A Handful of Stars

by Cynthia Lord

  I picked up two of Salma’s best bee houses.

  “Actually, I do want this one with the little purple flowers,” Dr. Katz said. “But I also want the one in the back. With the tiger lilies.”

  I stared at where she was pointing. “But I did that one.”

  “Then I’ll love it even more,” she said, smiling.

  Maybe she just bought it to be nice, but I didn’t care. I was so happy imagining Salma’s and my bee houses together in Dr. Katz’s garden.

  We had a crowd in no time. I sold lots of bee houses. I hoped the people who bought Salma’s would take good care of them.

  Pépère could barely keep up with the blueberry enchilada samples. Most people who tried a bite bought a whole one.

  “Wow! I’ve never had one of these before,” Mrs. LaRue said, licking the last bits of blueberry enchilada off her spoon. “It’s quite delicious.”

  When she smiled, I had to stifle a giggle because her teeth were blue!

  “These are houses for mason bees,” I explained to a tourist wearing a MAINE sweatshirt. “You put one near your garden and it encourages the bees to stick around and pollinate your flowers and plants.”

  She chose the bee house that Salma had painted with multicolored blueberries and yellow stars.

  “Here’s our artist coming right now!” Pépère said.

  Salma was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, carrying her crown under her arm, though her hair and earnings were still pageant fancy.

  “You were wonderful last night,” Mrs. LaRue said. “The competition was very close, you know.”

  Salma gave a little smile, but I knew it wasn’t a real one. I think “almost” is one of the hardest kinds of losing. Because you could see all the way to winning before that door shut.

  “How was the pie contest?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “A kid got a blueberry up his nose, and one of the adults lost her contact lens in the pie.”

  “Eww,” I said.

  “The whole time, I was worried I’d get blueberry stuff on Hannah’s dress. I was relieved to finally give it back to her.” Then Salma smiled—a real one. She handed me a white envelope. “I have something for you, Lily.”

  I opened it, and it was a festival gift certificate for one hundred dollars.

  “As Blueberry Princess, I won this gift certificate. I can use it at any booth at the festival, so I’m using mine for Lucky.”

  “Thank you!” I counted in my head. We had several hundred dollars in the cash box last time I added it all up—now a hundred dollars more—and it was still early! But when I looked closer, I saw the gift certificate had been written out to the Machias Humane Society. “Wait. What?”

  “When I read about blind dogs, it said maybe what would help Lucky the most was another dog,” Salma said tenderly. “Dogs are pack animals, so another dog could lead him and be Lucky’s eyes for him. I was going to talk to you about it, but then I got this gift certificate and it seemed like fate. So I just did it.”

  I was confused. “You want me to get another dog to lead Lucky around? But that’s not the plan. I want him to see for himself.”

  “I know, but when I read about it, it said the operation doesn’t always help,” Salma said. “And it’s risky because Lucky’s old. It said there was a chance that maybe he wouldn’t make it, and—”

  “It would’ve been better if you had spent the gift certificate here,” I said. “At this booth.”

  “I thought this would be better for Lucky, and he’d even like it more.”

  Better for Lucky? “He’s my dog,” I said, annoyed.

  Salma crossed her arms over her chest. “It was my gift certificate.”

  How could she suggest that I wasn’t thinking of Lucky when I’d been thinking of him my whole life? I thrust the gift certificate at her. “Then you get a dog!”

  Salma stood there with her mouth open.

  “I didn’t mean—” I started, but she turned and pushed her way through the crowd.

  Tears came to my eyes, right there in front a family of tourists who came over to buy blueberry enchiladas. I couldn’t believe I’d said that—it had just flown out of my mouth. She’d lost her dog and couldn’t have another, and I’d just shoved that at her with the gift certificate. But why didn’t she understand? All this time we’d been working on making Lucky see again. I couldn’t just give up on him!

  As Pépère squirted the whipped cream on the family’s enchiladas, he said, “Lily, do you remember how I said that when you love someone, you want what they want?”

  “Exactly!” I said. “I want Lucky to see again. Salma knew that.”

  “Yes, you want Lucky to see. But what does Lucky want?”

  I looked at Lucky, his head still pointed in the direction Salma had gone. His tail wagged a few times hopefully. “He wants to see.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Pépère said. “He already seems very happy to me. That’s something we could learn from dogs, isn’t it? They don’t keep looking backward at what they’ve lost or asking ‘why me?’ They just move on and find a new way to be happy again.”

  As the family walked away with their enchiladas, Pépère said, “It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the people at the Humane Society booth, would it?”

  “Yes, it would,” I said. “It would mean giving up.”

  “No,” Pépère said firmly. “Giving up and letting go are too very different things, Lily. Giving up is admitting you’re beat and walking away. Letting go means you’re setting something free. You’re releasing something that’s been keeping you stuck. That takes faith and more than a little courage.”

  I touched Lucky’s head and his tail immediately started wagging. “Mémère would never say yes to us getting another dog,” I said.

  “Well, there’s one way to find out,” Pépère said. “I’ll call her and tell her to meet us here.”

  “She won’t leave the store on such a busy day,” I said.

  “Oh, she’ll come!” He winked. “If I tell her we’re thinking of getting a second dog, she’ll be here lickety-split!”

  Another dog? That wasn’t the plan. Lucky would like a friend, and it could be fun to have two dogs, but—

  “Mémère doesn’t even like Lucky,” I said.

  “We outnumber her.” Pépère picked up the gift certificate and the cash box. “So what do you say? Are we going over to talk to the Humane Society people or not?”

  “Okay, but I just want to talk to them. I’m not ready to decide.” I turned over one of my signs and wrote, BEE BACK SOON.

  At the far end of the booths at the Downeast Blueberry Festival, the Machias Humane Society was selling leashes and collars, treats for dogs and cats, and T-shirts for people that said, WHO RESCUED WHOM? Behind the table, a man and a woman wearing those T-shirts were chatting with customers. And off to the side, Dr. Katz was sitting at a table, talking to a couple as she gave their big white dog a shot.

  Part of me hoped there wouldn’t be any dogs to adopt. Then my decision would be easy. I could just go back to my original plan.

  But I knew there were dogs, even before I saw them. Lucky’s ears perked up and he tilted his head, curious. Next to the booth were two animal pens. One pen had a litter of adorable mixed-colored kittens climbing over one another. All those little green eyes and tiny tails. Some kittens were meowing. Others had their paws up on the pen, trying to get out.

  Lucky sniffed that pen, but then he pulled to go to the other one. Inside were two small dogs: one brown and fuzzy and one with a smooth yellow coat. The little yellow dog came over to the side of the pen and sniffed, nose-to-nose with Lucky, tail wagging.

  That yellow dog was so cute and funny, I couldn’t help smiling. She had small triangle ears, and her black nose seemed too big for her face. She dropped to a play position with her front feet down and her back end high in the air, tail wagging.

  But Lucky couldn’t see her asking to play.

  “Making a friend, Rosie?�
�� the woman at the booth asked.

  “Lily here is wondering if maybe there is a good match for her dog, Lucky, who is blind,” Pépère said. “We’ve heard that sometimes another dog can help one that’s blind and give him a better life.”

  The woman from the Humane Society smiled. “It looks like Lucky has chosen his own match,” she said.

  I looked back to see Lucky in the play position, too. The pen was still between them, but he knew the little dog wanted to be friends, even though he couldn’t see her.

  “Rosie is a sweetheart. She’s two years old and very friendly,” the Humane Society lady said. “We don’t really know what kind she is, a mix of some sort. We’ve only had her with us for a couple of weeks. Her owner was an elderly lady who went into an assisted living home where she couldn’t take Rosie with her.”

  Rosie seemed like a nice dog, and Lucky did like her. But it’s so hard to change your mind once you’ve set your heart on something. “I just want everything to be the way it used to be.”

  “I know,” Pépère said. “But maybe another dog could give Lucky something he’s never had. What do you think, Lily?”

  From behind us came a voice, “I think that one dog is problem enough!”

  Uh-oh.

  Mémère, mad as a wet blue jay, strode up to Pépère. “Armand! What are you thinking? Have you forgotten what it’s like to bring a new dog home? When Danielle brought Lucky, it was a long time before he behaved! And you’re just like her! Rushing into things! If she hadn’t brought that dog home—”

  “Lucky was a puppy. None of it was his fault,” Pépère said. “When he’s gone—”

  “When he’s gone, no one will be getting into the trash!” Mémère finished for him. “Or have to be walked or—”

  “It will kill me when Lucky’s gone!” The words burst out of me so hard, they hurt my chest. Lucky left Rosie and came to me with his tail down, sure my outburst was his fault. I stroked his ears until he raised his head. I looked right into his clouded eyes. “I’m sorry, Lucky. It’s not your fault, not one little bit. You’re the best thing I have left of her.”

  His tail wagged. He was always ready to forgive me when I was sorry.

  When I looked up, I was surprised to see tears in Mémère’s eyes.

  Pépère put his arm around her. I expected Mémère to pull away, but she leaned into him. “You’ve got to let some things go, Marie,” he said. “Danielle would want her dog to be happy. But more than that, she’d want her girl to be happy.”

  Mémère sighed so deep that she seemed to deflate right in front of me. She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. It felt like such a personal, private thing to see Mémère, who was always sure of everything, look so lost. “It’s hard for me to let things go,” she said. “Because sometimes when you let them go, they’re gone for good. You don’t get them back.”

  I felt awful that I’d made her cry. “I love you, Mémère,” I said softly.

  She was so quiet that I didn’t know if she’d even heard me, but when she looked over at me, I saw tenderness in her eyes. “I love you, too. You mean more to me than I can ever tell you, Lily. You are the heart of my heart.”

  I ran to her and she held me tighter and longer than I could ever remember her hugging me before. Then she sniffed loudly as she put her glasses back on. “You’ll do everything for that dog, except for when you’re in school.”

  Was she saying yes? It sure sounded like it, so I nodded. “Okay.”

  Mémère shook her head at Pépère. “I hope you’re happy, Armand. Now I’ll have two dogs driving me crazy.”

  As Pépère signed the adoption paperwork, Lucky licked Rosie’s nose through the bars of her pen. And I knew right then that there are worse things than being blind. Being alone was worse. Having regret was worse. Losing someone you loved was worse.

  “Pépère, when we get home, I need your help with something,” I said.

  He smiled as I told him my plan. “That’s a great idea.”

  I searched all over the fairgrounds for Salma, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. So on the way home, we took Rosie to the camp. Pépère stayed in the truck with Lucky, because I didn’t want to overwhelm Salma’s family with two dogs in that little cabin. I didn’t even know if Salma would want to talk to me. “Come on, Rosie,” I said.

  Mrs. Santiago answered my knock.

  “I need to tell Salma something,” I said. “Please?”

  She moved aside and I saw Salma sitting on her bunk.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said. “You knew how to make Lucky happy.”

  Rosie pulled to go meet Salma. I dropped her leash and she hopped up on Salma’s bunk. It’s pretty near impossible to stay mad when a dog is licking your face.

  And your arm.

  And then your neck.

  Salma gave a small smile and then a big one. “I hoped you’d pick this one.”

  “Lucky picked her. Her name is Rosie and she knows it, so I’m going to keep it. But I did give her some middle names. Her full name is Rosie Luna Salma Santiago Dumont.”

  Salma kissed Rosie Luna Salma Santiago Dumont’s head. “I like it.” Then she reached under her cot and pulled out her Blueberry Princess crown.

  “PRINCESS Rosie Luna Salma Santiago Dumont!” she said, placing the crown on Rosie’s head.

  Dogs always forgive you when they know you’re sorry.

  And so do star friends.

  After the blueberry barrens are raked, they turn rusty red until fall when they’re burned or mowed to start their rebirth. The raked berries are frozen or canned or dried, and then shipped all over the world to end up in muffins and pancakes and other things. I wonder if people who open those packages and jars ever think about where those berries came from, how far away from home they’ve traveled, and all the hands they’ve passed through to bring them to their table. And would they be surprised to know that some of those hands were kid-size?

  I guess some people would care, and some people wouldn’t. But as Pépère says, “It takes all kinds of people to make a world.”

  Each year when Mr. Winthrop calls the end to the blueberry harvest, it’s celebrated with a soccer game on the barrens. The rakers divide into teams based on where the players are from. Whichever team won last year’s Blueberry Cup gets a free pass to the finals. Last year, Honduras won, so the United States was playing Mexico this year for the semifinals.

  “Canada tried to get a team together, but they didn’t have enough people who wanted to play,” Salma told me as I settled Lucky and Rosie onto the blanket that we’d spread out to sit on while we watched the game. I looped their leashes around my ankles and then crossed my legs, so they couldn’t go anywhere.

  “I’m so glad Rosie and Lucky are getting along.” Salma scratched both their bellies, one with each hand.

  “Dr. Katz says Lucky is getting so good at following Rosie that from a distance, no one would even know that he’s blind.”

  At first it had been a little hard on me that Lucky had taken to Rosie so well. Of course I wanted it to happen, but I couldn’t help a pang of missing that I used to be the one Lucky depended on. But I’m learning it’s okay to let Rosie do things for him, too.

  I even caught Mémère slipping Rosie and Lucky some bacon one morning when she was cooking breakfast and didn’t know I was watching. When I thanked her, she said, “It fell on the floor.”

  But then she smiled. We both knew different.

  “I’ve brought you something,” I told Salma, reaching for my backpack.

  Salma stopped scratching, and Lucky pawed the air to find her hand to keep it going.

  “I took all the money that you and I had earned painting bee houses, and Pépère bought you a savings bond with it.” I held out the envelope to her.

  She didn’t take it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “We earned it together.” I put the envelope in her lap. “School costs a lot more than this, but it’s a start.”

&nb
sp; Salma ran her fingers over the envelope.

  “You need an account, so Pépère set it up. We got your Social Security number off our copy of the pageant application, and inside the envelope is a certificate that has all the information on it.” I opened my backpack again. “I brought you something else, too. It’s not as fun as the first thing, though.” I pulled out a little notebook and a pencil. “In between soccer games and whenever this game gets boring, I’m going to teach you how to add and subtract fractions.”

  Salma rolled her eyes. “Do we have to?”

  “Yup,” I said. “If you want to go to college, you can’t be afraid of fractions.” I flipped open my notebook, before Salma could think of any excuses not to do this. “They’re only hard until someone shows you.”

  As Lucky and Rosie napped in the sun, the United States and Mexico battled it out on the soccer field. And Salma practiced making the denominators the same.

  As the game wore on, I made the problems harder. “Why is it so complicated?” she asked, irritated. “It seems harder than it should be.”

  I shrugged. “That’s math for you. But the good part is that once you learn it, it doesn’t change. You always do it the same way.”

  By the time the Hondurans took the field to warm up, Salma was doing the problems on her own. “This really isn’t as hard as I thought it was,” she said.

  I nodded. “I’m going to tear out these notebook pages for you to take with you, okay? Then if you forget, you can look back at these examples and remember.”

  “Thank you. I have something for you, too,” Salma said, putting down the pencil. “It’s big, though. Stay here. I’ll go get it.”

  Waiting for her, I watched the soccer ball zipping down the field. It didn’t seem one hundred percent fair that the Blueberry Cup winner from last year only had to play one game, especially when the other teams were tired out from playing one another, but I guess that’s life. It’s not always fair, but you have to show up and play your best anyway.

  Salma came back, carrying a big piece of paper in front of her. I could tell there was something on the other side, but she held it against her so I couldn’t see. “Mr. Winthrop liked my bee houses at the pageant so much that he asked me if I’d paint him a few pictures for the Winthrop offices. He bought me some paints and paper and he even paid me. I painted two pictures of the barrens for him, and I painted one for you, too.” She turned the paper around. “So you won’t forget me.”