Prologue
Winter, 1987
Wishing Beach, Florida
Along the coastline of Florida, on a tiny stretch of beach, something magical happens. Wishes gather. They fill the shoreline and glisten like diamond dust on the water’s surface.
Standing guard on the beach, where dunes meet seagrass, is an ancient banyan tree whose dozens of wide, woody trunks are in fact, an aerial root system. The tree itself resembles a lone forest, its roots rising from the ground and attaching to its many branches creating a glorious—if not slightly mystical—canopy.
The tree sees all. And now and then, the leaves of the mighty banyan shudder and cause the wishes on this unusual beach to be visible to the human eye. But they are only visible to those with eyes to see—usually children who still believed in mystical things like fairies and dreams. Where others see the sun’s reflection, these children see wishes, each one unique. Some are wishes that have lingered for decades and simply refuse to die. Some are new. Hurting people are inexplicably drawn to this stretch of shoreline and so they come, and leave their heaviest burdens in the shifting sand of Wishing Beach.
It is said that a person who visits Wishing Beach will leave changed. The magic isn’t questioned. It simply is.
People come with open hearts. They come and they sit beside the water beneath the mighty banyan tree and shed tears only they understand. And in those tears, their deepest desires drop like Florida rain. Alone, wishes can do nothing. They must wait for someone brave enough to reach out and take one from the water. Every so often someone does reach out.
Angela Reed, nearly five, stood with her chubby toes curled into the sand. “Look Mommy,” she whispered with more reverence than one would think a five-year-old could muster. “They’re so pretty.”
But her mother was busy snapping photos with her new Nikon and trying to stay out of the direct sun.
A particular wish caught Angela’s eye as it bobbed on the surface. A translucent casing held shimmering sparks that danced with each swell of the rhythmic waves. Angela ran into the edge of the sea to grab the glittery orb.
“Angela, be careful!” Her mother hadn’t planned for the five-year-old to get wet.
The sandy haired child scooped the wish into her hand. Her mother met her at the water’s edge, careful not to get her new sandals baptized in seafoam.
Slowly Angela opened her chubby fingers. She cupped the wish with both hands and held it up for her mother to see. “Look Mommy.”
Claire Reed tossed her head to keep her hair off her face. She stared down into the empty hands of her child. Claire was a good mother and understood games of make believe. She treasured them, in fact. In this busy era of television and boom boxes, she encouraged anything that helped children to use their imaginations. “What is it, honey?”
A tiny smile played about her baby girl’s cherub face when her blue green eyes held her mother’s. “It’s a very special wish, Mommy.”
Claire tousled Angela’s hair. “And what is my baby girl wishing for?”
Angela pursed her bow mouth and two tiny dimples appeared. “It’s not my wish. It’s a wish from someone else. A long time ago, she stood on the beach here, and she cried, and she wished. She wished because she was sad, Mommy. But once her wish was said, she was okay. Her name is Olivia. And she’s pretty like you.”
Claire’s heart fluttered for a moment. Gooseflesh worked over her neck and shoulders. She cleared her throat and reached down to support her daughter’s tiny hands by cupping them with her own. “It’s very nice to meet you, Olivia.”
A deep belly laugh bubbled out of Angela. “You’re funny, Mommy. She’s not here. This is her wish.”
Well, of course. Claire didn’t mind being corrected by the oh so precocious five-year-old. She’d be doomed as a mother when Angela hit the teen years, of this she was certain.
The wind kicked up, and the small girl hunched against it, protecting the wish. “Until I break it open, I won’t know what’s inside.” With concentration furrowing her brow, Angela gently squeezed her hands tighter together then jostled them back and forth. Angela’s determination amazed Claire. This must be a very serious game of make-believe.
Near her daughter’s hands, Clair heard something crack open. She looked to the left and the right, confused by the sound that seemed to come from everywhere.
Angela gasped. “It broke open. Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s a beautiful wish, Mommy. And now it’s going to come true.”
Chapter One
Early summer, Present Day
Wishing Beach, FL
Angela
No one expects their life to crumble like mushy baby cookies. But sometimes that’s what happens. No one sits around thinking, Hey, maybe I’ll just throw out the last fifteen years and start over. But sometimes you have to. We breathe. We live. We love. We die. We own our decisions. What is outside our power is the certainty that the life we planned and painstakingly created will remain. Is there life after? Or is it all just silly wishes?
Angela Reed-Baker tallied the things in her future. Tropical breezes, palm trees, sunshine. She stepped from her car and was immediately assaulted by the coastal wind. Digging her fingers into her hair, she let the breeze work on her, hoping it might brush off some of the internal dirt she carried. She was the emotional equivalent of Pigpen from the Peanuts comics, aimlessly wandering around in a cloud of sentiment.
The clatter of palm fronds reset her focus. You’re here. Life begins anew. Salty air filled her lungs while her mantra continued like a song on repeat. Jogging on the beach, sunrise coffee on the terra cotta patio. Midnight dips in the pool. She swallowed the cotton in her throat.
Although she tried to stop the second mantra, it rushed forth unwanted, uninvited, and most definitely undeniable. Things that would be no longer in her future: cooking dinner for two, conversation with the man she loved, family meals, holidays with a house full of noisy people arguing about the stock market and politics.
And just like that, the ache was back, settling in the bottom of her heart so far down it would take a deep-sea rescue team to raise that sunken ship. Abandonment was a monster with teeth. And yet, this was a monster of her own design. After all, she was the one who left. The onset of fresh tears was all too familiar to deny.
The beautiful beach house she’d gotten in the divorce sat before her, a shimmering jewel on the edge of Wishing Beach. Yet her joy waned. Angela’s mind had been a battlefield for the last several months. It was time to let it go. Let it all go. Brice, the marriage that was no more, the life she’d spent fifteen years building. At thirty-nine, surely life wasn’t over. The thought niggled. Just as she drew a deep breath of warm Florida air, the front door of her beach house opened.
Jesse Malone stepped out, his deep Florida tan emphasized by the fresh white T-shirt, khaki shorts, and canvas topsiders. His face was creased with sixty years of age and the unrelenting sun. Dark wavy hair streaked with gray was pulled back in a short ponytail at the back of his neck. The scarring on the side of his face was barely noticeable, as were the fingers on his left hand that were frozen in a natural cupped position, injuries from some terrible incident in his youth. He made his way down the steps, his slight limp hardly visible as he approached. A smile overtook the concern on his face and the familiar sparkle lit his green eyes as he moved closer with outstretched arms. “Angie!” He scooped her into a strong hug.