Page 113 of Your Every Wish
I have to sit down because I’m shaking so hard.
“You okay there, Emma? You look a little green.”
“How do you want to do this?” I say. “Check? Bank transfer?” Cash is good, too, but I don’t push my luck. As it is, I still don’t trust this is going to happen.
“Before I get out my checkbook, something legal will have to be drawn up. I can have my lawyer do it.”
“By today?” I blurt out because it seems impossible. Tomorrow is Saturday and the bank will be closed. If this happens it has to happen today.
Bent leans against the counter and gives me a long look. “Is there something I should know?”
“No. Only that there are other interested parties. First come, first served.”
He all but rolls his eyes. “You have someone who can look over the paperwork for you?”
“Yes. Our lawyer, Mr. Townsend. He’s in San Francisco.” I take a big gulp of my coffee. “He’s very well known. Very competent.” I don’t even remember his first name, let alone whether he does real estate law. But I could always ask Sam to check over the documents. “I’ll send you his contact information. Just remember, today is the deadline. You have the funds, right?”
“Emma, are you sure you don’t want to tell me what this is about?”
I look down at my feet and take an inordinate amount of time studying my shoelaces. “It’s nothing, I promise.” I pull my face up and meet his eyes. “We’re honorable people.”
“I know that or else you wouldn’t have called the FBI. Yes, I have the funds and I’ll get them to you today.”
And he does.
At three p.m. on the dot, he rolls up in his big truck, knocks on our trailer door, and hands over a check for forty thousand dollars. “We’re partners now,” he says, then jams his hands in his pockets, saunters back to his truck, and drives away.
“I can’t believe it’s this simple,” Kennedy says, the both of us reeling. “You think this is Misty’s doing?”
“Like she told him about our situation, and he decided to bail us out?”
“Nope. Like it’s all part of the wishes . . . part of her magic.”
I shake my head. “But it wasn’t part of it. We asked her to find the money, Willy’s money. We never said anything specifically about forty thousand to pay off Brock Sterling. No, I think this is real,” I say, still trying to grasp our good fortune.
“Not real until that check cashes. Come on, let’s go.”
Kennedy and I race to Ghost to deposit Bent’s check before the bank closes. We hardly speak during the ride. We’re still in a state of shock, still overcome by the fact that we managed to work a miracle—and maybe still a little suspicious that it’s too good to be true.
But the manager assures us that Bent’s funds are there, acting slightly put out that we’ve asked him to check a second time. “The McCourtneys helped found this town,” he says, and glares at us for extra emphasis.
In other words, Bent McCourtney’s checks don’t bounce.
While we’re there, we arrange a bank transfer. Brock Sterling will have his forty thousand dollars on Monday. Every last cent of it.
By the time we leave the bank, it’s almost dark. It seems like only hours ago that we stood at the edge of the bocce ball courts, watching the FBI agents cart away our last hope. Our only hope.
“Thank you.” Kennedy’s entire body trembles as she wraps me in a tight hug.
“Thank Bent. But yeah, it’s over. We’re good now. You’re free.”
* * *
It’s the day of the Halloween potluck and for reasons I can’t fathom Dex wants to come.
“The residents have been planning this party for more than a month,” I tell him. “If you’re just going to make fun of it . . . and them . . . you shouldn’t come.”
“Why would I make fun of them?”
