Page 59 of Touch the Sky

I watch him chat with Brooke out of the corner of my eye. They’re polite with each other, even sharing a couple casual jokes. If I didn’t have the dramatic back-story from Jacinthe, I’d never guess they were engaged a decade ago.

The emergency bread rolls I carried inside are being passed around in baskets by the time Jacinthe and her friends finally take their seats.

“There are no speeches,” Natalie assures us as we all hesitate to start eating. “We’re not that classy. Everybody, please, eat.”

I look around and realize both tables are in need of some direction. Before anyone can take a gentler approach, Jacinthe climbs up to stand on the seat of her chair.

“Jacinthe!” Gabrielle hisses, tugging on the hem of her blazer.

Jacinthe doesn’t heed the order to stop. Instead, she cups her hands around her mouth and bellows in French loud enough for the whole yard—and possibly the whole town—to hear.

“We’re here! We’re thankful! Now, let’s eat!”

That seems to do the trick. There’s a clatter of silverware as people begin digging into the pumpkin soup that’s joined the bread rolls as a first course.

Gabrielle hangs her head in shame over Jacinthe’s antics, but I give her an approving nod as she sits back down.

“Short and sweet,” I say. “I like it.”

Brooke gives Natalie a nudge with her elbow. “See! They are in sync.”

Jacinthe locks eyes with me, and even though I can feel the weight of everyone else watching us, I can’t make myself break her stare.

“Maybe that’s what happens when you live on the same farm,” I suggest.

Jacinthe nods like I’ve made a grand realization. “I bet Joaquin has us brainwashed.”

The rest of dinner goes down without a hitch. Much beer is consumed, but there are no additional fires. The main course is a typical spread of golden turkey, mashed root vegetables, and crispy stuffing, all of it served with pitchers of mouth-watering gravy and a thick cranberry sauce that’s the perfect blend of tart and sweet.

By the time dessert rolls out, I’m convinced I won’t be able to fit in another bite, but I somehow manage slices of both the apple pie and the pumpkin pie, with a side of whipped cream.

“You will have to roll me home,” Jacinthe announces, dropping her fork on her empty dessert plate and then leaning back in her chair to pat her stomach. “I do not think I can walk.”

“I am definitely in sync with you on that,” I tell her.

Maddie reaches over to clap her hand on Jacinthe’s shoulder. “Too bad, cuz. It’s your job to light the bonfire.”

“Sending me away from my own table,” she groans, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead in a pantomime of betrayal. “All alone. Out into the cold dark night.”

“Take your doppelganger with you,” Natalie offers, nodding at me.

I follow Jacinthe over to the fire pit, which is around the far side of the inn, out of flammable distance from the towering balsam firs that flank the house. A random assortment of benches and chairs have been dragged over to join the wooden stumps that serve as rustic seats around the large ring of stones.

The pit is already set up with the logs and kindling Jacinthe tells me she arranged before dinner. She digs around in her pocket, jangling the carabiner that pokes out from under her blazer, and produces a plastic lighter.

There’s not much for me to help with, so I settle onto one of the stumps and watch as she sets a few crumpled pieces of newspaper ablaze. The flames lick along the torn edges, rising higher and higher as they catch on some small twigs and begin flicking the undersides of the logs. The scent of smoke fills the air. The fire crackles, a few sparks popping in the dark.

“Good fire,” I say. “I’ve never learned how to do that. My dad was more of the just pour gas on it and call it a day kind of guy.”

Jacinthe grins as she claims one of the stumps for herself. “My dad said that’s cheating.”

We’re both quiet for a moment before I mumble, “You don’t talk about him much, do you?”

She shrugs. “There is nothing to say. He left. He’s amauditcoward who cheated on my mom and then didn’t bother to stick around for us. We’re better off without him.”

I fight not to raise my eyebrows.

“Well…that’s not nothing.”