Erica could tell Siena had already claimed him in that way she assumed ownership of anything she liked—it was her form of attachment—and if he suddenly disappeared, Siena would be triggered. It was one of the areas in which they had yet to find any successful replacement behaviors. Siena would ultimately be okay, but it hurt Erica’s heart to see her go through such trauma. Leslie knew his name, though, or had given him one, and Gus seemed comfortable with her. Somehow, Erica doubted he was going anywhere, even if Leslie might not know it yet. She hoped she was right.
Erica went back inside to start bringing out the food and drinks. When she stepped outside on her final trip with the macaroni and cheese in hand, Leslie had returned and was sitting on the lawn with Siena, Gus on his haunches between them. Leslie pointed up into the twilight sky and was saying something to Siena that Erica couldn’t hear.
Siena listened, then seemed to be repeating Leslie’s words.
Leslie grinned. “That’s great,” she said, her voice rising in evident enthusiasm.
Erica watched as Siena smiled brightly yet one more time. “Dinner’s ready,” she called across the yard. “Siena, please get washed up before you sit down.”
As Siena raced past Erica and into the house, Gus at her heels, Leslie sauntered up to the table. Her hair looked damp, her face scrubbed clean, and she’d changed into tan jeans, a dark orange, button-up shirt tucked in at the waist with the sleeves rolled to just below her elbows, and brown flip-flops.
Erica was glad she had more clothes on, but she still felt the tug of arousal from earlier when she looked at Leslie. She’d have to get a grip on that. She’d meant what she’d said to Becky. She couldn’t get involved with someone who lived next door. The situation held too many inherent complications, and they’d only met that morning. Leslie might make a good friend, for both her and Siena, though.
“This looks great,” Leslie said, scanning the table. “And by candlelight, no less.” Her tone was playful.
Erica laughed. “It’s citronella. It keeps the bugs away.”
Leslie smiled knowingly. “Isn’t your husband joining us?” she asked, taking in the three place settings.
Erica pulled out a chair and sat before answering. She didn’t want to talk about Trent for some reason, not with Leslie. Normally, she had no problem with that. But she didn’t really like discussing him in front of Siena, and Siena would be back shortly. “No,” she said finally. “Something came up at work.”
Leslie’s expression softened as she lowered herself into her own chair. “I hope everything’s okay.”
The screen door slid open, and Siena and Gus were back.
“Your dog seems to have made a new friend,” Erica said, watching the two. “Excuse me.” She glanced at Leslie. “Not your dog seems to have made a new friend.”
Leslie chuckled. “Yeah, I noticed that.”
“He’s so good with her. It’s like he knows exactly what to do, and what not to do.” Erica scooped a large spoonful of the macaroni dish onto Siena’s plate as Siena got settled in her seat. She held out her hand for Leslie’s plate. “This is hot. May I serve you?”
Leslie gave it to her. “He’s a good dog.” She reached down and scratched his ear as he settled once again directly between Siena and her. “He was good company the last couple of days of my trip…except for the smell,” she added in a gruffer tone.
“He cleans up nicely, though,” Erica said, dishing up her own food. “Who knew such a pretty dog was underneath all that dirt?”
“And now he smells good,” Siena said, gazing down at him adoringly. “He smells like coconuts.”
“Speaking of smelling good, this smells delicious.” Leslie waited until Erica was finished plating her own food, then took a bite. She moaned while she chewed. “This is sooooo good. Thank you for the invitation. I can’t remember the last time I had homemade mac and cheese.”
“Did you know that cheese can make you constipated?” Siena asked in between bites. “That means you can’t poop.”
“Siena,” Erica said, hoping her warning tone was enough to stave off the ensuing discourse she knew Siena was capable of on all the things that could keep one from pooping. Just to make sure, she added, “Not at the table.”
Siena frowned.
Leslie cleared her throat. Was there a chuckle underneath?
“Why don’t you tell me what Leslie was showing you in the sky earlier,” Erica said, offering a new subject. “That looked interesting.”
Siena stabbed at several pieces of macaroni with her fork. “We were looking for the first star.” She swirled the pasta around in the melted cheese. “You can make a wish on the first star you see, if you say…” She paused, then glanced at Leslie.
“Do you remember?” Leslie asked.
Siena squinted in thought. “Star light, star bright…First star I see tonight…” She pursed her lips, then shot a quick look to Leslie again.
Leslie waited a few beats, then said slowly, “Wish…I…”
Siena sat up straight, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Wish I may. Wish I might. Have the wish I wish tonight.” She ate the forkful of macaroni and cheese with a satisfied nod.
Siena’s triumphant expression warmed Erica’s heart. She was impressed that Leslie had waited until Siena looked to her for help, and then simply gave her a prompt rather than finishing the rhyme for her. Erica had noticed that so many adults who didn’t have kids had a tendency to take over when a child hesitated. Maybe she does have kids. Or had them, and now they’re grown? Despite the fact that her body looked as though it could belong to a much younger woman, Erica sensed Leslie was old enough for the latter. There were the white strands in her hair, although that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Erica had gone fully gray in her thirties. Leslie’s patience with Siena, though, the cast of wisdom to her eyes, her assured manner, all spoke of a maturity that drew Erica in.
Having a seven-year-old at fifty-one put Erica around much younger people in the parents’ club at Siena’s school and in the support group where she’d met Becky. Becky was only thirty-four. And in Erica’s job, she taught young college students every day. She liked the idea of getting to know someone closer to her age. “And did you make a wish?” she asked Siena.
“Yes.” Siena kept her gaze riveted on her dinner, an indication that she was about done with the topic. Conversations with Siena went that way sometimes. “I don’t want to tell you any more.”
Erica caught the slight quirk of Leslie’s lips and allowed her own smile, along with a soft laugh, to let Leslie know she didn’t take Siena’s response as rudeness or back talk. It usually took people a while to understand children, and adults, on the spectrum. “That’s okay. We all have our private thoughts,” she said, more for Leslie’s benefit than Siena’s. She turned her attention to Leslie. “How did you end up owning a home here when you lived in Florida?”
As Leslie talked about her parents and growing up in the neighborhood, piquing Siena’s interest with the story of Matt, the little boy who lived across the street and pretended he was a kangaroo, and amusing Erica with a recounting of her father’s handyman projects around the house, Erica found she was enjoying herself more than she had in a long time. When Siena finally asked to go inside and work on her puzzle, Erica realized she was looking forward to some time to herself with Leslie. “Of course, sweetie. Go ahead.” She watched Gus follow Siena inside with unexpected contentment. “It seems you and Gus have won her over,” she said to Leslie once they were alone.
“I’m sure it’s Gus,” Leslie said, a tinge of pink touching her cheeks. “Dogs have that irresistible charm.”
Erica wasn’t sure of that at all. Leslie had her own way of charming, so much so Erica would need to be careful if Leslie were to be around much. “Yes, but dogs—”
“No, no, no. No, no, no!” Siena’s voice rose higher and louder, until all that could be heard was a long shriek.
Erica bolted to her feet, knocking he
r chair over and hearing a dish shatter on the cement floor of the patio, and dashed inside. She found Siena in the family room, running in tight circles pulling at her hair. Her high-pitched wail rang shrilly in the confines of the room.
Gus stood on his hind legs several feet away, looking frantic and whining.
Erica raced to Siena, covered her hands with her own, and tried to disentangle her fingers from her hair. She was vaguely aware of Leslie calling Gus to her in the doorway.
When Erica had released Siena’s grip and had hold of her wrists, she pressed Siena’s arms to her sides and wrapped her in a hard, tight hug. Her breath came fast, and her heart pounded. Even though she’d been handling these situations for years, they could still unnerve her. When her hold was secure, she lowered them both to the couch and eased the full weight of her body onto Siena.
Siena continued screaming and struggling beneath Erica. Whatever had triggered this episode was a biggie. What on earth happened? Had the dog done something?
When Siena began to calm, Erica lifted her into her arms and carried her upstairs. In Siena’s room, she pulled her special sweatshirt from the closet, the green one that fit her snugly and comforted her following one of these spells. She helped her into it and pulled and tied the drawstrings of the hood, tightening the soft fabric around Siena’s head, then lay her on the bed and snuggled close around her. It was the routine.
Later, as Siena’s breathing evened and deepened in sleep, Erica felt the length of the day and the constant emotional weight carried by all parents of children on the spectrum overtake her and let herself drift off as well.
When she woke later in the soft illumination of Siena’s Winnie the Pooh nightlight, exhaustion still shrouded her like a heavy cloak. She knew she should get up and go downstairs to clean up the kitchen and whatever mess awaited her on the patio from the dish that had broken, but she couldn’t make herself move. As she started to close her eyes again, a movement in the doorway drew her attention.
Gus lay across the threshold on his stomach, his head held high, his ears perked, even the one that was half gone, and his alert eyes were trained directly on Erica. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn the obvious question shone in them. Is she okay?
Erica watched him, remembering her earlier wondering if he’d done something to upset Siena. Looking at him now, she knew whatever had happened, it couldn’t have been him.
He inched forward on the carpet, as though asking permission to fully enter the room.
Erica reached across Siena’s sleeping form and dangled her hand over the side of the bed. She wiggled her fingers, beckoning him.
He sprang up on his short little legs and hurried to her, his stubby tail wagging his whole backend. He gently licked her fingers, then once again, looked directly into her eyes, the same question lingering in his.
She stroked his head. “She’s fine,” Erica whispered. “Everything’s okay.”
He rose onto his hind legs, his front paws on the edge of the bed, and gazed at Siena. Even more tenderly than he’d licked Erica’s hand, he touched his nose to Siena’s cheek and gave her the lightest of doggie kisses.
Tears sprang to Erica’s eyes as the comfort of someone else sharing her concern for Siena flooded her. It was silly. Gus was a dog. She couldn’t quell her emotion, though. She patted the spot in the curve of Siena’s tummy, inviting Gus to join them.
And he did. He jumped onto the bed, turned one circle, and curled up closely against Siena.
Erica let her eyes close again and drifted back to sleep, her arm protectively draped over Siena, her fingers gratefully entwined in the warmth of Gus’s fur.
The next time she woke, Gus was gone, Siena was sleeping soundly, and the dinner dishes were calling to Erica all the way from downstairs. She hated walking into a dirty kitchen first thing in the morning. It’d be better to tackle the mess now.
She eased herself up from the bed, draped a plush Winnie the Pooh blanket over Siena, and headed to the stairs. In the family room, she stopped at the card table that held Siena’s jigsaw puzzle and studied it for a moment. It was coming along nicely. Siena loved puzzles and had already worked her way up to the thousand piece ones that intimidated Erica, but they didn’t faze Siena in the least. Erica glanced at the TV tray they’d set up for Rosi and saw the cause of Siena’s meltdown. A pile of shredded cardboard that used to be puzzle pieces sat in the corner of the tray. A handful of other pieces remained in the middle, presumably waiting to be destroyed as well.
Erica squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples in an attempt to ward off the burgeoning headache.
There were many things that could set Siena off—any situation that felt chaotic, repeated irritations like a fly landing on her over and over, the intermittent beep of a smoke alarm when the battery was dying, the color pink if it got too close, having her things in her room touched or moved. But one of the things hardest for her to recover from was being prevented from finishing something she’d started. And there was no way the shredded puzzle pieces could ever be repaired and fit into the puzzle. There might be a couple more meltdowns over this. She considered clearing the entire puzzle away and throwing it in the trash, but finding it missing completely might actually be worse. There was never any way of knowing.
Erica sighed, wishing she could go to bed and wake up in the morning with it all worked out. But that never happened. Each day brought new things to deal with. She at least needed to get today’s dishes done before tomorrow’s started piling up on top of them. When she stepped into the kitchen, though, she froze in shock. She blinked, just in case she wasn’t seeing clearly. But she was.
The kitchen was spotless. Even in the dim illumination from the light above the stove, the refrigerator door handle and the white tile countertops gleamed. The sink was empty. The light on the front of the dishwasher was on, indicating it’d been run, and the dishtowels were hung precisely over the handle of the oven. She moved out onto the patio to find the table cleared and wiped clean and the chairs pushed into their spots in perfect alignment. The tiny white lights that adorned the latticework around the patio roof and the lower branches of the nearby elm tree reflected cheerfully in the rippled glass of the tabletop.
Emotion threatened to overtake Erica again. Was this what Leslie was doing while her dog was sharing the worry Erica felt whenever she was reminded of what Siena had to deal with on a daily basis? Erica had heard of situations like this, like Jack handling life while Becky soothed and comforted Rosi, or vice versa. Other parents in the support group shared how grateful they were for their spouses or family members that helped them cope and picked up the slack when they needed rest.
Erica, though, handled it all. Her experience was when things got tough, people left, so she’d learned not to count on anyone. She’d learned how to make it on her own with Siena. But this was what having someone take up the slack must feel like, to be able to be upstairs comforting Siena and when she came down, everything was different—better—than how she’d left it. This wasn’t her life, though. It was a nice surprise, one she would definitely thank Leslie for, but then do her best not to think about again. This—this feeling of being helped, being taken care of, while she was taking care of Siena—was dangerous. Thinking about it was dangerous. Leslie Raymond and her little dog were dangerous.
But Erica wouldn’t get sucked in. She listened to Becky all the time and managed to keep her perspective. This is no different.
With a sigh of resolve, she went inside, locked the sliding glass door, and headed upstairs to the luxury of her bed and a few hours of blissful sleep.
Soon enough, it would be tomorrow.
Chapter Three
Leslie woke gradually, first becoming aware that her hand had gone numb, being crushed between her body and the floor, then realizing something was off. She wasn’t alone. She could feel it. Where am I? She forced her eyes open just a slit, enough to see a wall right in front of her. Something shuffled behind her.
She gasped and flipped over to face whoever or whatever it was.
Siena stood not five feet away, stock-still, staring at her like a scientist studying an alien life-form. Gus sat beside her, doing the same, his only movement the twitching of his jagged ear.
Leslie clutched her chest as recognition fully set in. “Oh, good God,” she said, her heart beating violently against her rib cage. “Siena. You have to stop sneaking up on me.”
“I didn’t sneak. I walked. Why don’t you have a bed?” Siena asked.
While she calmed, Leslie rubbed her wrist and groaned at the pain of stabbing needles as the blood flowed back into her hand. “What are you doing here? How’d you get in?” She glanced at the front door, then in the direction of the back. The first night she’d arrived, she’d rolled out her sleeping bag along the wall, four steps into the living room. She’d been so exhausted, that’s as far as she’d gotten. The previous night, when she’d finished cleaning up at Erica’s, she’d come home, slipped into a camisole and silk boxers, and dropped into the same spot. She still wasn’t caught up from the long trip.
“I came to play with Gus,” Siena said impassively. “And I used the key under the big yellow frog next to the back door. That’s how my mom got in when we watered Mrs. Mumford’s plants and fed her cat when she and Mr. Mumford went on vacation.”
Leslie blinked. Big yellow frog? Mumford? Cat?
“Why don’t you have a bed?” Siena asked again.
Leslie studied her for any residual signs of the emotional outbreak of the night before. There were none.
Siena seemed rested, refreshed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as Leslie’s dad used to say.
Leslie wondered if Erica had recovered as fully. She’d looked so anxious as she’d carried Siena upstairs. “I…” She scanned her surroundings, then ran her fingers through her hair. “I have to buy one.” She exhaled and slumped against the wall.
Siena turned in a circle and took in the large, vacant living room. “Is your whole house empty?”
A Wish Upon a Star Page 4
