I draped the tablecloth over the stand. La Patisserie Dans La Lune was painted splendidly in acrylic. Emmanuel finished setting up the stand with the tarts and trays of chocolate with fruit. On the side there were caramelized and sugared fruit candy. Emmanuel had joked that at the town's Farmer's Market we should try to get a little healthy. The morning left us with ample time before the market opened. I'd painted the shop's little logo on each box, and even a pattern of the fall-themed sweets we offered this time of year. I placed the assorted sweets into a paper box. After ensuring that our art supplies were all accounted for, I smoothened down my blue apron, stretched my cramped neck, and sighed. Painting was therapeutic, but I had underestimated how intense it would be. And to go all that way to paint the stars, moon, and constellations, only to flip it over and redo it in the aesthetic that fitted Hannah's bakery. My painting skills needed work. I certainly would have appreciated Vihan's assistance.

Still, he didn't come. The cool October sun made its slow arch over the sky. Fortunately I had the sense of wearing a proper jacket, though the fur-lined inside made me feel too comfortably warm, like a blanket in bed. The shadows of the bare tree branches stretched and receded on the cobblestone walkway. Other vendors came to set up their stalls. Soon customers would be trickling in.

We had a full hour before the Market opened. I glanced at Emmanuel. He gave the slightest shake of his head. "Not surprising, but was it too much to tell us in advance?"

"I'm sorry," I murmured.

Emmanuel looked around in exasperation. "Where did he go? He has to understand that he can't disappear without telling me."

Hannah stopped by in her fall jacket, short of breath. "Hey. Danielle is wondering...Oh, that looks absolutely gorgeous!"

"Thank you." I ran my fingers on the uneven, star-speckled cloth, comparing the minimalist style to the vivid masterpiece I had in mind. Allison's style was hard to imitate. "It took me a couple tries to get it right."

"Is something wrong? Where's Vihan?"

She took our silence as an answer. She deflated, switching the shopping bags in her hands. "I'm sure he'll come."

"Give me a minute," Emmanuel sighed.

He wandered towards the nearby park, dialing his phone.

Hannah said, "If I knew this would happen, I wouldn't have left this to you. You're busy tomorrow too, right? With your company and the new Timberline library? You're not as excited about it. Maybe you should take a break."

I've nearly forgotten about it. No, actually. I had been hard at work, getting in the final touches while handling communications with the other department managers. They were already thinking about the next project on the line. That was what I should do. The future was more predictable than the past.

"You're rambling, Hannah. It's okay." I forced a light smile, tilting my head to the breeze. The faux fur lining of my jacket ticked my chin. "I need the distraction."

Hannah wrestled with my lie. She stepped closer. "Do you want to talk more?"

I hadn't seen Hannah in person lately. To be fair, Hannah went to great lengths to ask me, every day, how I was feeling. We conversed regularly by phone. As of lately she seemed extremely occupied. She'd reassured me that it concerned her own affairs. That was a sort of relief. Hannah would drop everything at the minute if I wanted to talk to her in person.

But now she looked close to crying. Whatever for?

I opened my arms like an uncertain fledgling. She dropped her shopping bags and gave me a tight hug. I barely felt it. She smelled of French things. A glittering country far, far away.

"You don't need to feel sorry for me," I murmured into her jacket.

No sooner had the words escaped that my chest convulsed with leftover tears I thought I'd shed the night before. When would thinking of them, despite the fact I owed them nothing, ever stop? Waking hours were made of sunlight and bliss, and then the slightest shadow would stop me in my tracks and make me reconsider my position in the world. 

She pulled back. "Then talk to me," she pleaded. "I should have known not to pressure you into doing this. You knew your parents best. I was only trying to help. Whatever happened, Nora, you are and will always be my dearest friend."

What was left to say? My family was broken. Mom and Dad had fundamentally remained the same parents I'd run away from. My second chances have run out. That bridge was burnt.

But it was only now that I realized how few of those bridges were left, swaying in the breeze, wood creaking with age. The slightest gust and they would splinter. Perhaps that was why my visions were fragmented rather than whole. They were sending me a message. A warning that this was the inevitable.

"Don't let them get to you," Hannah said suddenly. Rare anger flared in her eyes. "Your mother is horrible. And I don't know about your father, but...."

Just as quickly Hannah ran out of steam. Her eyes became pensive. Both of us wondered about the kernel of truth in my father's words. But both of us believed in a different answer.

Flashing lights, tickets and arcade tokens stashed in a jewelry box.

Mud-caked hiking boots.

Toronto from above, looking down, as the crowd led me away from the city called home.

"I've been thinking a lot. Remembering the few good things that happened between my father and myself," I heard myself say. "There's barely anything to salvage. How is it that when I left home, it felt like my father left me instead?"

It was a dirty trick to play on Hannah. But if she refused to be direct, then why should I be? Her lack of French souvenirs was the first thing that had tipped me off. But it was like Hannah didn't know whether to leave or stay, choose X or Y, support me or challenge my resentment towards my family.

"You have shadows under your eyes," she said worriedly. "Have you been sleeping?"

My gaze strayed to her shopping bags, where an assortment of colourful dollar-store supplies peeked out. Then, there was movement in the corner of my eye. Emmanuel was coming back. No Vihan in sight.

I sighed. "I try. You said you were busy today, right? We can talk later. My thoughts are overwhelmed and I need...I need to paint," I said stupidly, waving my hand at the completed banner.

"If you say so." Hannah held her hands in front of her like she didn't know what to do with them. "Do take care of yourself, Nora. I mean it. And I'm not busy, I promise. Some family friends are getting married all at the same time. It's exciting news, and—" She stopped herself. I envied the gentle smile that came so easily to her. "Nora, I'm always here to talk. I'll do whatever it takes to stay."

For a moment the world fell beneath me. Just for a moment.

"The same goes to you," I told her. "What did Danielle want to know?"

Hannah brightened, briefly. "It's for a surprise. A good one, I hope. You're terribly perceptive, but since you asked, what's your opinion on roller coasters?"

"Go for it." I shrugged. "I've been to Canada's Wonderland. Roller coasters are love-it-or-hate-it. Why, is this for her cousins?" I thought I remembered her talking about Noelle and Nick at one time.

"And herself, too. Apparently she's never been on one."

I smiled faintly. "I think it would be right up her alley."

Seemingly disappointed with my answer, Hannah excused herself. She disappeared around the corner. I couldn't help but think when it'd be the last time I'd see her.

She must have sensed the hostility behind my words. I didn't want to assume that I knew more than I did. But once again, the possibility of her moving back to France—permanently—ran my throat dry.

Emmnauel had silently returned to our stall. He drew up two folding chairs, and I nodded in thanks. We sat. I crossed my legs, then uncrossed them, then settled with leaning back. Sleep drifted at the edges of my thoughts. He rested his chin on his hand. Behind the curtain of his dreadlocks, he held his tongue in one cheek as he pondered.

"You know what's up with my son?" Emmanuel asked, crossing his arms.

Promises were promises. On the other hand, Emmnauel was having none of it. Reluctantly, I said, "We talked a little. He said sometimes he wanted to get out of the house, so I didn't press further."

"That's the most direct you can get with him," he grumbled, running his hand through his dreadlocks. "Either he shuts down or he's blowing a fuse. I can't keep up with his mood swings."

I knew Emmanuel less than I'd like to admit. But I refused to believe that he was anything close to how my parents were. At least Emmanuel cared and was trying to do something. Perhaps painting wasn't within Vihan's interests like his dad thought. I'd be hard-pressed to not be frustrated, but it must be harder to feel nothing.

What about Dad? I scoffed at the thought. What did he do? Did he think a few words would convince me? Make up for the years of silence?

If anything, he had helped me see the clearer picture. Or the lack of one: an empty family frame.

Emmanuel was looking at me strangely.

"My scoff wasn't meant for you," I sighed.

"Family problems?"

"How did you guess?"

"Family members have a way of digging up a certain look," he replied. His finger circled his face, and he did a quick imitation of what I felt: the slightest detail of gritted teeth, creased brow, deflated shoulders and flinty eyes. His facial features returned to neutrality, then fell. "Not Vihan or Oni. Not all the time. But blood ties mean you know how to push each other's buttons."

"Too true. Or, they are oblivious. Dead to the world, like they couldn't be bothered to think of anyone else," I said slowly, my eyes closing briefly. Apparently four hours of sleep was not sufficient anymore.

"Hah, now that would be nice."

I tilted my head. "Really? Silence is destructive."

"I would challenge that."

"But it is!" I insisted. With the memories fresh in my mind—quite literally, though I regretted Unlocking my own key—they weighed like stones in my stomach. My vehemence dissipated into fatigue. "If you don't mind me talking about something personal. My father. He was practically invisible. I wish I remember more of him, and what he likes, but the most I know comes from—from sleuthing around the house, because my parents weren't people to be trusted. Where my dad should be, there was my mom, and I know so much about her hurts. Not in a sentimental way," I finished.

Emmanuel looked at me as if I was breathing fire. "Sleuthing. Like, sneaking around?"

A grin crept up my face, though it was no laughing matter. "I'm serious."

"I know. I believe you."

The words didn't quite fit in my brain, like beautiful but oddly shaped puzzle pieces.

Emmanuel put his head in his hands. "It's taking everything in me not to ground Vihan. I wanted to give a better life for Vihan. Have him feel safe and accepted at home for who he is, while giving him the opportunities to do whatever he wants. It's why I moved here. We wouldn't have had the resources otherwise to get Oni back on his feet. But that's like a half-baked excuse."

I absorbed it all in. "You're trying your best. You tried to invite him here. It's something."

"You know what's ironic?"

"That...Vihan doesn't really like crowds?" I guessed. "He seems more of the shy type, which in hindsight, is probably why he skipped coming here..."

Emmanuel sighed. "And neither is he a fan of baking, it seemed. I'm not even sure what I'll do when I'm busier, but he'll have Oni. He was in the rehabilitation center while I took shorter shifts at the shop, so I could be there for Vihan. But Vihan and Oni just click, you know?"

"There should be other options," I insisted. "Don't give up. And communication is key. Speaking from personal experience, it might be better to tell your thoughts, and then...."

He glanced up at me, unconvinced. "All right."

What options did I have?

Try to reconcile with Dad. Don't throw away the house. Risk diving into the same problems I'd run away from. Do the right thing.

Or leave it as it was. Give everyone, including me, what they wanted: No problems. No complicated, unnecessary details. Just accept it and move on.

I reached out to the tablecloth covering our stall. Through the white fabric, my fingers picked up little ridges and humps of the nonsensical brushstrokes I'd painted on the reverse side. Imitating Allison's vibrant, almost surrealistic style was an artistic disaster. It obviously didn't fit the confectionary's image. I hadn't known what I was doing, and ended up wasting a copious amount of paint. I wanted to paint something that I could call my own. Not just a company logo, or some words. Not the visions that refused to disappear from the back of my mind, like dried sticky tack. Just...something that would make me feel better. And less tired, hopefully. The painting was incomplete.

"You can keep the tablecloth if you want," Emmanuel offered. "It was a good painting. I'm not the best with symbolic stuff, but it makes you think."

"Thank you," I said gratefully. The unexpected rush of relief flowed through me, colouring the rest of the painting I had in my mind's eye.

The Farmer's Market was ready to open, but past experience told me that customers came in waves, rather than a steady stream. Painting could alleviate those pockets of spare time. I borrowed a pair of scissors from Emmanuel. He watched me cut the tablecloth in half—one half with the neatly painted stars, and the other my work-in-progress. I re-draped it over the stall, then slowly, carefully, I spread my incomplete painting on the grass.

My heartbeat sped up. It was like revealing my greatest secrets, lies and shame to someone I thought of as an acquaintance. But I had to show it to someone, so it would feel real to myself. Showing it to Hannah, I feared, would dilute her own ambitions with guilt for her friend. But Emmanuel couldn't see the strings attached.

He reached for a couple piping tubes, filled them with cream, and screwed the lids on. Pointing with his shoe, he said, "The stars look like coins. And here, the night sky's divided into different shaded patches, like a quilt. What's up with the moon?"

"Not a moon anymore," I said. "It's going to be a key." He had a good eye. The stars did look like coins. I meshed what I had in front of me with what I imagined. I'd paint the silhouettes of people on them, and connect the stars as a web of constellations. The outline of puzzle pieces would dissolve into the swirling Aurora borealis of the night sky. And in the center, the incomplete moon would become a silver key, like a quaint inverse of reality.

"Nice."

I watched as Emmanuel drizzled some mango truffles. His fingers worked nimbly, expertly. A humble smile formed on his lips. Hannah's confectionery was in good hands. Emmanuel could really run the business by himself. He gave me a glance. "Must be an exhausting week. You can sit back if you want."

"No, I'm happy to help." I returned my house key to my pocket. Stars against a winter sky faded into the October present.

As customers came, Emmanuel and I switched handling the cash register. I insisted on doing my fair share, even as I incorrectly counted the change. Eventually he had me package the requested sweets. My mind felt like it was wrapped in cotton the entire time. Painting sharped my thoughts somewhat, but then it was too painful to think of Dad and Allison and the house. Two more weeks? Maybe one more. I needed sleep.

A piano score floated through the air. I thought it was one of the other vendors playing music. It was very faint—until I rummaged through the bag of art supplies, and found Emmanuel's vibrating phone at the bottom. "Vihan" was on the display screen.

My hand felt significantly emptier after I handed Emmanuel his phone with a smile.

—

To "celebrate" passing my final exams for grade nine, Mom arranged a family dinner at a decent restaurant. I had assumed Dad would thaw out by now, but like me, he couldn't stand being near Mom after I told him what I knew from my visions. Mom seemed oblivious. Cheerful, even, as she exchanged casual commentary of the food with Grandpa.

Smug satisfaction mixed with uncertainty. The food was bland compared to Mom's cooking.

"Is the dipping any good?" Mom asked.

"It's missing texture," I replied, "Like the sauce you usually make."

"Next time I'll teach you."

I nodded tentatively. Either an argument or my disinterest would get in the way of that soon.

A waiter passed by, and Mom's features slackened into that of an appreciative customer. The waiter puffed up with pride.

Grandpa nudged me. "Look at that," he said, pointing out the window. "By the time we get out of here, we'll be knee deep in snow."

"Isn't Scotland like this too?" I frowned.

He winked. "Worse. There, winter seeps into your very bones. Which is why you should go sledding! Enjoy it while the sun shines, eh?"

"Mmm."

"Your Grandpa used to take me to the hilltops near our home," Mom said wistfully. "It could be awfully windy but it made you feel like you're on top of the world."

Grandpa grunted, and I stiffened. "Not like with all these buildings. Small and crowded. Ah, my soup is ready! Let's try this."

Bafflingly, the two settled in a comfortable exchange. I poked at my plate. Who knew how long we would stay here. I slid my hand into my pocket, where I kept my key. It brought back memories of lunchtime with R. Cafeteria noise sounded better than the holiday jazz playing from the restaurant speakers.

Dad would come, right? He wasn't angry at Mom, otherwise he wouldn't have brought me out to the nature reserve for stargazing. We finally had something to do together. Even if we spoke little. Even if stars weren't pretty like roses and marigolds. They were too far away. Keeping it a secret makes those nights less real if I didn't Unlock those memories before sleeping. But it was a trade-off; Dad disappeared if you stayed with him for too long. I hoped he wasn't angry. At Mom or me. What if Mom noticed?

But she didn't ask about Dad once. He didn't come that night, nor for the next few dinners. And by then it had bubbled over into a disaster.