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Wish You Well(9)

By:David Baldacci


settling into its narrow path through New Jersey.

Oz dropped the necklace and pointed at his mother, as if he were a bird dog in search of

praise. "She moved. Mom moved her arm. We both saw it, didn't we, Lou?"

Lou, however, could only stare from her mother to Oz and back again. It was as though

someone had driven a pole down her throat; she could form no words.

The nurse examined Amanda and came away even more sour-faced, apparentiy finding

the interruption of her cigarette break unforgivable. She put Amanda's arm back across

her stomach and covered her with the sheet.

"The train went around a curve. That's all." As she bent low to tuck in the bedcovers, she

saw the necklace on the floor, incriminating evidence of Oz's plot to hasten his mother's

recovery.

"What's this?" she demanded, reaching down and picking up Exhibit One in her case

against the Utile boy.

"I was just using it to help Mom. It's sort of—Oz glanced nervously at his sister—"it's

sort of magic."

"That is nonsense."

'Td like it back, please."

"Your mother is in a catatonic state," the woman said in a cold, pedantic tone designed to

strike absolute terror in all who were insecure and vulnerable, and she had an easy target

in Oz. "There is Utile hope of her regaining consciousness. And it certainly won't happen

because of a necklace, young man."

"Please give it back," Oz said, his hands clenched together, as though in prayer.

"I have already told you—" She was cut off by the tap oh her shoulder. When she turned,

Lou stood directly in front of her. The girl seemed to have grown many inches jn the last

several seconds. At least the thrust of her head, neck, and shoulders seemed emboldened.

"Give it back to him!"

The nurse's face reddened at this abuse. "I do not take orders from a child."

Quick as a whip Lou grabbed the necklace, but the nurse was surprisingly strong and

managed to pocket it, though Lou struggled hard.

'This is not helping your mother," the nurse snapped, puffing out the odor of Lucky

Strikes with each breath. "Now, please sit down and keep quiet!"

Oz looked at his mother, the agony clear on his face at having lost his precious necklace

over a curve in the track.

Lou and Oz settled next to the window and spent the next several rolling miles quietly

watching the death of the sun. When Oz started to fidget, Lou asked him what was the

matter.

"I don't feel good about leaving Dad by himself back there."

"Oz, he's not alone."

"But he was in that box all by himself. And it's getting dark now. He might be scared. It's

not right, Lou."

"He's not in that box, he's with God. They're up there talking right now, looking down on

us."

Oz looked up at the sky. His hand lifted to wave, but then he looked unsure.

"You can wave to him, Oz. He's up there."

"Cross your heart, stick a needle in your eye?"

"All of that. Go ahead and wave."

Oz did and then smiled a precious one.

"What?" his sister asked.

"I don't know, it just felt good. Think he waved back?"

"Of course. God too. You know how Dad is, telling stories and all. They're probably good

friends by now." Lou waved too, and as her fingers drifted against the cool glass, she

pretended for a moment that she was certain of all that she had just said. And it did feel

good.

Since their father's death, winter had almost given over to spring. She missed him more

each day, the vast emptiness inside her swelling with every breath Lou took. She wanted

her dad to be fine and healthy. And with them. But it would never be. Her father really

was gone. It was an impossibly agonizing feeling. She looked to the sky.

Hello, Dad. Please never forget me, for I won't ever forget you. She mouthed these words

so Oz couldn't hear. When she finished, Lou thought she might start bawling herself, but

she couldn't, not in front of Oz. If she cried, there was a strong possibility that her brother

might also cry, and keep right on going for the rest of his life.

"What's it like to be dead, Lou?" Oz stared out into the night as he asked this.

After a few moments she said, "Well, I guess part of being dead is not feeling anything.

But in another way you feel everything. All good. If you've led a decent life. If not, well,

you know."

"The Devil?" Oz asked, the fear visible in his features even as he said the terrible word.

"You don't have to worry about that. Or Dad either."

Oz's gaze made its way, by steady measures, to Amanda. "Is Mom going to die?"

"We're all going to die one day." Lou would not sugar-coat that one, not even for Oz, but