“Really? I got the feeling that you didn’t even remember my name.”
“I didn’t. But that’s because my sister and I had a code name for you.”
“Oh really? What was it?”
“I’d rather not say . . .”
“You have to tell me.”
“Hmm... I think not,” she says as we step outside into the July sunlight. We’re standing at the top of a staircase leading to the gravel parking lot. From here we have a good view of the sixty or so cars. Elinor turns to me, her eyes laughing.
“Alittlefancy?” She gestures to the parking lot of minivans, Subarus, pickup trucks, and SUVS. Then points to my red Ferrari. “How about alotfancy?”
“I knew you’d give me grief about this,” I say as I follow her down the short stairs to the lot shaded with trees.
“Because anyone would. A flippin’ Ferrari! What were you thinking, bringing it here? And leaving it in this parking lot—under trees, no less.” She has a point. Small birds flit in the branches of the scrubby tree next to my car.
“I thought it would be a good time to drive on the coast highway. And I was right.”
I open the passenger door for Elinor, a habit my grandpa instilled in me that I can’t break. He may have cheated on three of his five wives, but he taught me to always open the door for my date. Not that Elinor is my date.
“Where to?” I ask as I buckle up.
“Exit the parking lot down there.” She points toward a shed full of bundles of fresh cut wood. A hand painted sign proclaims $12 a bundle. We could definitely charge more. “You’ll take the second right after the oak tree with ribbons.”
I nod as my engine roars to life. “I was wondering about that tree.”
“Ah! Yes, Lady Whimple.”
“Lady Whimple?” I repeat.
“My sister named the tree,” explains Elinor. “She names everything, including the evil possum who lives in the sycamorein our front yard. Annie says you can’t love something unless you know its name. And she loves most things.” Elinor’s voice warms with affection as she talks about her sister.
We drive past the majestic live oak standing alone in a field with ribbons fluttering in its branches.
“The ribbons?” I ask.
“They’re wishes. Another one of Annie’s ideas. For solstice a couple years ago, she had us write wishes on the ribbons and then tie them to the tree. Guests liked it so much and it looked so pretty, we’ve kept the tradition going. Each guest leaves a wish before they leave. You could do so, if you wanted.”
“Do you have any wishes in that tree?”
“Yes; I wished to stay in Bumble Cottage.”
Just when I think I couldn’t feel anymore wretched.
I clear my throat. “Well then, it appears Lady Whimple has impressive powers. I need to take advantage of that.”
“What would you wish for?” she asks lightly.
You.The thought comes out of nowhere. It makes no sense. I blame my mother’s warning about the Greenwood women and J.J.’s talk of fate. I hardly know the woman in my passenger seat. But so far, I like everything about her, and that’s a problem on so many levels—the least of which is that I’m already kind of, sort of, dating someone. The tree and its dancing wishes disappear in my rearview mirror.
“C’mon, I told you my wish,” she persists. “There’s got to be something you want. Or do you, Mr. Ferrari, already have everything your heart desires?”
“I definitely don’t have everything...” My words fly out more serious than intended. “Not to sound ungrateful. I have a great life. I do. I just want... more.”
“More, being . . . ?”
“How about when you tell me my code name, I’ll tell you my wish?”
