Hadley smiled. “Our great-great grandfather, Irish prospector and homesteader, cut his leg. It was bad enough he thought they’d have to amputate it, but he soaked his leg in the hot spring, and lo and behold, he was miraculously healed. Thus, the myth of the healing hot spring was born.”
“The stuff good historical fiction novels are made of,” I said with a smile, swirling my finger in the water.
“Everyone needs to make a wish,” Salem said.
“Wishes are for wishing wells,” I said. “This is a healing hot spring.”
“Magic is magic,” Hadley said with a grin. “Let’s try it anyway.”
“I’m game to try anything,” Wyn said. “But don’t you have to be in the water to activate the wish power?”
“It would probably help.” Salem rose from her camp chair, struggling just a bit, and then helped her more pregnant twin.
The two of them toddled toward the edge of the hot spring pool. Salem helped Hadley down to the ground and steadied herself using Hadley’s shoulder as she came to her knees.
Salem stuck her finger in the water. “Is this enough?”
“How should I know?” Wyn demanded. “It’s your family’s hot spring. I don’t know how this works.”
“This is verySisterhood of the Traveling Pants,” I said.
Hadley laughed. “I was thinking more Ya-Ya Sisterhood.”
“Screw that. This isSex and the City, North Idaho style,” Salem stated.
“We’re not in a city,” Wyn pointed out. “More likeSex and the Country. Except I’m not getting any.”
She splashed in the water, scooping up handfuls and dousing her head.
“This isn’t a baptism.” I giggled.
“Isn’t it?” Hadley asked. “Okay everyone. Close your eyes and on the count of three, make a wish to yourself. One . . . two . . . three.”
After a few moments of silence, Hadley said, “Okay open your eyes.”
“In the words of the late Yul Brynner:So let it be written, so let it be done,” Salem said.
“And like a birthday wish, you can’t tell anyone, otherwise it won’t come true,” Hadley said with great authority.
For Hadley and Salem, I wished for them to have healthy babies.
For Wyn, I wished she found a great love.
I didn’t wish anything for myself.
Because if I knew my friends, they spent their wishes on everyone but themselves.
And if that was the case, then we were all covered in magic.
“I can’t find my ID,” Wyn said as she searched through the bottom of her monstrous purse.
“No?” Salem asked, eyes widening in feigned surprise. “That’s bad.”
“Very bad,” Hadley said.
I pulled Wyn’s suitcase out of the hatch of Hadley’s SUV and closed it. “Give it back, Salem.”
Wyn stopped looking in her bag to stare at Salem. “You took my ID?”
