“The oyster what?” Georgia asked, mystified. She took a tiny taste of the oatmeal, making sure to get a bite of apple and honey. Still bitter. Resigned, she speared the dill pickle with a fork and gnawed at the end of it. No birthday miracle yet.
“Didn’t Cole tell you?” Star looked reprovingly at Cole, who was quietly eating his bowl of oatmeal and staring fixedly at a knot on the painted table. “You’re going with us to the Oyster Shuck tonight.”
“Slipped my mind,” Cole murmured, shifting in his chair and looking uncomfortable.
“Well, you can’t miss it,” Star declared. “It’s the annual oyster festival at the seafood farm. It’s tonight. There’s live music and line dancing and barbecued oysters and carnival games. Practically the whole island comes. It’s quite the party.”
“That sounds... lively.” Georgia hesitated. “But I have to cook at Anemone.”
“No, I talked to Myra and got you the night off,” Star reassured her. “Myra says, ‘Happy birthday and have fun.’ I guess their regular chef’s finger is healed up enough that she may be able to take over the kitchen again when you go back to Paris. They’re using tonight as a trial run, see how it goes.”
“Oh, well that’s perfect timing then,” Georgia said. Surprisingly, the idea of the former chef’s return to Anemone felt like an intrusion, but why should it bother her? Myra would have to hire someone when she went back to Paris.
“You’ll have fun tonight,” Star assured her. “It’s an island tradition.”
Georgia hesitated. “It sounds fun, but I don’t know if I should spare the time. I got a text from Michel this morning about the competition. It’s in two weeks.” She told them all sheknew about it. “So it might be better for me to spend this evening brainstorming inspiration for my menu.”
“What happened to you letting go and being in the moment?” Star pressed, raising one eyebrow. “Let yourself have this one night. You can brainstorm tomorrow. It’s a good way to celebrate your time on the island, especially since you’ll be leaving us soon. Think of it as a send-off party.” She looked a little wistful as she said the words.
Georgia sighed and caved. “What time should I be ready?” This Oyster Shuck seemed important to Star. It was the least Georgia could do. One more night wouldn’t make that big a difference, would it? She hoped she was right.
Star turned to Cole. “Come get us at seven.”
“Okay.” Cole nodded curtly, then dropped his spoon in the empty bowl and rose. He washed his bowl quickly but thoroughly in the sink and left without another word. Georgia watched him go, then glanced up to find Star looking at her with a knowing smile.
“What?” Georgia said, a touch defensively.
“Nothing.” Star held up her hands, placatingly, but she was still smirking ever so slightly. “Looks like I’m not the only one sad to see you go.”
Just then, Georgia’s phone pinged with a text. She glanced at it, surprised. It was her dad.
Happy birthday, Georgia.—Buck Jackson
Georgia rolled her eyes and smiled at his habit of signing his full name to a text to his own daughter. It was so Buck. He texted by jabbing the keys with his forefinger like he was trying to subdue them. Sort of like Star did, come to think of it.
Georgia started to respond with a quick “thank you” butstopped. She thought of the row of her school photos Star had left for her to see, a year-by-year chronicle of her childhood. She thought of Star’s insistence that she could not share why she had left. Someone had been complicit in making Star leave and in keeping her silent all these years. And Georgia was willing to bet money her father had something to do with it. She decided to poke the hornet’s nest and see what happened. She wanted him to know where she was and who she was with.
She texted back.
Thanks, Daddy. Look who I found!
Then she sent a selfie of Star and her that she’d taken out at the garden beds a few days before. They were both sweaty and disheveled but grinning, their arms looped around each other’s shoulders. In the photo, they looked so alike it was almost uncanny. Pollen was splayed at their feet, tongue lolling happily.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
I see she got ahold of you. How’s she holding up?
Georgia stared at the text in puzzlement.
“What do you mean ‘holding up’?”she texted back. “She’s great. We’re making up for lost time.”She waited for the reply, but it never came. Buck was a man of few words. Sometimes too few.
“Everything all right?” Star asked.
“Fine,” Georgia replied. “Just Daddy wishing me a happy birthday.” She clicked her phone off, confused and a touch uneasy at her father’s text. What did he mean,how’s she holding up?She scrutinized Star surreptitiously. Was there somethingshe was hiding, something she was not telling Georgia about? And how in the world did Buck know that something was going on with Star? The mystery deepened. She had a feeling she may have just unwittingly poked a different hornet’s nest altogether.
“You want some tea?” Star asked. Shaking off her sense of unease, Georgia nodded. Star stirred her special herbal blend into two mugs of hot water and set one before Georgia, sitting down across the table from her.
“Thanks.” Georgia frowned, thinking about Buck. Her relationship with her father was a muddle of love and annoyance and irritation and the constant feeling that she was disappointing him just by being herself. It was easier to stay away, and so she had. She knew he loved her in his own way, but his disappointment sometimes drowned out his affection. It had never been easy between Buck and her. She scrutinized Star for a moment longer. Buck must be mistaken. Star looked calm, centered, and perfectly fine. Georgia picked up her mug to take a swallow of tea. As she did so, she saw something peculiar floating amid the mint and tarragon leaves. A sodden four-leaf clover.
