Wish Club Read Online Free PDF Page A

She loved that dream. It was so far from her reality.
    Tippy kneaded into Mara with his paws, his claws snagging the blanket with a snap, snap, snap. “Tippy, it’s not time to play.” She pulled the blanket in more tightly around her shoulders, trying to hide.
    Then Mara rolled abruptly onto her back again.
    “Tippy?” she whispered.
    Tippy hadn’t jumped onto her bed in months. He hadn’t jumped on anything in months. “How did you get up here? Did you jump up here? All by yourself?”
    He looked at her, his green eyes glowing while he purred, kneading his paws into her stomach as she scratched behind his ear.
    Her husband Henry’s deep snorky breathing meant he was still asleep—Tippy hadn’t gotten any help onto the bed from him.
    It
must
be the spell from Book Club. What other explanation could there be? Mara stared at the ceiling in the dim light, absently petting her purring cat, ruminating on all the many possibilities, all the things this could mean, long after Tippy had fallen asleep.

Chapter Three

    The
veterinarian’s waiting room always had the same smell: antiseptic, cedar chips, and cat piss. Mara sat on a bench near the window and waited. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was going to be her year, a year with the power of witchcraft behind it. And yet, less than two weeks into it—with Book Club meeting tonight—all indications were that now, like her baseball team, she’d once again have to wait till next year.
    Tippy had been doing so much better since they’d chanted for him—ever since that night he’d first jumped onto her bed. Mara had been beside herself. She couldn’t wait to get to tonight’s meeting to tell everyone, especially Jill, that their spell had helped. That was, until last Friday.
    Mara had come home from work in the afternoon and found Tippy lethargic, his food from the morning still in his bowl. He’d looked up at her with sad green eyes. No hopping up today. She’d brought him straight to the vet in a panic and they had started him on IV fluids right away, just to keep him alive. It had been a terrible relapse. Mara had been stunned to realize that her poor cat might not make it—and what did that say about the chanting?
    The veterinarian, Dr. Effingham, had kept Tippy over the weekend. Now, as she sat in his waiting room, after being told he wanted to speak with her, Mara figured this was not good. He might even recommend she put Tippy to sleep, as if it were really only a nap she would be considering.
    “He’s had a good life,” she could imagine him saying, “but there comes a point where keeping him alive is going to cause more suffering than putting him down.” She didn’t want Tippy to suffer, and if the vet told her it was the best thing, she would listen to him. Mara felt the beginnings of a sob climb up her throat. She turned to look out the window behind her in the waiting room, not really wanting to think about it.
    Dr. Seeley, her boss, had seemed displeased that Mara was going to be late to work today because she had to go to the veterinarian’s. But then, Dr. Seeley always seemed displeased.
    Henry kept telling her she should just quit, that he hated to see her so unhappy, but with their son Alan starting college next year and Marty only a couple of years behind, she didn’t see how they would manage. Henry called it the “work force,” the invisible force that pulled a person to a job she hated day after day, making her forget it could be any different. She supposed she could start looking for another job
before
she quit, but when was she supposed to find time for that? And it wasn’t as if any new job she would find was going to put her in that sequined dress singing “My Way” on a yacht. It was just easier for her to stay where she was than to go off trying to make any big changes.
    Suddenly an assistant called Mara’s name and ushered her into one of the veterinary examining rooms, but Dr. Effingham wasn’t there yet and