Page 21 of Wish For Me

“Oh my God. He’s here, isn’t he?”

“Don’t worry. He’s in the kitchen. And he gave me enough of a hard time about it all last year anyway. He talks about it with fondness now.”

Noelle covers her face with her hands. “I’m never going downstairs again. In fact, maybe you could take me with you, to outer space?”

“Listen, if you’re sick of hearing about space now, wait til I get you in a rocket ship.”

She laughs. “That can’t be the scientific name for it. Anyway, I’m not sick of it. I love hearing you talk about it. Especially all that stuff about the universe.”

For some reason this is the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.

We really should go now. But over her shoulder, through the glass door of Grandpa’s study, a sliver of the darkening sky is visible, and I hesitate, then ask, “Can I show you something?”

Her brows furrow, but nods.

I take her hand. Heat spreads across my skin where we touch, but she doesn’t let go. The brief waft of vanilla almost makes me dizzy as we cut through Grandpa’s study.

A moment later, we step outside.

“We had a back balcony like this one at the house I grew up in back in Ohio,” I say, leading her to the railing. “I used to make my parents hang out there with me all the time. Well, my mom mostly.”

She looks at me curiously. “Do you and your dad not get along?”

My skin prickles at her intuitiveness. Or did she pick up on that last year? “We’re fine. We don’t fight or anything.”

She looks at me like she wants me to continue.

How do I tell her he spent so much time caring about other people I sometimes wondered if I was as important as his work? “He wasa good dad,” I say. “When he was around. Never missed a birthday, though he missed other stuff. Took me fishing and camping. But he was gone a lot. His work always seemed to come first.”

“That sounds familiar.”

I remember her dad was a cop.

“Kind of cold time of year for hanging outside,” she says.

I pull off my sweater without thinking. “It’s my favorite time of year to look at the stars. The cold always makes me feel like we were in space.”

She opens and closes her mouth and I realize I just gave her a show, since my t-shirt pulled all the way up with the sweater.

“I’m fine,” she insists.

“I was getting hot in there anyway.”

She hesitates only a moment before taking the sweater from me and draping it around her shoulders.

We look out over the view of town, the hills rising up behind. Even though it’s only six, the sky is pitch black—save for the stars.

We’re silent for a moment as we stare out at them. It’s a new moon, so they’re particularly bright tonight.

“Do you have a favorite star?” Noelle asks after a moment. “Or constellation?”

“I have a few. Cassiopeia. Pegasus. Cygnus, though we can’t see it up in the Northern Hemisphere.” I hesitate a moment, aware I’m already needing out, and unsure whether to tell her what I want to say. “But I have a confession,” I say, deciding on yes. “The stars aren’t my favorite part of the sky.”

“No? What is, the moon?”

“Who doesn’t love the moon? But no. Not that either.” I look up to the darkest part of the sky. “It’s the space in between that I love.”

“Why’s that?”

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