Page 9 of Every Star that Shines

CHAPTER FOUR

Delanie slowly tilted her head from side to side to stretch her tight neck and shoulders, keeping one hand on the wheel and her eyes on the road. After driving for the better part of two days, her muscles had started to cramp up. In front of her, the straight highway stretched between partially harvested golden fields of grain like a dark ribbon through yellow hair. On her left, the sun brushed the treed horizon, causing her car to cast a long shadow on her other side that jumped erratically with the shifting terrain of the ditch and field. At least this was the final leg of her journey. Her neck wasn’t the only body part that would be glad to be out of the car.

She had told her mother she would be home by supper that night, but when she had passed through Whitecourt at five o’clock with three hours to go, she realized that wasn’t going to happen. Ignoring her guilt at how late she had dragged herself out of her hotel room that morning—postponing her inevitable return home, if she were honest—she had called her mother to let her know. Then she had swung through the Starbucks drive-through for a chai latte and banana bread to tide her over until she got to her parents’ place.

Delanie took the final cold sip from her paper cup and tucked it into the cup holder in the console with a twinge of sadness. That was the last Starbucks she would get until she left Peace Crossing and passed through Whitecourt again. Though she had to admit that the lattes at Cool Beans, the local coffee shop in town, were almost as good, and their food was much better.

Good thing—ever since the events of Tuesday night, she had been constantly exhausted and had barely slept. Strong coffee was the only thing that had kept her going. She would probably be stopping at Cool Beans every day.

At the thought of all she had endured that week, the familiar pressure built behind her eyes. Frowning, she pushed the thoughts aside and cranked her music, tapping her thumbs on the steering wheel to OneRepublic. She had already cried enough today to leave her cheeks raw. She didn’t want to start again.

Driving northeast across British Columbia from the coast had been like driving from the middle of summer to late fall, though she knew the weather would have only started turning a few weeks ago. She was amazed that the trees in northern Alberta were still in full leaf—there had been more than one autumn in her childhood when the second week of September saw every leaf on the ground and the threat of snow in the air. But when she crested the hill that allowed her to see the Peace River Valley bathed in the last auburn glow of the setting sun—which now shone directly into her eyes until she lowered her visor—she caught her breath.

The thickly forested valley was a bonfire of gold, fiery orange, and deep red leaves slashed by uneven trails of dark, thick evergreens. As she started her descent, she came around a turn in the highway and caught sight of the Peace River snaking its way between the hills and the graceful turquoise arches of the bridge that spanned it—the lone connection between the two sides of the sprawling, scattered town. Some of the tension eased from her shoulders. Peace Crossing might be a million miles from civilization, but it made up for its remote location with its breathtaking beauty.

Her phone vibrated somewhere beneath the travel detritus of to-go bags, napkins, and snack wrappers that had accumulated on the passenger seat, and she tensed. At Marie’s insistence, she had deleted her social media apps from her phone, even if she couldn’t bring herself to delete her Twitter account completely as Marie had advised. However, Josh had called and texted multiple times in the last few days, to the point that every time her phone gave her a notification, she worried it would be him. She should just block his number, but there was always the possibility he might be calling with news that Crystal had changed her mind. Well, he could definitely wait. She wasn’t pulling over now, not on the winding, steep highway into town with its almost non-existent shoulders—it wasn’t safe.

She came around another curve in the road and gasped. The sun had sunk behind the horizon, leaving a dusky sky painted with streaks of red and pink and purple. The streetlights on the bridge flickered on, and the other lights in town soon followed, turning the scene into something from a postcard. She had been so eager to get out of here as a teenager, to make her mark on the world. Now, she felt a twinge of regret that in two short months, she would once more have to leave behind the little treasure of a town to return to the asphalt jungle and fight to regain the dream she’d worked so hard to build.

She ground her teeth. She had made so many sacrifices, taking acting jobs she didn’t even want so she would get noticed by the right people to help her career. She had thought it had paid off, that she was about to get her mythical breakout role. But none of that mattered now, did it?

Tears threatened again, and she shook her head to push them away. When she showed up at her parents’, she didn’t want her mother’s first comment to be how frightful she looked.

Hmph. As though I’ll be able to avoid that after a day on the road.

She glanced in the rear-view mirror and smoothed her hair, trying to detangle it with her fingers while keeping the other hand on the wheel. Maybe she should stop somewhere to freshen up before heading out to her parents’ acreage. The gas station at the far edge of town should still be open. She would pop in on the way by.

Delanie glanced toward the dusky west—the general direction of her parents’ place—and gasped. The first star had just winked into sight in the darkening sky.

Stars. Except for the occasional ski trip out of town, or that time an ex-boyfriend had taken her on an overnight sailing trip, she had rarely seen the stars since moving to Vancouver. The glorious night skies of the Peace Country, with the splash of the Milky Way and dancing aurora borealis and constellations so bright you could touch them, were one of the things she had missed most . . . besides Nan, of course.

At the thought, tears sprang to Delanie’s eyes anyway, the salt stinging her cheeks. She plucked one of the tissues from the box she had put on the passenger seat for easy access and dabbed at the moisture, sniffling to stifle further sobs.

A tidal wave of longing washed through her—longing to reconnect with the roots of the dream that now lay in shambles around her, and with the woman who had inspired it. The play should help. Her mom had brought home the director’s script she had found at Nan’s house, along with Nan’s binder full of notes. Delanie looked forward to reading them in nervous anticipation, trying to ignore the needling suspicion that she was in over her head. If Nan’s notes were as organized and extensive as her craft cupboard, Delanie would be fine.

As she rounded the final hill, Peace Crossing’s quaint downtown area came into view. Delanie glanced greedily over the familiar buildings, but the aching hunger in her chest remained. She could barely see the theatre from here—it was farther away and lower down, near the river and behind the Anglican church tower.

When she approached the exit that would take her downtown instead of across the river, she found herself slowing down and signalling. The theatre was probably locked up at this time on a Friday night, but she could at least drive by. On her way to the gas station on Main Street, of course, which would also be open—she hoped. Besides, she could use every extra minute she could get to collect herself before she had to deal with Cheryl Fletcher in person.

She parked across the street from the ancient hall. Both the Mackenzie Playhouse and the church next door shared a similar design aesthetic—a white stucco exterior accented by dark brown painted wooden beams. Some scaffolding next to the church suggested renovations in progress—maybe the congregation was doing some restoration work on the old structure.

The front light of the church was on, illuminating its concrete stoop and the several steps up to the front door, and so was the light next to the theatre’s main entrance. Two trucks—one black, one white—sat in the small parking lot the hall shared with the church. Pickup trucks were another thing she didn’t see much of in Vancouver. Here, they were the most common form of transportation—and for good reason, given the kind of work and weather that dominated the area. Both trucks had locked metal tool boxes filling their beds.

Delanie frowned at the two vehicles. While the church’s front light was probably left on every night as a safety measure, the unlit windows suggested the building was empty. Were the owners of these trucks in the hall, which had hardly any windows to let tell-tale light escape into the night? If so, why? Even if the theatre was also being renovated, it would be fairly odd for anyone to be there now. Carpenters in Peace Crossing didn’t make a habit of working late on Friday nights, the last she knew.

She shrugged and turned off her older-model Honda Civic coupe. If the hall was open, she could freshen up there. Before getting out, she fished her phone out from under the tissue box to check on the notification. The text had been from Marie, asking for an update.

Just got to town, Delanie quickly typed back. Thanks for checking.

The response of a heart and a thumbs-up emoji was almost instantaneous. Delanie smiled and climbed out of the car.

The right side of the brown metal double doors leading into the theatre was unlocked. Cautiously, Delanie opened it, and the hinges let out a loud complaint. She stepped onto an empty landing no bigger than her apartment bathroom. A short flight of stairs on the left led down to the basement reception hall and dance studio, and the one on the right ascended to a somewhat larger foyer that led toward the bathrooms on one side and into the auditorium on the other. The musty odours of old carpet and wood assailed her nose—the smells of the best parts of her childhood. Filled with reverent awe, she made her way up the steps.

One of the brown-painted wooden double doors into the auditorium was propped open with a doorstop. She glanced through it longingly, then turned aside into the small carpeted lobby across from it. After pausing to glance at the old play posters crowding the walls, she made her way to the cramped two-stall ladies’ room. The room had recently received a thorough coat of nondescript cream paint, adding to the decades-thick layers already there and covering up any professions of undying love that may have been left on the stall wall.

She relieved herself and washed her hands, then used the mirror above the sink to help her tidy her smudged makeup and comb her hair. She assessed her reflection. Her eyes weren’t all that red, but her makeup had worn off, revealing the dark circles beneath them and the fading red splotches on her cheeks and forehead.

“Who am I kidding? Mom is gonna know I was crying all day in a hot second.”

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