Star Shack

  He shrugs. “Honestly, I have no idea. She texted me saying that she was going home. I haven’t heard from her since—”

  “Yankees fan?” Grandma Hillary interrupts, wrapping an arm around each of us. “Did I hear you right, Pete? I know I’ll see you in a Yanks jersey yet.”

  Pete grins. “We missed you this summer.”

  “Well, we saw some beautiful things, but I tell you, there’s no place like Gingerbread,” she says. “Now who wants to place some bets on the upcoming World Series?”

  ***

  After the presents are opened, after Jed and Daisy lead a truly awful operatic version of “Happy Birthday,” and after everyone hangs out and eats cake, people begin to trickle out. Soon just Pete and my family are left.

  “Time to start cleaning,” Pete says.

  “No, you’re the birthday kids,” Grandma Hillary says. “You go have fun. Let us do the cleaning.”

  We protest but they insist, so Pete grabs our jackets, takes my hand, and leads me to the beach. The rain has turned into a soft mist.

  “That was the best birthday ever,” I tell Pete, giving him a squeeze with the arm I have wrapped around his waist. “Thank you.” The sand is wet under our feet, and waves spill gently onto the shore. It’s the perfect Gingerbread evening.

  “Thank you for putting up with me this summer,” he says.

  “Well, it wasn’t easy…”

  “I know,” he says, kissing me on top of my head. “So I got you two birthday presents to help make up for it.” He reached into his jacket and pulls out an envelope and a flat package wrapped in red paper.

  “They’d better be good if you’re going to make up for Sarah,” I joke.

  “Just remember you were the one who had us start the Star Shack,” he says.

  “But that was kind of fun,” I say. “And look how many people we helped with our readings. You are a natural. You know that, right?”

  “True, true,” he says, and I can tell from his cocky tone that he’s only half-joking. “But I don’t know if I really buy the whole astrology thing in the end. I mean, the stars say we’re not compatible.”

  “Sometimes the stars are wrong,” I say, watching a sea gull dive under the water after a fish. “Dead wrong. Honestly, I think I’m done with astrology. I’m ready to let the future come and surprise me.”

  “I’m with you on that,” Pete says. “So are you going to open your presents?”

  I open up the envelope, and a bunch of tickets fall into my hands.

  “Bus tickets from Albany to Mount Snow,” he tells me. “I had to spend that Star Shack money on something, so I got the expensive express tickets.”

  I hug him. “Perfect,” I say. And then I turn my attention to the second gift. I rip open the paper and then open the photograph box. Inside is a picture of us at thirteen that Grandma Hillary took. We’re standing in front of Laser Tag Larry’s. Pete’s arm is slung over my shoulder, and we are grinning into each other’s eyes, totally unaware of the camera or the people walking by. We are just looking at each other like we’ve found everything that ever mattered. Because, really, we had.

  about the author

  When not writing, Lila Castle can be found dancing the tango somewhere in her home city of New York or eating out at her favorite French bistro. She has a number of other interests too, including travel, baseball, exotic hair care products, and of course, astrology.