The Wishing Tree by Marybeth Whalen

porch and ran to her car, diving into it and slamming the door shut. She jabbed the key into the ignition and turned the engine, throwing the car into reverse and accelerating out of the drive, her back tires spitting gravel as she raced away from April and all she represented.
    The truth was, she couldn’t think about her past hurts or her present ones. She couldn’t look at the shock and sadness on her best friend’s face. She couldn’t look, or she’d have to face her own. Better to hang on to the anger. The anger would protect her. The anger would fuel her. The anger would get her home.
    She drove and drove, not wanting to go home and not wanting to go back to the office. As she drove she thought about all that had happened in the past months—Elliott’s increasing distance, Shea’s televised proposal, her dad’s decision to close the business. None of it was her call, but everything involved her, changed her life. Her hands longed to grab hold of even one of the elements and take control, but they remained empty, powerless. She squeezed the steering wheel, debating what her next move should be.
    For lack of a better place to go, she drove to the church she and Elliott had attended since they married, her belief in God and knowledge of the Bible more a birthright than a decision. It was as much a part of the culture she’d grown up in as sweet tea and magnolia trees. And yet, the older she got, the more she considered her faith—whether it was something she accepted or questioned, something she embraced or rejected. And if the answer was acceptance and embrace, what did that mean?
God is great, God is good
, she used to pray before meals. But as she parked the car and focused on the cross at the top of the steeple, appearing to touch the blue skies and white clouds, she wondered if He really was. In light of all that had happened, did she trust God’s goodness? Or did He seem as far away as that blue sky?
    “I can’t do this alone,” she whispered in the silence of her car. “Please show me what to do.” She tried to focus on good times and happy memories, but they pounced away like the deer in her backyard.
    She thought suddenly of the verse from months ago—theone she’d seen the same night she’d spotted Elliott’s car, and again the next day. The verse had been coming to her mind off and on ever since as she puzzled over what it could mean: “Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.” The only place she could think of taking a pilgrimage to was the home that still called out to her no matter how many years went by. But that was a dumb idea.
    You can’t go home again
. Fitting that Thomas Wolfe was from Asheville. When she’d first moved there, she’d done all the touristy things—the Biltmore House, the Mast General Store, the Thomas Wolfe home. Elliott had taken her to all of it, helping her dig into her new home-that-didn’t-feel-like-home. She’d been determined to make Asheville feel like home, but so far it hadn’t. There was something still inside of her that hearkened back to that place she could never quite work out of her system.
    Her heart stirred at the prospect of returning to Sunset. Just yesterday her dad had told her she could stop working so hard, go to Sunset and help with Shea’s wedding preparations. From the sound of things, her mom and Aunt Leah could use the help. The speedy timetable demanded by the TV people had put everyone on high alert. They would welcome her. They would be happy to see her.
    And they would know nothing about what was going on with her and Elliott. Nor did they have to. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she thought it over. It could work. With her job done and the wedding only a few weeks away, she certainly had a good excuse to go—nothing to raise her family’s suspicions that anything was amiss between her and Elliott. She’d have to guard thatsecret for sure. But if she played her