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“Whaaaat? It’s so boring around these parts, Cee. Come on, give me something. I need details.”
I cocked my head to the side, assessing her. “Aren’t you twelve?”
Austy made a choking noise, drawing herself up to her full height, which really wasn’t that much. “I’m eighteen, thank you very much. And you knew that ’cause you were at my birthday a few months ago. Now stop stalling and give me some juice. I need something to get me through the day.”
“No,” I said in my most adult voice in hopes that she’d drop it.
“Okay, so if you won’t tell me then I’ll have to list all the single people I know so I can guess who gave you that sick hickey.”
“Please don’t...”
I could only shake my head as she rattled off names of all the eligible women in a ten-mile radius.
“Okay,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I give up. For now. You sure know how to keep a secret. But maybe you should bring her to the Solstice Feast, you know, if it’s official.”
Although it was still a few weeks away, the Solstice Feast was a big deal on our Star. It involved all five settlements in what I could only describe as a loud and boisterous affair. Locally made wine and spirits would overflow and we’d get to meet people who lived in the rural outskirts. Needless to say, many matches were usually made during this Feast, which is why all unmated people tended to place great emphasis on this event.
It was also why there was a specific season for pregnancies on our Star.
After Riane left, I’d still attended Solstice Feasts on my own. That first year, there had been stares, and whispers, all of which reached my ears clear as day. Being a smaller community had its perks in terms of camaraderie and support, but it was also a breeding ground for gossip. And since there wasn’t much to gossip about usually, the news of Riane leaving me penniless and alone had spread like wildfire.
I felt a pang in my chest as I remembered walking through the Feast that first year.
My hand wandered to my chest as though I could rub that pain away.
“You all right?” Austy asked, her face a mask of concern.
“Yes, yes. Don’t worry about me, Austy.”
“That’s easy for you to say—actually, you always say that, ‘Don’t worry about me.’ But you know we still worry about you, right? These past few years have been hell. But there’s something different about you today. I coulda sworn you were smiling when I pulled up.”
I almost smiled again, thinking of Twyla tackling me with her morning breath.
“There it is!” Austy moved closer to me, peering into my face. “There’s a twinkle in your eye. You look happy.”
“I am,” I said, surprising myself. Austy and I stared at each other for a heartbeat before she threw her arms around me in a tight bear hug. I almost stepped back. In all the years I’d known her, Austy had never once hugged me. The closest we’d come is when I’d given her a handshake on her birthday.
“So happy for you,” she grunted against my shoulder. “You deserve so much happiness, Cee.”
“Well, um, thanks.”
She pulled back. “It’s just...we were worried about you for years. So it’s good to see you, you know...”
“I get it.” Damn, had I really been so obviously unhappy to these people? The answer was probably yes. I knew I’d become somewhat of a recluse, only showing my face for major events, and then only if someone had pestered me to attend.
“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject. “Dad gave me some credits to add to the panel fund.”
She opened the side pocket of the solar cart and extracted a credit note. I accepted it with thanks and put it in my pocket. It was just a small amount when compared to the half a million credits we needed to replace the century-old solar panel, but every little bit counted. At this rate, we’d probably be able to draw up enough funds to get a brand-new panel by the end of next year.
As the canister continued filling, Austy chatted about a dance she’d been to last weekend in the community square. She caught me up on the gossip—who was dating who, what was going on with the town square project—until the milk flow slowed to a trickle.
“All righty,” she said, disengaging the pipe. “I’ll see you tomorrow, same time. Think your rash will be gone by then?” she added with a wink.
“Go home,” I said, nonplussed.
Her laughter followed me into the barn.
When I made my way back to the farmhouse a little earlier than usual that day, voices in the backyard slowed my steps.
