Misplaced (73 page)

Behin
d
her
,
V
ictori
a
recognize
d
Celeste’
s
hoars
e
whisper.
“Khara’s been too sheltered for her own good. But
w
e
’
re going to fix
that, aren’t
w
e, cookie?”

“Our
j
o
b
is
to
help
her
get
h
om
e—that
’
s
it.
T
rying
to
c
hange her is a bad idea.”

Soo
n
after
w
ard
s
e
v
eryon
e
gathere
d
aroun
d
th
e
dinin
g
table.
Ignoring what
V
ictoria had just said, Celeste occupied herself with educating Khara, seating her next to her own place at the
fa
r
en
d
o
f
th
e
tabl
e
an
d
explainin
g
th
e
intricacie
s
o
f
flat
w
are
placement.

At last,
Victori
a
coul
d
concentrat
e
o
n
th
e
gree
n
sala
d
an
d
caramelized
onio
n
tar
t
o
n
he
r
plate
.
Th
e
firs
t
bit
e
o
f
th
e
cream
y
onio
n
mixture
mad
e
he
r
forge
t
e
v
erything.

“Isn’
t
Celest
e
amazing?
” a
wild-haire
d
ma
n
aske
d
a
s
he droppe
d
int
o
th
e
chai
r
nex
t
t
o
her
.
“I
f
a
meteo
r
w
a
s
o
n
its
w
ay
to
annihilate
earth,
I
’
d
spend
my
last
minutes
eating
one
o
f
he
r
dinners
.
I’
m
W
al
t
b
y
th
e
w
ay,
”
h
e
introduce
d
himself,
“
v
eterinarian and friend for more
y
ears than either of us
w
ants to admit. What brings you to the mountains and how do you know Celeste?”

“Nic
e
t
o
mee
t
you
;
I’
m
V
ictoria
.
Celeste’
s
niec
e
an
d
I
w
er
e
in
college
together.
She
suggested
I
show
Khara
the
high
country, so here
w
e are.”

“Celeste seems quite taken with her. Where’s she from?”

“Egypt.”

“Y
ou dro
v
e up from El
P
aso?”

“Last night.” His questions
w
ere distracting her from the food. “
Y
ou say
you
’
r
e
a
v
eterinarian?
”
sh
e
sho
t
back
,
leavin
g
th
e
talkin
g
t
o
him.
Hi
s
untame
d
sil
v
e
r
hair
,
squar
e
jaw
,
an
d
cragg
y
bro
w
ga
v
e
him
a
surl
y
appearanc
e
tha
t
w
a
s
gentle
d
b
y
th
e
calmnes
s
i
n
hi
s
e
y
es.
“I wouldn’t ha
v
e guessed it.”

W
al
t
glance
d
sheepishl
y
a
t
hi
s
jeans
,
whic
h
w
er
e
tucked
sloppily into cloddish boots, and straightened the leather
v
est embellished
with
flames
and
skulls.
“I
came
up
on
my
Harley.
Th
e
officia
l
reaso
n
fo
r
m
y
visi
t
i
s
t
o
chec
k
o
n
Shamrock
,
but
timing
house calls ad
v
antageously
becomes downright
critical
whe
n
you
’
r
e
a
n
ol
d
bachelor.
”
H
e
forke
d
onio
n
tar
t
int
o
his mout
h
an
d
chase
d
i
t
wit
h
a
n
entir
e
glas
s
o
f
chardonnay
.
He
leaned
closer
and
whispered,
“I
doubt
that
poor
dog
will
make it
to
winter,
and
I
worry
how
Cele
s
te
is
going
to
han
d
le
it
when she
finally
goes.
It
pains
me
to
see
those
two
shuffling
back
and forth.”

“The
y
see
m
t
o
d
o
al
l
right,
”
V
ictori
a
contende
d
and
,
bet
w
een
bites, added, “I’m trying to figure
out how she manages it all.”

“He
r
bod
y
i
s
crumbling,
”
W
al
t
state
d
f
latl
y
an
d
clinically,
belying
the
ache
in
his
heart.
“
All
that
standing
in
the
kitchen
jus
t
make
s
i
t
worse
.
E
v
e
n
wit
h
Lila’
s
help
,
sh
e
doe
s
fa
r
too
much for someone in her condition.”

“I
had
no
idea
it
w
as
that
bad,”
V
ictoria
admitted,
putting
her fork down. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“Nobody said life
w
as fair.”

“No, but she deser
v
es better.”

W
alt
smiled
and
began
eating
as
if
there
w
ere
no
tomorrow
and
drinking
more
than
he
ate.
He
excused
himself
by
the
time
the ice cream
w
as ser
v
ed and
V
ictoria suspected that he had found a
comfortabl
e
corne
r
an
d
falle
n
asleep
,
an
d
w
a
s
somewhat
grateful
for
his
absence
because
it
afforded
her
the
opportunity to
w
atch the others.

Celest
e
cackle
d
whil
e
enlightenin
g
he
r
guest
s
abou
t
the
e
v
ent
s
o
f
th
e
day
.
Emma
,
th
e
Ferrari-drivin
g
cat
,
couldn’
t
be
bothere
d
t
o
lear
n
abou
t
tw
o
youn
g
wome
n
occupyin
g
th
e
cabin.
Celes
t
e
ha
d
insis
t
e
d
t
ha
t
sh
e
b
e
mor
e
poli
t
e
,
t
o
whic
h
Emma
had
retorted,
Polite
to
whom?
Honestly,
I
don’t
know
which
women
you
’
re talking about.