Uncertainty…or doubt…or maybe even fear passed through Leslie’s eyes. She looked away. “Did you talk about that?”
“No, I mostly just yelled at him. I was too angry to make any sense of things tonight.” Erica ran her fingers through her hair, then rested her head in her hands. “It’s been a long day, and Siena’s episodes always drain me. We can all sit down in the morning and talk about it.”
Leslie nodded. “I should let you get some sleep then,” she said after a pause. “The morning’s on its way.” She rose and moved toward the door.
Erica followed. “Leslie?” She didn’t want her to go yet, but how could she say that? It was late. The day had been long for both of them. They needed rest.
Leslie turned, her expression inquiring.
Erica wavered. She was stalling. “I just wanted to say thank you…for today, for the carnival. It was so much fun. Siena and I both had a wonderful time, and it was really good for Siena to be a part of something like that.”
Leslie smiled. “It was fun. I had a great time, too.”
“And thank you for tonight.” Erica stepped close and slipped her arms around Leslie’s shoulders in what she hoped felt like a friendly hug.
Leslie stiffened almost imperceptibly, then slid her arms around Erica’s waist. “You’re welcome.”
“I don’t know how I would have handled Siena along with everything else, if you hadn’t shown up.” Erica knew she should let go, but she couldn’t make herself. “I don’t know what made you come over, but I’m so grateful.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Leslie said, still holding Erica. “Your purse is on the couch in the family room. It got bundled up with the costumes and ended up in my car.”
Erica tightened her embrace. “I wondered where it was. I thought it was in my car.” Erica marveled at the inanity of her words, and yet, inane or otherwise, she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Nor, it seemed, could she release Leslie. She breathed in Leslie’s scent, absorbed her warmth, felt comforted in the cradle of her arms. The hug went too long, the silence too deep.
“Are you okay, Erica?” Leslie whispered.
Tears sprang to Erica’s eyes and she buried her face in Leslie’s hair. Damn it! She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She tried to ease away.
Leslie adjusted her hold and pulled Erica into her. “It’s okay. Let it out.” She backed Erica to the bed and lowered her onto the edge, then knelt in front of her. She held her until Erica regained her control.
“I’m sorry,” Erica said again.
Leslie touched a fingertip to the underside of Erica’s chin and lifted her face to hers. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
The sincerity and concern in Leslie’s eyes threatened Erica’s fragile composure. She felt her mouth quiver. “I don’t want you to go,” she said shakily. She hurried on before Leslie could answer. “I know there’s all this stuff between us and we agreed to just be friends. And that’s okay. I’m not asking that we do anything. I just want to be with you. You’re the only one who’s ever understood what I feel…what I need…after a scene with Siena…and I just want to be with you. Everything can go back to normal tomorrow. I promise. I only need this one night.”
Leslie’s expression went soft. Without a word, she took Erica in her arms again and tucked Erica’s head beneath her chin. She held her like that for a tender moment, then rose and went around to the other side of the bed.
Erica watched her as they both slipped beneath the covers.
As she eased down after switching off the bedside lamp, she felt Leslie’s arm slide beneath the crook of her neck and her body spoon into Erica’s backside. Leslie closed the circle by draping her other arm over Erica’s middle and pulling her snugly against her. It was like being enveloped in a warm, protective cocoon. She’d never felt so safe, so cared for, so understood by another human being.
And for only that moment, she let herself pretend it wasn’t just for one night.
Chapter Fourteen
Leslie lay on her mat in Savasana pose, bringing a close to her morning yoga practice. She took a few extra minutes to contemplate just how stupid she’d been the previous night. Usually, yoga and meditation cleared her head and centered her for the day, but her mind wasn’t any quieter now than when she’d started over an hour earlier.
She felt better physically, the stretching and movement of the poses having worked out the kinks in her muscles from being so tense all night, holding Erica in her arms while trying to control her arousal. Holy crap! What a long night.
Mentally and emotionally, though, she was a mess. Even now, at the end of her practice, when she normally felt peaceful and serene, a voice in her head kept screaming: What were you thinking? How could you have stayed with her? Are you a masochist or just a moron? And when she could manage to quiet that, flashes of specifics—like the scent and silky caress of Erica’s hair against Leslie’s face; the innocent way her soft, bare foot had slipped between Leslie’s feet in the middle of the night; the torment of her ass pressed into Leslie’s groin and Leslie’s inability, or unwillingness, to move away—rushed in on her.
She’d known better than to stay. She should have said no, but there was no way she could, not in the face of Erica’s pleading expression and tear-filled eyes. Erica had told her how alone she felt sometimes following one of Siena’s reactions, and this had clearly been one of those times. Erica had needed someone. So she’d stayed, and there was nothing to be done about that. The only thing left to do this morning was figure out how to forget the night, handle the feelings and desire that had come raging to the surface, and tuck it all away again so they could go back to the agreement they’d made. Erica had said it was only for one night, and that night was over.
Leslie rose and took one last languid stretch, reaching high above her head, then bending all the way over to touch the floor. She needed to get some work done. She would have been up and at it by three had she not been in Erica’s bed and hadn’t wanted to risk waking her. She gave an inner scoff. Didn’t that sound noble and considerate?
She’d known what would happen had Erica turned to her in her arms, her hair tousled, her eyes sleepy. Leslie would have kissed her. With the deep ache between her thighs and the sensitivity of her stiff nipples from pressing against the soft fabric of her tank and Erica’s back, she wouldn’t have been able not to. She would have pressed her lips to Erica’s, and when she’d felt their softness, she wouldn’t have been able to stop there. She would have slid her tongue between them, moistening them, parting them. Then she would have—Christ! I wouldn’t have been able to stop at any point. So she’d stayed another few hours, until Erica had eased from bed and gone into the bathroom. Leslie feigned sleep until she heard the shower turn on, then she too had gotten up and slipped out.
Work. That’s what she needed. And maybe the distraction of conversation about someone else’s life. Erica would most likely be occupied for the day—perhaps the next, depending on how long her company stayed—so Leslie could do a quick check on her and Siena, then head over to Nell’s for a while. That sounded like a plan. She took the stairs two at a time, thinking a nice, long shower might help clear her head as well.
Refreshed and dressed—she’d also given herself some much-needed release under the shower massage—she sank into one of the deck chairs to put on her shoes. She set her cup of coffee on the small table beside her and pulled on a sock.
“Morning.” A man’s voice cut off the sound of the birds in the surrounding trees.
Startled, Leslie looked up.
Trent stood at the gate, a mug in hand, in the exact spot she’d first seen him several months earlier.
He hadn’t been there when she’d come out. She was certain. It’d become habit for her to glance in that direction anytime she stepped out her back door. “Good morning.”
He scanned her yard. “That’s a nice pool.”
“Thank you.” Leslie slipped h
er foot into her Nike. She had no interest in a conversation about her pool.
“I guess that’s a great thing about living in California. Lots of swimming pools,” Trent said, as though she’d asked his opinion on the topic.
To Leslie’s surprise, he moved through the gate and walked toward her. “It’s so cold in Chicago. I’m not home enough to use one much anyway.” He stopped a few feet in front of the deck, his gaze taking in the cup beside her, the shoes, and her. “Mind if I join you?”
Leslie couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d asked if he could strip naked. Why would he want to join her? She had no inclination to spend time with him, but there was something in his eyes—those brown eyes, so much like Siena’s—that gave her pause. “I don’t suppose so.” She waved in invitation to the chair beside her.
He climbed the two steps and perched on the edge of the seat, propping his elbows on his splayed knees. “Erica said you grew up in this house. That you’ve only been back here a few months.”
Did he not remember their introduction? Erica had said he was…what? Preoccupied? Rude was the descriptor Leslie would use. She had no use for this guy. “That’s right.”
He hesitated, as though searching for something else to say. “It seems like a good neighborhood to grow up in,” he said finally.
Leslie eyed him, taking in his profile as he stared out across the lawn. What did he want? He seemed to be making an effort, but to what end? Russell, Cassie’s husband, sprang to mind. Russell doesn’t want you in Elijah’s life. A wave of wariness moved through her, the same she’d felt the previous night when Erica had pondered what Trent and Cynthia were doing there. She tried to curb it. Erica said she’d never do that. “It is,” Leslie said. “I mean, it was. I assume it still is, since there are families living here.” She pulled on her other sock, then reached for her shoe.
An awkward silence stretched between them.
Leslie grew irritated. She wanted to enjoy the pleasant morning with her cup of coffee, sitting out here by herself, and throwing the ball for Gus. Where was Gus? She assumed still at Erica’s. He’d stayed the whole night with Siena. Leslie saw him stretched out along Siena’s side when she’d stolen past Siena’s room earlier. He’d lifted his head and looked at her, but that was all. Everyone had to be up by now, though, and normally Siena or Erica, or both, would be sitting with her on a Sunday morning. Where were they now? And Cynthia? Out of the number of possible scenarios, why was she sitting here with Trent?
“Erica and Cynthia were both really mad at me last night,” Trent said, as though it were a natural segue from talking about the neighborhood. “And they’re still mad this morning.”
Leslie glanced at him. Oh, well. At least we won’t be discussing where I was last night. “Is that why you’re over here?” She gave a final tug on her shoelace, then straightened in her chair. “You’re hiding?”
He turned his head and looked at her. He seemed to be searching for something. “No. Erica told me if I wanted to learn how to get to know Siena and get her to want to know me, I should come over here and talk to you. So I did.”
Leslie’s heart swelled in her throat at the sentiment. She suspected the suggestion had been thrown at him like a dart rather than offered as a helpful idea, and she could understand why. “After seven years, you want to get to know Siena?” The question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.
His lips twisted into a sheepish quirk.
Leslie tamped down the anger she always felt at Trent for throwing away what she’d been so devastated to lose. Maybe he was trying. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be—”
He held up his hand. “No. That’s a fair question.” He returned his gaze to some undefined spot in the yard and pressed his lips together.
Leslie smiled to herself at the sight of Siena’s thinking face on this grown man. She softened toward him.
“Did Erica tell you our history, how we didn’t want kids for a long time, and how she got pregnant accidentally?” he asked after a pause.
“Yes.” Leslie settled back, curious to hear Trent’s experience of the same events.
Trent swirled the remains of his coffee in his mug. “When she told me she was pregnant, I…I panicked. It changed everything we’d talked about, everything we’d planned. It changed Erica. Then when Siena was born and I held her that first time…” He swallowed hard. “I was terrified. I looked into her eyes, and I realized, I’m her father. And she’s going to look to me for things, for important things…for everything. And what if I fail her?” He faced Leslie, the fear he spoke of evident in his expression.
Leslie remembered that fear with Elijah, not that she was his father, but that she could fail him nonetheless. That he could need something from her that she didn’t have or couldn’t give. That maybe she wouldn’t be good enough. Even now, with Siena, she had flashes of it. Maybe all parents felt that way at times.
“Then I started getting used to it,” Trent went on. “I started looking forward to coming home from trips and seeing her, seeing what new things she was doing. I realized a new way of living had evolved, and new plans were being made. And I was seeing a side of Erica I never knew existed, a protective and nurturing side. And she was so beautiful when she looked at Siena. I mean, she’s always beautiful, but when she looks at Siena…”
Leslie knew that, too. She loved watching Erica watch Siena.
“Then…” Trent’s tone lowered. It was like that moment in a scary movie when the music changes and the shark comes after the hero. “I’d just started thinking maybe it’d be okay to have a kid, and then Erica said something was wrong. The baby wasn’t doing things she should be doing, and she wouldn’t look at us anymore. Then the tantrums started…”
Not tantrums. Meltdowns. Leslie wanted to correct him, wanted him to understand.
“And then they said it.” He shook his head defiantly. “And there were all these new things that had to be done, or couldn’t be done. And they said she was autistic, but what the hell does that really mean? I still don’t know what it means.”
Leslie considered continuing to listen, simply letting him talk until he had nothing left to say. In fact, it’s what she should do, since she doubted Erica had actually meant for him to come ask her anything. Besides, what did she know about dealing with Siena as a baby? That had to be so much harder than at seven, when Siena could verbalize some of her anxieties and feelings and could be reasoned with to some degree. She couldn’t do it, though. He’d opened up so much, she owed him the truth. She shifted in her seat toward him. “I have to throw the bullshit flag, Trent.”
He twisted around, his eyebrows arched. “What?”
“I understand your fears of failing Siena as her father, of not being good enough, and I understand you not knowing how to deal with autism back when she was diagnosed. But it’s been…what? Five years? If you wanted to know, you could have learned.”
His expression darkened with evident anger.
She thought he was going to get up and storm away.
Instead, he studied her. His glare slowly softened. “You’re right.”
“So what’s really going on?” Leslie asked. “Why haven’t you been willing to learn?”
He averted his gaze and remained silent for a long time. “It’s not that I don’t love my daughter.” He bowed his head and rubbed his eyes. His shoulders began to shake. “It’s that I’m…embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that she has autism in the first place, that she has all these issues and weird stuff that sets her off, and I’m ashamed that I don’t know how to deal with it.”
“Don’t be ashamed, Trent, just learn how to deal with it. If you want to be Siena’s father, you’re going to have to learn how to be. If you don’t want to, then let that be okay. Quit beating yourself up over it. But decide, one way or the other.” She wanted to add that Erica had it handled but thought that might be too much.
“How did you learn?” he asked after regaining his composure. “To interact
with her, I mean. And in such a short time? I saw you last night. You knew exactly what to do.”
Leslie marveled that he hadn’t told her to go screw herself and stalked off to tell Erica what a bitch her neighbor was. She released an inner sigh of relief. She couldn’t imagine having to tell Erica that she’d ruined what little willingness Trent had to be around. “A lot of it, I asked Erica, or Siena herself.”
“I couldn’t ask Erica.” Trent sat up straighter, seeming to collect himself more.
“Why not?”
“I can’t stand seeing my failure in her eyes. I saw it for too many years.”
“I don’t think that’s what you’d see,” Leslie said softly. “I think she’d be happy you’re asking.”
“No,” Trent said. “I can’t.”
“All right, then read a book. There are tons of titles on all facets of autism. I have three good ones in the house you can borrow.” Leslie waved toward her back door. “And there are some good documentaries on Netflix and PBS. And there’s a great show on Netflix about a high-functioning teenage boy and his family. I’ve learned a lot from watching that. And I’m sure you can find some support groups in Chicago where you can ask any questions you want, or just listen and learn. I haven’t been to one, but I know the one Erica attends helps her.”
“Wow, it sounds like there’s a lot.”
Leslie smiled. “I’m sure there’s way more. The information’s out there if you want it. All you have to do is decide if you do. It’s work, that’s true, but it’s worth it.”
Trent considered her. “I can see why Erica fell for you.”
Leslie blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly. “What?”
“I said I can see why Erica fell for you. You’re very kind. And intelligent. And if you don’t mind me saying so…and I’m not hitting on you, I swear…beautiful.” Trent blushed with the last rush of words.
A Wish Upon a Star Page 20
