Page 26 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

Beau tossed the phone onto the bed before he glanced at the duffle bag of things he had brought from his condo. He unzipped it, sliding out the leather-bound book he had made years ago, and sighed. If Sienna wanted nothing to do with him, he could still give her what he always had planned—a gift as worthy as she was.

Beau closed the book after pulling out the note he had tucked into the pages—for when you can’t see the stars on a cloudy night.He stood, moving to his desk and opening a drawer to find a pen that hadn’t dried out, and added:But rain or shine, I’ll be waiting.

the unimaginable a reality

Dear Mom,

The other day I was putting something away in the coat closet when I saw a box at the bottom—Scrabble.

My heart dropped. We haven’t had a Sunday Scrabble night since you died. It had been a weekly thing for as long as I could remember. We’d have pizza, snacks, ice cream. You’d tell Dad to stop lying when he said he needed to use the bathroom and really escaped to check the score of whatever game was on TV. There’d be words—real and imaginary—and endless challenges, which usually resulted in Henry being right.

When I picked up the game, I realized something. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since you died. And at that moment, my phone vibrated from my back pocket.

“Are we still on for tonight? All the lights are on,” Beau said in a hushed whisper.

Still holding the box, I swallowed heavily. “Yeah. I’m just cleaning up. My dad is sleeping.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be up in a few.” I ended the call and looked at the phone in my hand.

Mom, I haven't been counting because of Beau.

I went to Henry’s room and pushed open the door. He wasn’t sleeping but reading as usual.

“Hey.”

“There’s a thing called knocking.” Henry looked up and saw the Scrabble box and went back to his book. “We don’t need that anymore.”

His words didn’t just hurt, Mom. They sliced through me, each one a serrated knife. I wanted to scream.

“She would’ve—”

“No, Sienna,” Henry interrupted. “She wouldn’t.”

I turned the box in my hands, giving it a shake, the tiles clunking against each other.

“She killed herself on a Sunday,” Henry said without looking up. “Do you think she had Scrabble on her mind? Throw it out.”

I left Henry’s room, but I didn’t throw it away. I shut my door, left the box on my bed and opened the window, pulling myself up the trellis.

Beau said nothing when I got to the roof. He slid over a plate with what looked like strawberry shortcake, but I shook my head and folded my knees to my chest, trying to gather my thoughts. I was pissed at Henry and sad for him at the same time. I was angryandmissing you, Mom. It was a mix of everything I felt for everyone all at once, and I started to shake.

And there was Beau, scooting closer.

“You know, on Saturday mornings, my mom changes all the sheets in the house. Greg’s too. Even though he hasn’t slept in that bed in years.”

I turned my head to look at Beau as he continued.

“My dad takes a long walk while she does it, and I don’t even go near his door.” Beau sighed. “There’s no right way to grieve, Sienna. There’s no wrong way to miss somebody. I haven’t been in Greg’s room since before he died, but that doesn’t mean my mom shouldn’t.”

I nodded and let out an enormous sigh, but jumped when a motorcycle ripped down our street, grabbing his arm at the surprise of the noise.

“There’s this group of bikers who hang out at Maloney’s,” Beau told me. “They come to my dad’s shop to tune up their bikes.”

“I always wanted to go on a motorcycle,” I confessed. Then turning my head to the sky, I added with a smirk, “Wish list.”

The wish list has become our thing. I mean, it’s not an actual thing. We keep adding to it, and I don’t mind that it’s long or ridiculous.

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