Authors: Sharon Struth
After class, Bernadette had probed Veronica about why she’d left so fast and what symptoms made her sick. Bernadette’s “bat-like” radar was an asset in her job as an attorney but could be hell for her friends.
“Not really. Just him.”
“So, what gives with you and our self-defense instructor? Looks like you got a little extra dose of TLC at class the other night.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Bernadette lifted a pitcher of cosmopolitans from the counter and filled the first of four glasses. “I think we need to start these, help loosen up our locked-lipped librarian friend and find out what’s really going on.”
* * * *
“I had lunch with Cliff today, Sophie’s old boss. We set up a few ads for the tasting room opening, and he’s sending a reporter over to write up a special interest piece on the farm.”
Duncan glanced away from the three TV’s mounted high above the bar area at Griswold’s, and raised a brow. “How do you know Cliff?”
“We met at Sophie’s birthday party.” Trent returned his attention to the Yankee game, opting to leave out his second meeting with Cliff, at the AA meeting in New Scotland. He had no idea if Duncan knew anything about the newspaper editor’s past drinking issues, but it wasn’t Trent’s place to share.
Trent sipped the non-alcoholic beer, barely satisfying old urges for the real stuff. Duncan had offered to do something else tonight, like a movie or bowling, but Trent wanted to see the game since his TV hadn’t been hooked up yet. Baseball would take his mind off Veronica, whose odd reaction in the self-defense class still bothered him. Probably more than it should. Even tonight, at their chance meeting at Duncan’s house, her distant demeanor seemed to serve as a shield.
On the surface, she was the type of woman he might pass right by. Not that she wasn’t gorgeous. She carried herself with the manner of royalty, a true class act. The women he usually met at the clubs were different. They screamed for attention with their obvious cleavage and clingy clothes, not that he was complaining. He got a sense Veronica wasn’t big on adventure, just a pretty lady who lived in a small town and liked books enough to make them her job.
Tonight when he’d walked in, she’d watched him with her dark, demanding gaze. The unforgettable stolen kiss replayed, stealing a wisp of his breath.
The Yankee’s pitcher walked a runner, and Duncan moaned, snapping Trent from his trance. The game cut away to a commercial.
Duncan motioned to the bartender and ordered some wings. He turned to Trent. “Jay’s glad you’re at the farm.”
Trent sipped his beer, wiped some foam on his upper lip. “I’ve already learned a lot from him.”
Duncan swirled his pilsner glass. “So what’s up with you and Ronnie?”
“What do you mean?”
“The nickname and…” Duncan maintained his vigil on the TV for a few long seconds, then looked at Trent. “I noticed you two dancing at Sophie’s party. Surprised me a little. I mean, since you’d arrived with a date.”
Trent shrugged. “I wanted to make sure we were okay after getting stuck in the elevator.” He wasn’t about to tell him that he’d kissed her by mistake. “Besides, Angie and I are keeping things casual. To be blunt, she’s nice but not the stuff dreams are made of.”
Duncan nodded. “Those types are few and far between.” There was a long pause, and then Duncan asked, “Heard from Gemma lately?”
“Just once, about six months ago. She’s a mess. I hate what her addiction is doing to her, but it makes me thankful I’m not into that stuff anymore.”
“Me, too.”
Their eyes met and Duncan offered a closed lip smile, one filling Trent with gratitude for his brother’s intervention and help with his recovery.
“Ronnie’s in my self-defense class,” said Trent.
“Hmmm, tough to picture her doing karate.”
“This isn’t full-fledged martial arts. Just moves every woman should know. An attack of any kind can be life changing, especially a sexual assault. Sophie should take this class next time.”
Duncan frowned. “I never really thought about it.”
Trent hadn’t either until Gemma had shared the story about her own sexual abuse at the hands of her foster dad. “Sexual abuse was one of Gemma’s issues to bear throughout her life. Probably didn’t help with her addiction issue.”
“No, probably not. You did your best to help her, Trent.”
“Did I? I’m never sure. I’ve been thinking about that year a lot lately.”
“Why lately?”
Trent considered the unconventional nature of his relationship with Etta, one of the first times in his life someone had opened the door and accepted his help or advice. Duncan might not understand, but often surprised him as of late. “This may sound crazy, but I’ve met someone who’s been making me think about what I had with Gemma.”
“Crazy? No crazier than me selling RGI to the first bidder who came along and buying my fiancée a herd of goats.” He smiled. “Nothing is crazy to me anymore.”
Trent sipped his drink and sought the right words. “Did I tell you I started a music blog?”
Duncan shook his head.
“I’ve become friends with a woman who posts on the blog. We’ve grown close and talk through e-mail. Lately that talk has become more personal.”
“How do you meet someone on a blog?”
“She left a comment on a post I wrote one day. Soon she became a regular commenter. I found myself looking forward to her return.” Trent explained how his request for help with lyrics led to an e-mail address exchange. “We’ve been writing on and off for about six months now.”
“Wait?” Duncan’s brows scrunched together. “You all did this over the computer?”
Trent leaned his elbows on the bar top and turned sideways to look at Duncan. “You understand how they work, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, smart ass. What’s her name?”
“Here’s where things gets weird. She asked if we could stay anonymous and not share details about where we lived. I agreed.”
“What do you call her then?”
“Her e-mail address has the name Musetta, French for a song. I call her Etta.”
“What does she call you?”
Trent hadn’t thought this through, and now the questions were more personal. “My blog is called Eclectic Expressions in Music and I go by Ry, after a famous guitarist, Ryland Cooder.”
“Who?”
“Only one of the best guitarist of all time. Remember my guitar teacher, the one who was like a mentor to me?”
Duncan shrugged one of his shoulders. “Not really.”
“Well, he nicknamed me after that guitarist, so Ry sounded like a good fake name to use on the blog.”
Duncan rubbed his chin with his hand. “Don’t you wonder about her? She could be married.” He raised a brow. “Or not even a woman.”
“Sure I do. Look, everything we talk about is squeaky clean. Even if she’s married—or a man, which I doubt—I really enjoy our conversations.” The ease of their exchanges and depth of their talks were so reminiscent of when he’d first met Gemma. “Etta’s made me see how women like Angie are nice, but don’t have any staying power.”
The buffalo wings arrived. Duncan pulled a few napkins from a dispenser and stayed strangely silent. Pushing a napkin toward Trent, he said, “Far be it from me to judge. If meeting someone online has shown you what’s missing with your current dating life, who am I to say anything negative.” A grinned slipped across his lips. “You know, Ronnie likes music. She sings in a choral group.” He chuckled. “Maybe she’s read your blog?”
The click of a batter striking the ball made them both quickly turn to the television, but Duncan’s last words played in Trent’s head. Veronica’s singing voice at the party had left him humbled, the sweet sound of each note like silk unwinding from a spool and wrapping around his entire body. He remembered Etta talking about her solo in a choral group, but lots of people sang in choruses. Both women now took a self-defense class, Etta at Trent’s urging. So what? Lots of women took those classes.
Veronica had been so distant in class—a reluctant participator in the session. Not at all like Etta, who wished to turn over a new leaf. And yet, even Etta had confessed to Trent she’d been uneasy in class, something he hadn’t stopped to consider when suggesting the option. He’d advised her to tell the instructor.
Veronica’s unease might be similar to Etta’s. Could they be…?
He flagged down the waiter, ordered another non-alcoholic beer, and turned to Duncan. “Has Veronica ever been married?”
Duncan tackled a wing and licked some dripping sauce off his finger. “I don’t think so.”
“What about a serious relationship?”
Duncan reached for another napkin. “Sophie once told me Ronnie was real serious with a guy when she went to grad school. Everyone thought they’d get married. When it ended, she returned to town a changed woman. Guess she took the breakup hard.”
“That’s too bad. Where’d she go to college?”
Duncan paused with a wing just outside his lips. “Not sure about undergrad, but she dated that guy when she lived in Boston.” He grinned. “See, I do listen to Sophie. She says I don’t.”
Trent chuckled, but his real thoughts drifted to Veronica. Maybe there was a way he could get a little information out of Etta and try to piece this together on his own, before he made a total fool of himself with Veronica.
Trent filed the little bit of knowledge, not entirely sure how to approach Etta to find out if she might be Veronica, even though it was a long shot. If Etta wasn’t, maybe she could help him figure out how to help Veronica gain confidence and tackle the class lessons…get the most from what he could teach her, in case she ever needed it in the future.
* * * *
“I can’t believe we’re still discussing this.” Veronica took a sip from her second cosmopolitan, the alcohol doing little to soften her building anger at Bernadette.
Bernadette shrugged. “I’m just saying, watching you and Trent dance at Sophie’s party, I’m wondering what went on in that elevator.”
“Nothing! Dear God, do you think I’d…
you know
…with a stranger, on an elevator?”
“I don’t know. A nice looking guy can make a woman do crazy things. Plus, he seemed pretty chummy with you on the dance floor.”
“I’d love a man to hold me that way,” Meg said, her mouth bowing into a wistful frown. “Was Jim jealous?”
“Jealous of what? Didn’t you notice Trent’s R-rated date and their X-rated touching?”
Bernadette groaned. “Geesh, Ronnie. You’re such a prude. I wish Dave was a little more hands on sometimes.”
Sophie reached for another slice of pizza and frowned. “Thanks for that image of my minister, Bern. Besides, your husband adores you. All that touchy-feely stuff happens when you first start out but disappears over time.”
“Sophie’s right.” Meg nodded. “When we first started dating, Roy was all over me. Marriage changed everything.”
Bernadette turned her attention back to Veronica. “Let’s get back to you and Trent. In class—”
“There is no me and Trent.”
“When you left the gym during our floor exercises, he watched you leave.”
“So, maybe he wondered where I was going?”
“He seemed worried. While he showed us what to do, he kept glancing at the door, and once we got started, he left the gym.”
“Yes, and I spoke to him on my way back in. He asked if I was uncomfortable with anything in the class. A fair question.”
“Were you?”
“Yes. No! I didn’t feel great. Plus, I’m not the type to scream or push people around, and I told him so. Don’t forget, Cassidy is the reason I’m there.”
Bernadette moved a long fork speared with a cube of cheesy bread toward her mouth. “It doesn’t explain your dirty dancing exhibition.”
“You’d better watch that movie again. I danced the same way I do with Jim.”
Bernadette lowered the uneaten food and laughed, a sarcastic little snort. “Denial. It ain’t just a river in Egypt.”
Veronica inhaled an exasperated breath. She clenched her fist and banged it on the table. “God, Bernadette! Do you always have to cross-examine people?”
“What?” Bernadette frowned. “I’m teasing.”
“No. You’re not. As always, you go a few steps too far.”
Bernadette touched Veronica’s arm, her voice softened. “I’m sorry, hon. You’re right. Please forgive me.”
Veronica shifted away, clenched her jaw tight, and focused her attention on the fondue pot in the center of the table. Lately, her emotions seemed to be slipping away from her at every turn.
“Oh, come on, Ronnie.” Meg’s sad voice made her glance up. “Don’t stay mad. Bernadette offered you an olive.”
“An olive?” The seams of Veronica’s anger cracked and she stifled a laugh. “Did you mean an olive branch? Like to make an offer of peace?”
“An olive
branch
?” Meg’s face scrunched as she processed the expression for a few seconds, and then she giggled. “Oh, that makes more sense.”
While Veronica laughed along with Meg, she considered how maybe she’d better get her emotions in check. The truth might be the only way to put this to rest, even a modified version.
She touched Bernadette’s arm. “Apology accepted.” She sat back in the chair. “Guess I am a little touchy. There is more to my story with Trent. He asked me to dance to apologize.”
All eyes veered her way, and Sophie rolled her hand. “For…?”
“From behind, I seem to resemble his girlfriend. I got to the club early. When he passed the bar, he thought I was her.” She paused, searched for a delicate way to tell them a modified version of the episode. “He came up behind me and put his arms around me, before he realized his mistake. I’m wondering if at class, he thought I was still upset with him after that awkward moment.”
“Put his arms around you? Woo-hoo.” Meg crooned, a little too starry-eyed over Trent since his return to Northbridge. “Like how?”
“A quick slip around the waist.”
“That’s all?” Sophie paused as she speared a piece of broccoli from the platter with a fondue fork, her dark brown eyes wide and skeptical.
She sighed. “He gave me a little kiss.”
“A kiss?” Meg said, her tone hushed. “Aw, come on. Why couldn’t it have been me?”
“I knew it.” Bernadette slapped her palm on the counter. “Like a peck or…” She arched her brow. “Something better?”