The Wishing Trees - By John Shors Page 0,102

the cutting board, dicing the garlic.

Georgia watched him turn from her, thinking about Kate’s final e-mail, about how she had said that he and Mattie might be coming. Did you send us on a path toward each other? she wondered, wishing again that she’d been able to see her friend before she died. Is that why you didn’t ask me to be with you, at the end? Because you didn’t want Ian and me to be together for your death, but for something else?

Removing the fish from the refrigerator, Georgia realized that she hoped to see Ian again, that she didn’t want him to go. “You leave in two days?” she asked, setting the fish on the counter, seeing the gray in his sideburns and remembering when they were all so much younger.

“That’s right. In two days we buzz off for Vietnam.”

She nodded, waiting for him to say more, wondering if he would.

“It won’t be easy . . . for Mattie to leave Holly,” he added.

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

“Reckon sometime you could come to New York? To visit us?”

She reached for the wine bottle and refilled their glasses. “I don’t know, Ian. I really don’t. But maybe.”

“Mattie would fancy that.”

She set the wine bottle down, feeling a familiar pain, a sense of loss. The sensation wasn’t nearly as acute as it had been when she learned about her husband’s infidelity, but nonetheless, she felt as if Ian were already stepping away from her. She started to reach for his fingers but stopped herself. He would leave her, she knew, but he wouldn’t leave Kate. And she didn’t want him to. Not for her. Not for Holly. Kate still dwelled in his heart, and Georgia couldn’t ask him to turn from his true love. And so she sipped her wine, gathered her thoughts, and left him to go say hello to the girls.

THE FOLLOWING DAY, IAN AND MATTIE SAT in a dress shop. He had taken her there to buy her something pretty, to make her smile despite their looming departure. The shop seemed indulgent even by Manhattan standards. Standing beside the glass storefront were beautifully dressed mannequins, only these mannequins were living Chinese teenagers, who stood still and smiled for passersby. The girls seemed content, but Ian thought the display was bizarre. The rest of the store was equally ostentatious. The walls were black and lined with gold-framed pictures of women in flowing gowns. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The dresses on display—those on the living mannequins as well as those hanging from silver stands—were fashionable and lovely. Ian wanted to see Mattie in one, to watch her face light up at the sight of herself.

But Mattie wasn’t interested in the dresses. The artist in her admired their designs, but the little girl in her didn’t want to be looking at dresses. She longed to be with Holly, to be laughing and playing Marco Polo. The thought of getting on a plane the next day and flying to Vietnam made her feel as if she was lying in bed with a fever. She had already said good-bye to her mother and to Rupee. And she didn’t want to leave Holly. She didn’t feel strong enough for another farewell, even with her father beside her.

Now, as he spoke with a saleswoman about the different dresses, about silk and size and style, Mattie did her best to keep her emotions at bay. She felt so tired, so weak. She didn’t want to burden her father with her feelings, aware that he was trying to make her happy, that he was sticking to her mother’s plan. Normally, she would have enjoyed picking out a dress with him. He’d never taken her to such a store, and she was glad that the idea had come to him. Only she couldn’t focus on that gladness. Instead she thought about Holly, about how she wouldn’t see her for many, many months.

An elegantly dressed woman asked Mattie to stand and started taking her measurements. Mattie held out her arms, watching how the mannequins smiled at one another, wanting to share their smiles but feeling her strength ebb away. Her hands began to tremble. She swayed unsteadily. Suddenly she lacked the stamina to stand, and stumbled toward a leather couch. Her father caught her, his eyes on hers, tears blurring her vision. He said something to the saleswoman, and picked up Mattie, carrying her outside, kissing her forehead. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself

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