THE SAND HILL REVIEW http://www.sandhillreview.org 2001 May

Star Wishes

Donna A. Jackson

Jenny Kincaid watched as two stars arced across the night sky. Bring us together she wished automatically, just as she had hundreds of time over the past twelve years. The wish floated in the air and then began to rise as the two falling stars disappeared.

Michael Brennan bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a yawn. He didn’t regret taking a few weeks to visit Tibet before starting the new job, but jet lag was catching up with him. He loved exploring new places. Now, however, he was not fully enjoying the quaint neighborhoods of Charlotte, North Carolina.

“Maybe we should call it a day,” he said to the real estate agent.

“Could you look at one more? It’s really close. It’s a bit smaller than the ones you’ve seen, but the lighting is excellent.”

“One more, then. Onward!”

He liked the house the moment he stepped inside. This house had a sense of rightness, a homey inviting feel. Michael followed the agent through the rooms, noting the wide bookshelves and large windows in the study. The room would be perfect for his drafting table and architectural books.

As he entered the master bedroom, he noticed a grouping of framed photographs on a side table by the window. He stared at the pictures. He knew these people – the mature couple smiling at the camera, the young man in a white lab coat, and the young woman in a graduation cap and gown. He couldn’t quite place them, but he was certain he knew them.

Michael reached to pick up one of the photographs and then noticed a small one that stood behind the grouping. He picked up the small picture instead and saw two teenage boys playing guitar. One was a thin red-haired boy, a younger version of the man in the lab coat. The other was broad shouldered with tousled black hair – it was a picture of himself!

“Who owns this house?”

“Jenny Kincaid. Uh, maybe we should continue seeing the rest of the house.”

Michael ignored the real estate agent and looked at the photo, memories flooding back. He and Cameron Kincaid had been best friends in ninth grade. They had looked forward to three more years of high school together, but Michael’s dad changed jobs and they moved to California when school ended. He and Cameron kept in touch for a while but drifted apart when Michael and his family moved to China six months later. Michael remembered Cameron’s younger sister, a skinny little thing with bony knees and elbows and a mass of wild curly red hair. Jenny followed them everywhere and was particularly good at announcing any glimpse of underwear. At fifteen, neither boy had enjoyed being shadowed by a ten-year-old pest. From the graduation picture on the table, though, it appeared that skinny little Jenny had grown up quite nicely.

“Mr. Brennan, are you ready to see the rest of the house?”

“Just a minute.” Michael placed the small frame back on the table in front of the other photographs. He dug out his wallet and tucked one of his freshly printed business cards into the corner of the frame, then turned back to the agent.

Jenny Kincaid had a bounce in her step as she entered the house and headed for the bedroom. She tossed her purse on the bed and then saw the red message light blinking on the answering machine. She pushed the play button.

“Jenny, this is Sarah. I have a hot prospect for your house. Mr. Brennan loved it!”

Jenny’s heart leaped, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. There were plenty of Brennans in the world. Brennan was a common name, almost as common as Smith or Jones. Or Mills. Or Kincaid. She focused on the news instead. Sarah had predicted the house would sell fast, but neither of them had thought there would be serious interest this soon.

Then, Jenny saw the small picture frame sitting out of place. There was a business card propped up against it. Jenny picked up the business card and read Michael R. Brennan, Architect, AIA. Jenny sat down hard on the bed. Michael Brennan. Could it be her Michael Brennan? The Michael Brennan she fell in love with when she was ten years old? The Michael Brennan to which she still compared every man? What she knew for certain, she realized, was that this Michael Brennan had explored her home, had seen and probably recognized the photograph. Did this Michael Brennan also realize the significance of the photo? Jenny had to know.

Jenny was reaching for the telephone to call Sarah when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone, so she peeked through the peephole. She was surprised to see a dark-haired man holding a bottle of wine and a take-out pizza box. He smiled at the peephole as if he knew she was there, and when Jenny saw the deep dimple in one cheek, she knew it was her Michael.

She swallowed hard to remove her heart from her throat, although she wasn’t sure how her heart could be in her throat when it was pounding so hard in her chest. Reality hit. This was not the man Jenny had created in her dreams – this was a living, breathing Michael Brennan who might not be anything like she had imagined. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and took a deep breath. Her lips resisted, but she forced them into a smile and opened the door quickly, before she lost her courage.

“Jenny?”

“Michael!” What began as a cordial greeting disintegrated as her voice cracked. She didn’t care if he was the man she’d imagined; he was Michael, and he was here. She wrapped her arms around his neck and reached to kiss him.

It seemed natural to be in Michael’s embrace as his arms enveloped her and he bent his head to hers. Michael deepened the kiss.

Eons later, Jenny became aware that a corner of the pizza box was gouging into her back and tears were streaming down her face. She loosened her grip on Michael and stepped back.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “What am I doing? Come on in.”

“I’m not complaining.” Michael handed her the pizza and wine. “Do you have plans for dinner?”

“I do now.”

Outside, high above in the dark night sky, the wish burst and a new star twinkled in the sky.