The Wish Collector
Page 71

He tilted his head, regarding the rosette upon which the petal had landed. Something about it seemed . . . crooked. He reached out slowly, his fingers pressing against the carved flower. It’s loose.
His heart started pounding rapidly again as he turned so he was fully facing it and used both hands to pry it loose. It came out with a grating sound and he let out a surprised breath. There was a piece of paper inside, folded up so as to be small enough to fit behind the decorative carving.
With shaking hands, Jonah pried it out, unfolding the tattered paper, trying to control his heart rate. His whole body felt charged, a vibration rippling through his veins.
The light, the truth, the light, the truth.
As delicately as possible, he smoothed it out on his thigh, noticing that the bottom edge looked burned, as though it’d been pulled from a fire.
The slanted script, small formal letters mixed with large sweeping ones, was dark and rich and completely preserved. The amazement he felt at having found it was almost too much to comprehend.
The note. Oh dear lord, it’s the note.
Jonah read it, each line, then again, his breath coming out in a loud gasp. Oh Jesus. John had not only loved Angelina, he had loved her so much he was willing to sacrifice everything for her. Oh God.
Jonah knew the truth. He was holding it in his hand.
The wind whipped up again, joy coursing through him that was so pure and strong, it was almost painful. It burst forth, leaving him breathless and in awe as if love itself had just moved through his body.
A charm of hummingbirds danced speedily by him, their iridescent wings fluttering against the scarred side of his face as he closed his eyes and drew back on a surprised inhale.
When he opened his eyes again, they were gone and the mist on the ground began to dissipate as the sun moved from behind a cloud.
"Did you see it?" Myrtle's voice rang out. "Oh Lordy, Lordy! Did you seem them?"
Jonah staggered to his feet, turning to Myrtle. "Who?" He felt dazed, almost drugged as he looked down at the piece of paper in his hand again, marveling at what he’d found.
"He picked her up. They were laughing and crying and he swung her right around, and they disappeared together into the mist. Oh Glory Be. I gotta sit down."
She reached a hand to her face, frowning as her hand fell away. “Where are my glasses? Oh Lordy I’m not wearing them.” She glanced back to the place she’d come from, squinting into the quickly dissipating mist, facing Jonah again with a confused frown.
Jonah waved the note in his hand at Myrtle. "I have to go to her, Myr—” He suddenly paused. November first. It was Clara’s opening night. Fuck, how had he forgotten? Because he’d made sure to. He hadn’t wanted to picture her dancing so beautifully under those bright lights, knowing he couldn’t be there.
“I have to tell her,” he said. “Now. Right now. Will you drive me to the downtown theater? I don’t want to waste time finding parking." I don’t want to be too late.
Myrtle looked shocked. "The wonders of this day might never cease."
She grabbed Jonah’s hand and practically dragged him out of the garden, apparently worried he might change his mind.
But he wasn't going to change his mind.
He was not going to be too late.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Blast this traffic," Myrtle blurted, glancing at Jonah worriedly through her Coke-bottle glasses, the ones she’d thankfully stopped to put on before getting behind the wheel of a car.
He’d spent the first fifteen minutes of the drive attempting to calm his breathing. He rubbed his sweaty palms down his thighs, forcing himself to take large gulps of air. The happenings of the day seemed like a dream, or something that had happened in a story, not to him. But they had. They had.
Outside of the car, a parade passed by on a street that ran horizontally. They were only about ten minutes from the theater, but he was already late. The show was probably halfway over by now.
Streets were blocked off everywhere because of the parade, and unprepared, they’d gotten stuck in it.
"Day of the Dead," Myrtle mumbled.
"What?"
"The parade. They're celebrating the Day of the Dead."
"Huh." Jonah watched for a moment, anxious energy pumping through his veins. Day of the Dead. Of course it was.
He made a split-second decision, taking the mask from his pocket. "I'm going to get out here," he said. "I think it'll be quicker if I walk.”
Myrtle glanced at the mask. “No, Jonah,” she said, so much heartache in her voice. “Not that old thing.”
“Don’t worry, Myrtle. It’s okay.” Grabbing the handle, he opened the door. He began stepping out and then turned back to Myrtle, leaning toward her and grabbing her in a fierce hug before pulling back. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse with appreciation. "For the ride. For loving me. For never once abandoning me. For a thousand small things. Thank you."
Myrtle nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “You’re my boy,” she said.
Jonah grinned, slipping on the mask, and jumping out of the car. He ran toward the street the theater was on, mixing with the parade.
He tried to stick to the sidewalk, but got caught up in the crowd and before he knew it, was being pushed along, jostled, moving as if they were all one giant, symbiotic creature.
The sky overhead was dark now, the stars hidden behind the clouds, lights and swirling ribbons bursting into the air.
"This way, Jonah. Take my hand."
He gasped, whipping his head around, trying to see Justin, for it had been his voice he heard.
He felt his hand being pulled and lurched forward, through a space in the crowd, trying to see who was ahead of him but there were too many bodies, too much movement.
"Hurry up, slowpoke. She's waiting for you."
"Justin. Slow down. Let me see you."
Jonah heard his laughter, felt his hand being tugged again as he ran faster, zipping through spaces in the crowd he hadn't even realized were there until he was bursting through them. There were so many people.
Horns blew in his ear, the laughter and celebratory sounds rising and falling as he whizzed through. Music played somewhere nearby and faces moved quickly in and out of his vision. Some had makeup done to look like skulls, some bleak, done only in black and white, others vivid and colorful with climbing flowers and swirls of magenta, blue, yellow, and red.
"I love you, little brother. Live for me. Make me proud." Justin’s voice was just a whisper now as if he had moved far ahead.
Jonah staggered very suddenly out of the throng, his chest heaving, turning quickly in a full circle. No one was there, yet his palm still felt warm.
He stilled, tears clogging his throat, wondering if he’d just imagined what had happened. Behind him the parade continued by. A little girl handed him a red rose as she passed, looking over her shoulder and smiling as she moved away.
Jonah turned toward the street. The theater was directly in front of him. He walked toward it, his attention briefly caught by a white man and a black woman who stood in a doorway laughing and kissing. As he passed, the woman saw him watching them and smiled shyly, pushing her boyfriend away teasingly. He laughed and took her hand and they turned in the other direction.
Jonah grinned, his heart filling with sudden joy as he turned, jogging across the street, the rose gripped in his hand.
"Sir, would you like a ticket?"
Jonah turned his head to see an older gentleman. The man’s eyes widened as he saw Jonah was wearing a mask, but then he glanced back down the street to the parade, the surprise fading to understanding.
“Sorry, I thought you were here to see the show. It's half over but it’s sold out. My wife's not feeling well and we have two seats near the front if you’d like to enjoy the second half. It’s wonderful."
Shit, Jonah hadn't even thought about a ticket. “Actually, I am here for the show. Let me pay—"
“No. I’m just happy they’re not going to waste.” He glanced at Jonah’s mask again as he handed him the tickets, perhaps wondering why he hadn’t removed it yet. His wife pulled on her husband’s arm and they moved away, down the street.