As You Wish

Ethan, I noticed. Even if Mr. Whitlock drove off and we never saw them again, I was going to make sure that Ethan had clothes that didn't hang on him. It was just wrong. Just totally fucking wrong.

I was feeling too much or not enough. There'd been a steel wall built around my heart, but that didn't stop the feeling of dread as I tried to sleep away the depression I carried with me.

They were my last case. I was going to make sure I handled it professionally.

"Mr. Whitlock, give me fifteen minutes with you and Ethan. I was stumbling a bit, and that's my fault. The person who filled out your initial paperwork should have gotten the ball rolling on Spain. We can't do trips out of Canada without approval from our insurance, and that takes time. When I saw that wasn't in progress, I panicked trying to find a work-around.

"That's the truth. Here's another truth. We are damned good at what we do. Spain is going to be difficult, but I promise you that everyone in this office will work our butts off to ensure that Ethan has an incredible experience."

He looked at the truck and back at me. I dove back in.

"Come on, you're here. What could it hurt? Have the two of you eaten? We'll order some food. Let me talk to Ethan. I'm good at what I do, I promise."

He seemed reluctant. "Two conditions. One, you involve me. There are things Ethan tells me he won't tell a stranger. I'm not trying to co-opt my son's experience. Two, don't call me Mr. Whitlock. It makes me feel middle-aged or something."

They most likely called him Mr. Whitlock at the hospital. No wonder he disliked it. Mr. Whitlock, we're going to need to perform a few more tests. Mr. Whitlock, we're going to have to keep Ethan overnight. Mr. Whitlock, Mr. Whitlock, Mr. Whitlock.

I tentatively smiled, relaxing a bit. "Done and done. What does he like to eat?"

"Chicken fingers."

"I know just the place."

Normally, we respected each other's space. Kennedy was the keeper of menus. That likely became her domain because she loved flirting with the delivery people. Old or young, male or female, new or regular visitor, Kennedy chatted them up, batted her eyes and laughed at anything close to a joke.

So, yeah, it was rude when I walked up to and around her desk, opened the draw and grabbed the menu for Cluck's Delight. Without saying a word, I went back to my office. As I began ordering food, I heard Jeremy.

"Put it back, bud. It's not ours. I'll see if I can get you one from Amazon."

They made it back to my office and again took their seats.

"Sorry about the mix-up, Ethan. Can we get started again?"

He nodded, but said nothing.

"Did you see something out there that caught your eye?"

He looked at his dad, who shrugged and spoke up. "It was a Daredevil action figure thing, but he was in a black costume, with sort of a half-mask. He looked a bit like--"

I smiled. "A pirate. I see. C'mon, Ethan. Let's look at this pirate Daredevil."

We walked down the hallway and stopped at a large box with unopened toys. Laying on the top was the action figure and damned if he didn't look like a pirate. A dread pirate. I grabbed it and we went back to the office. I guided him by his too-thin shoulder. Not sure if it was because of the tactile reminder of how frail he was or not, I felt an urge to take his hand instead.

I left the figure on my desk in front of Ethan as I sat back down. "Go ahead. El es tu pirata."

With a cute furrowed brow, he looked from me to his father, who was smiling. "She said he's your pirate, bud. In Spanish. You can take him."

Ethan looked up at me with a shy smile, took the figure, and began opening the packaging. He had the same soulful brown eyes as his father, making him look older than his seven years.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Ethan, what colour is your favourite shirt?"

He was pulling open the plastic as he answered. "Green."

"And what about markers? What's your favourite marker colour?"

"Green."

I noted that on the form Kennedy should have completed.

"If you could eat anything in the world for dinner, except chicken fingers, what would it be?"

"Hot dogs. No, tacos."

"Great choice. I love tacos."

Within a few minutes, we had the initial paperwork filled out the way it should be. Desserts, sports teams, movies, cartoons, books, superhero; I noted all of his favourites.

"Okay, last question. What's the scariest thing in the world and why did you choose R.O.U.Ss?"

He looked at me and then at his dad and burst out laughing, astonished that I knew about R.O.U.Ss. It was a beautiful sound and for the first time in a long time, I had a smile that didn't feel performative.

"No! It's the shrieking eels!"

I frowned. "I don't believe you. Worse than R.O.U.Ss? That's inconceivable!"

He laughed again and we were over the hump. I was no longer the stranger his dad had gotten angry with. The food arrived and I picked at some chicken while Ethan and Jeremy ate. I peered into the bag and looked up at the two of them.

"Anyone want a peanut?"

He laughed with his mouth full. Looking over at Jeremy, I saw him smiling at his son. He was holding a piece of chicken in his long fingers and seemed relaxed and happy. All the tension in his jaw faded away at the sound of Ethan's laughter. He was a handsome man. I hadn't seen him smile much. Now that he had, I discovered I liked it.

When we finished, I gave him a tour of our offices and walked them to the door.

"Okay, Ethan, Mr. Whitlock... Sorry, Jeremy... I'll reach out in a couple of days with some thoughts. You have my card. Please call with any questions or concerns. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ethan."

"Thanks. You too."

As I went back to my office, I wondered what to do with Kennedy. I finally decided not to do anything except let Misha know what was going on. It wasn't my problem anymore.

Heading home, I picked up my Kindle and got lost again in the romance I was reading. When I was too tired to read, I went to bed. Thoughts of Ethan and the other children I'd worked with spun in my head.

Anthony Marguelis was my first client that passed. That boy could have modelled for a renaissance master's rendition of an angel. He had permanently reddish cheeks and the softest blond hair I'd ever seen. Cats fascinated Anthony. He had figurines, colouring books, stuffed animals and anything else cat related you could imagine. We took him to Toronto to see the travelling show of Cats. Their make-up artist sat him down and turned the little boy into art. The cast took him on stage with them for their final bow and he didn't stop talking about the evening until he fell asleep, almost mid-sentence.

When he died, I cried for two weeks straight. I begged my mother to come with me to the funeral and felt like a fraud when Anthony's parents praised me to Mom. I still couldn't watch a commercial for that play or listen to any of the songs.

Every child who left us took a piece of me with them. I couldn't distance myself. That wasn't in me. I couldn't keep my emotions locked away. I wished I could.

Succumbing to sleep, I woke feeling better rested than I had in ages.

6 - Jeremy

There were few things I could bet on as strongly as the routine surrounding Ethan's treatment day.

We would wake up and go to the hospital. He would throw a tantrum, though those had become more and more subdued as time went on. During the treatment, he'd colour or read or watch TV. At first, he used to talk and socialize with the other patients, but as time passed and those patients morphed into new ones as they passed or healed, he'd stopped socializing as much.

That night, some kind community member that we didn't know too well would drop off a meal for us that "just needed to be popped into the oven." Thankfully, we both liked shepherd's pie and lasagna, since it was almost always one or the other--not that I was complaining. But I wouldn't pop it into the oven that night. Ethan wasn't usually hungry on treatment days; it was a miracle if I could get him to down half a cup of soup and a few bites of a dinner roll. He'd be tired and a little nauseous, spending most of the rest of the day in bed sleeping or watching TV.

The day after treatment, Ethan was glued to me. Those were the days the side effects hit hard. I spent most of my time sitting on the couch with him resting against me as he went through cycle after endless cycle of crying, puking, and whimpering as he tried to sleep restlessly but couldn't manage through the pain. He would barely let me go long enough to throw his sick bags away, so those days, I'd order something for delivery and he'd try to eat the rest of the soup he'd had the day before.

The day after that was the day that the "pop it in the oven" meals were most useful. He'd be feeling well enough to eat, though still clingy and tired, so all I had to do was turn the oven on before making my way back to the couch to sit with him.

And the day after that? Well, that was Sunday dinner.

It didn't always happen on Sundays, since it depended on Ethan's treatment schedule, but that didn't stop it from being Sunday dinner. Mom had done it since me and my sister were kids. Shayla didn't come to them much--my snotty little sister who I loved only slightly less than I loved my son had ten times the brains anyone else in the family did, so she got herself into school and was working on becoming a nurse--but Mom still insisted on pulling out all the stops she could afford to make a big dinner once a week. Usually it was some kind of pot roast or maybe a roast chicken, if the whole ones were on sale at No Frills that week. Potatoes, canned green beans, frozen peas dripping in melted butter and salt. Some kind of homemade cake for dessert, colourful sprinkles dotting the thin glaze she used instead of icing.

You know. The stuff that people of my income level consider a fancy dinner.

That week, Sunday dinner was on a Tuesday. I knew that because as much as I didn't really want my parents to know about Ethan's wish, it was the first thing he said when he burst into their house.

"Gramma, you'll never guess what!" he shouted as the door swung closed and the scent of slow-cooked beef curled around us.

"What!" she shouted back, wiping her hands on a towel as she rounded the corner from the kitchen. "There, I guessed it."

Ethan laughed like it was the first time he'd heard it, which it absolutely wasn't, and kicked his shoes off haphazardly.

"Put them on the mat, bud," I said.

"Oh, psh," Mom said. "Leave them be. Tell me 'what' I'm supposed to guess, Ethan."

He took a big, deep breath, then spoke in a voice that was far too serious to be taken seriously.

"I'm gonna ride a horse from Spain."

"Ah," Mom said, doing everything she could to hide her confusion and failing miserably as she looked at me. "A... a horse?"

"Uh-huh!" He thrust Spike, who was clutched in Ethan's fist like he always was, towards her. "Because Spike's from Spain!"

Mom knew damn well where Spike was actually from, but didn't question it. "Right. And Spike is... is getting you a horse?"

"No, Gramma." He shoved Spike into her hand and started digging in his backpack. "The wish lady is taking me to the horses because we can't go to Spain yet and she gave me this too, he's a pirate just like Spike is, but he's also a superhero and his name is Matt but I'm calling him First Mate Muuur-doch."

He withdrew the Daredevil toy Noreen had given him and brandished it like a rapier.

"Of course," Mom said, as if it all made perfect sense. "And the wish lady is...?"

"I dunno. I think her name's Lauren."

"Noreen," I said.

Ethan frowned at me. "I thought Noreen was the one at the front who you thought was pretty."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Mom's eyebrows were practically in her hair as she looked at me meaningfully, then put her hand on Ethan's shoulder. "Pumpkin, why don't you go show Gramps your new pirate toy and see if he needs help with the leaves?"

"I guess," Ethan said, sounding disappointed. "You don't need help with dessert?"

"I already made dessert," she said, but smiled conspiratorially. "But if someone were to go into the kitchen before going to the backyard to find Gramps, and that someone were to look at the counter next to the sink, they might find a silver bowl with a wooden spoon in it that has some leftover icing and sprinkles."

She barely got a hug and a kiss out of him before he bolted into the kitchen.

"So," she said once he was thoroughly distracted by sugar.

"It's not what it sounds like," I said.

"That so?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, actually. What does it sound like?"

She leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Well, it sounds like Ethan is..."

"Crazy?"

"Excited," she finished. "About... horses. And a lady."

I groaned. "It's not--"

"--what it sounds like, you've said that already." She gave me another one of those meaningful looks. "But the part where he mentioned she was the 'wish' lady..."

I couldn't bring myself to look at her. "She's from the Wish Mission."

"Jeremy!" Mom's voice had the volume of a whisper but the tone of a yell. "When did you--"

"A couple of weeks ago."

"And he..." She glanced towards the kitchen and fell silent. A moment later, the back door closed with a thud, and Mom looked back at me with eyes full of fear. "You were very insistent that the Wish Mission was only for kids who were, um..."

"He's fine," I said as evenly as I could. "Nothing's changed. He just... he deserves to be spoiled a little. This treatment cycle's been the most aggressive yet and it's almost done and he... he, he just wants to..."

"Jere," she said softly. "You promise he's okay?"

"He's okay."

She let out a breath, then unfolded her arms and opened them. "I know how hard that must have been to apply for. But you did the right thing."

I dunno if there's a guy out there who can honestly say that a hug from his mom doesn't make everything just a little better. I couldn't.

"So," she said after letting go. "Can you translate everything about the wish from seven-year-old to English?"

"Barely." I followed her into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of my shirt as I went to the sink to start on the dishes. "It's a fucking shitshow."

"Watch your mouth, asshole," she teased. "The window's open."

I couldn't quite stop myself from smiling. "Sorry. It's just, they screwed his paperwork up. So we met his Wish Granter. They got him all this Wish Mission stuff and a few toys or whatever. And then they started talking about wishes and he said he wanted to go to Spain because I was telling him a story about pirates and--well, okay, I was telling him The Princess Bride but in my version, Spike was Westley--and I told him Spike was from Spain. But whoever did his file didn't write that down, so they're going through all this red tape because of insurance or whatever."

"Hmm. And the horses come in because...?"

I started scrubbing the icing bowl that Ethan had practically licked clean. "They're setting up a thing for him to go horseback riding once a week. So we went back today because I had to sign off on some stuff and get it all set up with Noreen."

"Noreen, the pretty lady from the front?"

I rolled my eyes and didn't say anything.

"I'm teasing, Jere," she said. "But back up a second. So he's going horseback riding instead of going to Spain?"

"No, he's doing both. The horseback riding is just until they sort the trip out. Noreen said it might be a little while, so she wanted to make sure he had something special going on in the meantime."

She frowned, leaning against the counter. "You're sure he's still... you know. Okay? You're not... nothing's changed?"

The bowl slipped out of my hand, landing against the metal sink with a loud thunk. I turned and glared at her. "He's fine! And I'd... Jesus, you really think I'd keep that from you? If he was... if things got bad?"

She held her hands up defensively. "No, of course not... I'm sorry. It's just, the Wish Mission doesn't usually grant more than one wish. So it's strange that he'd get... you know. Two wishes. Especially since one of them is such a big wish."

I shrugged and picked up the icing bowl, scrutinizing it to make sure I hadn't broken it. It was a good point, and one I hadn't thought of. In fact, I hadn't even questioned it at all when Noreen called to tell me what her plan was.

"Someone from the foundation will be there each week as well," she'd said. "Just to help support and make sure everything is going well for you both."

"Not you?" I had asked. "Is it usually the same person or...?"

She hesitated. "Yes, usually it's the same person each time. I... I'll be there."

It seemed weird, but I didn't question it. "Okay. And Spain?"

"We will keep you updated regularly. It will still happen, Jeremy. It's just going to take a bit of time to sort out. But I swear to you, he's going to see Spain. Anything else would be inconceivable."

I laughed at that, shaking my head. "You don't have to make The Princess Bride jokes when Ethan's not around, you know."

"As you wish," she replied, and I swear I heard her laughing over my groan.

I might have just been hearing things, though. She'd asked me to come in to sign the paperwork and she was back to the overly proper, somewhat plastic woman she'd been during the first meeting. If it wasn't for the way she interacted with Ethan, I would've thought she was just anti-social or something, but she seemed to have a way with him. And I couldn't be too mad about the fact that she barely glanced in my direction. As nice as it was to interact with people my age sometimes, since I spent the vast majority of my time with my son or his doctors, that wasn't Noreen's responsibility.

But then there was Kennedy--the very pretty girl from the front desk.

While Noreen talked with Ethan and spoiled him with new toys and even some new clothes, for some reason, I chatted with Kennedy as I filled out the paperwork. It wasn't fair to say she was my age when she was clearly a few years younger; I'd put her at maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. She was all softness and smiles, like a pink-tinged idealization of a fantasy woman come to life. I wasn't ignorant enough to think she was actually flirting with me--she was sweet, but that was kind of her job--but I have to admit I indulged myself for a bit.

Which Ethan, apparently, had noticed.

"Dad likes the lady at the front desk," he announced in the middle of dinner as he told his grandparents about his visit with Noreen.

"Does he?" my dad asked, eyes sparkling as he held in a laugh. "What's her name?"

"Noreen," he said.

"It's Kennedy," I corrected begrudgingly. "Noreen is your Wish Granter, bud."

"Oops." Ethan tilted his head and made a bashful face. "Sorry. It's just my chemo brain, Dad. My regular brain's on vacation."

It still jarred me a little when he made jokes about being sick, but the doctors said it was a good thing, so I chuckled as much as I could.

"Kennedy," Mom repeated. "She sounds nice."

"She is," Ethan said enthusiastically. "And she's really pretty and she has cactuses on her desk and her shoes are always pink."

"Cacti," I said. "And you've seen her twice. You don't know that they're always pink."

"They were pink today."

"Yeah, but--"

"So you noticed her shoes, too?" Mom asked.

I ignored her. "Bud, just because I was chatting with her doesn't mean I like her. We were talking about you."

"Oh." He shoved a forkful of peas in his mouth. "Good. But I think you should like Noreen."

"Kennedy," I corrected.

"No, Noreen." He swallowed his peas. "She's really pretty, too. And I know you talked to her before."

"Did you?" Mom said, delighted.