Page 5 of Every Star that Shines

Marie nodded approvingly. “Well said. Glad you finally see it.”

Delanie drew a breath, not sure how she wanted to respond to that. The apartment buzzer sounded, and Marie glanced over her shoulder. Delanie’s heart sank. She couldn’t handle company right now, maybe not even Desmond.

“You expecting someone?” she asked, wincing internally.

“Just the Cinnabon delivery guy. Thought we might drown our woes in carbs and a Grey’s Anatomy marathon today.”

Delanie’s heart lifted slightly, then she frowned. “I thought you had plans.”

Marie shrugged. “Cancelled ’em. I can go to the mall with Cheyenne anytime.”

Warmth pushed aside some of the constant dread that had filled Delanie since she’d received Josh’s text last night. “Thanks, Marie. You’re the best.”

“I know.” She smirked and went to answer the buzzer.

Delanie’s phone vibrated in her hand—a ring, not a text. Annoyed, she glanced down to reject the call and saw that it wasn’t Josh. It was her mom.

She hesitated, trying to decide if she wanted to try and explain everything to her mom right then. Cheryl Fletcher hadn’t been the most supportive of her daughter’s choice of career, and the last thing Delanie needed was to hear her mother say I told you so. Not only that, her mom could be a little out of touch with modern culture. Sometimes Delanie thought Cheryl didn’t quite understand what social media was, even though she’d set her up on Instagram a couple years ago. Cheryl definitely wouldn’t understand what being cancelled meant, nor why it was such a big deal to Delanie.

But an intense longing to pour out her troubles to a listening ear made her answer the phone at the last second.

“Hi, Mom. How’s it going?”

“Hi, Delanie.”

Something in her mother’s tone stopped Delanie from jumping into her story—Cheryl’s tone, and the fact that she hadn’t responded with her typical cheery Better than a bushel of barley.

“Is something wrong, Mom?”

She heard a stifled sob on the other end, and her heart stammered. Not more bad news.

“Are you sitting down?” Cheryl asked.

Delanie sank to the bed. “Mom, you’re scaring me. What happened? Is Dad okay?”

“Dad’s fine.” After a slight pause, Cheryl said, “Nan died. Last night. I called her this morning like I always do, and when she didn’t answer after a few tries, I came over to her house to check on her. Looks like she went while she was sleeping. I’m just waiting for the ambulance now.”

Delanie’s chest constricted, and her gaze snapped to the photo of the sweet-faced white-haired woman on her dresser. How could Nan be dead? She was supposed to live forever.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” Cheryl said. “I know she meant a lot to you, and—”

“When’s the funeral?”

“Well, I have to talk to the funeral home yet to work things out, but we’ll try for this Saturday.”

“So soon?” That was only four days away.

“Will you be able to make it? I never know what your work schedule is like.”

“I can make it.” Delanie swallowed a lump the size of an apple. No job, no boyfriend, a deep desire to escape from the disaster that was her life . . . she could definitely make it. “Maybe I’ll even stay a while. It’s been a minute since I was home.”

“Would you?” The hopeful surprise in her mom’s voice needled at her. “That would be wonderful.” Cheryl paused. “How long would you be staying?”

Delanie tensed. Her mother was notorious for turning Delanie’s trips home into meetings with one eligible bachelor after another masquerading as get-togethers with old friends or family. Not that Peace Crossing had much to offer in the eligible bachelor department, but there was a reason Delanie usually only flew home for the weekend. After Caleb, Delanie had no interest in dating a small-town guy ever again. They were too rooted down to be able to handle her and her ambition—they wanted small-town girls, girls who would stay and support their small-town dreams. And one betrayal like that was enough. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s just . . . I could use some help going through Nan’s things. She’s got this farmhouse to sort through, and she was such a hoarder.”

Delanie thought of the tidy home with the full but well-organized closets she had known as a child—a far cry from the jam-packed houses she’d seen on reality TV. She shook her head. Her mother had a very different definition of hoarder than she did.

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