The Stars Will Shine by Eva Carrigan Page A

stands in the hallway that leads to his and Aunt Miranda’s bedroom, his head down while he focuses on fastening the cufflinks attached to his white Oxford shirt.
    “Yes,” I ground out, mostly because I can’t stand hearing this man talk. There’s an underlying arrogance in his voice that makes even the nicest thing he says sound condescending.
    He flicks his eyes casually upward, not noticing my annoyance. “I have a meeting with a young couple that wants to use our winery as a venue for their wedding.” He slips a dark gray blazer off its hanger from a hook on the wall, shrugs into it, and straightens it by the lapels. “Do you think you can check on Leah every once in a while? Dylan doesn’t seem to be around.”
    No, he wouldn’t be, would he?
    I sigh inwardly and shut the door, having barely missed my escape. “Sure,” I say flatly. It really doesn’t bother me to spend time with Leah, as I’ve been wanting to get to know her better, against Dylan’s orders. It’s more that I want Uncle Jim to know how much I don’t like him.
    “Good,” Uncle Jim says without looking at me, and then he is gone, probably for the rest of the day.
     
    ***
     
    “Hey, Leah,” I say, hesitant. She is sprawled out on the sofa in the living room, her feet crossed at the ankles and her hands tucked under the pillow beneath her head. She tilts her head back to look at me.
    “Hey,” she says with a sort of breathless brightness. She has a sweet innocence to her voice and in her eyes—the complete opposite of Uncle Jim, and I can’t say it reminds me of Aunt Miranda or Dylan either. How did she come out an angel in the midst of all these gargoyles?
    Leah props herself up on her elbow, drops her eyes, then rushes to sit fully upright. After flipping her hair perfectly over her shoulders and smoothing the blue cotton skirt she wears, she glances up at me again, a little flushed as if by finding her sprawled out, relaxed on the couch, I caught her in some indecent state. I smile kindly, in a way I hope conveys I don’t expect her to act all prim and proper in her own house.
    “What’re you watching?” I plop down onto the white leather recliner by the couch. Everything is white in this house—the furniture, the floors, the walls, the shelves. It’s unnerving, actually. As spotless as a hospital and just as suffocating. Maybe it was Aunt Miranda that decided on this interior, but the house exudes the personality of Uncle Jim.
    “Oh, just… Gilmore Girls . I have all seven seasons.”
    “Can I watch with you?”
    She stares at me for a moment, and I see thoughts slide through her eyes—confusion, hope, uncertainty. She narrows her gaze on me.
    “Did my dad force you to hang out with me?”
    My heart skips a beat, but I don’t hesitate when I lie. “No, of course not. I just figured we haven’t really gotten to talk much yet…I’ve been busy working and all, and figuring out what all there is to do in this…town.” I swallow and trace the threading of the armrest with my index finger. “I thought it’d be cool to hang out. The last time I saw you I was your age, and you were, like, five. Maybe you don’t even remember me.”
    “I remember you,” she squeaks. “I—I mean, I remember thinking you were kind of awesome.” She blushes again and gives me a timid smile. “I was, you know, proud that you were my cousin.”
    I laugh. “No way.”
    Her eyes grow saucer-like. “Yeah, you were really good at soccer, and you could play piano really well.” She has an energy, an eagerness so obvious on her face when she talks about me, and it makes my heart hurt…because she remembers me as someone she looked up to. But that girl she remembers is long gone. I haven’t touched a piano in years, and I quit soccer after the whole thing with Tommy, when everything began to feel heavy and pointless.
    “Delilah?” Leah’s voice breaks my dark reverie, and I realize I’ve been staring unblinkingly at the