“Gin.” Vi squeezes my arm. “What’s going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think I just have.” I hold out the screen for her.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Mr. Wish,” I utter.
“But that says…” She points to my cell phone, just as perplexed as I am.
“That he’s dead.”
Vi and I take the freak-out party back to her one-bedroom closet, where she can hop on her laptop. Thankfully, her boyfriend, Jay, is working late at his diner, getting the kitchen ready for upcoming health inspections.
“So? What did you find?” I ask, pacing her small living area that serves as a dining room, home office, and living room. The biggest feature in her apartment is the wall of books, half legal and half cookbooks. “Just rip off the Band-Aid. I can take it.”
Vi is sitting at her small round kitchen table, surfing the internet. She’s found articles about the family, Mason McMillan’s obituary, and all sorts of stuff about his family.
“Okay.” She glances up from her screen. “I’ve ruled out any twin brothers or look-alike cousins.” She notices I’m practically hyperventilating. “Would you please sit. I can’t concentrate when you’re about to throw up on me.”
“Okay.” I sit across from her and finally take a sip of the tea she made when we got here. Honestly, I want to drink something stronger, but right now I need a clear head, not a hangover. “What if he had a twin, and the family kept it a secret?” The theory being that Mr. Wish is not actually Mason McMillan, who died last year.
“It’s possible, but not likely. The family photos show him and his parents in the birth announcement here in New York, where they all lived at the time. There’s another birth announcement a year later for a daughter, Rebecca. From what I can tell, they seem like proud parents who enjoy showing off their kids. Also, they’re somewhat famous back in Scotland. McMillan is the third oldest distillery in the country. They did a whole christening thing there after the two children were born. It was a big to-do in their village-a-mabob or whatever they call their towns there.”
With an unsteady hand, I set my cup back on the table. None of this explains how Mr. Wish is dead and coming to my house. “Jesus, what if he’s a ghost? A restless soul who’s been wandering the earth in search of redemption.”
“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” Vi flashes a disapproving look over her laptop.
“How did he know I threw away that bottle? Or that you and I cracked it and buried it? How did he put it back together?”
Vi’s mouth goes lopsided, which she does when she’s stumped. “I’m not gonna lie; it’s pretty eerie. But look at this.” She turns the screen around so I can see the article. “They never found the body. I think the dude faked his own death.”
I lean forward in my chair and skim the obituary stating that he was at the family’s country home in upstate New York in January of last year. According to the story, he saw a neighbor, who’d been out on the lake where the home is located, fall through the ice. Mason tried to rescue the woman and fell in, too. Both died, but Mason’s body was never recovered. Hers was. However, given the eyewitness accounts, the authorities declared him dead. It’s assumed that his body, due to the time of year and icy conditions, was never able to float up to the surface and ultimately settled somewhere deep in the lake.
The thought of him trapped under the ice, turning blue, dead—No. Stop. “I can’t look anymore.” I turn the laptop back in her direction.
“Promise me you won’t ever let me die in a lake in the winter. I mean, no one would ever want to swim there again, and then I’d be all alone. Just paddling around at the bottom, no one’s toes to tickle and scare the hell out of.” She wiggles her fingers like she’s tickling someone.
“Olivia,” I warn.
“Sorry. Bad time for jokes, but clearly he didn’t die.”
God, I hope she’s right. Because I kissed him and that would haunt me for the rest of my life. No, no. He is definitely alive. That kiss was not the kiss of a disembodied being.
“Ginnie, are you with me?” Vi snaps her fingers in my face.
“Sorry. I drifted for a sec. I’m with you.” I exhale slowly.
“Good. Welcome back. So then, the question is: Why’s he pretending to be dead?”
“And why’s he running around, giving out wishes, and using the name Marus Prospero?” And what does this mean in terms of how I feel about him? Was any of it real?
I cannot believe this is happening! On the other hand, I always knew there was more to his story, didn’t I? It’s just that I never imagined it was this. Part of me is almost angry. I liked him. I still do. And this is definitely ruining it. Dead? He’s fucking dead?