Page 25 of Your Every Wish
An elderly couple holding hands passes me on the trail. “Morning,” the woman says, and the husband tips his golf cap. Their dog, a Chihuahua wearing a pumpkin sweater, isn’t quite as friendly, barking and snapping at me as they pull him tighter on his leash. The crazy little mutt.
I’m halfway to the clubhouse when I see Harry sitting outside his trailer, drinking a cup of coffee and scrolling on his phone. He sees me and waves.
“Hey,” I say, stopping just to be polite.
“How you girls making out?”
“Good. And you?”
“Oh, fine to middling. Starting to feel a chill in the air.”
It’s true, it is a bit nippy.
“How long have you lived here, Harry?”
He tugs on an empty camp chair and motions for me take a seat, which I do, surprising even myself.
“About ten years now. Me and the missus moved here from San Pablo right after I retired from the post office.”
“I didn’t know you were married, Harry.”
“No?” He waggles his brows. “Why, you interested?”
I’ve had my fair share of propositions from dirty old men but somehow I know Harry is only teasing. It’s that playful gleam in his eye that’s more innocent than pervy.
“Cissy died four years ago. Metastatic breast cancer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“What are you gonna do? She was the love of my life, though. We were supposed to grow old together here.”
I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s already old. “So you stayed, huh?”
“Oh yeah. We sank everything we had into this place. Bought the double-wide brand-new. The Mesquite, the most expensive model on the yard. Cissy liked the big kitchen, and I liked the gas fireplace.”
I turn around to look at Harry’s trailer. His golf cart is parked in the driveway and there’s a broom propped against the wall and a freshly swept porch. There are flower boxes, too, with bright orange dahlias that look newly planted, judging by the open bag of potting soil on the ground.
“It’s a nice place,” I say and mean it.
“Cissy was real proud of it. First home we ever owned. Could never afford those Bay Area prices. You and your sister gonna sell the place?”
“What makes you think that?” I can’t quite look him in the eye.
“Neither of you two strike me as property managers, though Misty says the odds are in our favor that you’ll stay.”
“Yeah, so what’s the deal with her?”
“You don’t know?” He cocks one bushy white brow. “She’s a witch,” he says, and throws his head back and laughs. “Or at least she says she is.”
“A witch? Like she’s into Wicca?”
“I don’t know what Wicca is but like a bona fide genie or sorceress.”
“Come on, you don’t actually believe in that kind of stuff?”
“Hell no. But most everyone here, including me, humors her. Hey, nothing wrong with letting your freak flag fly, I always say. And she’s good people.”
“Yeah, yeah, she seems nice.” Strange but nice. “So does she tell people’s fortunes or what?”
