Wish You Well
by David Baldacci
List Price: $7.99
Pages: 400
Format: Paperback
ISBN: 0446610100
Publisher: Warner Books
CHAPTER ONE
THE AIR WAS MOIST, THE COMING RAIN telegraphed by plump, gray clouds, and the blue sky fast
fading. The 1936 four-door Lincoln Zephyr sedan moved down the winding
road at a decent, if unhurried, pace. The car's interior was filled with
the inviting aromas of warm sourdough bread, baked chicken, and peach
and cinnamon pie from the picnic basket that sat so temptingly between
the two children in the backseat.
Louisa Mae Cardinal, twelve years old, tall and rangy, her hair the color of sun-dappled straw
and her eyes blue, was known simply as Lou. She was a pretty girl who
would almost certainly grow into a beautiful woman. But Lou would fight
tea parties, pigtails, and frilly dresses to the death. And somehow win.
It was just her nature.
The notebook was open on her lap, and Lou was filling the blank pages with writings of importance
to her, as a fisherman does his net. And from the girl's pleased look,
she was landing fat cod with every pitch and catch. As always, she was
very intent on her writing. Lou came by that trait honestly, as her father
had such fever to an even greater degree than his daughter.
On the other side of the picnic basket was Lou's brother, Oz. The name was a contraction
of his given one, Oscar. He was seven, small for his age, though there
was the promise of height in his long feet. He did not possess the lanky
limbs and athletic grace of his sister. Oz also lacked the confidence
that so plainly burned in Lou's eyes. And yet he held his worn stuffed
bear with the unbreakable clench of a wrestler, and he had a way about
him that naturally warmed other's souls. After meeting Oz Cardinal, one
came away convinced that he was a little boy with a heart as big and giving
as God could bestow on lowly, conflicted mortals.
Jack Cardinal was driving. He seemed unaware of the approaching storm, or even the car's
other occupants. His slender fingers drummed on the steering wheel. The
tips of his fingers were callused from years of punching the typewriter
keys, and there was a permanent groove in the middle finger of his right
hand where the pen pressed against it. Badges of honor, he often said.
As a writer, Jack assembled vivid landscapes densely populated with flawed characters who,
with each turn of the page, seemed more real than one's family. Readers
would often weep as a beloved character perished under the writer's nib,
yet the distinct beauty of the language never overshadowed the blunt force
of the story, for the themes imbedded in Jack Cardinal's tales were powerful
indeed. But then an especially well-tooled line would come along and make
one smile and perhaps even laugh aloud, because a bit of humor was often
the most effective tool for painlessly driving home a serious point.
Jack Cardinal's talents as a writer had brought him much critical acclaim, and very little money.
The Lincoln Zephyr did not belong to him, for luxuries such as automobiles,
fancy or plain, seemed forever beyond his reach. The car had been borrowed
for this special outing from a friend and admirer of Jack's work. Certainly
the woman sitting next to him had not married Jack Cardinal for money.
Amanda Cardinal usually bore well the drift of her husband's nimble mind. Even now her expression
signaled good-natured surrender to the workings of the man's imagination,
which always allowed him escape from the bothersome details of life. But
later, when the blanket was spread and the picnic food was apportioned,
and the children wanted to play, she would nudge her husband from his
literary alchemy. And yet today Amanda felt a deeper concern as they drove
to the park. They needed this outing together, and not simply for the
fresh air and special food. This surprisingly warm late winter's day was
a godsend in many ways. She looked at the threatening sky.
Go away, storm, please go away now.
To ease her skittish nerves, Amanda turned and looked at Oz and smiled. It was hard not to
feel good when looking at the little boy, though he was a child easily
frightened as well. Amanda had often cradled her son when Oz had been
seized by a nightmare. Fortunately, his fearful cries would be replaced
by a smile when Oz would at last focus on her, and she would want to hold
her son always, keep him safe always.
Oz's looks came directly from his mother, while Lou had a pleasing variation of Amanda's long forehead
and her father's lean nose and compact angle of jaw. And yet if Lou were
asked, she would say she took after her father only. This did not reflect
disrespect for her mother, but signaled that, foremost, Lou would always
see herself as Jack Cardinal's daughter.
Amanda turned back to her husband. "Another story?" she asked as her fingers skimmed Jack's
forearm.
The man's mind slowly rocked free from his latest concocting and Jack looked at her, a grin
riding on full lips that, aside from the memorable flicker of his gray
eyes, were her husband's most attractive physical feature, Amanda thought.
"Take a breath, work on a story," said Jack.
"A prisoner of your own devices," replied Amanda softly, and she stopped rubbing his arm.
As her husband drifted back to work, Amanda watched as Lou labored with her own story. Mother
saw the potential for much happiness and some inevitable pain in her daughter.
She could not live Lou's life for her, and Amanda knew she would have
to watch her little girl fall at times. Still, Amanda would never hold
out her hand, for Lou being Lou would certainly refuse it. But if her
daughter's fingers sought out her mother's, she would be there. It was
a situation burdened with pitfalls, yet it seemed the one destined for
mother and daughter.
"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.
Excerpted from Wish You Well © Copyright 2008 by David Baldacci. Reprinted with permission by Warner Books. All rights reserved.
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