Wish I Might by Coleen Murtagh Paratore Read Free Book Online Page B

son, take away every penny, if he married ‘that tramp,’ as they called her. Denwood, the wormy bloke, wasn’t about to give up his inheritance. My mother slunk off to live with her aunt Clarissa who had a sheep farm out in Wiltshire. That’s where I was born.”
    My head is spinning, trying to take in this story as it unfolds, here in this old cemetery. The red bird is staring at me. “So do you still live on that farm?”
    “No.” Will shakes his head sadly. “My mum passed on when I was little. My grandparents galloped in and swooped me up from the sheep farm like the trophy at a foxhunt and brought me to their estate to live. They thought I’d be an interesting diversion, sort of like a puppy or—”
    “Oh, my gosh,” I interrupt. “I’m sorry, but that reminds me. Where’s Salty Dog?”
    “No worries,” Will says. “Your friend Ruby took Salty for—let’s see, what did she say—oh, right. A day of pampering at her poochie spa.”
    “Oh, great,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Never mind. Go on.”
    Will laughs. “Well, my grandparents are rich as royalty, thirteen servants, grand manor estate, land the size of London. You Americans would probably say it’s a castle. Not to me. To me it was a prison, Tower of London. I couldn’t wait till they shipped me to boarding school. Least now I’ve got people to talk to.”
    “I’m sorry to hear about your mother,” I say.
    “Thanks,” Will says. “She was a weak one, but she loved me.”
    “I’m curious,” I say. “Why didn’t you just write tome if you wanted to make a connection? Wasn’t it a bit extreme to boat over to the Cape and …”
    I stop talking when I see how Will is staring at me. There’s something more. Something he’s not telling me. “What?” I say. “Come on.”
    “No,” he says, “that’s all.” Will watches a squirrel climbing a headstone. He tosses the squirrel a cookie crumb. I look over. The red bird is still there.
    “No,” I say. “Tell me the rest.”
    “That’s enough for today,” Will says, standing up.
    “Tell me, Will. Now.”
    Will sips his iced coffee all the way down to the gurgle-slurp, his eyes never leaving mine. He sighs. “Okay,” he says, “here goes.”
    My heart is pounding like storm waves against the jetty.
    Will hesitates.
    “What? What?” I say. “Straight out with it. Now.”
    “I think our father is still alive, Willa. I think he’s somewhere on Cape Cod.”

CHAPTER 12
A Perfect Family
    The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright —
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
    — Lewis Carroll
    Good thing for the roar of the motor so I don’t have to talk as Will rides us back across Nantucket Sound to Popponesset Beach. The sky is clouding up now, the water choppy. A large sailboat zips past us, sails puffed full of wind. I think of my disastrous date with JFK last month when he surprised me with a ride on his little Sunfish sailboat. How silly I was to be scared.
    Suddenly all of my previous fears and worries seem minnow-fish foolish.
    What if Will’s theory is true? What if my father is still alive?
    It’s chilly. I shiver, wrapping my arms around my chest.
    Will notices and offers me a jacket.
    “Thanks,” I say. I take the jacket, zip it up. I zip my lips, too. I move to sit as far away from him as I can, eyes squeezed tight against the wind.
    My birthfather, Billy Havisham, might be alive? He might be somewhere here on Cape Cod? I’m barely over the shock that I have a brother I never knew I had, and now this mind-numbing possibility that I might have a father, too? And, oh, my gosh, how will Mother react?
    The theories Will shared with me just now in that Vineyard cemetery are filled with Swiss cheese holes. His evidence, if you could call it that, is flimsy slim, old newspaper photos and hunches. Either this is a very cruel joke or he is delusional. Or maybe, just