If Wishes Were Fishes - Chapter Three by Alison Henderson

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Marlee closed the door behind Ben and rested her forehead on the back of her hand. You did it. You saw Ben Granger again, and you didn’t cry. Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Over the years, she’d thought up dozens of things she wanted to say to him, from angry accusations to pleas for attention, but when she finally got the chance, she’d said none of them. Those things had been all about her, about her feelings, her loss. As soon as she saw the pain and self-blame clouding Ben’s dark eyes, her concern for her own feelings had melted away. She’d spent five years brooding over personal hurts without truly considering what Matt’s death must have meant to Ben. Maybe it was a Christmas miracle, but seeing him again had loosened the chains binding her to the past. Now, she needed to find a way to return the gift.

A Stitch in Time was closed the next day for Christmas Eve, so Marlee spent the morning baking a double batch of Berta’s famous German Chocolate Cookies for the party that afternoon. She sifted and stirred, chopped and baked until the heavenly aroma filled the house. When the kitchen became too warm, she opened a window to share the scent with passersby on the sidewalk.

A little before three o’clock, she stacked the cookies and loaded them, along with the box of knitted ornaments, into her car and drove up the hill to the hospital. When she turned into the parking lot, Evelyn Barlow and Mary Duckworth pulled in right behind her in Evelyn’s trusty old Toyota. They popped out and Mary took the box of ornaments, while Evelyn balanced two big plastic containers.

“What did you make this year?” Evelyn asked Marlee as they picked their way across the thin layer of snow covering the parking lot.

“The usual—Grandma Berta’s German Chocolate Cookies. What about you?”

“I experimented—anise flavored Snickerdoodles. It’s no good to let yourself get in a rut, you know.”

Marlee grimaced. Evelyn was no better at baking than she was at knitting. Anise flavored Snickerdoodles? However, she had to admire the woman’s attitude. She charged through life cheerfully seeking out new challenges. Some succeeded, some didn’t, but she seemed to take every experience in stride.

Like most of the town, the dark brick hospital was well over a hundred years old.  It had been remodeled inside to keep up with the demands of modern medicine but still retained a few charming features of the original building, such as the large parlor where the annual holiday party was held.  When Marlee followed Evelyn and Mary through the heavy wooden double doors, she saw several of the other Knit Wits already at work making punch and arranging the cookie table. A few patients had gathered, and others were making their way down the corridor, helped by nurses.

The party had started years ago as a way to lift the spirits of children who were forced to spend the holidays in the hospital, but soon older patients joined in decorating the tree and singing carols to the accompaniment of the tinny old piano in the parlor. Eventually, it became a tradition for the whole town. For one night, the doctors even relented and allowed cookies for everyone who was able to eat them.

While she unpacked her cookies onto the big silver trays, Marlee glanced around to see if Ben and his mother had arrived. He’d better show up as promised, or she would drive to his house and drag him out. But first she had to find Dr. Wiley. An idea had been burrowing in her brain since last night.

Thirty minutes later, the party was in full swing. The ornaments hung from the tree, music filled the air, and half the cookies had disappeared. She’d managed to corner Dr. Wiley for a short chat, and now all she needed was Ben. Where was he?

A finger tapped her shoulder from behind, and she jumped.

She spun around to find Ben and his mother. Angela Granger offered a tentative smile, while her son’s expression remained sober.

“It’s nice to see you, Marlee.”

“You, too, Mrs. Granger.” Marlee shook her hand. She didn’t remember the deep creases marking Angela’s skin and the hollows beneath her eyes and cheekbones. Ben’s absence had taken a toll on her, too.

“I told you I’d come,” Ben said.

She raised her gaze to his, searching for a clue to his thoughts. “Yes, you did. Thank you.” His eyes remained a dark mystery. She turned to his mother. “Why don’t you get some punch and a cookie, Mrs. Granger? I know Evelyn would love to show you the ornament she knitted this year. I’d like to borrow Ben for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

Angela smiled and patted Ben’s arm. “I’ll see you later, sweetie.”

Marlee watched her make her way through the crowd to join Evelyn and several other Knit Wits at the punch bowl. “You mom’s glad to have you home.”

I’m glad to have you home.

Ben frowned. “I should have come sooner.”

“Maybe you weren’t ready.”

His frown eased, and a smile teased his lips as he met her gaze. “How did you get to be so wise? You were just a kid the last time I saw you.”

“It’s been a long time. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“No, you’re not.”

The warm undertone in his voice kindled a corresponding heat in her middle. She reached for his arm. “I have a surprise for you.”

Ben raised his brows but allowed her to half-drag him across the room to where Dr. Wiley sat talking with a young man in a wheelchair.

“Dr. Wiley, this is Ben Granger.”

The older man stood and shook Ben’s hand. “Glad to meet you. Marlee tells me you were a corpsman in the Navy.”

Ben shot her a skeptical glance before replying. “Yes, sir. I’ve just finished my tour.”

“She also tells me you worked in PT.”

Ben nodded.

“Any experience with spinal cord injuries?”

“Yes, sir. Between combat injuries and accidents, I’ve pretty much seen it all.”

“Good. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” Dr. Wiley stepped back and gestured to the young man beside him. “This is Mark.” They shook hands. “He’s just about the age you were when you left Porter’s Landing. About a month ago, he was hit by a drunk driver and lost the use of his legs. We hope it’s temporary, but only time and hard work will tell.”

Ben smiled at Mark. “It isn’t easy and it isn’t fun, but don’t give up. I’ve seen amazing things happen.”

 “You know, you might be able to help Mark with his recovery. We’re short-staffed in PT and could really use an experienced therapist. Would you be interested?”

Ben slowly turned to Marlee. “Was this your idea?”

Heat rose in her cheeks, and she lifted her chin a fraction. “You said you weren’t sure about your plans. I wanted you to have plenty of options.”

“You don’t have to decide right away,” Dr. Wiley added.

“Thanks, I’d like to think it over for a couple of days.”

The doctor clapped him on the shoulder. “No problem. The new year’s a good time to start a new life.”

“Yes, sir.” He turned. “Marlee, could I speak to you in private?”

Uh, oh.

She summoned a brilliant smile. “Of course.”

Ben took her hand in a firm grip and led her to a spot near the doorway, away from the crush of partygoers.

Every nerve in her body jangled. “Now before you say anything,” she began.

He slid one arm around her, pulling her close, and raised a finger to her lips. “Hush.”

She stilled and scanned his face. He looked different, lighter, as if a crushing weight had been lifted. His eyes held a new spark.

“I want to thank you.”

“Mmm. You’re welcome, I guess.”

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for being you, for interfering, for caring about me.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

“I’ve always cared about you.”

            “I care about you, too.” He pulled her closer and tipped his head up to glance at the sprig of mistletoe dangling from the arched opening above their heads.  “The doctor was right; the new year is a good time to start a new life.” Then he bent his head and met her lips in a kiss filled with all the promise and hope the holidays could offer.

If Wishes Were Fishes - Chapter Two by Alison Henderson

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“Ben?”

He took in her watery blue eyes and the pert little nose that was nearly the color of her scarf. Either his memory was rusty or Marlee Farrow had changed big time. She was far more beautiful than he remembered. Her eyes narrowed, either in anger or suspicion, and he realized she was waiting for him to respond. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Her expression remained guarded. “What are you doing here?”

He deserved her cold reception and then some. He just had to get through this and say what he needed to say. Then he could finally close this chapter of his life and move on. “I thought I might find you. I tried your house, but no one was home. Then I remembered you used to like to come to the lighthouse.”

She shifted her gaze to the wind-whipped waves. “It soothes me.”

Ben rammed his hands deeper into the pockets of his pea coat. “Even in this weather?”

“Yes.”

She wasn’t making this easy, but she had no reason to. He forged ahead. “I need to talk to you.”

She still refused to look at him. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

He needed to be able to sit down with her, to look her in the eye. “Can’t we go somewhere, I don’t know…warmer? There must be a coffee shop in town.”

She pushed back the sleeve of her coat and glanced at her watch. “The Java Joint will be closed by now. It’s two days before Christmas, you know.”

He knew all too well. “There must be somewhere else.”

Marlee hesitated, and he could almost see the wheels turning. “I guess we could go to my house,” she said. “I moved to Grandma Berta’s old cottage a few years ago.” She stepped back from the railing and headed toward the path back to the harbor.

Ben caught up in two long strides. “My mom told me.” She shot him a quick glance, and his gut clenched at the flash of pain in those lovely blue eyes.

“Funny. She never told me a thing about you.” Marlee squared her shoulders and marched ahead.

An ache grew in the pit of his stomach as he stared at her straight back and swinging stride. Because I asked her not to. I wanted to disappear from your life. You deserved to forget me.

Neither spoke on the short walk to her house. Ben waited on the tiny porch as she fumbled for her key then opened the crimson door. “Come in,” she said. She unwound her scarf and hung it on a peg by the door, along with her hat and coat.  

He stepped into the compact living room and waited. He felt as out of place as Gulliver in Lilliput. If he reached up, he could probably touch the ceiling without extending his arm. The cottage was one of a long row that had been built for nineteenth century sailors’ widows…or in this case, maybe a circus midget. Marlee, however, seemed perfectly at home in the diminutive space. She headed toward the kitchen, which was little more than an alcove off the main room, filled an old copper kettle at the deep farmhouse sink, and put it on the small gas stove to heat.

“Is tea all right?” she asked.

“Anything hot sounds great.”

“You might as well sit down.” She gestured toward the round table draped with a vintage flowered cloth that must have belonged to Berta.

He pulled out one of the sturdy ladderback chairs and sat, trying to remember the words he’d crafted and rehearsed over the past few weeks.

She pushed a bright red pottery mug with hand-painted holly wreaths toward him and took the seat across the table. “All right. You’re here. You said we needed to talk, so talk.”

Ben wrapped his hands around the mug and stared at the rising tendrils of steam. He’d thought of this moment for months, but now that he was with her, his mind went blank.

“Ben.”

Her voice was softer, less angry now. When he raised his gaze, he saw pain in her eyes, but also a hint of wistfulness.

She nodded. “I agree. We do need to talk. Since you don’t seem to want to start, I will. I’ve missed you.”

Guilt turned the knife. “I’ve missed you, too, Marlee.”

“We used to be so close—you, and me, and Matt.”

He stared down at his hands. “I know. But after what happened, I couldn’t face anyone, especially you.”

“It was an accident, Ben. No one blamed you.”

He glanced up. “They should have. I blamed myself. I still do. I should have done more. I was weak, and I panicked.” Anger and regret churned in his stomach.

Marlee looked thoughtful. “Could you have saved him?”

He’d asked himself that question a thousand times. “I don’t know, but I should have tried harder.” He slammed his fist to the table hard enough to rattle the mugs. “Matt was my best friend, like a brother to me, and I let him die.”

“The Coast Guard said the storm was too strong. There was nothing you could have done. In fact, you’re lucky you didn’t drown, too.”

“For a long time, I wished I had.”

“And that’s why you ran away and joined the Navy?”

He shrugged. “I had to get away. I didn’t care what happened to me. I thought it would be fitting if the sea took me, too.”

She took a long sip of the cinnamon-scented tea then sat back in her chair. “You haven’t been home in five years. Why are you here? Why now?”

“I had to see you, to tell you to your face how sorry I am about Matt’s death.” His voice dropped. “I owe you that much.”
           ”I always knew you were sorry.”

“I needed to say it.”

She reached across the table and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “And I needed to hear it. So what’s next?”

He tried to read her emotions in her expression, but her features gave nothing away.  “My tour is up, and I’ve left the Navy.”

“Have you come home to Porter’s Landing for good?”

“I don’t think so.” He shifted in his chair and glanced out the window. A few flakes drifted past the pane, highlighted by the streetlight on the corner. “I don’t know.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“A buddy has offered me a job as a mechanic in his garage in Newport News, Virginia. I might take him up on that.”

“Is that what you did in the Navy? As I recall, you were a bio major in college.”

He shook his head. “I was a medical corpsman working mostly in physical therapy.”

“That sounds rewarding.”

His mind flashed to some of the desperately injured, but determined, young men and women he’d worked with. “It was.”

Marlee finished her tea, set her mug firmly on the table, and met his gaze head on. “I have an invitation and proposition for you.”

Ben’s heart skipped a beat. “What’s that?”

“Meet me at the hospital Christmas party tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock.”

“I don’t—“

She held up her hand. “No excuses. Most of the village will be there, including your mom. She comes every year. I’m sure she’d love to have an escort.”

He thought of his mother and all the Christmases he’d missed. If he was making amends, she deserved more from him, too. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

If Wishes Were Fishes - Chapter One by Alison Henderson

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            She had just one wish for the holidays. The same wish she’d wished every December for the past five years.

            Please bring Ben home for the holidays.

            What was it Grandma Berta used to say? If wishes were fishes, the sea would be full. When Marlee was a little girl, she’d wondered what that meant. Now she thought she understood, but she still couldn’t give up hoping.     

She tucked an errant red-gold curl behind her ear and leaned forward to peer out the multi-paned bay window at the front of her yarn shop, A Stitch in Time.  It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, but heavy gray December clouds hung low over the small harbor of Porter’s Landing, Massachusetts. It would be dark soon, and she could almost taste the coming snow. It looked like they were due for the first white Christmas in several years. She shivered beneath her thick fisherman’s knit sweater and hugged her arms around her middle. Snow wouldn’t be so bad if Ben were here. As a kid, she’d tagged after him and her older brother Matt when they went sledding down Murphy’s Hill or built a fort in Barnum’s Wood. Any adventure was better with Ben along.

            The three had grown up as tightly linked as Matt’s silly magician’s rings. She’d barely noticed her feelings for Ben changing until suddenly she was a sophomore in high school and the boys were seniors. By then, every girl in the school had the hots for Ben Granger, and Marlee Farrow was no exception.

But so much had changed since high school. The links had shattered. She hadn’t seen Ben in more than five years, not since the awful day of Matt’s funeral. Five days after the funeral, Ben had left town without a word and joined the Navy. He hadn’t been back since.

Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them tight to stem the flow of tears before it started. Stop it. You should be stronger by now.

But even after all this time, the pain was still raw.

Marlee swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Then she sniffed and pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jeans and dabbed her nose. If only … But recriminations served no purpose. All young men believed in their own invincibility, and Matt and Ben had been no different.

 “Marlee, can you take a look at this and see if you can find the mistake? I don’t know what I’ve done.” With a half-frown of good-natured confusion, Evelyn Barlow held up a small, misshapen red stocking. Despite her lack of experience and skill, Evelyn was one of the most enthusiastic members of the Knit Wits, a knitting club that met at A Stitch in Time every Thursday afternoon.

Marlee took the sock and quickly spotted the error. “It looks like you dropped a couple of stitches, but I think I can fix them.” She deftly recaptured the errant loops on the small metal needle then handed it back to Evelyn.

“Thanks so much, dear. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Never get that darned ornament finished, that’s for sure.”

It was hard to be certain who had muttered the comment, but Marlee suspected Helen Markuson. The Knit Wits were a pretty congenial group, but as the oldest member, Helen felt she’d earned the right to speak her mind, and in true New England fashion, did so without reservation.

“How are we coming along, ladies?” Marlee glanced at the members seated in a circle on plain wooden chairs surrounded by cubbies filled with colorful yarns of every description. As the only knitting shop within twenty miles, A Stitch in Time was popular with both tourists and locals, so she tried to maintain as broad an inventory as possible.

“I’m done,” Helen replied, holding up a cheerful gingerbread man. Her gnarled fingers were still so quick she’d already added the face and buttons.

“Almost there,” added Mary Duckworth.  “I just need to crochet the hanger for my snowman.”

On cue, the seven remaining Knit Wits displayed their nearly-complete creations as well. This year, the club had voted to donate ornaments for the Christmas tree at the hospital. After the holiday, they would be free to any patient who wanted to take one home.

“It looks like we’re ready for refreshments, then,” Marlee said. “Who wants egg nog?” Hands flew up.

“I’m supposed to watching my cholesterol,” Helen groused.

“I can always fix you a cup of tea.”

“Hold on,” Helen protested. “I didn’t say I didn’t want egg nog, I just said I wasn’t supposed to have it.” Her eighty-two-year-old eyes twinkled. “You won’t tell Dr. Grimes, will you?”

Marlee laughed and crossed her heart. “It will be our secret.”

Forty-five minutes later, the finished ornaments were packed in a box and the Knit Wits were gathering their coats and knitting baskets. “See you all at the party at the hospital tomorrow,” Evelyn called over her shoulder on her way out.

Marlee followed the chattering gaggle and locked the door. As she crossed the uneven old brick street and headed for home, a familiar hollow feeling swelled in her chest. The ache had been building for days despite her best efforts to banish it. She loved A Stitch in Time and the Knit Wits, but she wanted more. Most of her high school friends had traded the quiet of Porter’s Landing for the excitement of the city years ago. A few came home for Christmas, but it wasn’t the same. She missed her family. And although she might not admit it out loud, she missed Ben.

Her parents had moved to Boston after Matt’s death, too grieved by the never-ending reminders of their loss, but Marlee couldn’t leave Porter’s Landing. It was home and where she needed to be. After Grandma Berta died, she had moved from the big, square captain’s house with its widow’s walk on the roof that had sheltered her family for two centuries into her grandmother’s tiny shingled cottage covered with climbing roses.

She snuggled deeper into her raspberry mohair muffler and pulled her hat lower as she made her way down the street that ran parallel to the rocky shore. It wasn’t snowing yet, but the wind had picked up, tossing whitecaps on the water. Her cottage was only a couple of blocks away, a cozy refuge from the worsening weather, but for some reason she wasn’t ready to go home yet. Her restless feet carried her toward the lighthouse on the point.

Since the early nineteenth century, Porter’s Landing had been tied to the sea. It had begun as a whaling village then later switched to cod, and a small fleet of fishing boats still left the harbor most mornings in search of the daily catch. Generations of Farrow women had waited, sometimes in vain, for their men to come home from the sea, and Marlee was no different.

Ever since Ben had left, she’d come to the old red and white striped lighthouse whenever the loneliness closed in to stare out to sea and think of him, wondering where he was and how he was doing. The building itself was locked and no longer in use, but the ground level observation deck was still open. When she reached it, she leaned forward, resting her arms against the metal railing. The clouds overhead had morphed into an angry gray mass.

She repeated her plea like a mantra, as if that might increase its chances of reaching the right ears. Please bring Ben home for the holidays.

The summer after graduating from college, he and Matt had come home for a couple of weeks of fun and relaxation before launching into the world of grownup responsibility. Her heart twisted when she remembered them together: tall, strong, tanned, and laughing. They’d taken her father’s small sailboat out past the shelter of the harbor into open water when the skies darkened and a sudden squall blew in. Even though a fishing trawler was within hailing distance, the high winds and waves had swamped the small vessel before help could arrive. The fishermen managed to pull Ben out, but Matt was lost. She would never forget the agonizing hours before The Coast Guard found his body the next day.

Marlee pounded her fist against the railing. How could Ben have left town without speaking to her? Didn’t he understand how much she needed him, how much she needed someone to share the pain? Healing was so hard when you had to do it all by yourself.

She dropped her forehead against her hands and allowed the tears to fall.

“Marlee?” A deep voice interrupted her misery.

She lifted her head a couple of inches. She must be hallucinating.

“Marlee, it’s me.”

Slowly, she straightened and turned.