Page 61 of Every Star that Shines

“Nothing,” Delanie said.

“Oh, no, I’m pretty sure it’s something. Out with it.”

On the other edge of the screen, Desmond shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

Delanie sighed. “It’s no big deal, I guess. It just seems you think I’m making a huge mistake pretty often. It would be nice if you were a little more supportive of my choices.”

Marie looked affronted. “I am supportive of your choices, when you make the right ones. Like going back home to help your mom, or taking your grandmother’s place as director of the show. And signing on to Trueheart—the first time. In hindsight, I may have been wrong about that one.” Marie frowned. “But I can’t support you throwing away the career you could have, or your future happiness, because you’re afraid to take a chance on the one guy you’ve ever truly loved.”

Delanie froze. “Wh-what did you say?”

Marie leaned toward the screen. “Do you know how many times you’ve told me about your Nan giving up on her career for love, and how that’s not going to be you?”

“Not that many—”

“You’ve mentioned it enough, and Caleb enough, for me to know that the guy has never stopped mattering to you. You love him, Delanie, admit it. If you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be fighting so hard to avoid following in your grandmother’s footsteps. And what would be so bad about that, anyway? From everything you’ve told me, your grandmother had a full, rewarding life, and never actually gave up her career in theatre. It just shifted a bit. Otherwise they wouldn’t be naming a stage after her.” Marie paused, but before Delanie could respond, she said, “You know, if it weren’t for a woman just like your Nan, I would never have come to Vancouver for costume design. And you wouldn’t have come here either. When you talk about Molly, you always talk about what she didn’t do. But you forget to talk about what she did.”

Delanie’s mouth was dry, and she couldn’t think of a single rebuttal. Why did her brain always do this when she needed words the most? Ever since she had been cancelled, it seemed she just froze up when people confronted her. She shook her head, missing the old, more confident version of herself.

“Marie,” Desmond said, “maybe we should talk about this another time.”

Delanie whole-heartedly agreed. Never would also work. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already signed a contract. I’m sorry to have disappointed you.” She flopped back against her pillows and crossed her arms—which put the faded rectangle of Nathan Tait’s missing poster directly in her line of sight. Annoyed, she sat up again.

Marie’s tone softened. “I’ll never be disappointed in you going for what you want, Delanie. I’m just not sure you’re being honest with yourself about what that is.”

Delanie opened her mouth, but all that came out was a choked sound. Abruptly, both Desmond’s and Marie’s faces froze, and a few seconds later, the call ended. A notification about her unstable Internet came up, and she slammed the laptop closed. She sent a quick text to the group chat that the call had dropped, then turned off her phone before Marie could reply.

She’d had quite enough of an earful for one day already. And she wouldn’t be able to get a single word of it out of her head.

I don’t love Caleb. Not the kind of love that makes you give up your dreams to be with someone.

But the words rang hollow in her heart. Not for the first time that week, she buried herself under her blankets and cried.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Caleb pulled up in front of his parents’ farmhouse and turned off his truck. His parents’ faithful Golden Retriever, Shorty, hobbled down the steps and past his mother’s tidy flower beds with the field-rock edging to greet him. Ever since he and Delanie’s fateful conversation at Tim Hortons last week, Caleb had done nothing but think about what she’d said. And since Emma had gone to Monica’s on Friday, there had been even less to distract him. He hoped a conversation with his parents would help clarify his muddled thoughts.

As he came in the back door into the kitchen—after a thorough neck scratch for the dog—his mother greeted him with a cheery smile and a hug. She was already dressed for church.

“Caleb, what a nice surprise! Not often we see you out here this early on a Sunday—not after harvest is over, anyway.”

“I haven’t seen you guys much lately. And I miss your coffee.” Caleb kissed her cheek, then stepped away to take off his denim jacket and hang it on one of the hooks by the door.

“Do you want some eggs? I just finished making your father’s. The pan should still be hot.”

“No, no, Mom. I ate at home.” He spotted the coffee pot on the percolator warming burner with a full serving in the bottom. “Mind if I have that, though?” He pointed at it.

Adelaide beamed. “Of course. You go sit down. I’ll bring it over.”

Caleb made his way through the kitchen to the breakfast nook on the far side, taking note of a few new rock-based projects-in-progress sitting on the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the nook. After Marcus got sick, he had started using the ubiquitous rocks that seemed to spring up from the ground here to make all kinds of things—he said keeping his hands busy when his body required the rest of him to be inactive is what had kept him sane. Marcus had made a wide array of projects, from painted fairy garden decorations to modern-looking candle stands, most of which he’d given away to friends and family.

Once Caleb got close enough to the nook to see past the upper cabinets, his father’s slight frame came into view. The thinning grey hair on top of Marcus’s head was visible as he bent over a farming industry magazine laid on the circular wooden table, occasionally putting a bite of scrambled eggs from the plate next to it into his mouth.

“Hi, Dad.”

Marcus looked up, his amber-brown eyes crinkling in a smile. “Caleb! Good to see you, son.”

He set down his fork and stood to give Caleb a firm hug, something he’d also started doing after he got sick. After ten years, Caleb was almost used to it.

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