DEVIN SUDDENLY FOUND himself standing alone, amid a dozen students of various nationalities jammed together on the sofa or seated on large cushions on the floor. Conversation dried up as they recognized him. Turning around, he saw Rachel had stopped in the doorway with an anxious expression. “Something wrong?”

She smiled and moved forward. “For a moment I thought I’d left the oven on…but I didn’t.” She began making introductions.

As he did the rounds, Devin noticed everyone was wearing stickers starting with “Ask me about…” Trust the librarian to have an icebreaker. Shaking hands with a guy called Huang, he looked closer. Ask me about…

Growing up in Taiwan.

What it’s like to have to study in my second language.

Rodeo.

“You rodeo?”

Huang nodded. “When I first come here to learn English I live in Warkworth with rodeo family.”

Devin had friends in the business, and the two of them discussed barrel racing and bull riding for several minutes.

“And where is your sticker, Dev-an?” Huang inquired politely, and those within earshot laughed. The young man’s face reddened.

Talking to Mark nearby, Rachel glanced at Huang, then pulled a sticker pad and pen out of her apron, a white cotton bibbed thing covered with cherries. “I’m so sorry, Devin, I forgot.”

God, she was sweet. “No problem,” he said.

“Ask me about…” She tapped the pen against her teeth while she considered. Devin smothered a smile. Sex, drugs and rock and roll? Rehab? With her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail she looked only a few years older than these kids.

“Being famous,” suggested Trixie, and suddenly everyone was chiming in.

“How much money you’ve made.”

“Dating supermodels.”

“What it is like,” said Huang, “to live most people’s dream?”

“That’s a silly question,” said Trixie, “because there’s only one answer. Bloody fantastic.”

Everyone laughed.

“Okay, let’s go with that one,” said Devin. “You’re nineteen years old, Trixie, and a rock star-famous, rich, dating studs. Now what?”

She raised one pierced eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve got another fifty to sixty years to fill and you’ve got nothing left to wish for. What happens when the novelty wears off?”

Baby Goth shook her head. “Never going to happen.”

“Eat your favorite food for a week,” he said drily, “then tell me you don’t crave a change. Eventually it happens.”

There was silence as people digested that.

“But you’ve still got your music,” Huang ventured.

Devin turned to him. “And in the first rush of fame you’ve overcommitted to album contracts. So, yeah, you’re busy. Except your record company wants more of the kind of songs that made you famous. And you want to stay famous. Making music becomes a high-pressure business instead of a creative endeavor.”

“Then I’d forget about fame,” Mark said confidently, “and just write original music for my hard-core fan base. They’d keep buying.”

“But not in enough numbers to keep the money flowing in that you’ve been spending like water.”

“Then I’ll enjoy what I’ve already bought,” said Trixie. “The mansion and the boy toys.” She licked her lips lasciviously and the others laughed.

“Sorry, Baby Goth.” Devin shook his head. “The boy toys won’t hang around if you’re not famous. And how much money you’ve got left to play with depends on your manager and your business savvy-which has probably been addled by the drugs or alcohol you used to medicate the terror you feel at living the dream and not being happy.”

He became aware of the silence, the heaviness of the atmosphere. And he used to be the party guy. Then Rachel’s hand curled around his fist, encouraging him, and he intertwined his fingers with hers.

“Listen, I was too young when I got famous,” he said. “I didn’t know the Holy Grail doesn’t exist. But you guys are smarter.” They liked that; smiles dawned. He made his final point. “Just remember when you hit the big time in your chosen careers not to tie your identity to it. And leave something left to strive for.”

“Life’s meaning lies in the journey, not the destination,” said Huang.

“Confucius?” Devin asked.

“Cereal box,” said Huang.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“SO YOU WON’T EVEN EAT gravy?” Mark was asking Trixie as Rachel approached shyly with her own plate.

“Nope,” said Trixie, “Rach prepares it out of the drippings of little baby animals.” As she spoke she moved over to make room for her hostess on the couch. “Sit in the middle, Mark,” she added with a shudder. “I can’t look at carcasses.”

Used to Trixie’s theatrics, Rachel sat next to her son, who cast a longing glance at her roast lamb before scraping the gravy off his vegetables. But she knew not to interfere in affairs of the heart.

“There’s pavlova and ice cream for dessert,” she consoled him, and he visibly brightened.

Across the lounge, Devin perched on a stool, still swamped by students, and she was grateful. It was hard enough acting natural around Mark without Devin’s keen powers of observation making her nervous. Trixie noticed the direction of her gaze. “You do realize you’re going to be inundated with first-years once it gets out he’s been here?”

Rachel shrugged and turned to smile at her son. “I hope you’ll come again, too, Mark.”

“Sure,” he said, looking at Trixie.

Trixie opened her mouth, no doubt to tell him she was only here because her washing machine had broken down and she needed somewhere to do free laundry. Rachel cut her off. “So how are your studies going, Mark?” Maybe his cock-eyed plan was to give up school?

“Great. Got my first A on an assignment last week.” He finished his last roast potato and reluctantly speared a carrot.

“Do you know what you want to do with your degree yet?”

“Well, it’s kind of a backup if a career in music doesn’t go anywhere. It was a deal I made with my parents.” He pulled a face, but it might have been due to the carrot.

“How cool that you’ve got Devin as a mentor,” said Trixie.

“Yeah, but I’m trying not to take advantage of that, y’know? I think he’s had enough people using him in his life.”

Rachel felt a prickle of unease but dismissed it. Her relationship with Devin had moved beyond Mark. Yeah, and into a gray area. So she’d be more scrupulous about keeping a distinction.

“Have you and Devin done the wild thing yet?” said Trixie.

“That question’s really not appropriate.” Rachel concentrated on cutting her lamb.

“Why, because of Mark? I’m sure he knows the facts of life. He grew up on a farm.”

Cheeks burning, Rachel tried desperately to change the subject. “What kind of farm was that, Mark?”

It was his turn to look panicky. Puzzled, Rachel watched color creep up his cheeks, then the penny dropped and she came to the rescue. “Did I tell you about this study on dairy cows they did at Leicester University?”

Within thirty seconds, Trixie’s eyes glazed over and she stood up. “Run for cover,” she advised Mark. “It’s one of her Wikipedia anecdotes.”

When she was out of earshot, Rachel looked at Mark. “It’s a beef farm, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head. “But if Trixie finds out she’ll stop speaking to me…or beat me up.”

“It could be worse. Imagine what she’d be like with iron in her diet.” She met her son’s eyes and they burst out laughing.

DEVIN WAS GETTING recommendations on Pacific hip-hop artists from a Samoan student named Selei when the sound of Rachel’s laughter made him look across the room. He liked watching her laugh, liked the way it animated her face and made her eyes glow. She and Mark sat side by side sharing a joke, heads together like conspirators.

He was glad he’d had the idea of seeking her advice about…A preposterous idea entered his mind as he stared at them. Laughing, they had a striking similarity in the tilt of their chin and the way their eyes crinkled.