Chapter One Before dawn on the day she would finally see his first real film, Beth Cappadora slipped into the guest room and lay down on the edge of the bed where her son, Vincent, slept.   Had she touched his hair or his shoulder, he would not have stirred. When he slept at all, Vincent slept like a man who'd fallen from a relaxed standing position after being hit on the back of the head by a frying pan. Still, she didn't take the risk. Her relationship with Vincent didn't admit of nighttime confidences, funny cards, all the trappings of the sentimental, platonic courtship between a mother and her grown boy. Instead, Beth blessed the air around his head, where coiled wisps of dark hair still sprang up as they had when he was a child.   Show them, Vincent, she said softly. Knock 'em dead.   Beth asked only a minor redemption-something that would stuff back the acid remarks that everyone had made about where Vincent's career of minor crime and major slough-offs would end, because it had so far outlasted the most generous boundaries of juvenile delinquency. She wished one thing itself, simple and linear: Let Vincent's movie succeed.   That night, as she watched the film, and recognized its might and its worth, Beth had to appreciate-by then, against her will-that her wish was coming true. What she didn't realize was something that she'd learned long ago.   Only long months from that morning did Beth, a superstitious woman all her life, realize she had forgotten that if a wish slipped like an arrow through a momentary slice in the firmament, it was free to come true any way it would. Only fools thought its trajectory could ever be controlled.   Sixteen hours after Beth tiptoed from Vincent's bedside, a spotlight beam shined out over the seat where she sat fidgeting and craning her neck to peek at everyone else taking their seats in the Harrington Community Center Auditorium.   Suddenly, there was Vincent, onstage. He looked up from nervously adjusting the pink tie he wore against his white shirt and twilight gray suit and said, "I have to apologize. We have a little technical glitch we need to fix and then we'll be ready. Thanks for your patience. In just a moment, the first voice you will hear is my sister, the opera singer Kerry Rose Cappadora, who also narrates this film. I'll be right back. I mean, the film will. Thanks again."   Beth leaned forward as if from the prow of a ship. Her husband, Pat, reached out to ease her back.   "Don't jump," he teased. "You can't do this for him. It's high time, Bethie. You have to agree. Vincent's lived la vita facile too long."   "I know," Beth agreed. Though she didn't speak Italian, she wanted to poke Pat in the ribs and not gently. Vincent earned his way, after a fashion. Vincent owned a home, after a fashion-two rooms in Venice Beach, California, that had once been a garage. Vincent had made a gourmet chocolate commercial nominated for an ADDY Award. He hadn't asked them for a dime since...well, since the last time he dropped out of college. But she said only, "You're right, of course."   "Bethie?"   "Yeah?"   "Why aren't you arguing with me?" Pat asked. "What's the matter with you?" Beth shrugged, battling the urge to drag her fingers through her careful blowout: If you have to mess with your hair, Beth's friend Candy said, shake, don't rake. Pat cracked his knuckles. "Damn it," Pat said then. "Who am I trying to kid? I haven't wanted a cigarette this bad since the grease fire at the restaurant. I want to jump up on the stage and yell at everybody, This is my son's work! You better appreciate this! But we've got to give this over to him."   "Absolutely," Beth said, her heartbeat now a busy little mallet that must be visible through her pale silk chemise.   "You sound like a robot. Where's Excerpted from No Time to Wave Goodbye: A Novel by Jacquelyn Mitchard All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.