The Origins of Wish You Well, Page 2

  “How’s the story coming, Lou?”

  Head down, hand moving with the flourishing thrust of youthful penmanship, Lou said, “Fine.” Amanda could easily sense her daughter’s underlying message: that writing was a task not to be discussed with nonwriters. Amanda took it as good-naturedly as she did most things having to do with her volatile daughter. But even a mother sometimes needed a comforting pillow on which to lay her head, so Amanda reached out and tousled her son’s blondish hair. Sons were not nearly so complex, and as much as Lou wore her out, Oz rejuvenated his mother.

  “How’re you doing, Oz?” asked Amanda.

  The little boy answered by letting out a crowing sound that banged off all sides of the car’s interior, startling even the inattentive Jack.

  “Miss English said I’m the best rooster she’s ever heard,” said Oz, and crowed again, flapping his arms. Amanda laughed and even Jack turned and smiled at his son.

  Lou smirked at her brother, but then reached over and tenderly patted Oz on the hand. “And you are too, Oz. A lot better than me when I was your age,” said Lou.

  Amanda smiled at Lou’s remark and then said, “Jack, you’re coming to Oz’s school play, aren’t you?”

  Lou said, “Mom, you know he’s working on a story. He doesn’t have time to watch Oz playing a rooster.”

  “I’ll try, Amanda. I really will this time,” Jack said. However, Amanda knew that the level of doubt in his tone heralded another disappointment for Oz. For her.

  Amanda turned back and stared out the windshield. Her thoughts showed through so clearly on her features. Life married to Jack Cardinal: I’ll try.

  Oz’s enthusiasm, however, was undiminished. “And next I’m going to be the Easter Bunny. You’ll be there, won’t you, Mom?”

  Amanda looked at him, her smile wide and easing her eyes to pleasing angles.

  “You know Mom wouldn’t miss it,” she said, giving his head another gentle rub.

  But Mom did miss it. They all missed it.