew with T. J. Rainey, listening to Miss Rhonda talk about forgiveness and kindness and goodness and grace and all that stuff.

Of course, I couldn’t help but ask myself how a woman who can’t get out of bed and get her feet on the ground could be a walking wonder, but I was still basking in the glow of being admired.

“Yellow railroad cars aren’t too plentiful,” he told me. “When you see one, make a wish.”

Mrs. Odom taught me how to crochet and helped me make a scarf for Bertha.

Then she blabbered on and on, but all I heard were words like Charlie’s well-being and supervision and stable environment.

So we spent the afternoon in the Odoms’ dusty, ramshackle garage searching for stuff to make a fort with. Scraps of wood. A warped table with no legs. A rusty stop sign riddled with bullet holes.

Bertha’s cat named Lula Mae sauntered over and rubbed her head against Wishbone’s leg. He gave me a mournful look, but he let her do it.