Page 65 of Wish For Me

I read the first paragraph. “Except Carolyn died in 1943,”

Noelle scans the article, her shoulders dropping. “She was caught by a bomb while trying to move stranded civilians to the bomb shelters,”

Despite the still very likely possibility that Carolyn is just Carolyn, I can’t help the sinking feeling in my chest. “If it’s her, it’s the end of the line.”

It feels anticlimactic.

“I don’t know why I feel so sad,” Noelle says, setting the frame down after a moment. “You’re right, it’s probably not her.”

But neither of us can tear our eyes away from the frames. Could Carolyn be Eleanor’s baby?

“How did you know these would be here?” I ask, as much to distract her as for my own curiosity.

She points to the first article. “I have this photo. Or not exactly this photo, but one from the first series. Mom gave it to me when I was in New York. The same window is in the background—when I saw it I knew it was familiar. I just had no idea it would be so close.” Noelle swallows, touching the glass over her grandmother’s cheek. “Mom said Grandma Betty did some acting. Maybe it was here. Maybe she wore some of these costumes.”

I slide over so we’re leaning against the wall, and pull Noelle up tight next to me. “You know, growing up in a small town like Quince Valley, I know it’s not unusual for there to be coincidences like this—finding a photo of your grandmother in some random old building. But it’s still pretty special.”

Noelle nods. “It’s almost like I was meant to see the inside of this building.”

Or run a theatre here.

“Is Betty why you became an actor?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “My mom’s why I became an actor. Betty’s why my mom wanted to act.”

“Your mom was an actor?” I think of the cheerful, adoring woman from the market yesterday.

“Sometimes we forget our parents are whole people too, huh?” she says.

I laugh at the callback to today’s conversation with my dad. “I appreciate you seeing through my shit.”

“It wasn’t shit. You had legitimate feelings, from when you were little. Those don’t go away.”

I laugh softly. “So what’s your thing that didn’t go away?”

She hesitates. “I think I realized I was living someone else’s dream. You actually helped me see that.”

I frown.

“I’m serious. You always knew what you wanted with the space thing, and you didn’t let anyone get in your way of going there. Now you’re not going to make a career out of talking about how great it was, but taking it into your experience and turning it into something I know will change people’s lives. I admire you.”

My skin tingles with how she’s seen me. “You’re incredible, Noelle. You know that?”

“Say that when I buy up some old warehouse to try to make it into a theater in a small town where no one’s ever shown any interest in having one.”

Warmth runs through me. It feels almost like pride. “So you’re doing it? Opening your own theater?”

She meets my eyes. “I mean, I’d love to. I have no idea how I’d pull it off, but I think that’s my real dream. It was always the backstage part I loved the most.”

She sits up, turning to look at the curve of the round window frame. “It’s really coming down. Do you think Enzo’s going to come back here?”

“Not in this weather. And not if I tell him to stay away.”

Noelle laughs. “If he doesn’t mind. I just want to spend a little more time here. Pretend this was the place I always wanted it to be.”

I check the time. It’s eight o’clock. We’ve been here for hours.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, noticing the gnawing in my stomach for the first time.

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