“Mmhmm,” Clara replied.
“I bet you’ll be the only girl there with a college boy!” Beatrice exclaimed. And then she clasped her tiny hands and rested them on her cheek. “Oh, Clara. Won’t it be so romantic walking into the dance with your college boyfriend? Won’t all the girls wish they were you?”
Clara laughed. “I don’t know that any girls at school wish to be me. But it’s a sweet thought.”
“Oh, I’m sure they do! Too bad for them that they don’t have honeysuckles,” Beatrice replied, and then added, “Speaking of, it’s time to get down to business.”
Evan leaned over and planted a light kiss on Clara’s cheek.
“Okay you two,” Beatrice said waving her hand. “Now Evan, we’ve explained everything. And since you’re new, you get to go first.”
“That’s awfully generous of you,” he said and plucked a flower.
Beatrice tried to wait patiently as Evan thought of his first wish. But he took too long.
“Evan, you were supposed to come prepared,” Beatrice said.
“Wow, really?”
Clara laughed.
“Would you like one of us to go while you think?” Beatrice asked. She really was all business.
“No no,” Evan replied. “I’ve got this.” He looked at Clara as he made his first wish. “I wish that tonight is really fun, and romantic, and everything Clara wants in a senior prom.” He sucked the juices from the bottom of the flower.
“I wish for Mom to never run away again,” Beatrice said, and downed the magic sugar.
“You took my first one, Bea,” Clara said.
“Clara, choose another. You must have a bazillion wishes in your head,” Beatrice replied.
“Fine, I wish to have a magical night,” Clara said, but Beatrice shook her head.
“Evan already wished that,” she said.
Clara thought for a moment. “I wish to have a good first year in college,” she said then drank down the yellow sweetness.
“I wish for good grades on my exams next week,” Evan said, and the liquid of another flower disappeared down his throat.
“I wish to win the regional spelling bee in two weeks,” Beatrice said and sucked her flower dry. “Mary Tenenbaum is going down this year.”
Clara smiled at her sister remembering last year’s spelling bee. Beatrice and Mary were the two remaining students, and Beatrice got hung up on the word “chrysanthemum” giving an opening to Mary who spelled her next word correctly and won. Beatrice was a good sport on stage but cried in the car all the way home. She vowed to get revenge and doubled her efforts in practicing words ever since.
Clara’s focus returned to her wish, and she thought for a moment before saying it out loud. She didn’t want it to embarrass the other two, but it was her wish. And it was important.
“I wish to never go crazy again,” Clara said quietly, and tipped back her head to taste the sweet juices. Evan stroked the top of her hand with his thumb, and she smiled at him.
“I wish to be with Clara for the rest of my life,” he said, and drank down his flower.
Clara froze at the words, the idea of marriage and babies flashing into her head instantaneously. A warmth spread throughout her chest and stomach that didn’t come from the sunshine. It was hope, something that eluded her for so long, and she wanted to push Evan down, crush him into the flowers, and drink the sweetness from his mouth.
“That’s a really huge wish, Evan,” Beatrice said in all seriousness. “Those are the kinds of wishes you’re supposed to bring to the honeysuckle grove.”
Evan chuckled. “I’ll remember that for next time, Bea.”
Beatrice made her last wish, but Clara did not hear it. She heard only Evan’s words repeated over and over in her head, the line at the beginning of a story—a story you know you want to read straight through without stopping for the happy ending that awaits you.
“Clara? Your turn,” Beatrice said.
Clara knew she wanted to repeat Evan’s wish, but she also knew Beatrice wouldn’t allow it. That was part of the rules. And then she considered that the wish may have already been granted. She was given the choice a long time ago—the choice of whom she wanted a future with. The person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And she made it. She chose the boy who forgave her and asked for forgiveness.
She looked down considering the flower clasped between her thumb and forefinger. “I don’t need to say my last wish, Bea,” Clara replied, “because it’s already come true.”
They drank their fill of the honeysuckle flowers, talking and laughing and sharing the joy that comes after the darkness, the hope that springs eternal to flood the despair, and the love that soothes and heals the brokenness, making it whole again.
Acknowledgements
To my fans, who have shown me an abundance of support and love for my work. Without you writing would not be nearly as rewarding.
To Burt, who said that even if I only sold one book during my entire writing career, he would still refer to his sister-in-law as an author. Thank you for being my biggest fan.
To my critique partners, Julie, Ashwynn, and Marsha, who spent their precious time editing my work to make me better. I would never publish a book without you. Thank you.
To Julie, who is the most gifted editor I know. I cannot imagine the time it took you to go through my manuscript—your meticulous work—catching every detail and forcing me to write more succinctly. I think gods exist on the earth in the form of editors. And you, my dear, are a god. Well, goddess.
Permission granted by Gráinne Yeats to use “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” by W.B. Yeats. Originally published in The Countess Kathleen and Various Legends and Lyrics (1892).