Page 11 of Every Star that Shines

“Emma, are you ready to go?”

This is Caleb’s kid?

Emma closed her sketchbook. “Yes, Daddy.” She started closing the zipper on her pencil case. “This is Delanie. She has a boy friend named Desmond who likes wearing friendship bracelets. Isn’t that funny?” She giggled.

“He’s, um, not my boyfriend,” Delanie stammered, wondering why she was explaining herself. “He’s just a friend.”

“No,” Emma said, “I didn’t mean boyfriend, I meant boy, friend. They’re not the same thing.” She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes and tucked her sketchbook and pencil case into her mint green backpack.

“I see.” Caleb’s voice sounded a little thin, and he looked at Delanie as though he’d seen a ghost. “What are you doing here? Oh, wait. Molly’s funeral.” His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” Where had all her good words gone? “And congratulations on your new baby.”

He blinked, looking confused. “What? Oh. No, I’m not . . . Monica’s pregnant, but we haven’t been together for years.” He raised an eyebrow at his daughter. “Are you sure Mom wants you telling people about the baby already?”

Emma looked sheepish. “Oh, yeah. She said I was only supposed to talk about it with you. Sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s alright, Chickadee. I know it’s hard to keep exciting things to yourself. Just try to do better.” He turned his attention to Delanie. “They just found out, so if you could not tell anyone, that would probably be best.”

Delanie nodded dumbly. Caleb and Monica had split up? Her knees shook.

She and Caleb had dated all through high school, dreaming of the day they would go to film school together—she for acting, he for screen writing. In grade twelve, Monica Fehr had become obsessed with Caleb, doing everything she could to draw him away from Delanie. He had laughed off her attempted manipulations, claiming he found it annoying.

Then his dad got sick with cancer, and he had chosen to stay home after graduation to help with the family farm. Delanie couldn’t see how they could keep dating from so far away, so she had broken up with him and gone to Vancouver alone, all the while hoping it wouldn’t be long before he would join her and they could pick up where they had left off.

But, six months later, she had heard he was married to Monica with a baby on the way. The way her mother told it, he had been seeing Monica for months, which meant he’d been lying about why he had stayed behind—not about his dad’s cancer, which her mother had kept her apprised of. But if Caleb had truly loved her as he’d said he did, how could he have gotten together with Monica so soon after the two of them split up? Or, as was more likely, even before?

Ever since, every time she thought of Caleb, the bitter taste of betrayal filled her mouth. For some reason, knowing that Caleb and Monica had broken up years ago and she had never known—that he had never once reached out to her—made it worse. Why hadn’t her mom said something, at least?

He drew in a breath and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Well, uh, we best get going. This little jumping bean needs to get to bed.” He tilted his head at Emma. “I guess I’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow.”

Delanie nodded. “Emma said you’re building the sets. I thought that was Noel Butler’s job.” She indicated the stage.

“Yeah. He roped me into helping him.”

Delanie tried to sound casual. “I’ll be seeing a lot more of you then. I’m directing the play.”

He nodded slowly. “That explains why Cheryl didn’t say who it was,” he muttered. He gave her a tight-lipped smile, but his tone was sincere when he added, “I can’t think of anyone better for the job.”

Emma stood before him with her backpack on over her light jacket, and he urged her up the aisle with a hand on her back.

“See you around, Delanie. Noel’s still here, so don’t worry about locking up.”

“Bye, Delanie!” Emma waved over her shoulder, then tore up the aisle.

Delanie cringed at the inadvertent reference to her recent humiliation, but neither Emma nor Caleb seemed to notice.

“No running,” Caleb called, striding after his daughter. “And that’s Miss Fletcher to you,” he said as they reached the stairs.

“Okay, Daddy.” Emma adjusted her pace, then gave Delanie another wave before pounding down the stairs at an only somewhat restrained pace.

“Bye,” Delanie said with a half-wave of her own.

With a last glance at Delanie, Caleb followed his daughter down the stairs and out of sight.

Delanie watched them go, her chest filled with cold dread and her stomach with an unwelcome nervous flutter. After being so hurt and angry with Caleb for nearly a decade, how could she still feel anything for him? Oh, why had she said she would direct the play? Not only had she never directed anything but her own YouTube videos before, it also meant she would likely see Caleb on a regular basis.

She sighed. It was too late to change her mind now. Violet had been so thrilled to have her on board that Delanie suspected her mother’s assessment had been right—finding someone else to step into the director’s role at this point would be unlikely, jeopardizing the entire production. Well, as long as Caleb was only helping with sets, she could manage to be civil when they crossed paths—as long as her heart didn’t start pounding like this every time she saw his face. Ugh. Maybe she could get the producer, Anne Erickson, to deal with set stuff.

---