Page 13 of Every Star that Shines

“I said I’m fine.” He sounded grumpier than he meant to and drew a breath to calm himself.

“Okay.” Rachel sounded unconvinced, but, thankfully, she let it drop. “Tell Emma hi from Aunty Rachel, and I hope you both have fun.”

“Thanks. Bye, Rach.”

“Bye.” He could hardly blame Rachel for not believing his assertions that seeing Delanie several times a week for the next couple of months wouldn’t be a problem for him. Not when he hadn’t yet been able to convince himself.

“Did you and Miss Fletcher used to date?” Emma asked, startling Caleb.

Caleb set the phone in the console before turning his attention to the rearview mirror to watch for a gap in the after-church Main Street traffic. “A long time ago, before your mom and I got together.”

“Huh. She’s nice. I can see why you liked her. Do you think you would date her again?”

Caleb swallowed before answering. “Somehow, I don’t think she’d be interested. We haven’t been on the best terms since then.”

“Too bad.” Emma shrugged, then tore an oversized bite from her sandwich, her mouth too full to say more.

Seeing his opportunity in the mirror, Caleb reversed into the street and slammed the truck into drive. He glanced at his daughter, her words pinging around inside his tight chest. Ever since Delanie had appeared at the theatre the other night, he had wondered the same thing. But there were some hurts that shouldn’t be forgiven—and he didn’t mean the fact that she had left. Delanie had hurt him when she had broken up with him, yes. But she had left the door open, telling him that when things settled down with his dad and he came to Vancouver, they could get back together . . . but that if the worst happened and he had to stay behind, they were both free to focus their energy on the tasks that lay ahead of them. He hadn’t liked her reasoning, but at least he had understood it.

But how could he ever make her understand his hasty marriage to Monica? He could never regret having Emma, but he still punished himself for the one moment of weakness that had changed his life forever. And if he couldn’t forgive himself, why would Delanie?

CHAPTER SIX

“Quiet, please,” Delanie called over the crowded auditorium, but she could barely hear her own voice over the din of excited children’s voices.

She stood onstage at Mackenzie Playhouse next to the petite Violet Butler, trying not to be overwhelmed by the number of kids filling the theatre—seventy-eight of them, if everyone who had come to auditions had shown up today. The middle section was about two-thirds full, with kids arranged by grade from the front. Parents dotted the outer sections—some visiting quietly near the back, others staring at their phones, and some watching the proceedings with interest. Or disinterest, as the case may be.

Caleb and Monica sat near each other about halfway up one side. Delanie’s heart skipped. The last thing she needed was to embarrass herself in front of those two. She had done plenty of that already at the funeral yesterday. Every time she had thought about going to talk to Caleb, her feet had stubbornly refused to move. He must have gotten tired of catching her looking in his direction, because he had eventually come to talk to her, like polite people do—and she had said something so utterly inane, she could no longer remember what it was. It was like her brain had frozen in the past, and all she could think about was what she wished she could say to him. But calling your high school sweetheart a lying cheater at your grandmother’s funeral wasn’t exactly in good taste.

“Attention, everyone! Quiet down!” she tried again, with similar results.

“Hi, Miss Fletcher,” came the voice of one little girl.

Delanie spotted Emma gazing up at her from the front row. When Emma saw Delanie look at her, she waved excitedly. Delanie waved shyly back, then glanced at Caleb and Monica to see their reaction. She needn’t have bothered. They probably hadn’t even noticed. She wondered if the man in a puffy quilted vest on Monica’s other side was her new man.

“Hi-ho, Silver!” called Violet Butler in a voice that could probably be heard in the next county.

“Away!” came the unified response of most of the kids, and they quieted, their attention now fixed on Violet and Delanie for the most part. The littlest ones sitting near the front giggled and reacted in loud excitement, but after the older kids and the surrounding parents gave a few hisses of warning, they got the idea and settled down.

Delanie gaped at the smiling music director. She’d known Violet Butler for most of her life, but she was always amazed when such a big voice came out of such a slender woman. Violet’s indigo eyes sparkled behind the youthful-looking woman’s thin-framed glasses, which were perched on a patrician nose. Violet had started keeping her thick, straight hair cropped short in the back since Delanie left, and what had once been black was mostly silver now—though she had dyed a chunk of the bangs framing one side of her face dark purple, almost the same colour as her eyes and her drapey dark blue sweater.

“We did The Lone Ranger a few years ago, and we’ve used that catchphrase as a signal to the kids that it’s time to quiet down ever since,” Violet whispered.

“I’ll have to remember that,” Delanie whispered back. “Have you seen Anne or Liam yet?” Delanie had only met the woman who had been volunteering as the show’s producer for the last several years for the first time yesterday, at Nan’s funeral, and had never met Anne’s son Liam, who had been cast as Luigi the Fox in the play. Anne had said she would arrive early, despite having to drive a half-hour from Berwyn, but she hadn’t been at Delanie’s rushed pre-rehearsal meeting with Violet.

Violet glanced over the hall and shook her head, her brow wrinkling and smoothing so quickly it might not have happened. “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute. She probably got stuck behind a baler on the bridge or something.”

“Sure.” Delanie turned back to the audience. Seventy-eight pairs of eyes, plus at least half that many more belonging to the parents, stared back at her expectantly. Her knees started shaking. Breathe, Delanie. You’re an actress. So act like you know what you’re doing.

“Hi, everyone!” Good. Her voice didn’t even wobble.

A few curious heys and hellos came from the kids.

She put on her most polished smile. “My name is Delanie Fletcher. Molly Davis is . . . was my grandmother.” Her breath hitched, and she paused to collect herself. “And I’m going to be directing the play this year.”

At that, some of the parents who’d been visiting or looking at their phones started paying attention.

“I ask that you bear with me as I get my feet wet. I’ve had a chance to read the script and go through some of Molly’s notes, but it’s been a few years since I was sitting in your chair.” She pointed at Emma, who giggled. “Or even yours,” she said, gesturing a little farther back at the older kids, who smirked. “However, I’m sure that if we all work together, this is going to be a great year.”

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