At His Fingertips

“The schedule’s fine, Belinda. And you should take a lunch break. Eat something.”

“I’m fine. I want to be available. You never know when you-know-who might call.” She grinned. “Oh, that reminds me.” She read from a message slip. “A Mitch Margolin called to say he and his brother will attend the workshop tonight. Make sense?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He might be the one. Belinda would be thrilled to hear that, but Esmeralda wasn’t ready to accept it herself yet.

“So, how’s it going?” Esmeralda nodded at the palmistry book and sat beside Belinda, dipping into her yogurt.

“Not so hot.” Belinda sighed. “I can’t get the fingers—shape and lines and color. Last night, I was looking at this woman’s Mercury finger, and I thought it was long, but then it shrank before my eyes, so I couldn’t tell. I just froze.”

“Trust your first impulse,” she said. Belinda had the same enthusiasm Esmie had had when she’d started, but nowhere near the confidence. But then Esmie had sometimes been too sure of herself at first.

“Let me show you a couple of things.” She found the finger diagram in the book and talked through a few examples.

“I get it now,” Belinda said. “You make it so easy. This is fun, isn’t it? Talking like this.”

“Sure. It’s great.” Especially when she could see Belinda making progress.

“This is embarrassing, but sometimes I feel like you’re, like, my big sister, you know? I got so sick of three brothers.”

“I’m honored,” she said, very touched by the affection.

“I want you to know how much I appreciate everything. You’re so patient and I can be such a blockhead. Did you see I got you that new tea?”

“I did. You don’t need to do extras. I can wash my car when it needs it. Really.”

“I know, but I know Olivia made you hire me. I just want you to be glad you have me.”

“I am glad. Very.” Olivia had asked her to take Belinda under her wing and she was happy to. Belinda was smart and had potential if she could just lower her anxiety level.

Belinda was eyeing her yogurt.

“Here. Finish it.” She held it out.

“I can’t take your lunch.”

“I’m full. Also, there’s some teriyaki tofu in the fridge if you’re still hungry.”

“Are you sure? I really, really appreciate it.”

“It’s nothing. Enjoy. So, how’s the ledger coming? Rico helping you get it down?”

“Yes. Slowly. It’s coming. I’ll have what you need by the board meeting.” She bit her lip. “There’s one thing. Rico wanted me to ask you about a grant that an associate of his applied for. It’s a company that holds charity auctions of teddy bears dressed up like famous people. Corporations sponsor the bears that then get donated to crisis nurseries. It’s very cool.”

“I don’t recall.”

“You probably didn’t get to it yet. I know you’re behind. That’s why I offered to help.” She looked at her. “But if you don’t think I’m ready…”

“Give me this week, Belinda, to get a feel for the system, then maybe I can hand off some of it to you.”

“Okay.” She thought that over. “Anyway, Rico was wondering if you could put a rush on it? Uncle Louis knows the guy, so Aunt Olivia would want to fund it and all.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. I told him I’d ask. Anyway, do you need anything for the workshop tonight? You’ve got newsprint, easels, markers?”

“I’ve got everything I need,” she said. Including the man from her past. Which gave her mixed feelings. The only thing they had in common was a hot-as-blazes attraction, and you could hardly build a future on that. She needed some kind of sign, an assurance. Some proof…

She noticed the newspaper folded to the horoscopes page.

“Want to check yours?” Belinda handed it to her.

Newspaper horoscopes were far too general to be meaningful, but on the cover was a photo of a starry sky with the headline, First Of Falling Stars To LightAugust Skies. She read on. The Pleiades meteor shower was scheduled to begin tonight. The same astronomical wonder that had lit the sky the night she’d met Doctor X.

Maybe this was the sign. Mitch could stay after the workshop and they would watch the stars shoot across the sky and he would feel like Doctor X again. And she would know it was right.

“Esmeralda? Is it something bad in your stars?”

“I hope not,” she said softly. “I hope it’s something really, really good.”

A HALF-HOUR BEFORE the Wish Upon A Star Workshop, Esmeralda checked the mirror. The spaghetti-strapped black silk tank top looked nice with the turquoise-and-yellow silk skirt. The colors would stimulate creativity and calm, she thought, and she liked the way the handkerchief hem tickled her calves.

She’d struggled to get ready, what with all the phone calls she’d juggled. Nail clients and palm clients and friends wanting appointments and advice and attaboys. Also her neighbor, Jimbo, needed her car again. He was a mechanic who kept her Jetta in tip-top shape, but kept giving away his own cars.

She was mostly ready for the workshop. Just a little more fussing with the food, arranging the furniture, setting up the computer display.

The doorbell rang. Someone was way early.

Her two foster dogs set up a racket and raced her to the door. Huffington, a spindly-legged bulldog, was an old soul, whose rheumy eyes declared he knew it all and had done it twice. Pistol, a wild-eyed cairn terrier, lived to snitch food and knew how to fetch, dance and shake hands. They’d been with her for a month and every day they stayed made it harder to let them go.

That was the worst thing about being a foster owner. How did her friend who ran the rescue shelter handle the repeated losses? Esmeralda tried to stay light in life, to accept hellos and good-byes with an even response, but this was murder.

Sonny and Cher, the two cats lurking on the ledge above the living room, were brother and sister calicos scheduled to go to new homes in a few days. She’d only had them a week, so it wouldn’t be such agony when they left.

She hushed the dogs and went to the door, startled to find Mitch on her porch holding a paper sack. He looked great in a purple silk shirt and black cargo pants.

Her heart pounded so hard she held her chest when she opened the door.

Mitch entered and their gazes locked for a startling moment of intensity and recognition, almost relief. Unmistakably powerful, and it gave her hope. “I’m glad you came,” she said, the pulse of pleasure in her body making her wobbly.

“I’m glad, too,” he said. He seemed surprised that he’d said that and, maybe, that it was true.

She became aware that the dogs were going nuts, jumping up on Mitch. “I’m sorry,” she said, crouching to grab their collars. “Down, guys.” She fought her own leaping emotions.

“It’s okay.” Mitch squatted with her. “Who are these guys?”

She told him.

“Great names.”