Wish Upon a Christmas Star

“He was a rebellious one,” Maria countered. “My parents caught him drinking or skipping school or staying out all night lots of times. He wanted to do his own thing without getting hassled.”

“It’s one thing to be rebellious,” Logan said. “It’s another to let your family go through the heartache of believing you’re dead.”

Logan probably thought he sounded like the voice of reason. It wouldn’t do any good to tell him she couldn’t rest until she’d eliminated any chance that Mike was alive. Logan was just as closed-minded as always. If he’d been able to open his mind to possibilities, they’d be married right now.

“I hadn’t looked at it from that perspective.” She pretended to look thoughtful. She had to wrench the next words from her mouth. “Perhaps you’re right.”

His mouth dropped open. He closed it and let out a heavy breath. “Believe me, that doesn’t bring me any happiness.”

She nodded.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

“What do you think I should do?”

“You should drop it,” he said. “It’s a cruel trick that isn’t worth your time.”

Maria tried to look pensive. “You’re probably right.”

“So you’re not going to Key West?”

“What would be the point?” She put her credit card inside the leather billfold the waitress had dropped by their table, and rose. “Would you excuse me for a minute?”

He hesitated only a moment before answering. “Sure.”

On the way to the restroom, Maria stopped at the hostess stand and placed a request. Within minutes, she rejoined Logan. Her credit card was on the table, but nothing else.

“Didn’t the waitress bring me a receipt?” she asked.

Logan said, “I switched out our credit cards and went ahead and paid the bill.”

“Nobody asked you to do that,” she said.

“I wanted to.”

Because he was flaunting what a success he’d made of himself? Even as the thought came into her head, she knew it wasn’t true. Logan had always been generous with what he had, even when he was a broke high school kid.

“Thank you,” she managed to say. “We should go. You won’t be in town long. I don’t want to keep you from your family.”

“My parents like you,” Logan said. “They won’t mind waiting while I drive you back to your office.”

“They won’t have to wait,” Maria said on the way to the coat rack. He helped her on with her coat, brushing against her in the process. A shiver ran the length of her body.

“Oh?” he said. “Why’s that?”

She pointed through the glass doors to where a taxi idled at the curb. “I had the hostess call a cab.”

He looked wounded. “I would have driven you.”

“I know,” she said. “Have a nice Christmas, Logan.”

“You, too,” he said.

She pushed open the doors and hurried to the cab, forcing herself not to turn around for a final glance at him. When she closed the taxi door behind her, she felt as though she were shutting out a past that included Logan. Once upon a time, she never could have fooled him with that guileless act. The fact that she had done so proved they’d become strangers.

She choked back a sob. Now was not the time to let herself get teary over the way she and Logan used to be. She needed to concentrate on finding out whether or not her brother was alive.

* * *

EARLY THE NEXT AFTERNOON Maria drove over the Seven Mile Bridge that led to the Lower Keys. Her flight had landed in Miami almost three hours earlier. Flying into the major city had saved her hundreds in plane fare. Even with the cost of the rental car, she was still ahead of the game had she flown into Key West.

She’d expected the hundred-and-fifty-five-mile drive to go more quickly. How was she to know that the scenic route through the Florida Keys would be a two-lane road, with cars clogging traffic whenever they entered or left the highway?

If not for occasional holiday decorations on shops and houses, it wouldn’t seem a bit like Christmas. Long stretches of the Overseas Highway were flanked by shimmering blue water on both sides, sometimes dotted with sprawling areas of emerald-green. When she’d stopped for gas, the cashier had told her the green patches marked sea grass beds and shallow reefs.

The Seven Mile Bridge, which spanned a channel linking the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico, was the most beautiful part of the drive yet. Seabirds soared through the clear sky, boats traversed the water and people fished from an old bridge, parallel to the new one, that was missing a piece in the middle.

Lexington and Logan Collier seemed very far away.

Maria was still irked at Annalise for calling Logan. It was crazy, but the old hurts had resurfaced as she’d sat across from him in the restaurant. Never mind that she’d been married and divorced since she’d been with Logan. She still felt like that girl who’d bared her heart and been rejected.

She’d almost convinced herself it would be okay not to inform Annalise that she was going to Key West. Almost, but not quite. After 9/11, the entire DiMarco family, Maria included, kept close tabs on each other.

She’d taken the coward’s way out, though, sending a text instead of phoning. Predictably, Annalise had responded by calling her cell. Maria hadn’t answered. She had more important uses for her mental energy than arguing with her sister.

She was already operating on a lack of sleep. Last night when she’d gotten home from the restaurant, she’d spent hours on the computer. She hadn’t been able to locate the right Mike DiMarco on any social network sites or find mention of him or Key West on the pages of his high school friends.

Every classmate she’d tried had a Facebook page except Billy Tillman, who’d been tight with Mike since grade school. She’d called Billy’s mother in an attempt to track him down. As Maria left the bridge for one of the string of islands that made up the Keys, she mentally replayed part of the conversation she’d had with Julia Tillman.

“Key West?” the woman had exclaimed. “Why would Billy be in Key West?”

“That’s what I’m asking you, Mrs. Tillman,” Maria said. “Has Billy ever talked about Key West?”

“I already told you. Billy’s in San Francisco. He moved there a few years ago.”

“Did he ever mention if any of his friends lived in Key West or vacationed there?” Maria asked.

“No. Never,” she said. “Who did you say you were again?”

“Mike DiMarco’s sister.”

“Mike? The poor boy who died on 9/11? That Mike?”

Maria had to stop herself from telling the older woman reports of her brother’s death may have been exaggerated. “That Mike.”

“Such a tragedy, that was. My Billy was torn up about it.”

“We all were, Mrs. Tillman,” Maria said and asked for her son’s cell phone number. Mrs. Tillman didn’t have it handy. Once she promised she’d have Billy call, Maria rang off before Mrs. Tillman could ask any more questions.