Willow Wishes

By Katherine Turner

Love has the power to heal our deepest wounds and help us rediscover the magic of hope.

As Annie's time in her hometown reaches an end, fractures appear in her whirlwind romance with Rob. Though he surprised her on Christmas morning with a house worthy of her dreams, his expectations for Annie to remain in Stoc

• Language: English
• Publisher: Josha Publishing
• Release date: Apr 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781955735063

Katherine Turner

Katherine Turner is an award-winning author, editor, and life-long reader and writer. She grew up in foster care from the age of eight and is passionate about improving the world through literature, empathy, and understanding. In addition to writing books, Katherine blogs about mental health, trauma, and the need for compassion on her website www.kturnerwrites.com. She lives in northern Virginia with her husband and two children.

Book preview

prologue

rob

T

he stack of books on Mrs. Renner’s kitchen table seemed to grow as I eyed it. In fact, there seemed to be even more books than when I walked out of the damn library. The sound of water from the kitchen faucet streaming into the tea kettle filled the silence, followed by the sound of her setting the kettle on the stove and igniting the gas burner.

Those books aren’t going to read themselves, you know, Mrs. Renner said as she sat down in the chair across the table from me.

I looked up from the tower of books and stared at her for a moment. Why had I ever thought I could be a woodworker?

I don’t know if I can do this, I said, glancing away.

Why not? she fired back the second I stopped speaking, as if she’d been expecting exactly those words.

There’s too fucking much to learn, that’s why! My face was hot, and my jaw clenched. Balling my fists against the desire to hit something, I stood. This was a dumb fucking idea, I muttered. I don’t know why the hell I let you convince me I could do this shit.

Leaning over the table, I reached under the stack of books. Less than an hour after checking them out, they were all going back. I needed to get real—there was no way I could be a woodworker with all the shit I’d done in my life. Let alone get started now. I’d already wasted the years of my life I was supposed to be doing something with myself—spent them fucking high and getting arrested with Charlie. No one in this fucking town would ever trust me enough to pay me, anyway. The closest I’d ever get to being a woodworker would be the job as a low-level lumber yard worker I’d just gotten thanks to Mrs. Renner knowing the owner.

I glanced at Mrs. Renner as I lifted the books, expecting her to say something, but she didn’t; she just watched me with as neutral an expression as I’d ever seen on her. I guess she’s realizing the same damn thing I am. With an agitated sigh, I started in the direction of the front door.

I’m taking these back, I barked out.

Okay, she called back.

My fingers tightened against the bottom book to keep from dropping them all, which was what I wanted to do. Well, really, I wanted to throw them at the fucking wall. I was pissed I thought I could do something like this, pissed I’d ruined my only chance to do it when I never went to college a few years ago, pissed that Mrs. Renner didn’t care when she was the one who talked me into believing I could do this to begin with.

Okay? I practically snarled.

Yeah, she said lightly. If you want to give up that easily, I won’t try to stop you.

I’m not giving up! It’s just fucking impossible!

Hm. Okay, she said as she appeared next to where I’d stopped in the hallway. I’m sure you’re right. Let me get the door for you.

I stared after her as she walked in front of me and opened her front door. She had been so damn insistent I could do this if I really wanted to, and now she had nothing to say? Mrs. Renner turned her head and looked at me expectantly.

Fine, I gritted out. I’m going.

As I was about to walk past Mrs. Renner, she reached out a hand and placed it on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks.

One question before you go, she said. How did you manage to get clean?

My brows drew in at the unexpected question. What?

I said, how did you manage to get clean? From the drugs?

What? Why the hell are you asking me that right now? I asked, trying to figure out what that had to do with anything.

I mean, I’m guessing that was pretty easy?

My jaw tightened. Easy? That was the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done.

Oh, okay, she replied quietly, looking down for a moment before her eyes returned to mine. So if it was that hard, how’d you do it, then?

The first months flashed through my mind as I stood there. The shaking, the sweating, the vomiting. The conviction that I was going to die if I didn’t get drunk or high and having to find some fucking way to accept that and still not use again. The bleeding and pain in my hands after Mrs. Renner introduced me to boxing and I spent hours and hours a day hitting that heavy bag so I wouldn’t pick up a drink or go looking for something less legal. There were so many days I thought I couldn’t do it anymore, that I just needed a break from trying so fucking hard, but I knew if I stopped trying for even a moment, it all would have been for nothing. And so, as hard as it was, I kept going.

I refused to fucking quit, I bit out.

That’s what I thought, Mrs. Renner said, her voice still quiet. And wasn’t that harder than reading some books?

It’s not just reading these damn books, though, I responded, though my anger had faded. Now I just felt tired. And argumentative. It annoyed the shit out of me how the old woman was always right.

Why did you even bother to get clean, then?

Her question knocked the wind out of me as if I’d been punched and my heart constricted, my shoulders dropping as I stared at the floor. For Annie… I’d quit using for Annie. Because every time I got high felt like a betrayal to her. Because not doing something better with my life went against everything she’d ever taught me. Because I wanted to be a better man for her if she ever came back. Just as I’d decided to become a woodworker no matter what it took for her; so if she returned one day, I could be someone she’d be proud of, I could be someone who could support her. But none of that could happen if I gave up.

Looking up, I found Mrs. Renner smiling at me as she shut the front door. It was fucking aggravating that she already knew I was going to sit back down and start reading before I’d even said anything, but I gave her a half-smile anyway. Without her aggravating me like she loved to do, I’d be high with Charlie or locked up in a jail cell instead of finding my willpower to make something of myself.

Spinning on my heel, I headed back into Mrs. Renner’s kitchen and placed the stack of books back where they’d been on her kitchen table. After sitting back down in my chair, I took a deep breath and let out a loud sigh. Time to start reading.

__________

Hours later, Mrs. Renner was humming behind me as she was preparing lunch for us, though I was only vaguely aware of her presence. I’d turned to the chapter on weeping willows in the book on willow trees and started reading the introduction.

The weeping willow has been important in many cultures for thousands of years. It has many practical uses including as a pain reliever, a source of rooting hormone, and the ability to absorb trauma without splitting and cracking, the last of which contributes to a long-held belief that it is a symbol of strength and stabilization.

The iconic weeping varietal has also featured prominently in folklore for many civilizations. Europeans and early Native Americans believed the tree had protective powers and that using its branches would ward off bad luck. Some even believed if you told a secret to a willow tree, it would keep that secret locked within the wood forever. Celtic folklore is at the root of knocking on wood for good luck as it indicated that knocking on a willow trunk would protect against bad luck and cultivate good luck for the knocker. Additionally, they believed if you tied a knot on a weeping willow branch while making a wish, the tree would grant that wish, and would continue to grant as many wishes as you shared as long as you untied the knot once the wish came true.

I mulled over the paragraphs I’d just read as I stared into space ahead of me. Six years before, I’d fallen in love with Annie when she’d introduced me to her favorite weeping willow tree on the cross-country course. Her face had been alight with love and wonder as she told me about how it could soothe your pain. And while I’d become fond of the tree myself, it had only been because of all the memories I had with Annie there. But what if there was something more to that tree? Something Annie had sensed and I had missed because I thought it was ridiculous?

Glancing back down, my eyes scanned the open book again. The last sentence practically jumped off the page at me. It said the tree had the power to grant wishes; that was impossible—fucking stupid. But… what if it wasn’t? I shook my head to clear it, but my eyes were drawn back to that sentence. Maybe it was stupid, and it almost certainly wouldn’t amount to anything. But what if it actually worked, it actually brought her back to me? No one else would have to know I was desperate enough to try something from an old folklore tale.

Though that would mean I’d have to face the willow… and all the memories that place held. I hadn’t even gone near the cross-country course, let alone that tree, since she’d left. But if there was anything real about what I’d just read, I knew it would have to be that specific willow—Annie’s willow. Going through all those memories was going to fucking suck, but it would be worth the pain if it brought her back to me.

I saw that you were perfect, and so I loved you. Then I saw that you were not perfect and I loved you even more.

Angelita Lim

chapter one

annie

I

t had been a week since Christmas, the day Rob revealed to me that he’d bought a house for us, expecting that I’d move in with him and start our life together, and things between us had been tense and uneasy ever since. It really hadn’t been that long since I’d come back to town on sabbatical to housesit for Mom—less than a year—and so much had already happened. Seeing Rob for the first time since I’d left him nearly thirteen years before had knocked me even further off-kilter, as if I wasn’t already spinning with my health issues that landed me back in my hometown. But that was just the beginning.

As I worked to avoid Rob, Lucas had appeared, and in some inexplicable way I found that I could love him, too. I’d never expected to, but I’d fallen in love again. Not that things had been easy—far from it thanks to my history with Rob and his brother. Though without those difficulties, I’d never have realized I wasn’t at fault for what happened with Charlie when I was seventeen… that he’d raped me. Just as I wasn’t really at fault for the end of Rob’s relationship with Charlie when he found out what happened, though I still felt strong pangs of guilt when I thought about Rob losing his only real family because of me.

That alone was enough excitement for a lifetime, but then Charlie had attacked me in retaliation after Rob severed their relationship, leading to the first of two hospital stays before I actually considered taking my life. It was during that period that Lucas left me. And while that thought still hurt deeply and angered me, I knew it wasn’t really his fault; my accidental painkiller overdose had been so reminiscent of his mother’s suicide and he’d panicked. That was something I could understand, even if it hurt. I missed him more than I could ever admit, though I knew I could never talk to him again while I was with Rob.

Lucas had left me just over a month earlier, and that was when Rob had stepped in and refused to leave. He’d nursed me back to health and coaxed me out of the depression I’d succumbed to. And then surprised me with the news he’d bought a house for me, that he expected me to move in with him, and that he wanted to get married. Despite my anxiety over how quickly things had progressed with him, I had to laugh; it was just like Rob to do something so extreme as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

But it wasn’t something I was sure I was ready to do, as much as I’d thought for a few moments I was. I should have given myself some time to think and process everything he expected, everything he wanted, before I’d told him yes to everything he’d laid before me. Did I want what he offered? Of course… but wanting it had nothing to do with reality. Reality dictated that I had to return to my job and my life in the city in three months because my sabbatical would be over, and I didn’t have the forty thousand dollars I’d need to pay back in order to quit my job immediately after taking a year off. I also wasn’t sure I would do that even if I did have the money lying around. So, the day before when he’d badgered me to talk about what was bothering me, I’d snapped at him. Ever since, he’d been pensive and wary, his gaze intense and disgruntled and resting heavily on me at all times.

__________

We’d just finished eating the Chicken à la King over my favorite fresh buttermilk biscuits that Rob had made us for dinner. A pop music station played softly in the background as we cleaned up the kitchen together, but the tension was palpable.

What would you like to do this evening, love? Rob asked.

I shrugged without looking up, though I could feel his eyes on me. Whatever you’d like.

What do you usually do on New Year’s Eve?

Depends. If I’m with Haley, we’re out somewhere watching the ball drop. Otherwise, I go to bed and sleep through it all. You?

I haven’t celebrated since you.

My eyes darted up to his, the glass I was drying temporarily forgotten in my hands. My old, familiar guilt was crashing back like a tidal wave, crushing my chest and stealing my breath. The decisions I’d made all those years ago had cost both of us happiness and time we could never get back.

Don’t, Rob bit out harshly as he pulled the glass and kitchen towel from my hands. He finished drying the glass, placed it in the cabinet, and hung the kitchen towel on the handle for the oven door. Turning back to me, he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. You did what you thought was the right thing to do. No more feeling guilty for that shit, all right?

He sighed heavily as he searched my eyes and I looked down, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, digging my fingernails into my palms and biting my tongue to keep from apologizing; I knew it would only piss him off even more if I did. With every second that passed, my heartbeat became more painful. After a long moment, he rested his hands on my shoulders and pressed his lips into my forehead, lingering there.

I just… I started, then swallowed. I just wish I’d done things differently. That… that… Talking felt like an impossible task with him touching me, so I pulled away from him and backed up a few steps in order to continue. You’ve been through enough in your life and I hate that I can’t be… better for you.

Rob inhaled sharply as his body stiffened. I didn’t have to see his face to know he was irritated—it was rolling off him in waves, nearly as tangible as the dishes we’d just been drying. My heart skipped, then started racing. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rob’s mouth open just as a new song began playing in the background. He snapped his jaws closed without having said anything, instead stepping over to the radio and twisting the volume knob to max.

My eyebrows rose as I glanced up in surprise—he hated pop music and only tolerated it because I sometimes enjoyed listening to it. He remained silent, tipping his head toward the radio as he folded his arms across his chest and watched me intently.

Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars. I recognized the song, but like with most songs, I’d never paid too much attention to the lyrics. Rob was the opposite, however; he listened to songs because of the lyrics, so if he wanted me to listen, that meant they were important. Pushing the tension and unease between us aside, I closed my eyes and focused on the words as the music filled the kitchen.

After the first verse and chorus, my eyes were already tearing up and Rob stepped forward, pulling me into his arms. Resting his chin on the top of my head after tucking me into his chest, he swayed gently with me until the song ended.

"I love you, just the way you are, Annie. I don’t want a single fucking thing to be different. I just want you."

I let out a deep breath, the rush of air taking with it a lot of the tension I’d felt since Christmas morning.

You know what I’d like to do tonight? he asked softly. "I’d like to do something—anything—to celebrate the start of the new year with you. I haven’t celebrated since you left me because I never cared about the passage of time. All it meant was another year I’d survived without you. But now that I’ve got you back, I have a reason to look forward to the future again. And I want to celebrate that I get to share the next years of my life with you."

__________

We ended up watching a few movies Mom had tucked away in her game cabinet, old black and white films with beautiful music and wonderful dancing. As the clock neared midnight, we bundled up and walked outside with a bottle of champagne and two glasses to ring in the new year under the stars.

Rob poured the fizzy liquid into our glasses and held one out to me. After accepting mine, grasping the glass with care using my gloved fingers, I gazed up at the sky glittering with stars that disappeared behind an occasional puffy white cloud for a second or two.

Thank you, I murmured, taking a small sip before tipping my head back up to resume my study of the stars.

He took a deep breath and released it loudly as he stepped in front of me and wrapped his free arm around my lower back. What time is Haley coming tomorrow? he asked, his face turning upward toward the sky as well.

I’m not sure. She’s surely out partying right now, and she’s not a morning person, so likely not until lunchtime or later.

And she’s not staying the night?

Probably not—she said she might have to work on Tuesday.

She’s going to spend more time in the car driving back and forth than she’ll even be out here. He took a sip of his champagne. Why doesn’t she just wait and come out for the weekend another time instead?

Tradition, I said, my mouth curved into a soft smile as I thought about how that tradition had come to be.

Oh! Let’s make some resolutions, Haley shouted. It was New Year’s Day and we’d stayed up late drinking and watching the ball drop from the sofa in the tiny apartment I’d rented for my freshman year of college. We’d been sharing it since the night we’d met on the local bridge; she’d come back to spend a few nights on my sofa and simply hadn’t left yet. From time to time, we talked about her finding her own place, but neither of us really wanted her to leave.

I smiled weakly, wishing she came with a volume knob I could twist down to give my throbbing temples a break. She’d easily had twice as much to drink as I had—likely more—and seemed no worse for it; it wasn’t fair. Though I knew the reason was because her body was so accustomed to the vast amounts of alcohol she ingested on a daily basis to enable her to pretend she was fine.

Go for it. I’m not doing resolutions, I replied. The last the time I’d made a resolution—the year before—it had been to find a way to make things work with Rob while we were at different colleges. But Rob and I were over, and I couldn’t think about anything that reminded me of him.

What the hell does that mean? Everyone makes resolutions for the new year!

Not me, I replied quietly. Here. Your coffee, I added, handing her a mug full of steaming, freshly-brewed Colombian Roast—her favorite. You sure you don’t want anything to eat?

Ugh, she groaned dramatically, the sound like a jackhammer in my skull. Fuck no. How the hell do you ever think about food before caffeine? She took a tentative sip of her coffee and sighed contentedly. Pour yourself a cup.

I wrinkled my nose. No, thanks. You know I hate coffee.

You’ll learn to love it. Besides, it’ll help the headache you’re fighting.

What? How could you—

Babe, I recognize a hangover when I see one. Besides, you wince every time I say something.

No, I don’t.

Haley flicked her hand at me and rolled her eyes. Just drink some fucking coffee, will you? Trust me. It’ll help.

Fine, I acquiesced, more for the sake of getting a moment of silence.

Haley watched, sipping her own coffee, as I pulled out another mug and poured some for myself. As soon as I had finished pouring and made eye contact with her, she spoke.

Okay, back to resolutions. We’re doing it.

I shook my head. No. I’m not.

Yeah. You are. We both are. She stood up from the table and started rummaging around in my kitchen drawers until she found a pad of paper and some pencils. Pulling off two sheets, the sound of the paper separating from the pad strangely loud and abrasive to my ears, she shoved one and a pencil in my direction. Do it. Now. I’ll do mine, too, and then we can share. You know—accountability and all that happy horse-shit.

She sat and looked down thoughtfully at her paper before she started writing. While she focused, her features transformed, the façade she always had in place falling, and I could see the sadness around her eyes. I already knew it was there, of course, but I could see it right then, something she rarely allowed to happen. She’d been horribly broken by what her ex and her family had done to her and was struggling to put herself back together, despite what she projected to the world.

Okay, I’m done. You ready? she asked suddenly, glancing up at me, the mask over her features back in place.

I wished she didn’t feel like she needed to hide her pain—especially with me. I wanted to be there for her like she was for me, but it was impossible when she pretended nothing was wrong. She thought it was a weakness when she showed how much she was hurting, clueless about how much strength it required to come back from what she’d been through.

No, one more minute, I responded, suddenly knowing exactly what I wanted to write. Hunching over, I scribbled the words quickly onto the sheet of paper she’d given me. Okay, here you go.

We swapped papers and looked down to read what the other person had written. Haley’s read:

I will make sure that my new best friend knows how amazing she really is and how important she is in my life.

Though my eyes were filled with tears, I started laughing—at almost exactly the same time that Haley did. She looked up and I could see that her eyes were shimmering with moisture, too. The words I’d written were almost identical to hers.

Great fucking minds, she said, laughing.

We’d spent the rest of the day together and made a pact to write our resolutions and spend at least part of the first day of the year for every year to come together. No matter what happened in our lives, we promised that we’d always make it happen.

It’s almost time… about thirty seconds, Rob said quietly after glancing down at his phone and re-pocketing it.

He took my glass from me and set it down on the ground next to his and the champagne bottle a few feet away. Straightening up, he pulled his gloves off and shoved them into his pockets before cradling my face, his hands enticingly warm where they pressed against the cold skin on my cheeks. The white clouds from our breaths mingled together to form a single much larger one as he leaned in closer to me.

After a moment, he whispered, I’ve always wanted to do this.

And then he kissed me, his intoxicating, mesmerizing kiss, that lasted well past the seconds that remained before midnight. As our mouths continued their sensual dance, Rob wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled me in closer to him. The air around us seemed to warm the longer we kissed, and I felt alive, awake. After several minutes, he stopped abruptly and pulled back enough to look into my eyes.

Did you mean what you said? he asked, his voice raw and desperate.

Working to catch my breath, my eyebrows pulled together as I tried to place what he was asking about. I hadn’t said anything, had I?

At the house, on Christmas, he continued a moment later, his words rushed and his voice shaky as his eyes, luminous with the reflection of the moon, darted rapidly back and forth between mine. You said you wanted everything I offered. Did you really mean it?

I swallowed, my heart racing. Of course I did, I replied, my voice small, trying desperately to feel the conviction of my words.

He kissed me again, his tongue hot against mine. When? he breathed into my mouth.

He pulled back again and his eyes shone even brighter in the moonlight as they continued to study me. He was searching, I knew. For a moment, his face was obscured by our mingling breaths, but as the cloud dissipated, he was still there. Still intently staring and waiting. The frequency of the white puffs from his exhales increased, betraying his mounting anxiety as he waited. It felt like we were safely inside a bubble in an alternate reality; one in which it was just the two of us, and nothing else—past or future—mattered. I could feel his love, love he communicated without even trying, in the way he looked at me, the way he held me, the way the gruff and grumpy man in front of me was waiting so nervously for my response. That love was intoxicating; I could no longer think clearly—could only feel. And what I felt was that I wanted anything that would mean he always looked at me the way he was in that moment: as if I was his reason for existence.

Whenever you want, I breathed out.

I’d say tomorrow, but that’s not possible because the courthouse will be closed, he said, the words rushing out and tumbling over one another. So, Tuesday? I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to waste a single day more than I have to without you. We can ask Haley to stay and be our witness. Please? Say yes, love.

My stomach now roiling, I thought I might be sick as reality began to creep back in, but I wanted nothing more than to make him happy. Besides, it was what I’d always wanted when we were younger, anyway. It was just going to be real, instead of a long-ago dream. Swallowing, I nodded in affirmation.

Oh thank fuck.

I could tell from the way his hands trembled that he was struggling to stay in control as he kissed me and my insides flipped; it was exhilarating to have that kind of power over him, though equally terrifying. What if he lost that control? He loved me with a fervor—a passion—that was near-violent in intensity. I didn’t actually know what he was capable of if his control ever slipped. I was sure he would never hurt me, but what if I was wrong? I’d been wrong about so many things in life—important things—and I could be wrong about this, too.

I love you so fucking much. His thumbs smoothed across my cheeks, his eyes glassy.

I love you, too, I replied, my voice soft.

He crushed me into his chest, one arm around my back and a hand cradling my head. I’m so fucking glad, he whispered.

Warring desires kept me from being able to respond. I wanted him to hold me even tighter and never let me go. But I also desperately wanted him to free me because I felt I was suffocating, that I couldn’t breathe or think with him so close.

chapter two

annie

T

he clock on the mantle loudly marked the passing seconds, a constant reminder that my time with Rob was rapidly coming to an end. I glanced up from the pile I was building with the pills of lint I’d pulled off the old and well-used hand-knit throw my mom kept on her worn navy sofa. Three o’clock.

Rob would be