Guilt creeps into my gut, unwanted, as guilt tends to be.
I like Celeste. In the week I’ve known her, I’ve discovered she’s kind and generous, if a little over enthusiastic, and I feel bad that she thinks I’ve deceived her in some way. On the other hand, I’m not opening up my private business to someone I’ve only just met.
Especially one who seems to have a crush on Hendricks.
“Sorry, I thought I had. Yes, I grew up in Valentine Nook. My parents have the dairy farm over the hill on Honeysuckle Lane, but I’ve been in Australia for thepast six years, as you know.”
She rolls her mouth together until her lips purse. “So I guess you’ll know everyone here, then.”
“I don’t know who’s coming. I didn’t even know about the meeting until this morning, remember,” I reply, and it’s true. I don’t. Except Hendricks. But that doesn’t seem to satisfy Celeste.
She huffs and walks over to the far wall, where I didn’t notice a pile of chairs stacked up. “I suppose we should set up the hall for the meeting, but perhaps you know that already.”
Her back’s to me, so she doesn’t see my hefty eye roll. “Actually, no, I haven’t. My mum was on the Valentine committee one year, but swore she’d never do it again.”
Celeste doesn’t join in my laughing, and I honestly don’t know what she’s so annoyed about. But I have other shit to worry about than trying to placate her, so we place the chairs in silence. By the time Mrs. Winston walks in, followed by Eddie carrying six bottles of wine and two dozen plastic cups, we’re almost done.
“Oh girls, well done. Thank you. This is so helpful of you,” she coos, only to promptly rearrange everything.
“Bloody hell, Story MacIntosh as I live and breathe.”
Jesus. I’m never going to be Sophie in Valentine Nook.
Celeste, who’s still ignoring me, turns around looking even more annoyed. “Story? What story?”
“It’s an old nickname Ineveruse.” My eyes roll again, while I relieve Eddie of the wine and cups. “I saw you last month. I delivered the Christmas tree to the pub.”
He taps a stubby finger to his forehead. “So you did. So you did. But what are you doing here? Thought you’dgone back to the land of giant spiders and kangaroos.”
“Not yet.” My eyes slice to Celeste, who’s hovering a couple of meters away, desperate to be included. “Eddie, can I introduce you to Celeste, my colleague . . .friend. . . we work together at Valentine Prep. We’re representing the school for the committee.”
Celeste beams at him, a smile I see her use on parents every morning.
“Hello,” he grunts before the weight of his focus is back on me. “You’re working at the school? You’re staying? When were you going to tell me?”
“I’m telling you now.”
“Glad I’m not the only one discovering things this evening,” Celeste adds, though I note the tone is less hostile than it was five minutes ago. Maybe I’m forgiven.
“Keeping secrets from you too, is she?” grumbles Eddie, at which Celeste giggles. “Is this ’cause of your dad? How is he?”
“Yes. And he’s fine. He’ll be back on his feet soon?—”
“So you’re not staying?”
“What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?”
“I just want to know if I need to stock up on whiskey. Doeseveryoneknow you’re back for good?”
Oh okay, I see where this is going. His raised brows and beady eyes peering at me over his bifocals don’t need interpreting.
Eddie was the only one I ever spoke to about Hendricks. Not that I said much of anything at all, but on the occasional and brief visits I made home over the years, Eddie was the only one I ever dared to ask how Hendricks was doing. He’d reply with his usual gruff, “Fine,” which could have been interpreted in a dozendifferent ways, but I took it as Hendricks having a great life, loving being a father, a husband, a successful vet . . . whatever.
In hindsight, my translation skills aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Though I was correct about his love of being a father. Just from a week of casual observation at morning drop-off, the way Hendricks is with Max is enough to warm even the coldest hearts.
“Yup.” I nod, turning to the table to lay out the wine and glasses, and pick up one of the bottles to open. Alcohol will be needed to get through the next hour or three if no one can interrupt Mrs. Winston. Although caffeine isn’t out of the question. “Is anyone bringing coffee?”
“Me.”
