45. ~ Estelle ~
CHAPTER 45
~ Estelle ~
C har was back to wishing! I ran to the head fairy’s office at report time, just about knocking over Trish who was on her way out—no regrets—and stopped breathlessly on the worn spot of carpet in front of Gram-Gram’s rosewood desk.
“She’s below thresholds!” I almost bellowed in my excitement. “Her new wishes? Can I grant them?” So many good ones had come in. Big, juicy ones like a new job, travel and vacations… Oh, they were so wonderful! They had the power to change her life, and I couldn’t wait to grant them all.
I wouldn’t mess up these ones. Not like I had with her landlord, when she’d wished she’d no longer have to deal with him. I’d dealt with Randy, but had accidentally made Char homeless.
I was better at this now. I could create a positive impact without nasty side effects.
Gram-Gram lifted her new reading glasses, delicate pink half-moons, onto her nose. “What’s this?”
She was toying with me. She knew who I meant.
“Char McDonnell, ma’am.” I was fidgeting, unable to stay still.
With Char back in the running for making wishes this quarter, I could finally blast past Trish, and all the extra wishes she’d been able to grant while I’d had to wait this out. I could take the prize for the most wishing income for the quarter. I could taste it. Smell it. Feel that victory.
“We need to discuss what you did to Trish’s sweater.”
Dang it.
What were my options here? Deny it? No. Gram-Gram had a good ear for lies. Deflect?
No. I was in the wrong. Again.
“I’ll apologize.”
“Just wash the sweater.”
“She already took care of it.” Trish had created a huge show out of her sweater having been used as a mop. It was like nobody hugged her enough, and she needed to compensate by being a drama queen about stupid stuff.
She’d made such a loud production out of finding it in the trash, rinsing it out in the bathroom sink, complaining about it losing its shape, then taking it home and bringing it back all pristine and perfectly pressed the next day. Who ironed a sweater? Seriously.
The cardigan was totally fine, of course, because it had only been ginger ale. She’d announced to anyone who would listen that she was putting it over her chair, and that the haters better not touch it ever again.
So, there was that.
“Figure it out,” Gram-Gram said, her tone suggesting she was already tired of this conversation and the immature battle between Trish and myself. “As for Char, you are free to initiate the granting of some of her smaller wishes. But keep her under the amount-owing threshold.”
Internally, I fist pumped in triumph and skipped to the door in my cherry red high heels. I knew these were lucky shoes the minute I’d spotted them.
“Estelle?”
I turned from the door. “Yes?”
“You have developed a very good ear for hearing wishes.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, and I gulped. She knew about the tech I’d commissioned to hear more wishes than the old, hard-of-hearing wishing machine did. I braced myself for the backlash.
But she merely shooed me away with a hand, saying, “For heaven’s sake, don’t grant her every little wish. Dial it back this time.”