A Wish Upon a Star

by Jeannie Levig

  Private? Leave? Suddenly, Leslie understood. “Oh, no. I live here.” She wiped her right hand on her cut-off jeans, leaving a smear of dirt and grass, then extended it to the woman. “I’m Leslie Raymond. I own the house.”

  “Since when?” The woman glanced behind her at Siena, who remained fixated on the dog.

  “Well…” Leslie felt like a doof, standing there with her hand sticking out to some woman she didn’t know but abruptly realized she knew way too much about—her feelings on poop and vomit and diarrhea, about dogs and dog poop—all things one usually didn’t know about someone at a first meeting. Sometimes never. “I’ve owned the house since my mother passed, nine years ago, and I’ve lived here since about two thirty this morning, when I pulled my car into the garage.”

  “Oh.” The woman relaxed a little. “I thought the owner was selling.”

  Leslie let her hand drop to her side. “She was,” she said with mild annoyance. “Now she’s not.”

  The woman laughed softly. “I’m sorry. I can get overly vigilant about strangers. My daughter can be extremely friendly to people she’s never even seen before.”

  Leslie nodded. “No problem. I can understand that.” She smiled. “She is quite a talker.”

  At the moment, though, Siena sat stoically beside the dog, her hands folded in her lap.

  “Siena?” the woman said, turning her attention to her daughter. “Since you’ve been visiting with our new neighbor, did you introduce yourself like you’ve been working on in your class?”

  A tiny frown tugged the corners of Siena’s mouth downward. She rose and walked stiffly to where her mother and Leslie stood.

  Leslie fought back a smile in the name of parental solidarity.

  “Hello,” Siena said, making eye contact fleetingly. “My name is Siena Cooper. It’s nice to meet you.” She held her hand out to Leslie.

  Leslie took it gently, its smallness and fragility bringing a rush of emotion. It’d been a long time since she’d held a child’s hand. She’d missed it so much. “Hello, Siena,” she said, managing to keep her voice steady. “I’m Leslie Raymond. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  Siena turned immediately and went back to sit beside the dog.

  Leslie chuckled. “And what about you?” she asked the woman in front of her. “Were you absent that day in class?” She smiled to soften the question to a tease.

  The woman’s attention was still on Siena, or maybe the dog. With a start, she looked at Leslie. “I’m so sorry.” She held out her hand. “I’m Erica Cooper. We’ve lived next door for the past four years.” Her fingers were soft and slender in Leslie’s stronger grip, her skin seeming to put off a light glow in contrast to Leslie’s darker olive complexion.

  Leslie felt a twinge of loss when Erica released her hand, as though something she’d wanted for a long time had just slipped through her fingers. It was the strangest thing. Was it merely attraction? No. Erica wasn’t her type—or at least if she had a type, Erica wouldn’t be it. Do I still have a type? What had it been? Nine years since I’ve been on an actual date? Who knew what her type would be these days? But it wouldn’t be this woman. Despite her gray hair—probably prematurely gray—Erica was most likely a lot younger than Leslie’s fifty-three years, since she had such a young child, and there was that—she had a child. First and foremost on Leslie’s list for potential dates, she’d sworn off women with kids. And younger women. “Leslie Raymond,” she heard herself repeating.

  Erica smiled. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again, Leslie, but right now…” She looked at Siena. “We were going to take a walk. Remember, Siena?”

  “I don’t want to anymore,” Siena said, her tone unequivocal. “I want to stay with Gus, even if he’s dirty.”

  Erica paused. She slid her sunglasses down her nose with her fingertip and peered over the top. “He’s filthy.” She shifted her gaze to Leslie.

  Leslie stared, transfixed, at the light blue eyes that were clearly sizing her up—not simply light blue, a pale blue with specks of sapphire. At the judgment in them, though, she flushed with embarrassment. Her defenses flared. “No, no. He’s not my dog. I found him like that. I’d take much better care of him if he were mine.” Hmmm, that didn’t sound a lot better.

  “Erica!” A man’s voice broke the early afternoon quiet.

  Erica slipped her sunglasses back into place, the slightest hint of annoyance flashing in her eyes before they vanished behind the tinting once more. “Next door,” she called in response.

  And there he was at the gate. The dad. The husband. The man. The all-important element of what it took to create a normal and healthy family environment, according to some people.

  And that cinched Leslie’s earlier question of whether Erica could be her type. Younger. Straight. Married. And with a kid. Leslie’s stomach clenched with a wave of nausea. Ain’t no flippin’ way. She wanted to turn away from this guy, didn’t want to deal with him and everything he represented, but nothing that had happened was his fault.

  “Trent,” Erica said, “this is Leslie Raymond, our new neighbor.”

  “Hey.” Trent stepped up beside her and shook Leslie’s hand, but his attention was on Erica.

  “Leslie, this is—”

  “Have you seen my cell?” he asked Erica. “I would’ve sworn it was on the nightstand.”

  “I put it on the charger in the kitchen,” Erica said, evidently letting go of the introductions. “You only had one bar.”

  He smiled. “Thanks, hon.” He kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”

  “Don’t forget we’re going to walk down to the park with Siena.” Erica’s tone held a hint of resignation.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Trent said, backing away. “I just have to make one call.”

  Leslie watched the exchange with curiosity. She definitely saw Siena in him—the blond hair and brown eyes, the slight slant of his mouth when he pressed his lips together. She felt Erica’s scrutiny of her as well, even though she could no longer see those eyes.

  Trent turned and strode back through the arbored gateway and across his own patio, then disappeared into the house.

  Leslie could only stare after him, stunned at how summarily she’d been discounted.

  “Don’t take it personally.” Erica’s smooth voice cut through Leslie’s astonishment. “He’s preoccupied.” With her own abruptness, she turned to Siena. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s let Leslie start getting settled.” She held out her hand.

  “I want to stay with Gus.” Siena scooted closer to the dog but still didn’t touch him. “I want to pet him when he’s clean.”

  “Sweetie, I’m sure Leslie has things to do, and so do we.” Erica sounded patient, practiced, as though this tableau wasn’t uncommon. She glanced at Leslie.

  Leslie couldn’t tell if she was seeking help or confirmation. “I’ll tell you what, Siena,” she said, moving toward the deck. “I have to go buy some dog shampoo before I can give…” She faltered. Her grandfather had always said once you name something, it’s yours, and she didn’t intend to keep…Gus. Damn it. “Before I can give Gus a bath,” she continued. “How about you go for your walk with your folks, and I’ll bring…Gus…over later so you can pet him.”

  Siena and Gus looked at each other. “Okay,” Siena said, standing abruptly. She took a step, then halted, her gaze on the dry spot in the lawn again. “What about the grass? I want to smell it.”

  Leslie chuckled at Siena’s determination and focus on her two goals. “That’ll just take a few minutes. We could do that now.” She caught herself. “If it’s okay with your mom.” She looked up to find Erica smiling at her.

  “She’s been watching that spot for several weeks,” Erica said.

  Leslie took that as a go-ahead and clapped her hands. “All right. Let’s take care of it.” She ushered Siena to the rolled up hose by the faucet, careful not to touch her. She knew some people with autism didn’t like to be touched, and though she also knew that wasn’t true of
all from a documentary on Netflix—not to mention the fact that she wasn’t even sure Siena had autism—she didn’t want to take any chances of violating some kind of boundary with her. She gave Siena the end of the hose and waited while she selected the perfect position beside the dry spot. “Ready?” she called out.

  Siena nodded excitedly.

  Leslie turned on the water and watched as Siena’s face took on an expression of pure concentration.

  After a moment, Siena closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her lips parted and a huge smile spread across her face.

  Leslie looked at Erica, who’d sat down in the precise spot Siena had vacated, her arms looped around her knees, and saw the exact same smile of pure joy shaping Erica’s lips as she gazed at her daughter.

  So there was one thing Siena had gotten from her mother—that smile. And it was infectious. Leslie couldn’t help but grin. She waited, simply watching, remembering her own moments of joy with Elijah. She crossed to the deck and sat beside Erica.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Erica said, her voice soft and tender.

  “Sure, it’s no problem.” Leslie rested her forearms on her knees and clasped her hands. From the corner of her eye, she saw Erica turn to her, but Erica didn’t speak.

  She seemed to be studying Leslie.

  Leslie fidgeted under the scrutiny.

  “Most people wouldn’t have realized the importance of such a seemingly silly thing,” she said finally. “Or even if they did, wouldn’t have taken the time.”

  Leslie considered the circumstances of her life. No schedule. No conventional job to report to. No one to speak of to account to for her whereabouts. No family obligations, except for dinner with her cousin Nell the following Wednesday. Some people would view such a brand new, clean slate exciting, and maybe it would be once she got settled. For now, it felt lonely. She let herself live vicariously through Siena’s excitement about the smell of water on dry grass. She turned to Erica and smiled. “Time is something I have plenty to give.”

  Erica kept watching her.

  Leslie wished she could see her eyes for at least a hint of what she might be thinking.

  “So where are you from?” Erica glanced back to Siena.

  The relief of no longer being under Erica’s concentrated focus swept through Leslie like a gentle summer rain. How odd that she could feel the intensity of her stare without being able to see it. She relaxed. “Technically, I’m from here.” She tilted her head toward the house. “But I’ve been in Florida for the past twenty years.”

  “And now you decided to come home?” Erica seemed at ease. She was obviously comfortable with people, even new ones.

  “Yep.” Leslie couldn’t think of anything else to say that didn’t open up the subject to more than she wanted to share, but Erica saved her from the awkwardness.

  “And you drove all the way home?” she asked. “That’s a long way to drive.”

  “Yeah, well, you know…” Leslie shrugged. “There’s never a pair of ruby slippers around when you need them.” She offered a grin.

  Erica returned a slow smile.

  “I’m done,” Siena called.

  Leslie and Erica looked to her in tandem.

  She dropped the hose and headed toward the gate.

  “I guess we’re ready for our walk.” Erica laughed as she rose. “Thank you for letting her do that.”

  “My pleasure.” Leslie chuckled. “If only everyone’s needs were so easily met.”

  Erica moved across the yard, following Siena. As though in afterthought, she turned around. “Welcome to the neighborhood,” she said, walking backward. “Maybe we’ll see you again after you’ve washed your dog?” The sentence trailed up at the end in question.

  “He’s not my dog,” Leslie said as he trotted up to the deck and jumped up beside her.

  “So you’ve said.” Erica laughed, then turned with a wave over her shoulder.

  Leslie watched the dog…Gus…as he stared after Erica until she disappeared around the corner of the gate. Then he looked up at Leslie. “You’re not my dog,” she said to him.

  He cocked his head.

  After turning off the water, Leslie began to recoil the hose. When she bent to free it from where it looped around a tree root near the dry patch, she inhaled deeply. She’d never noticed the smell of water on dry grass, but now that she did, she found it strangely pleasant—simultaneously earthy and lightly refreshing. She glanced toward the Coopers’ backyard. It never ceased to amaze her what she learned from children.

  Later, as she sipped from a bottle of orange juice, she stared out the living room window and took in the street she’d grown up on. The trees were bigger, the hedges higher, and some of the houses had additions or had been remodeled completely, but she remembered racing down the same sidewalk on her bike, Nell on the handlebars, on their way to an adventure. She tried to imagine Elijah learning to ride a bike on that same sidewalk, then swallowed hard against the sudden ache in her heart. She looked down at the dog—that wasn’t her dog—at her feet, his front paws on the low windowsill and his wet nose smearing the glass.

  He tilted his head back and gazed up at her.

  “What the heck am I doing here?” she asked, half expecting a response. She got one.

  He wagged his stub of a tail.

  She sighed. “If only I understood what that meant.” She knew what she was doing there, though. She didn’t have to ask. I’m here to get as far away from Miami as I can. To make a fresh start. And it’d been practical to return to California. She owned a house here outright and could live in it for free. She needed furniture, of course, but that was remedied easily enough. She scanned the living room. Even empty, it held her memories.

  She’d first moved into this house with her parents when she was eight and lived there until she’d left for college at eighteen. They’d been a family there—a small one, with Leslie being the only child, but a family, nonetheless. She’d come home for frequent visits over the many years since, until her father’s fatal heart attack ten years earlier and her mother’s quiet and serene passing in her sleep a year later. Leslie hadn’t been home again since her mother’s funeral, but she’d been unable to let go of the house and had leased it out. She’d even thought briefly at one point about maybe bringing Cassie and Elijah here to live, but that family was gone, too. What the hell did she need with a family home?

  Movement outside drew her attention. The Coopers strolled past—Erica holding Siena’s hand, Trent on the other side, his cell phone pressed to his ear. They seemed an odd unit, or maybe it was only Erica. She seemed older than most women with seven-year-olds, which wasn’t impossible, of course. Leslie glanced at Trent and saw the shimmer of some gray at his temples she hadn’t noticed before. She looked back to Erica, remembered her eyes—that pale blue that had captured Leslie’s attention so fully—then in those few seconds she’d tipped her glasses down, the crinkled corners. And now that she thought about it, faint laugh lines around her mouth. Maybe she was closer to Leslie’s age.

  Did that change anything, though, make her Leslie’s new type, make Leslie remotely interested in anything other than being neighbors? No. She’s still straight, still has a husband, and still has a kid. Three strikes. And you’re out.

  Leslie would have to be an idiot to end up there again.

  And she was no idiot.

  Chapter Two

  Erica poured herself another glass of iced herbal sun tea, then lifted the carafe to her best friend.

  Becky shook her head. “I should go soon. I think we’ve pushed our luck with the amount of time Rosi and Siena have been in the same room together without one of them having a meltdown.”

  Erica smiled. “They do seem to be getting along better than usual today.”

  “Should we check to make sure one didn’t fall asleep and the other one quietly smothered her?” Becky asked conspiratorially.

  Erica squinted past her through the sliding screen door and into the famil
y room. The girls sat next to each other on the sofa just inside the door working on a jigsaw puzzle. “Nope,” Erica whispered, never sure when Siena was aware of her surroundings and when she was completely absorbed in her own world. “I can see them. They’re both still upright and breathing.”

  Erica had met Becky in the support group for parents of children with autism when she’d moved to California four years earlier. They’d become fast friends, but their daughters were an entirely different story. Siena and Rosi had nothing in common aside from their age and the fact that they were both on the spectrum. Even where they fell on the spectrum differed, Siena being high functioning, Rosi moderate to low. Erica and Becky had decided to push them, though, so they themselves could enjoy a supportive friendship. The first few play dates had been rough, but after a while the girls seemed to get used to one another enough to coexist when they were together.

  “Yowza! Who’s that?” Becky asked.

  Erica returned her attention to Becky to find she’d lifted her sunglasses and was blatantly staring into the yard next door. She glanced over her shoulder. She knew exactly what she’d see, but she looked anyway, just to enjoy the view. From her raised patio, she could easily take in the back end of the adjacent property that held the fenced pool. “That’s my new neighbor,” she said appreciatively before returning her gaze to Becky.

  “Wow!”

  Erica shook her head. “I know you love Jack, and you told me when we first met that you’re straight, but sometimes I wonder.” Erica enjoyed teasing Becky, knowing that she looked at women for Erica, not for herself. She was always on alert to find someone for her to settle down with. She even tried to fix her up on blind dates from time to time, until Erica would put her foot down. Then they’d have another serious talk about why she was done with relationships, and things would go back to normal. Erica did hook up with someone occasionally, only for the physical release, though, nothing more.

  “What can I say? You’ve taught me to appreciate a beautiful woman.” Becky dropped her glasses back into place. “Besides, look at those legs. I’d do anything to have legs like that. Except, you know…eat right and exercise. Even then, I don’t think mine would look that good.” She lifted her shades again for a second perusal.