Three Wishes by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online

accident, because other than a quiet “You okay?” he didn’t ask questions.
    It was nearly midnight. Tom lowered himself onto a vinyl sofa and sat, first, with his head low against dizziness, then, as time passed, with his eyes closed and his legs sprawled stiffly. Any movement in the region of the operating room brought him up straight, but news was scarce. He sat forward again, then back, shifted gingerly, stretched out. Had he been a religious man, he might have prayed, but it had been years since he’d done that. After his mother died, he hadn’t felt worthy, and before, well, he hadn’t felt the need. He had been his own greatest source of strength, his own inspiration, his own most blind, devoted, and bullheaded fan.
    So here he was.
    Somewhere around one, Flash began to talk. He had his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging between, and was studying the floor, looking lost. “Bree was the first person I ever met in Panama. I heard the diner was for sale and came to see it. She waited on me and my wife, sold us on the town with that friendly way she has. After we bought the place, we had to close down a month for renovations. Bree was the only one who said she’d wait out the month and work for us when we reopened. She did more than wait. She was right there with us, making suggestions during the renovations—you know, things that people around here would like that we didn’t know, not being from here. She and Francie—my wife—they got along fine.”
    Tom had never seen a wife. “What happened to Francie?”
    â€œShe left. Proved to be a real flash in the pan,” he muttered. “Not Bree, though. She’s worked for me for fourteen years now. I oughta make her a partner.”
    A nurse ran down the hall from the operating room. Tom came to his feet.
    She held up a hand, shook her head as she passed, and disappeared. A minute later, she returned carrying an armload of supplies, but she had no more time for him then. It was the young nurse from the station who came to report, “It’s going slow. She lost a lot of blood.”
    Again Tom felt the frustration of not being in New York, and while part of him knew that the going might have been just as slow there, it was small solace.
    â€œI started to drive her home,” Flash said, with more emotion now, “but the hill was so bad I gave up. If I’d stuck with it, this wouldn’t have happened.”
    Tom made a disparaging sound. “It wasn’t your fault.”
    â€œSo whose fault was it?”
    â€œWhoever drove that truck.”
    â€œSo who drove it?”
    â€œHow the hell would I know?”
    â€œYou were there. It was your car that hit Bree. What were you, asleep at the wheel?” The words were barely out before Flash held up a hand. “Sorry. I’m scared.”
    Tom knew how that was. “Are you and Bree together?”
    Flash made a sputtering sound. “Nah. She won’t have me. She likes going home alone. Says she needs it after a day at work. But, man”—he gave a slow head shake—“she’s my right hand at the diner. If anything happens . . .”
    â€œIt won’t,” Tom said.
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œI just know.”
    â€œHow?”
    He opened his mouth to answer, and closed it again. One part of him feared Bree’s dying as much as Flash feared it, but there was another part, a part that said the accident had happened for a reason and that her dying right now wasn’t it.
    True, that kind of thinking wasn’t logical, and he was a logical guy—cold, calculating, and shrewd, his father had accused him of being, before turning his back on him for good. Maybe his father was right. With regard to family and friends, Tom had been cold, calculating, and shrewd.
    Not so professionally. He had been creative and caring in his defense of clients, creative and caring in the construction